#the way they smile at each other in the second gif

[organic-bloodbath]

can you pls do a thanks x reader where reader is like lowk a bad ass. enemies to lovers kind of thing. maybe they have known each other for years. she tripped up during mingle but someone saved just in the nick of time but later in the bathroom he yells at her telling her he can’t lose her because he loves her. and then they kiss and stuff and fall asleep together (im a sucker for angst with a fluffy ending🙏)

I love you, fucking idiot

Thanos x Reader

Summary: As above.

A/N: Hope you like 🫶🏻

☆☆☆

You and Thanos had known each other since middle school. You wouldn't consider the two of you friends, honestly you didn't really know what you were since you wouldn't think of you as enemies either. You had always disliked him, atleast that's what you thought, but it wouldn't go as far as hate. More like he simply annoyed the shit out of you. Thanos had been teasing and bickering with you ever since you were teenagers, and he seemed to enjoy it. It was always harmless, he never actually bullied you.

"Well, well, well – look who it is," Thanos said as he approached you and looked at your figure from head to toe before continuing. "I see you've dyed your hair."

Your hair was naturally dark brown, but you had dyed it pink a few months ago.

"Did you do it to match with me?" Thanos smiled. "Didn't know you were so obsessed with me."

"You wish," you denied, rolling your eyes. "I haven't had a single thought about you in several months."

"So, you admit you've sometimes thought about me," he pointed out and brought his hand to rest on his heart. "That's so touching, Cotton Candy."

"Don't be so full of yourself," you scoffed. "And cut the nickname, it's gross."

When the game started right after, Thanos leaned a little closer to you.

"Wanna race?" he asked.

"For what?" you asked, right brow lifted in curiosity.

"If i win, i'll get to keep the nickname for you," he suggested with a smirk.

"And when i win?" you asked. "Because there's no way i'm losing to you."

"I'll drop the nickname."

"Well, challenge accepted."

As you were running forward, trying to ignore Thanos near you, someone suddenly pushed you, making you fall on the ground. You laid there on your back, managing to stay still when the doll turned around to scan any possible movements in the area.

"As clumsy as always," Thanos mocked quietly above you, smirk on his face.

"Shut up," you mumbled in annoyance.

When it was time to move again, Thanos offered his hand to pull you up.

"I don't need your help," you muttered and started to get up.

"Stop being grumpy and take my hand," he insisted.

You rolled your eyes and let him pull you up. However, he pulled you with more force than you had expected, making you almost to trip forward again but he held you still. You were standing against him now, your heads facing each other to make you lock eyes. Right then the doll turned again, forcing you to stay still for a while.

"Did you always have freckles on your cheeks?" Thanos muttered quietly as he examined your face closer, just thinking outloud.

"Duh," you mumbled and got off his grip when you could move again, taking a quick sprint forward to get ahead of him.

In the end, you did win the game just couple of seconds before Thanos, he was running right beside you the entire way.

"Ha! I win," you mocked him. "Didn't know you let yourself go out of shape when you started focusing on rapping."

"You were just lucky this time," he huffed and rolled his eyes, not wanting to bruise his ego by admitting his defeat to you.

"This time? You want to do this again, huh?"

"Until i win."

☆☆☆

The second game arrived the next day and you were supposed to form groups of 5 with each other.

"Alright, Y/N, you're with my team," Thanos stated, as if he had done the decision by himself.

"Um, no thank you," you laughed.

"What do you mean 'no'?" Thanos narrowed his eyes, taking a step closer to you.

"Now, what kind of competition would it be if we played in the same group?" you asked, crossing your arms on your chest. "The group that finishes earlier than the other wins."

"I see," Thanos hummed. "So what's the prize?"

"You'll see," you said and winked, leaving Thanos on his own without another word to search for your own team members.

Thanos wouldn't show it on the outside, but seeing you go and find a different group stinged his heart a little in a horrible way. Having you in the same group would have meant to either die together or live together. Being in different groups would mean the other could die while the other lived. But he couldn't force you to be in his team, no.

Your group played first and you did end up winning five seconds earlier than Thanos' group. It pissed him off so badly how you could win him twice and then rub it on his face afterwards.

"So, what do i owe you?"

"Besides all those pens you never returned to me in middle school?" you asked. "Hm. New shoes."

"Aw, is that a way to ask me to go shopping with you?" Thanos asked, having that same smile on his face which you hated. "I knew you liked my company."

You just punched his shoulder before leaving.

☆☆☆

The third game started, and along with his own team, you stood next to him as well.

"Now, you're not going to start wandering around this room on your own, got it?" Thanos said to you.

"What are you, my dad?" you scoffed, but having a playful smirk on your face. "You can't tell me what to do."

God, it started to annoy him how you took this as a joke. He wanted to keep you safe – no, he needed to keep you safe.

"You're not going to leave my side, are we clear?"

"That bossing me around is both annoying and kind of hot," you admitted, one of your eyebrows lifted.

"Are we clear?" Thanos asked firmly, voice getting louder.

"Yes, sir," you agreed, but Thanos could see that you didn't take him as seriously as he would have hoped.

As the rounds went by, you did stay with him and not go on your own ways. For that, Thanos was more than thankful. Since he had noticed that you kept following him, one round he didn't look so closely at your way anymore. He trusted that you were right behind him again, because the time was running out very, very quickly now and his team was struggling to find a free room. Thanos eventually did get into an empty room right at the last second.

Thanos turned around as the door had closed and locked itself, but when he saw a guy instead of you, his heart stopped. There were three players in the room with him, and none of them were you.

You had been right behind him, he had seen you. Barely two steps behind running and searching for a room with him. Thanos had been sure of it. But you weren't in the room now.

Thanos instantly ran to the gap of the door to peek out as the shootings started.

"Y/N!"

His heart was racing faster than ever before. Several people had been left outside, you included, and now their bodies were being carried into the black coffins tied with those fucking pink bows. It was too dark to recognise which body belonged to you.

Thanos leaned against the wall in disbelief. You couldn't be gone, that was impossible. You could survive anything. You had to.

He looked at his remaining team mates who were all staring at him. Nam-gyu, Se-mi and Gyeong-su, who looked at Thanos with the most terrified look out of all three.

Thanos stormed towards Gyeong-su and slammed him right against the wall, holding him captive by his shoulders.

"Where did you leave Y/N?!" Thanos shouted. "It was supposed to be Y/N!"

Nam-gyu had to pull Thanos away with a good amount of force so that he wouldn't start beating Gyeong-su up completely.

"Chill up, man," Nam-Gyu tried to calm Thanos down. "She probably found another room, don't get all heated up in the middle of the game."

Thanos took a deep breath and scrubbed his face with his hand in frustration. God he was angry - mostly at himself how he had let this happen just like that and not kept a closer eye on you. He should have held your hand to make sure you were there, but he knew you would have refused and only pulled your hand away.

For the next round, he didn't see you anywhere among the players. There were a lot left and he didn't go through the entire carousel because he had lost all hope. He was sure there was no way you could have survived finding a room in just a few seconds.

Thanos didn't say a word as he walked back with his team after the challenge was finished. Nam-gyu tried to talk to him but he didn't spare any attention on him at the moment.

Then, his heart stopped for a mere second when he saw you walking next to another player, having a conversation with her which Thanos couldn't hear. You laughed at something what player 120 said to you.

You were alive. He heard your laugh, which was always louder than many other people's laugh normally were. Thanos was frozen still for a few seconds, only looking towards you.

He was disappointed when he noticed that you kept your attention just on player 120 and didn't scan the room for Thanos as closely as Thanos did for you. But he didn't waste one moment longer until he stormed towards you with large and loud steps that made many other players around him to turn and look at him.

Thanos grabbed your hand without a warning and pulled you behind him towards the bathroom. You tried to yank your hand off but his grip was too tight.

"Su-bong," you said. "Su-bong, stop."

He didn't listen to you, only dragged you after him so fast you were about to trip soon.

"What the fuck, Y/N?" Thanos shouted when the door had closed. He didn't know if anyone was in the stalls right now and he didn't care.

"What?" you asked with brows furrowed, confused what Thanos was on right now.

"Don't you 'what' at me," Thanos spat, then pointing his finger at you. "What the fuck was that in the game?"

"What was?"

Thanos took a deep, frustrated breath in not to explode in total pieces in front of you.

"You didn't come to the room with me," Thanos said with a chuckle, though he found absolutely no part of this conversation funny. "You weren't in our room, Y/N. Why the fuck weren't you there?"

"I tripped," you shrugged. "You were gone already so i found another room."

You looked so indifferent and how this wasn't a big deal. You looked like you didn't care and it made Thanos even more enraged, fire building inside him unbearably hot.

Thanos laughed. Actually laughed. He didn't know where it came from because none of this was funny, but his emotions unfolded in uncontrollable laughter for a moment.

"Okay Thanos, what's going on?" you asked and crossed your arms. "I tripped, found a room and i'm now here."

"Don't you understand, Y/N?" he said in desperation, putting his arms on both of your shoulders. He had stopped laughing, his face completely serious and turning into anger and annoyance again. "You could have died!"

"Yes, Thanos, i know," you took your turn in laughing. "That's the point, they kill who lose-"

"But you could have been one of them!" he yelled at you, his face now only a few inches away from you. As he looked into your eyes, his wide eyes softened and his face relaxed more, voice turning a lot more quiet as well. "I could have lost you, Y/N. I was meant to protect you."

His hands moved upwards to cup your cheeks in their gentle hold.

"I can't watch you die," he said by barely a whisper. You leaned your face into his touch, a smile spreading on your lips. It annoyed Thanos. "What's so funny?"

"You like me," you stated with a grin. "Admit it, you like me."

Thanos huffed and rolled his eyes, letting go off you. He turned around to leave without another word.

"Come on, just say it," you said playfully, starting to follow his back. He gave you only silence and tried to ignore your finger drawing zigzag patterns on his back. "Come onnnnn, Su-bong. You like me, you like me, you like-"

He turned around in a mere second, stopping on his tracks so aprubtly that you bumped on his chest.

"I love you, Y/N!" Thanos shouted. "Don't you get that?"

Your eyes widened and so did his. The words weren't supposed to leave his lips like that, but you managed to press his buttons in a way to squeeze them out of him. You looked at each other, him sparing a quick glance at your lips.

Before either of you knew it, both of you leaned in towards each other and crashed your lips into a hungry kiss.

His arms were roaming all around your body, pulling you tightly against his body by your lower back. You had your arms wrapped around his neck, fingers brushing through his purple hair. His tongue forced your mouth open wider and was able to dig itself deeper to explore new parts of you.

Then, the door of one of the stalls opened slowly a few metres behind you, startling both of you out of the trance of savoring each other.

Min-su looked at both of you awkwardly, hint of pink on his cheeks, then quickly going to wash his hands and avoiding any eye contact with you. Neither you or Thanos moved during this time, not an inch besides of your heads to follow his movements. Your left hand was resting on his shoulder, your right fingers against the back of his neck. Thanos had his hands on your lower back.

Min-su glanced at you, both of you staring at him and waiting for him to leave, and then hurried out of the bathroom without another look. You and Thanos both burst out laughing at the same time.

"Oh my god," you mumbled and wiped a tear out of the corner of your eye.

Thanos put his finger on your chin, a smirk playing on his face.

"So, want to continue this," he suggested, trailing his tattooed finger along your lip and jawline, "somewhere more private, hm?"

You pushed his hand off.

"As if."

You were about to walk past him, but he grabbed your elbow and spun you around back to face him.

"So you're just going to leave me hanging like that, Y/N?" Thanos asked, eyebrows raised close to his hairline.

"Thanos, i'm not going to go to the damn stall with you."

Thanos grabbed your face into his hands, making you look at him. You thought he was going to kiss you again, but he only looked deep into your eyes.

"Y/N, i meant it," he said seriously. "I love you."

Your brows furrowed.

"I love you and i can't handle the feeling inside me when i even think that something bad might have happened to you," he explained with such a vulnerability in his voice you had never experienced before.

You looked at him seriously for a while, until you started to giggle.

"You loveee me," you teased.

"Shut up," Thanos mumbled, rolling his eyes, and turned his back to you.

You wrapped your arms around his shoulders from behind and rested your chin on his left shoulder, gently caressing his chest with your palm in a soothing and calming way like you were trying to calm down a child after a breakdown. He stayed still under your touch.

"I think i like you too," you admitted.

"Just 'like'?" he asked. "Like, a friend or what?"

"Well, i wouldn't want to have you die either," you admitted. "It would make me sad."

"Would you cry over me?" Thanos asked.

"I might. A little bit."

Thanos knew you didn't show your true emotions easily to others and especially didn't admit them with words. He had always known that you showed your emotions through actions, not through speech. It would be useless to force you confess 'i love you' back even if you did love him.

"Would you be okay if... you saw me with another woman?" he asked slowly. "Someone else kissing me like we did, hm?"

You were quiet for a moment, still standing behind him on your tiptoes in the same position, but now grabbed his cheeks with your hand, turning his face towards yours. Your faces were so close your noses were only an inch apart from each other.

"You're mine, you hear me?" you stated seriously with a stern voice, fingers pressing hard on his cheeks. "No other woman is going to touch you as long as i live, got it?"

Grin spread on Thanos' face.

"You likeee me," he mocked you with a smile, imitating you.

"I'll hit you if i have to," you threatened but kept your hold on his shoulders as gentle and relaxed as before.

"I know you've fallen so madly in love with me," he insisted.

"And how are you so sure about that?"

Thanos turned around to make your bodies face each other.

"Because when i do this," Thanos said and simply put his hands on your cheek and lower back, pulling you closer, "you get all flustered and you scrunch your nose like this," he explained, slightly scrunching his own nose. "And you get jealous."

"I don't get flustered," you refused, narrowing your eyes, but you could feel your cheeks getting warmer.

"I'll get you to admit it some day."

"Get over yourself."

☆☆☆

When it was time to finally go to sleep, you had just laid yourself on your bunk, until felt another presence behind you. You didn't have to turn around to see who it was.

"If you think i'm going to have sex with you right now, you're very much mistaken," you stated and turned your back to him. "Go to sleep, Thanos."

Thanos scooped over to lay on the bed on his side behind you.

"Who talked about sex?" Thanos asked, like the entire thing was a foreign concept to him. "I'm tired after the game too, you know."

"What are you doing?" you asked as he put his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to his body, your back against his chest.

"Getting a comfortable position to sleep."

You stretched your neck to look at Thanos over your shoulder.

"You planned to sleep here?"

"Obviously, señorita."

"Why?"

"Because that's what men do when they love a woman – or so i've heard."

"We're not a married couple, Su-bong."

"Do i have to fall on my knees to propose to you right now to make you shut up and accept me as your sleeping buddy?" Thanos asked, looking a little too serious that he'd actually do it if you kept resisting.

You eyed him for a moment until turned your head away from him back to rest on the pillow.

"If your hand wanders anywhere else than my waist i'll kick you to the floor," you stated seriously as you closed your eyes.

"Fair." Thanos lifted his head to plant a soft kiss on your temple. "Goodnight, grumpy princess."

"Gross."

"I know you love it."

[wosokisses]

Maybe Home Isn’t Far Away At All (Aitana Bonmatí x Lioness!Reader)

Part Two - Team Bonding and Confessions // Series Masterlist

Warnings/Notes: None.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You spent the first week of living with Ona getting into a routine and readying yourself to officially join the club. Living with Ona was nice, comfortable even, she was welcoming and friendly to the point you wanted for nothing.

You’d fully settled with Ona now, slipping easily into a routine together. The two of you had become inseparable, always hanging out together. To the point you two could be cuddled up watching tv and she’d be on face time to lucy. You had become an eternal third wheel to their relationship, though you didn’t mind they were cute after all.

As the end of the week began approaching, Ona had come to you telling you her house was being chosen for the Barca groups team bonding before the season started up again. To say you were nervous was an understatement, you had always prepped yourself to meet them on your first day. Not in your own home days before.

When the night eventually rolled around Ona had reassured you, they’d love you, commenting you already knew Keira but the wincing when she remembered the tension between the two of you right now. You let out a shaky breath assuring her it was fine, but she wasn’t stupid she could tell it wasn’t.

Before she could speak up again, the doorbell rang and a chorus of loud voiced down the hall after she opened the door. You took a deep breath to steady yourself smiling somewhat forcefully as introductions began to fly. Then everything stopped, like time froze the second you saw her.

“Hola!” she greeted, her voice welcoming and warm though a soft flush was settling on her cheeks matching your own as you locked eyes.     

The rest of the night went in a similar fashion, the two of you blushing and stumbling over shy words to each other. It was Obvious to everyone what was happening, and they thought it was hilarious. Half of them wanting to meddle and get you together and the other half more than amused watching the two of you figure it all out.

-

The following week was your first at the training grounds, and you were full of nerves and excitement. Ona drove you both there and you where immediately dragged into the group of the girls, all of them eagerly chatting away and welcoming you as you got changed into your training gear. What you didn’t see was the way Aitana was staring at you the whole time, psyching herself up to come over to talk to you again. Despite having been thinking of you since the team bonding night, she couldn’t think of a thing to say to you that wasn’t embarrassing.

Meanwhile, you sat with Mapi, Ingrid and Ona laughing and joking, making up a plan to go for the four of you to go out to eat. Ona pointing out that she’d be less of a third wheel if you came too this time.

Overhearing that Aitana couldn’t help but to smile, knowing you were single gave her a little more confidence to come over and talk to you. But not now, not today she would have to spend today thinking about what to say that wouldn’t sound incredibly cheesy.

You were more occupied making friends with these people, knowing first hand how well it goes if the new teammate spends the first week making bonds and getting to know their teammates. So far you had spent time with most of the team bar Keira, Aitana and Alexia. You had been avoiding Keira for obvious reasons, she was close with Leah and had been icy since the changing room incident. Plus, Lucy had told you Keira was being a little off, having got the information from Ona before you moved over.

Aitana, well you were worried if you went over to talk to her, you’d freeze up or be a stuttering mess. You were just so thankful for the alcohol present at the team bonding that allowed you to get through the interactions with her without making a total idiot out of yourself and you could blame the blush on the alcohol.

As for Alexia, she was honestly quite intimidating. She had been friendly enough at the team bonding night, from the small interactions you had. But to talk to her one on one? Terrifying. You knew you needed to, after all pissing of your captain by avoiding her was not the ideal first impression so you came up with a plan. You asked her if she could help you practice, and she happily agreed partnering up with you and kicking the ball back and forth as you talked.

“Ona told me,” she starts as she shoots the ball towards you, “About what happened with your old team… I’m sorry” she nods apologetically towards you kicking the ball back as you send it rolling to her.

“Don’t be” you shake your head chuckling though there is no humour in it, “It’s not like it your fault” you look down focusing on the ball sadly.

She seems to get the hint then that this is not something your exactly ready to talk about right now. So, she changes the subject a sly smirk gracing her features. “So, when are you and Tana going to ask each other out already? Huh?”

A shocked yelp escapes you and you almost miss the ball, kicking it back a little too hard as you deny it, but she doesn’t believe you not one bit. No, she simply chuckles at your panicked state as you ramble out excuses.

“N-no I don’t- What!? I mean- Of course I Like her she’s nice! And pretty and she makes me feel all weird but that doesn't mean-“ you pause mid-sentence, eyes narrowing as you see Alexia struggling not to laugh and the lack of the ball being passed. You deadpan with a heavy sigh and speak up, “She’s behind me isn’t she….” You huff shooting her a disapproving look as she finally lets out a laugh.

Turning around you come face to face with a blushing Aitana. “I was coming over to ask you to dinner but I feel like I already know the answer now” she jokes and you’re bright red now and u let out a squeaky “I’d love to” your embarrassment heavily evident and spurred on by Alexia’s howling laughter and Aitana’s failure to hide her own amusement.

You clear your throat and huff, “I would love to” you speak up, a lot more determined this time, and she smiles softly at you. Internally cooing at how cute you are, and she nods, leaning in to kiss your cheek telling you she’ll text you the details.

You now stud there wide eyed and flushed cheeked, hand coming up to touch the cheek she just kissed. Alexia chuckles as she walks over to you and slaps her hand on your back, “C’mon lover girl lets get back to work.”

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A/N: Little shorter than part one because i had the biggest writers block for this haha

[delilahsturniolo]

— ୨୧ so fucking needy . . . c.s

in which . . . you become extremely impatient during a twitch stream, chris just can’t seem to ignore you.

warnings . . . smut, unprotected sex, (be responsible) fingering, teasing, dom!chris, oral, (fem!recieving) use of pet names, kinda sorta getting caught ?

written by @delilahsturniolo. do not copy, steal, or modify my works. if you are taking any inspiration from this, please ask me first before posting and credit me in your description. happy reading! :)

★ “fuck, matt. you’re selling the game!” chris yelled at matt through his microphone. the boys were currently on stream, playing a chaotic game of fortnite. you were laying on chris’s bed, out of the camera view. you sighed as you mindlessly scrolled on your phone, occasionally hearing chris’s yells and curses under his breath.

you sat up on the bed, sitting against the headboard now. you looked over at chris, who was so invested in the game. your eyes immediately locked on his hands that gripped the controller as securely as ever. fuck, the way he moved his fingers so quickly…the way he muttered and cursed under his breath, the way he breathed so heavily.

you felt a familiar heat between your legs all of a sudden, you felt a euphoric and aroused feeling inside of you, something you couldn’t control, a feeling that got more intense and unbearable as time went on. you just couldn’t help it, you were extremely horny in this moment, and you couldn’t seem to wait.

you knew chris would be mad at you if you became impatient, you knew he’d just tell you to wait until the stream was over…but that would be too long. you ultimately decided to just take the risk, you needed chris now, and you weren’t able to wait. you untied the strings of your pajama shorts so they were looser, you made sure your laced panties were visible. you adjusted your posture, crossing your legs for friction on your clothed pussy.

you let out a soft whine to get chris’s attention—and it worked. chris turned his head, but still focused on the game. “y’good mama?” chris muted his mic as he asked you, not really paying much attention to you. “are you gonna be done with that soon?” you replied, looking at him with anticipation. “soon, baby. i’ll be all yours in an hour or so.” chris murmured dryly, not even looking at you anymore.

“an hour!? that’s too long.” you scoffed, feeling more needy by each passing second. the only thing you craved at the moment was chris’s touch. chris narrowed his eyes, his fingers still fiddling with the controller, you could hear matt’s muffled voice through his headphones. “i won’t be too long mama, jus’ wait a minute.” chris muttered.

you only rolled your eyes, finding a new way to set chris off on purpose, you knew he would put you in your place, you knew the consequences of this, yet you still took the risk. you groaned in annoyance, “whatever.” you spoke sharply. and that was all it took to set chris off. chris raised his eyebrows, moving the camera to the side so the audience saw his plain wall as he took off his headphones, fully turning on his gaming chair to face you. “what was that?” chris asked, even though he heard what you said loud and clear.

“i said whatever.” you remarked, in the most bratty tone ever. chris wasn’t gonna put up with that, not one bit. chris sucked his teeth, turning to unmute his mic briefly. “hey matt? i’ll be back in a minute.” chris told matt, you could hear matt complaining from the other end of the call. “are you kidding me, man? in the middle of a match?” matt said, his voice muffled. chris just rolled his eyes and muted his mic once more, his attention was now on you, which was just what you had wanted. you were honestly nervous and excited for what he was gonna do, a small smile formed on your face. chris didn’t fail to notice this.

“oh? y’really think you’re gettin’ what you want?” chris scoffed in disbelief, crossing the room in just 3 strides, he grabbed your shoulders and pushed you down firmly on the bed, you laid on your back. “we’ll just see bout’ that sweetheart.” chris looked down at you, his gaze filled with dominance and lust. you whined impatiently beneath him, not being able to wait any longer.

“pretty pathetic, don’t you think?” chris pulled your pajama shorts down, his eyes landing on the wet patch on your panties. “so fuckin’ pathetic, so fuckin’ needy.” chris teased your waistband, slowly dragging his fingers over the cloth of your underwear, his thumb brushing over your clit through your underwear, making you gasp.

“f—fuck..” you cursed underneath your breath, squirming as chris’s thumb circled the wet patch on your underwear. suddenly, he grabbed your panties and pulled it down to your ankles that dangled off of his bed. he gave you no time to process what was happening as he grabbed your hips, flipping you over swiftly so you were positioned on your stomach.

chris spread your legs apart, his fingers sliding across your soaked folds. “couldn’t even wait till’ i got off stream, jus’ had to be so fucking impatient, yeah?” chris chuckled in a dark manner, his hands roaming your body. from your ass, to your lower back, but not even touching the part where you needed him most. “chris—please..” you whined desperately, chris brought his finger down to your cunt, collecting your wetness around it. “what’s wrong mama? tell me what you need, use your words.” chris teased. he knew damn well about the effect he had on you, how much power he had over you.

“n—need you..” you babbled out, chris suddenly pushed his fingers into your pussy, eliciting a moan from you, a little louder than you should have. chris pumped his fingers in and out of you, you shoved your face into the sheets, muffling your moans and whimpers of desperation and pleasure. “oh yeah? what exactly do you need, hm?” chris encouraged you to tell him exactly what you wanted, he was gonna make you beg.

chris leaned forward, his head in front of your glistening cunt that was on display for him as his tongue plunged into you, eliciting a mix between a moan and gasp from you. chris sucked and bit down on your clit, moaning into your folds aa he got lost between your wetness. “yes—fuck…right there!” you breathed heavily, your legs already starting to shake with pleasure. his thumb pressed on your clit, playing with your bundle of nerves as he lifted his head, his face now hovering over yours. “don’t start shakin’ on me now, we’re not done.” chris’s lips crashed on yours, mercilessly pumping his fingers in and out of you with his free hand. as you squirmed and moaned into the kiss, chris grabbed your wrists, pinning them above your head. his lips danced with yours, his tongue swiping and biting against your bottom lip “what d’ya need mama?” chris mumbled into your lips.

“need you—inside me..” you whimpered out, chris smirked in satisfaction, pulling his fingers out of you. he quickly zipped his jeans down, removing his boxers and revealing his dick. without a warning, chris slammed into you, thrusting quickly, barely giving you time to adjust. “fuck! chris! slow down!” you screamed out, moaning in between. you knew you could take it, and you knew chris wasn’t gonna slow down. “why should i? apologize first for bein’ so damn needy.” chris demanded. you could’ve sworn you were in a whole new universe, you were seeing stars. the pleasure was overwhelming, it felt amazing.

chris put his free hand on your hair, tugging on it, but not hard enough to hurt you. “oh—oh my god..” you spoke, your voice fucked out and barely even audible. “gooood girl…holy shit baby—“chris groaned, he could feel you getting close as you clenched around him. chris threw his head back, gently placing his hand on your lower back, causing you to arch further.“m’close..” you moaned out, chris nodded, his thrusts getting deeper, and deeper. “i know baby, me too..” you eventually released, the knot in your stomach bursting. your orgasm set off chris’s as well, as he came with one last groan. he pulled out of you, flopping down on the bed beside you. chris gently moved a hair out of your face and smiled at you, leaning in to kiss your cheek. “did so good, love.” you smiled back, the both of you laying together in as you both cherished the sweet sound of silence. that was—until chris’s phone buzzed.

the both of you were fucked.

© delilahsturniolo do not copy, re use, or modify any of my works.

taglist

[joaquinwhorres]

Mr. Fix-It (preview)

You swept stray wisps of hair back into place, as you stared down into the drum of your washing machine. Your gaze drifted to the tupperware container in your hand and then back to the soapy water. 

It'd been fifteen minutes since you started bailing out water with the largest container you had, but the drum was still half-way full. At this pace, you'd be running between the machine and bathroom until three in the morning.  

"Motherfucker," you swore, throwing the tupperware at the washer. The hard plastic clanged loudly against the metal side before clattering to the ground. 

It wasn't as satisfying of a tantrum as you'd hoped. Not when this was the sixth time in four months that laundry day had turned into a complete disaster.

"Mother-fucking-piece-of shit!" You kicked at the machine between each word, drops of water flying off your rain boot as the echo of each hit reverberated through your apartment.

This outburst felt a little better. 

With a heavy sigh, your shoulders drooped and you stared back at your washer, the panel still completely dark. "Why won't you work?" you whined, bending down to embrace the appliance. "Just turn on please," you whispered into the drum. "I promise I'll be nice if you just turn back on this once. I'll never use you again. I'll go to a laundromat and you can retire if you want. I'll even let you stay here–"

There was a knock at your door.

You screwed your eyes shut, lightly banging your head against the washer. Of course. You gave yourself until the next knock to wallow in misery before straightening up and heading for the door. 

Naturally, as you moved towards the door, your foot slipped out for the second time today (despite the rainboots you'd put on to prevent it from happening again), and you slid across the floor, finding your footing for a second only to stumble forward as your body continued over your stopped foot, crashing right into the door. 

"Are you ok?" the person on the other side called through, and you exhaled through your nose all of the frustration and despair you felt in the moment, plastering on what had to be the most artificial smile you'd ever given.

"I'm fine!" you called back, undoing the locks to pull open the door.

There, standing before you, was an incredibly attractive man. 

Because of course there was when you were wearing soaked laundry day sweats tucked into your rainboots, your hair all over the place, cheeks flushed from running the length of the apartment between the washer and tub.

"Hey," his brow furrowed in concern as he took in each part of your frazzled presence. "I'm Joaquín--your downstairs neighbor. I heard some banging and just wanted to make sure everything was ok."

"I'm so sorry," you shook your head. "My washer's broken, so I've been trying to fix it, and I just got a little frustrated. I'll make sure to keep it down."

"No!" he said quickly, waving his hands in front of him. "No, I didn't mean--the noise is fine. I hardly ever hear you which is what made me think to come up. Your washer's broken?" He threw in the last question as if he'd just realized he was rambling and needed to find a way to stop himself. 

"Yeah, it won't turn on."

"And you texted Jim?"

You nodded. "He said his guy's on vacation til next Monday, so it'll be Monday or Tuesday at the soonest." As if you hadn't waited until you were completely out of clean underwear to do laundry and could make it five days. Mentally, you added Go to Target to your to-do list. 

Joaquin nodded, seeming to mull over the information. "Do you want me to take a look at it?"

You shook your head tiredly. "It's fine. I'm probably about to give it up. I just couldn't go down without a fight."

He grinned at this, and you had to admit, it made you feel the tiniest bit better. "You sure? Fixing machines is kind of my thing." A thought seemed to strike him as he looked a bit horrified for a second and added. "Then again, if you don't want to let a guy you just met into your apartment, I totally understand."

"I mean at this point I'm open to being murdered, so by all means," you stepped back from the door, gesturing for him to come in, and he did so, laughing. 

"Sorry, murdering isn't really my thing."

"And I was just starting to like you, Joaquin," you said, dryly, shutting the door behind him. 

[andy-15-07]

Would you do Pedro Pascal x Racer!f!reader

Pedro was invited to go to SNL 50 anniversary. You on other hand, working as racer. You two secretly dating that chemistry got pretty good luckily. You got text from Pedro, He wants you to be his plus one date. You two couldn’t help it. Few moments later, he came to red carpet himself. Then you arrive, your dress was match as his like brown, very stunning and elegant. Pedro couldn’t help look at you. He was proud and very demure. You two pose like matching brown. He gives you great compliments about your dress and came to him. *fluffiness*

(Hope you will write it, thanks and have a good day mwah)

The Actor and the Racer

PAIRING:Pedro Pascal x reader

WORD COUNT: 2423| requests are open (send requests, I will gladly answer them all)

Pedro Pascal Masterlist

The buzz of my phone jolted me from a quiet moment in the pit lane just as the afternoon sun dipped low over the racetrack. I glanced down and saw Pedro’s name flashing on the screen—a message that instantly sent my heart into overdrive. “Hey, love,” it read, “I’ve got an invitation to SNL’s 50th Anniversary. I can’t imagine going without you. Will you be my plus one?” In that split second, the roar of engines and the smell of burning rubber faded into the background. I grinned at the thought of this unexpected but thrilling twist, my fingers flying over the screen as I texted back, “Absolutely. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

That evening, as I prepared for the event in my modest yet meticulously chosen dressing room, I couldn’t help but marvel at the serendipity of it all. My dress—a rich, elegant brown gown—was carefully selected to match Pedro’s style, a subtle nod to the intimate language we’d developed over secret rendezvous and shared smiles. Every detail had been chosen with us in mind: the earthy tone symbolized both the strength of our connection and the quiet, unassuming beauty that underpinned our lives far from the glare of public scrutiny.

Stepping out onto the red carpet felt surreal. The flashbulbs of cameras lit up the night as I made my way through a sea of elegant guests. My pulse quickened with anticipation, each step echoing with the promise of a night that was as much a celebration of love as it was of a milestone event. And there, at the beginning of the carpet, stood Pedro—tall, impeccably dressed in a tailored brown suit that spoke of classic style with a modern twist. His dark hair was perfectly in place, and the moment our eyes met, his smile widened into something both demure and undeniably proud.

“You look absolutely stunning,” he said, his voice low and warm as he reached out to gently take my hand. I felt a rush of electricity at his touch, and I couldn’t help but respond, “Thank you, Pedro. I wanted us to match tonight—it feels like our secret signature.” His laugh was soft and genuine. “Well, mission accomplished,” he murmured, and together we struck a pose that caught the attention of every camera. The flashes created a sparkling mosaic around us, yet all I could focus on was the way his eyes lit up as they roamed over my dress, filled with adoration and a hint of mischief.

As we strolled down the carpet, our conversation flowed effortlessly between playful banter and whispered memories. “Do you remember that charity race where we first met?” Pedro asked, a nostalgic lilt in his tone. I laughed, the sound mingling with the ambient hum of the event. “How could I forget? I nearly ran you off the track, and you swooped in to save the day. I still owe you one for that.” His eyes twinkled with amusement. “Oh, you owe me plenty. I’m keeping score,” he teased, and we shared a laugh that felt like a secret known only to us.

The crowd around us seemed to fade away as we delved into memories of our first encounter—an almost disastrous collision turned serendipitous meeting. “I was so convinced I’d lost control, but then you were there, calm and collected,” I recalled, smiling at the recollection. “And you, with your fearless driving, reminded me that life is about taking risks,” Pedro replied. “Every lap, every twist of fate—it all led to this moment,” I added softly, and for a brief instant, our voices were the only sounds in a world otherwise filled with flashing lights and murmurs of celebrity.

Approaching the entrance of the venue, we were immediately swarmed by enthusiastic reporters and well-dressed guests. A bright-eyed interviewer stepped forward, microphone in hand. “Pedro, you look amazing tonight. And who might this stunning lady be?” she asked, her tone both curious and admiring. Pedro squeezed my hand lightly and replied, “This is someone who races through life with as much passion off the track as she does on it. Simply put, she’s extraordinary.” I felt a flush of pride at his words, and when the interviewer pressed further about how we met, Pedro’s smile deepened. “It was a bit of chaos at a charity race—a near miss that turned into a perfect collision of hearts,” he said, and the crowd chuckled along with us, caught up in the warmth of our shared story.

Inside the venue, the elegant decor and the hum of excited chatter created a cocoon of celebration around us. We joined a group of guests at a private table, where the conversation quickly shifted from casual introductions to more intimate exchanges. Over clinking glasses of wine, Pedro leaned in and said quietly, “You know, sometimes I feel like life is just one long, unpredictable race. But every lap with you makes every twist and turn worth it.” I met his gaze, touched by the sincerity in his eyes. “I feel the same. The adrenaline of the track pales in comparison to the joy of being with you,” I replied.

Our table soon became the stage for a lively dialogue. A fellow guest, noticing our ease, asked with a playful grin, “What’s the secret to balancing high-speed races with the glitz of Hollywood events?” Pedro’s eyes danced as he replied, “It’s about knowing when to speed up and when to slow down. With her by my side, I always know when it’s time to hit the brakes and enjoy the ride.” I couldn’t resist adding, “And knowing when to shift gears to match the pace of life.” Laughter erupted around the table, and even amidst the clamor of voices and laughter, our words seemed to create a little bubble of intimacy.

Between sips of wine and bursts of shared laughter, our conversation took on moments of vulnerability. “Sometimes, I worry about how much we have to hide from the world,” Pedro admitted softly, his tone suddenly reflective. “The public sees us as a racer and a famous actor, but they don’t know the quiet moments—the late-night talks, the stolen glances that say everything without a word.” I reached out, touching his hand lightly. “Our secret may be hidden from the world, but it’s loud in our hearts. And that’s all that matters.” His eyes softened, and for a moment, the noise of the room receded into a gentle hum that underscored the truth in his words.

The evening unfolded in a series of delightful exchanges and heartfelt moments. At one point, as we walked along a quieter corridor away from the main event, Pedro stopped to look at me with a serious expression. “I have to ask,” he said, “how do you do it? How do you manage to be both this fearless racer and such a tender soul?” I paused, considering the question before answering with a gentle smile. “I think it’s because I know that after every race, there’s a moment of calm waiting for me—like the moments we share. It’s knowing that no matter how wild the ride, there’s always a soft place to land.” Pedro’s hand tightened around mine as he replied, “You are my safe haven, my constant in this whirlwind life.” His words felt like a promise, a vow that no matter what challenges lay ahead, we would always find solace in each other.

At one point during the night, our conversation turned playful as we recounted the details of some of our most memorable misadventures. “Remember that time when your engine was about to give out, and I insisted we take a ‘strategic pit stop’ just to cool down?” Pedro laughed, recalling the chaotic moment with a mixture of amusement and admiration. I joined in the laughter. “How could I forget? I was convinced I was about to crash, and you were there, quipping that a good pit stop is like a good conversation—a chance to regroup and come back stronger.” Pedro grinned and added, “And you, my love, are the most thrilling conversation I’ve ever had.” The playful exchange drew smiles from those around us, but it was the sincerity behind our banter that made every word resonate.

Later, as the night deepened and we found ourselves in a quieter corner of the venue, the energy shifted to a more reflective tone. We stepped out onto a private balcony that overlooked the shimmering city below—a perfect backdrop for a conversation that felt as infinite as the stars above. Pedro leaned on the railing, his gaze fixed on the horizon. “Do you ever think about what the future holds for us?” he asked softly. I moved closer, my hand finding his in the cool night air. “I do,” I admitted, “and I see us continuing this race together—taking every twist and turn as a challenge we overcome hand in hand.” His eyes met mine, filled with a quiet certainty. “No matter how many laps we run, I promise that I’ll always be here, cheering for you, celebrating every victory, and comforting you through every defeat.” I felt my heart swell with gratitude and love. “And I’ll be there, every step of the way, ready to face whatever comes next,” I promised.

In the gentle quiet of that balcony, our dialogue became a tapestry of dreams, fears, and the hope that only true love can inspire. “You know,” Pedro said after a long pause, “I sometimes imagine our lives as one endless race. There will be obstacles, unforeseen detours, and moments when the finish line seems out of reach. But with you, every lap feels like a win.” I squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of his truth. “And every victory, no matter how small, reminds me that our journey is worth every moment of risk.” His smile was both playful and sincere as he whispered, “Thank you for being my co-pilot in this crazy ride.”

Before we rejoined the festivities inside, a final playful exchange ensued as we paused to take one last photo together under the soft glow of the event’s exit lights. Pedro nudged me lightly. “I still can’t believe that my favorite racer is out here stealing the spotlight with me,” he teased. I laughed and replied, “Well, you know what they say—if you can’t outrun them, match them.” His eyes crinkled with amusement as he said, “I suppose matching is what we do best.” Our laughter mingled with the ambient sounds of the departing crowd, a secret melody that carried the promise of many more shared adventures.

The drive home was a quiet, reflective journey away from the dazzling chaos of the red carpet and the limelight of SNL. In the intimate hum of the car’s engine and the soft strains of our favorite song playing in the background, Pedro reached over and brushed a stray lock of hair from my face. “Every day with you,” he said in a low, earnest tone, “is like a victory lap in a race I never want to end.” I looked at him, my eyes full of unspoken gratitude, and replied, “And every lap with you reminds me just how lucky I am to have found someone who makes life feel so exhilarating, even when the world expects us to be just a racer and an actor.”

There was a long, comfortable silence as we both savored the beauty of that moment—the gentle reassurance that despite the whirlwind of public life, our private moments were our true victory. Pedro’s thumb caressed the back of my hand as he mused, “I can’t wait for our next race, for every twist and turn that life throws at us. With you by my side, I know we can handle anything.” I smiled, the simple truth in his words echoing in my heart. “And I promise to be your lucky charm, your partner on and off the track, every single day.”

In the soft glow of the early morning, as city lights blurred past and the horizon hinted at a new day, I felt a deep contentment. Our conversation had been a perfect blend of humor, nostalgia, and heartfelt promises—a testament to a love that was both fierce and tender, wild and beautifully unguarded. Every word we’d exchanged that night, every laugh and every whispered hope, had woven itself into the fabric of our shared story. It was a story that would continue to unfold lap after lap, through races won and challenges met, in a journey that was as unpredictable as it was deeply cherished.

I knew then, as I drifted into the quiet promise of sleep later that night, that our lives were intertwined in a way that transcended the superficial expectations of fame and the fleeting nature of public adoration. We were two souls racing side by side through life—each twist, each turn, every unexpected detour serving only to draw us closer together. And as the soft hum of the engine merged with the gentle cadence of our laughter, I realized that the real magic wasn’t in the red carpet moments or the glamorous events, but in the countless, unspoken promises we made in between: the secret smiles, the whispered confidences, and the tender touch of a hand that said, “I’m here, always.”

That night at SNL’s 50th Anniversary wasn’t just another glamorous event. It was a celebration of our shared journey—a race that had started with a chance encounter and blossomed into a love that defied expectations. And as we navigated the winding road ahead, filled with the unknown and the exhilarating, I held on to the truth that every lap, every finish line, was a step towards a future where our hearts would always beat as one.

In the quiet moments of the dawn, as the city slowly woke up to a new day, I whispered to myself, “Here’s to every lap we run together, to every victory that fills our hearts, and to a love that races on against all odds.” And somewhere in the soft light of morning, I knew Pedro felt the same—a promise that no matter where life’s unpredictable track led us, we would always find our way back to each other, hand in hand, heart to heart.

The journey wasn’t about winning every race or finishing first—it was about sharing every moment, every laugh, every heartfelt conversation that made our souls sing. And in that unspoken understanding, our love story continued—vivid, relentless, and as breathtaking as the open road at sunrise.

[cece693]

A Crown of Two Realms

pairing: loki laufeyson x małe reader pairing: reader is a prince, arranged marriage, ambiguous ending, heart vs what's right, love sometimes isn't enough, why do I keep doing this to myself :(

For as long as the Nine Realms remembered, Asgard had stood as a gleaming pillar of might—yet your homeland, the hidden kingdom of Illyria, was older, wealthier in resources, and influential enough to command the respect (and, occasionally, the wariness) of even the great All-Father, Odin. When word spread that the heir of Illyria had accepted a formal marriage alliance with Asgard’s crown prince, the entire cosmos paid attention.

You were that heir.

Sharp-minded, with a handsomely chiseled visage that drew comparisons to the very deities etched into temple walls—wherever you went, it seemed people murmured, “He is perfection.” They weren’t wrong to admire you; from childhood, you had been trained to lead, to command, and to bear the responsibilities of your ancient, formidable realm.

The day you arrived on Asgard, escorted by a contingent of Illyrian warriors clad in shimmering silver armor, the air practically crackled with anticipation. Thor Odinson—your future husband—stood at the foot of the palace steps, bright-eyed and eager to greet you with warmth. Yet, even as you approached him with regal composure, your gaze drifted to the lean figure slightly behind him, dressed in emerald and black: the second prince of Asgard, Loki.

He was watching you as well, his expression guarded but unmistakably curious.

Odin and Frigga welcomed you graciously into the golden halls of the palace. They made a show of Asgard’s famed hospitality, laying out a splendid feast in your honor. Courtiers lined the corridors, bowing or curtsying as you passed. You could sense their awe—after all, you came from Illyria, a kingdom shrouded in near-mythic prestige. Some whispered that your realm once guided the dawn of magic itself; others claimed your armies had subdued entire dimensions with minimal effort.

All evening, you wore the gracious, polished façade expected of a royal. You chatted with dignitaries, answered questions about Illyria’s luminous cities and your father’s famed conjurers. Meanwhile, Thor rarely left your side, eager to regale you with tales of his own feats: banishing Frost Giants, venturing into cosmic realms, and valiantly defending Asgard. You responded with polite smiles, nods, and the occasional appreciative laugh. As perfect as it all looked on the surface, there was a gentle hum of disquiet in your chest.

From across the banquet table, Loki’s emerald eyes flicked your way from time to time, assessing, appraising. He appeared aloof, yet he seemed to be the only one not entirely beguiled by your princely exterior. It made something in you stir.

Your days following the feast were tightly scheduled:

Diplomatic Lessons with Odin, ensuring you grasped every nuance of Asgard’s laws and customs.

Combat Training with Thor, so you might learn each other’s fighting styles.

Council Meetings discussing the future stability of the Nine Realms, with you sitting at Thor’s side—ever the composed consort-to-be.

For all your flawless manners and competence, you never seemed to allow yourself a moment to breathe freely. Indeed, you had long mastered the art of veiling your true feelings behind calm, intelligent eyes and an impeccably gentle smile. But when the spotlight dimmed—when you slipped out of council chambers or strayed from the training grounds—you found yourself wandering Asgard’s palace in search of quiet corners. It was in one such corridor that you encountered Loki once more.

He stood at a tall window, gazing out over the Bifrost’s shimmering expanse. You paused, unsure if you should interrupt. Yet the shadow of a smirk tugged at his lips before he even turned to face you. “Come to admire the view?” he asked, voice tinted with subtle sarcasm.

You dipped your head, maintaining your stately composure. “It is quite impressive,” you replied, glancing out at the rainbow bridge cutting across the sky. “But I was also hoping to discover more about the prince I rarely see at these gatherings.”

Loki raised an eyebrow. “Our father and brother do love a grand audience. I prefer quieter spaces.” He looked you up and down. “You strike me as someone who doesn’t scare easily. Most are far too enamored with Thor to pay mind to me.”

Your composure softened just a touch. “I have no fear of you, Loki. Nor do I overlook you. In Illyria, we have a saying: ‘The keenest mind stands in the silent corner.’”

He chuckled quietly. “Fitting.”

A hint of curiosity glimmered in his gaze. You found yourself intrigued by the subtle interplay of cunning and intelligence beneath his exterior. Your time in Asgard had been filled with people wanting to see only your perfect “prince” persona. But Loki’s scrutiny felt different: he seemed interested in you, not the grand illusions and legends that accompanied your name.

A few days later, after a particularly grueling session with Odin’s council, you sought solace in the grand library. Illuminated by golden sconces, the shelves rose like monoliths, each row brimming with ancient tomes. You had heard rumors that Asgard’s archives held knowledge that even your father’s great library in Illyria lacked.

As you wandered the aisles, a familiar presence made itself known—Loki, perched on a tall stool, a dusty book spread across his lap. He pretended not to see you at first, but when you paused beside him, he glanced up. “Running from your princely duties?” he teased in a low voice.

You exhaled a soft laugh. “If you knew how many times a day I’m reminded of my ‘responsibilities,’ you’d understand why I slip away now and then.”

“I do know,” Loki said, and his voice bore a note of empathy. He snapped the book shut. “So, Prince of Illyria—tell me, do you devour knowledge as eagerly as the rest of your people are rumored to do?”

You took up the challenge in his tone. “We pride ourselves on it. The mind is a blade that never dulls, after all.”

He regarded you, faint admiration mixing with mischief. “Ah, so your famed composure conceals more than just polite conversation. I wonder, do you ever let yourself be anything less than perfect?”

A spark of something playful lit in your chest. You lowered your voice. “Try me.”

Loki’s eyes widened slightly, as though taken aback by your directness, then a slow grin curved his lips. He patted the space next to him on the broad windowsill. You hopped up beside him, the tension leaving your shoulders. Away from the prying eyes of the court, you felt a familiar sense of relief wash over you.

Perhaps, just this once, you could be something more human—free from the constant parade of princely duties.

Over the subsequent nights, you found yourself seeking Loki’s company more and more. It wasn’t planned, at least not consciously, but you both ended up in the same corners: a deserted wing of the palace gardens, a quiet lounge near the palace’s lesser-known exits, or hidden alcoves in the library. There, you allowed your mask of infallibility to slip. You joked about some of the more ridiculous demands placed upon you and admitted you sometimes grew tired of always being so “polished.” In turn, Loki confided his own struggles—constantly in Thor’s shadow, overlooked or misunderstood in Asgard’s courts.

He made snarky remarks, which you parried with lighthearted wit, leaving you both sharing smirks or muffled laughter. Strangely, these unguarded conversations with Loki felt more genuine than all the lavish banquets you’d ever attended combined.

The more you revealed your true self—playful, at times recklessly curious, occasionally exasperated by royal burdens—the more Loki seemed drawn to you. And you found yourself feeling the same: you craved his clever banter, the keen intelligence sparkling in his eyes, and the subtle vulnerability he tried so hard to hide.

The next day, as Thor escorted you through a grand martial demonstration—showcasing the Einherjar’s prowess—you felt restless. The troops’ synchronized movements were impressive, but your thoughts were elsewhere, recalling the warmth in Loki’s voice the night before, when he’d talked about mastering illusions to carve out his own identity.

When the demonstration ended, Thor draped a friendly arm over your shoulders. “Wasn’t that magnificent?” he boomed.

“Indeed,” you replied, forcing a polite smile. “Your warriors are formidable.”

But the brightness in your eyes didn’t quite reach your heart. Thor seemed to sense something was off. “If there’s anything amiss, please, share it with me.”

You glanced around at the gathered guards, your personal retinue included. Hundreds of eyes, all waiting for your measured response. Your calm, princely façade held. “Thank you, Thor. I’m simply weary from the travel and duties.”

He nodded understandingly, though a shadow of concern flickered in his gaze.

That evening, you found Loki in the secluded palace gardens, standing near a fountain that shimmered under Asgard’s starry sky. He wore his usual emerald cloak, a thoughtful expression on his face. The minute he saw you, he straightened, as though shifting from private thoughts to face the world. “What troubles the great prince of Illyria tonight?” he asked, wry amusement lacing his tone.

You let out a soft, frustrated sigh. “I feel trapped. Everyone sees me as this perfect solution—this polished, ideal figure who will unify Asgard and Illyria. No one cares to see the man underneath.”

Loki studied you intently. “I see the man. The one who challenges me in witty debate, who isn’t afraid to say the wrong thing from time to time—just to see how I’ll respond.”

You smiled faintly. “And you...you don’t treat me like some precious relic. You give me honesty, even if it’s laced with mockery.”

He chuckled, stepping closer. “I don’t mock what I admire. And I do admire you.” His expression turned earnest. “You’re not simply the heir of an all-powerful realm. You’re also…good, decent, and surprisingly humble. Someone who makes me feel—” He swallowed, searching for the words. “Makes me feel understood.”

Your heart thudded in your chest. A strange tenderness gripped you. The night air seemed to crackle with unspoken emotion. In a hushed voice, you spoke: “I never expected to find such kinship here, least of all with you.”

Loki’s eyes flickered. “Nor I with you.”

Then, quietly, he admitted, “Do you know what it’s like—being forever eclipsed by Thor’s light? And now, you arrive, shining like a star in your own right, but instead of drowning me out, you look for me in the shadows.”

Your breath caught. “I see you,” you said, fervent and quiet. “I see your brilliance, Loki. And I can’t help being drawn to it.”

For a moment, the two of you stood there, the fountain’s soft trickle the only sound in the hush of the garden. Then, Loki reached out, his fingers brushing yours in a tentative gesture. “In all my life, I’ve never felt quite so—” he hesitated, then murmured, “I believe I’m falling for you. It’s madness, I know. You’re to wed Thor. Our entire realm stands to benefit from that union. But I can’t deny what’s taken root in my heart.”

Emotions surged through you: elation, longing, and dread, all at once. You carefully entwined your fingers with his. “I feel it too. This is more than mere friendship. Yet duty binds me—I cannot simply break it without risking war between our realms.”

Pain flickered in Loki’s expression, tempered by resignation. “I know,” he whispered. “But for once in my life, I wish destiny would bend.”

You hardly slept that night. Each time you closed your eyes, you felt Loki’s hand interlaced with yours—warm and comforting, yet fraught with the knowledge that this, whatever this had become, could upend two realms. When dawn finally broke, your mind was already spinning with the weight of regret and longing.

You tried telling yourself that it was just a passing moment, a slip in composure. But deep down, you knew better. You’d never felt such a raw pull toward anyone, let alone the “other prince” of Asgard, the one your realm regarded as an afterthought in these negotiations. How was it that Loki—a figure so often relegated to the shadows—was the only one who truly saw you for who you were?

Yet duty loomed larger than ever. The next morning, you donned your ceremonial attire as if it were armor, and forced your lips into polite smiles for the courtiers. Thor greeted you in his usual fashion—boisterous, warm, heavy-handed in his affection. A sharp pang of guilt stabbed at you every time he grinned your way. He saw you as his future partner, the one who would strengthen Asgard’s hold on the realms with Illyria’s might by his side. Only you knew how fragile that notion had become.

Despite the ache in your chest, you made every effort to avoid Loki. You accepted invitations to train with Thor at dawn, to attend council sessions at midday, to endure elaborate banquets well into the evening. Whenever you thought you glimpsed Loki in the corridors or spotted the swish of his emerald cloak, you turned on your heel, heart pounding. If you faced him again, you feared you’d crumble, that you’d let the façade slip and act on feelings you had no right to indulge. But the palace halls had a way of entwining fates that preferred to remain separate. After nearly a week of avoidance—of half-finished nights spent pacing in your chambers—a hushed commotion in the library drew your attention. Voices, low and tense. One was distinctively Thor’s, crackling with anger. The other, undeniably Loki’s, fired back with a sharper, cold retort.

Steeling yourself, you followed the echo, careful not to be seen. Pressed against a gilded column, you could just make out their figures among the tall shelves. Thor’s broad shoulders tensed as he loomed over his brother, voice barely contained.

“Must you always vanish at my betrothed’s approach?” he demanded. “You’re avoiding him as though he’s done you some grave harm.”

Loki’s scoff echoed through the still air. “I do nothing of the sort. Perhaps it’s he who doesn’t wish to see me.”

Your stomach turned. You could practically feel Loki’s pain in his words. Thor let out a frustrated growl, palms slamming against the wooden table. “This alliance is too important to be riddled with your petty resentments. If you have an issue with him, address it, brother. Do not sabotage Asgard’s future through these childish games.”

“Childish games?” Loki repeated in a venomous murmur. “Is it childish to keep my distance, knowing full well that your beloved fiancé is tethered to you for the sake of duty��while he might harbor other…thoughts?” His voice faltered, bitterness lacing every syllable. “Leave me to my ‘games,’ Thor. It’s safer that way.”

Thor opened his mouth to retaliate, but the library doors creaked, heralding the arrival of a group of scholars. With one final glare, the God of Thunder stormed off, leaving Loki behind with his fists clenched at his sides, magic rippling faintly in the tense air. In that fleeting moment, you almost stepped out to speak with Loki—comfort him, maybe. But the memory of your last encounter was too fresh: his trembling whisper, the heartbreak in his eyes. You couldn’t bring yourself to deepen his hurt or your own.

Instead, you retreated quietly, the weight in your heart heavier than ever. You wandered through the corridors like a ghost, ignoring the questioning looks of your Illyrian advisors. They had long since sensed your change in demeanor, but none dared to pry.

Reaching your chambers, you shut the doors behind you and leaned against them, closing your eyes. You pictured Loki’s face when he said, “For once in my life, I wish destiny would bend.” Those words echoed louder with each passing day. Part of you wanted to grasp destiny with both hands and force it to bend, to let the alliance shift to a new shape—one where duty and love weren’t at odds. But each time your resolve flared, an avalanche of responsibility bore down on you, reminding you of every soldier, every citizen, and every promise the marriage was supposed to uphold.

Time offered no mercy. Another week slipped by. Another feast, another council meeting, another swirl of illusions you maintained for appearances’ sake. Loki’s absence, once a mild inconvenience, now felt like a gaping void you couldn’t ignore. Where was he? The few times you spied him in the distance, your heart leapt in your chest only to sink when he vanished like smoke.

In the still nights, lying awake in the grand bed that never felt like home, you replayed every moment spent with him—his cutting humor, his intelligent gaze, the unexpected warmth in his laughter when you managed to draw it out. You ached to see him again, if only to know he was well. But the walls built by duty and guilt felt insurmountable.

Your arranged wedding was edging closer, each day ticking away like a drumbeat of war. The entire realm would gather to watch Asgard’s golden prince wed Illyria’s graceful heir, sealing an alliance that would alter the power balance in the cosmos. It was inevitable—or so Odin and your own father insisted. You were a prince of Illyria; your life was never entirely your own.

Yet, despite everything, you couldn’t banish the memory of Loki’s eyes. The longing there, the unspoken promise of something more real than any throne or realm could grant you. Perhaps it was too late to turn back. Perhaps the best you could do now was shield him from the heartbreak that would inevitably come. If that meant sacrificing your own happiness—well, princes were often required to make such sacrifices.

Or so you tried to tell yourself, night after endless night.

But a small, traitorous spark of hope still flickered in the depths of your chest, refusing to die. A whisper that said there might be another way. A path where duty and desire could coexist, if only you were bold enough to claim it. Yet for now, you remained paralyzed by doubt and fear, uncertain how—or if—you could change the fate that had already been written for you.

[nickysmama]

also!! just notice the way they watch each other here. in the first gif, rio is just staring at agatha, until we see agatha’s shoulders visibly relax. only then does rio (her protective wife!!) look away, content that she’ll be okay with all that attention on her.

and in the second gif, we see them looking at each other, hesitant. it’s only when rio breaks out into that amused grin that agatha lets herself smile; because she knows that if rio’s smiling about it, she isn’t going to get hurt.

Excuse me,

The way Rio looks away first. And then this?

How she looks at Agatha again and how Agatha looks at Rio. And how both of them are laughing because Agatha is gonna tell a story she defently knows about? Because Rio defently knew that story and it wouldn't even suprise me if she was there back then.

Because the laughs and their acting around eachother during that scene. And these looks. Rio looking away and Agatha looking at Rio. Both thinking about the same thing. You can see they remember something no one knows about.

They're so soft there without even noticing it.

[navybrat817]

Please for ficlet friday V-day edition...Nick Fowler and

“I don’t care who they are, I never want to see you talking to them again!”

I decided to make a small follow up to All Nighter, lovely! Hope you enjoy!

Micromanager

Pairing: Soft!Dark Nick Fowler x Female Reader

Summary: Nick doesn't like you talking to another man.

Word Count: Over 720

Warnings: Sexual harassment, possessive behavior, jealousy, tension, noncon kissing and implied noncon, Nick Fowler (he's a warning, okay?)

A/N: Not beta read and written on my phone, so any and all mistakes are my own. Divider by the talented @saradika-graphics . Please follow @navybrat817-sideblog new fics and notifications. Comments, reblogs, feedback are loved and appreciated!

“Is there anything else I can get for you, Mr. Barnes?” you asked, setting his water and a manila folder on the spare desk.

“Please, call me Bucky,” he said, scooting his chair in so he could look over the file. “And this is fine, thank you.”

Bucky Barnes worked for SHIELD instead of the CIA. The organizations worked together from time to time, and it usually wasn't by choice. Too much ego, too many secrets each wanted to keep from the other. It probably explained why Nick had been in a mood before Bucky showed up and you couldn't imagine that it would improve much once he left.

Good or bad mood, you were going to be on the receiving end of whatever it is he was feeling.

“Well, let me know if you do, Bucky,” you smiled.

“I will,” he gently smiled back, his gaze lingering as you went back to your desk.

The soldier was extremely handsome, his blue eyes kinder than your boss’s. He was bigger than your boss, too. Stronger. He seemed like a decent man overall and you wanted to ask his help, but you didn't. You couldn't.

What would you say if you did? That the Director of the CIA became fixated with you and was harassing you? Forcing you to continue to work for him because he decided you were his?

Your heart sank when you heard your name behind you. Turning, you saw Nick standing in the doorway and expected to meet his gaze since he called for you. Your boss, however, glared at Bucky. He looked like he was two seconds from putting a bullet in his head.

“Yes, Mr. Fowler?” you asked to get his attention, something you didn't want, but it was better than him staring daggers at Bucky.

He blinked and slowly looked your way. “Can I please see you in my office?” he asked, a pit forming in your stomach when you got to your feet. “Barnes, you can continue looking over that file down the hall. Room 3.”

Bucky looked up with a frown. “I don't mind looking-”

“That wasn't a suggestion. That was an order,” he cut him off, a dark smile on his face. “You know all about following orders, right?”

Bucky’s nostrils flared when he shut the folder and stood, but he gave you a soft smile. “When your asshole of a boss is done talking to you, could you please bring me another water to Room 3? I’d appreciate it.”

Your mouth fell open and you merely looked between the men as they narrowed their eyes at each other. Not many were bold enough to call Nick an asshole to his face. There was history there that went beyond organization rivalry, and the longer they stared, the more uncomfortable you felt.

The staring contest finally ended when Bucky gave you one last smile and took his leave, but you felt like you couldn't breathe.

Nick gripped your arm once you were alone, pulled you into his office and shut the door. Your heart thundered in your chest when he locked it. “You were being very friendly with Barnes, weren't you?”

“I was treating him like every other guest,” you said evenly, wincing when he pulled you closer.

“Sir,” Nick said through his teeth.

“Sir,” you whispered, more frightened than you felt since he first made his intentions clear. “Please, let me go.”

“Why? So you can run to him?” he asked, backing you against the door and caging you in. Did he sense that you thought about asking him for help? “You’re mine. Not his.”

You didn't want to belong to Nick. “I know. He works for SHIELD and I was just-”

“I don't care who he is. I never want to see you talking to him again!”

You closed your eyes when his breath fanned your lips. Nick had an air of cockiness around him, but you had never seen his jealous side. It frightened you.

“Don’t be scared, sweetheart,” he whispered, some of his anger dissipating before he kissed you. A mark of ownership. “Just stay the fuck away from Bucky Barnes.”

“Yes, sir,” you whispered, shivers wracking your body when he kissed you again.

Because you were going to feel every ounce of Nick’s jealousy before the day was through.

Love and thanks for participating! ❤️

Masterlist ⚓ Ko-Fi

[gf2bellamy]

Hi, I love your Spencer fics, literally bright up my days every time I read one.

I was wondering if you could do one where bau!reader is obsessed every time Spencer wear his glasses (S2 Spencer is my weakness) like reader gets so flustered and shy when he’s around. And he KNOWS IT and he secretly does it because he likes to see reader all flushed and shy. It could be tooth-rotting sweet and the slowest of burns. I love shit like that 🤭

You can do whatever it feels right, I’m sure I’m gonna love it whatever you chose to write 💜

Thank youuuu so much ✨

glasses — spencer reid

pairing: spencer reid x reader ( no use of y/n ) content warnings: mention of an old case , a/n: i had the best time writing this bc i fear i relate to reader too much

“Oh, God,” you mumbled under your breath as you walked into the conference room with Elle.

There he was. Spencer Reid. Sitting at the table, his glasses perched on his nose, his focus entirely on the file in front of him. Your heart skipped a beat at the sight of him, and you had to force yourself to keep walking, to not just stop and stare. 

Elle chuckled softly beside you, clearly noticing your reaction. “Well, this is going to be a fun day,” she said, her teasing as she gave you a playful look.

She headed straight for a seat, deliberately leaving the one next to Spencer free. Of course she did. You shot her a quick glare, but she just smirked, clearly enjoying herself. 

You hesitated for a moment, your stomach doing a little flip as you slowly made your way toward the empty seat. Spencer glanced up as you approached, his lips curving into a warm smile as you sat down next to him.

“Good morning,” he greeted you, his voice soft and warm, and your breath literally caught in your throat.

Why did he have to look so good with glasses on? It wasn’t fair. 

It took you a second too long to realize you were just staring at him like an idiot. “Hi, hello, morning,” you blurted out, your words tumbling over each other in your rush to respond.

You mentally face-palmed yourself. Smooth. Really smooth. 

But Spencer didn’t seem to notice your awkwardness—or if he did, he was too polite to mention it. He just smiled at you again before turning his attention back to the front of the room, where JJ was beginning to brief the team on the case. You were grateful for the distraction.

If Spencer had looked at you for even a second longer, you were pretty sure you would’ve passed out on the spot. 

As JJ started talking, you tried to focus on the case details, but it was hard when Spencer was sitting right next to you.

Every time he adjusted his glasses or scribbled something in his notebook, you had to force yourself to look away, to not get caught staring again. 

Elle, of course, was no help. Every time you glanced in her direction, she was smirking at you, clearly enjoying your struggle. You made a mental note to get her back later, but for now, you were too busy trying to keep your composure. 

The universe, it seemed, had it out for you.

Just thirty minutes later, you found yourself sitting in your usual window seat on the jet. But then, of course, Spencer sat down right next to you. Again. You mentally face-palmed yourself.

Why does this keep happening? 

Spencer turned to you, his glasses catching the light as he adjusted them slightly. “So, what are you reading this week?” he asked, his tone curious.

The two of you always talked about the books you were reading—it was kind of your thing—and since you hadn’t seen each other over the weekend, he was clearly eager to catch up. 

You looked up at him, and immediately regretted it.

Bad idea. Terrible idea. Awful idea.

Oh my God, how does someone look this good? The way his glasses framed his eyes, the way his hair fell just so, the way he was looking at you with that soft, expectant smile—it was too much.

The blush crept up your neck and spread across your cheeks as you quickly averted your gaze, trying to remember how to form words. 

“I, uh—” you started, your mind going completely blank. What the hell were you reading? Suddenly, you couldn’t remember a single book you’d ever read in your entire life. Your brain had officially decided to betray you. 

Spencer seemed to notice your struggle. “Oh, have you finished Lord of the Flies yet?” he asked, practically throwing you a lifeline.

“Oh, right, that book,” you said, nodding a little too enthusiastically as you toyed with the sleeve of your sweater. “No, I haven’t finished it yet.”

Spencer watched you, a small, knowing smile creeping up on his face. He might be oblivious to a lot of things—like social cues and subtle hints —but he was most definitely not oblivious to how you reacted to him when he wore glasses.

He’d noticed the way your eyes lingered on him, the way your cheeks flushed, the way you stumbled over your words. And, if he was being honest with himself, he kind of liked it. 

His smile grew wider as he saw you toying with your sleeve, a nervous habit you always had when you were flustered. It was endearing, really, and he couldn’t help but feel a little smug knowing he was the cause of it. But as much as he enjoyed seeing you like this, he decided to give you a break.

For now. 

“Well, I’ve been reading—” Spencer started, seamlessly shifting the conversation as he launched into a ramble about the latest book he’d picked up.

As Spencer continued, you noticed the way his glasses slipped down his nose every so often, and how he’d push them back up without even thinking about it. It was such a small, mundane gesture, but for some reason, it made your heart skip a beat.

Did you also mention that the universe had it out for you?

Because it seemed like your wonderful unit chief, Aaron Hotchner, had decided to join in on the cosmic joke. As the team gathered to discuss the next steps in the case, Hotch turned to you and Spencer with that calm, authoritative tone of his. “Since this is an old case, we’ll need to go through the archived files. You two will handle that. The rest of us will focus on the new leads.” 

Your stomach dropped. Of course.

Of course Hotch thought it would be a great idea to pair you and Spencer together. The case you were working on was an old one, which meant hours—possibly days—of sifting through dusty boxes of files, reports, and evidence logs.

And you’d be doing it in a small, confined room. With Spencer. Who would undoubtedly be wearing his glasses. 

The idea of being stuck in close quarters with him, surrounded by stacks of paperwork, while he looked unfairly good in those glasses, sounded like a special kind of hell. You could already feel your cheeks heating up at the thought. 

As Hotch finished speaking, Elle glanced at you, her lips curling into a knowing smile. She raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying your predicament. You shot her a frown, silently pleading for her to stop, but she just smirked and gave you a subtle thumbs-up.

Traitor, you thought. 

An hour later, you were settled in the small, dimly lit room, surrounded by stacks of case files and boxes of evidence. The two of you worked side by side, the silence occasionally broken by Spencer’s ramblings about the case.

You tried to focus, you really did, but every time he adjusted his glasses or leaned over to show you something, your brain short-circuited a little. 

At some point, Spencer stood up and left the room, leaving you alone with your thoughts and the mountain of paperwork.

You took the opportunity to fan your face and mutter a quick, “Get it together,” under your breath.

But just as you were starting to regain your composure, he returned, holding two cups of coffee. 

“Here,” he said, handing you one of the cups. “Be careful, it’s hot.” 

Your fingers brushed slightly as you took the cup from him, and you almost dropped the entire thing. Yep, you were officially incapable of doing anything when he was looking at you with those glasses on.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper as you took your first sip. 

Big mistake. The coffee was hot. Like, scalding-your-tongue, why-did-I-do-this kind of hot. But at least he got your order right. He always did.

As you kept working, the two of you eventually found yourselves sorting through the same box. Your hands brushed more than once as you exchanged small comments about the case, each touch sending tiny sparks up your arm. You tried to ignore it, focusing instead on the pages in front of you. 

“Wait, look at this,” you said, flipping open a file. “Isn’t that—” you paused, scanning the document. “Isn’t that connected to—” 

Spencer leaned in, peering over your shoulder. His breath was warm against your skin, and suddenly, you forgot what you were even saying. 

“No, wrong year,” he pointed out, his voice low and right next to your ear. 

“Oh—oh, right.” You blinked, forcing yourself to focus. “Didn’t see that.” 

But then you made a mistake. A terrible, life-altering mistake. You turned your head to glance at him, and—oh. Oh no. 

You were close. Too close. His face was right there, mere inches away. The soft glow of the desk lamp reflected off his glasses, highlighting his features, his slightly parted lips, the look in his eyes as he studied you. 

Panic surged through you. Nope. Nope, absolutely not. Your heart kicked into overdrive, and before you could stop yourself, you whipped your head back toward the file so fast you nearly gave yourself whiplash. 

Spencer didn’t move away. If anything, his lips quirked up slightly, amused. Oh, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

And then, before your brain could filter your thoughts, the words tumbled out. 

“You need to stop doing that.” 

The moment they left your mouth, you bit your tongue, regretting them instantly. 

Spencer raised an eyebrow, that infuriatingly small, knowing smile playing at the corners of his lips. “Doing what?” 

You opened your mouth, then closed it. Because what were you supposed to say? Looking ridiculously good in glasses? Standing too close? Making my brain short-circuit every time you exist? 

You dropped a file onto the table with a dull thud, turning to face him—oh, big mistake. Your brain short-circuited. Again.

Completely empty. Nothing. Not a single coherent thought in sight.

But somehow, by some miracle, you managed to get one word out. 

“That,” you muttered, forcing yourself to look away again. 

Spencer was enjoying this. You could feel it. He was getting closer—closer to making you say it out loud, the thing he knew you were dancing around. And God help you, the teasing glint in his eyes told you he wasn’t about to let this go. 

“That?” he echoed, feigning innocence, his voice lilting in playful curiosity. 

You swallowed hard. He was pretending not to know, dragging this out like some kind of game. And you made the fatal mistake of looking at him again. 

That was it. Game over. 

Your eyes locked onto his, and the world around you seemed to blur. The corners of his lips were twitching like he was holding back a smirk. The glasses only made it worse—made him worse. The soft glow of the desk lamp reflected against them as he waited for you to crack. 

And, of course, you did. 

“God, where are your contacts?” you blurted out before you could stop yourself. 

The moment the words left your mouth, your stomach dropped. Oh. Oh no. 

Spencer blinked, then—he laughed. 

You shut your eyes, mortified. Maybe if you pretended hard enough, the universe would grant you a reset button. 

But no. That wasn’t happening. 

You forced yourself to open your eyes again, only to find him looking down at you, his face still lit up with amusement, his lips curled into a small, knowing smile. 

“I left them at home,” Spencer said, his voice still carrying traces of laughter. 

Then, as if to drive the dagger even deeper, he added, “I thought you liked my glasses better.” 

Your mouth fell open. 

What. 

There were no thoughts. Only static. 

Spencer tilted his head again, watching your reaction with barely concealed amusement. You could practically feel the smugness radiating off of him, and it was infuriating. 

“I—what—” you stammered, unable to form a single cohesive sentence. 

His grin widened. Yeah, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

And you? You were done for. 

You opened and closed your mouth like a fish out of water, desperately searching for a response—any response—that wouldn’t make you sound like a complete idiot. But your brain had officially abandoned you. 

Spencer just stood there, watching you with that infuriating little smirk, completely and utterly enjoying himself. 

“Oh my God,” you groaned, dragging a hand down your face. “You know what you’re doing.” 

Spencer blinked at you innocently. Too innocently. “I really don’t,” he said, but his tone was dripping with amusement. 

You squinted at him, crossing your arms. “You do.” 

His lips twitched. “Do I?” 

You let out an exasperated sigh, turning away as if that would help you escape this absolute nightmare of a conversation. But you weren’t that lucky. 

Because, of course, Spencer took a step closer. 

Your heart nearly stopped. 

The small archive room suddenly felt way too small. The scent of his cologne, the warmth radiating off of him—it was all-consuming, and your body reacted before your brain could catch up. You stiffened, fingers tightening around the file you’d completely forgotten you were holding. 

Spencer’s voice dropped just slightly, lower, smoother, as he leaned in a fraction closer. “So… you don’t like my glasses?” 

You turned back to him, already shaking your head. “I didn’t say that.” 

“Hmm.” He tapped a thoughtful finger against his chin. “So you do like them.” 

You gasped. “That’s not—” You stopped yourself before you could dig your own grave even deeper. 

But Spencer was grinning now. He had you. He knew he had you. 

“You’re blushing,” he pointed out, oh so smugly. 

“Am not,” you shot back immediately. Which was a bold lie, considering your face felt like it was on fire. 

Spencer’s grin widened. “You are.” 

You groaned, letting your head fall back in defeat. “You’re insufferable.” 

“I’ve been told,” he said, completely unbothered. 

For a moment, you just stood there, arms crossed, staring him down like you could somehow will him into dropping this whole thing. But Spencer Reid was nothing if not persistent. And very entertained. 

Finally, you sighed, deciding the only way out of this was to own it. “Fine.” You lifted your chin. “Maybe I do like your glasses. So what?” 

Spencer’s eyes lit up, and you immediately regretted saying anything at all. 

“Oh,” he said, slow and teasing, his voice practically dripping with satisfaction. “That’s… interesting.” 

You scowled. “Shut up.” 

He just beamed. “I didn’t say anything.” 

“You’re thinking things.” 

“I think things all the time.” 

You let out an exasperated sigh, shoving a case file into his chest. “Read, Dr. Reid. Before I murder you with this very heavy binder.” 

Spencer chuckled, pushing his glasses up his nose. “Anything to distract you from my unbearable attractiveness, I suppose.” 

Your jaw dropped. “Spencer!” 

But he was already flipping through the file like nothing had happened, looking far too pleased with himself. 

And you? You were never going to live this down. 

[movingmusically]

Hi can you do a fluffy where austin and reader fell in love while shooting caught stealing and they are on their press tour together and the people are starting to speculate about their relationship through their chemistry and when austin is in a talk show to promote he gets emotional while talking about her which basically confirms their relationship and please make it in an austin pov

Word Count: 5,893

Masterlist

Rumour Has It

Press tours are a machine. Same schedule, different city. Hotels that all look the same, blacked-out car windows, cameras waiting at every stop. I know the rhythm. I know when to turn it on, when to let the words fall out in a way that sounds effortless.

It’s a strange thing, sitting in the same chair all day while a rotation of journalists shuffle in and out, asking variations of the same ten questions. Most of the time, I can answer on autopilot, let the words settle into well-worn grooves.

But this time, it’s different.

Because Y/N is here.

And suddenly, the hours don’t drag the way they usually do.

Maybe it’s the way she nudges my knee under the table when she senses I’m zoning out, like she knows exactly when I need to be pulled back. Maybe it’s the way she always seems to have a second coffee waiting for me, despite insisting she doesn’t enable my caffeine addiction. Maybe it’s the way she laughs—really laughs—not just when the cameras are rolling, but when I catch her off guard, something quiet and unrestrained that makes my chest feel too full.

Or maybe it’s the fact that I spent the night with her.

I’m careful—don’t look at her too much, don’t lean in too close—but still, it’s there. The weight of it. The way my body feels aware of hers, even when I’m not touching her.

She nudges my knee with hers, just a small tap. “You look like you’re about to pass out.”

I huff a quiet laugh, tilting my head toward her. “And you look suspiciously awake for someone who barely slept.”

There’s a beat where her lips press together like she’s trying not to smile. Then, smoothly, she lifts the coffee cup to her lips. “Sheer willpower.”

The next journalist is already settling into their chair, a producer giving them the go-ahead to start.

“Alright,” the interviewer says, beaming. “So, Caught Stealing is such a unique, character-driven story. It’s dark, but not in a flashy way—it’s lived-in, messy, raw. What was it about this film that drew you both in?”

A safe, easy question.

Y/N takes it first, shifting slightly in her seat. “The characters, honestly. The way their relationships are constantly shifting, how nothing is simple. There’s no easy hero, no clean resolution. It felt real.”

I nod. “Yeah. It’s not just about a guy who gets in over his head—it’s about what that does to the people around him. How every choice he makes has a ripple effect. Nothing exists in isolation.”

The journalist nods, jotting something down, but their gaze lingers on us a beat too long. I recognise that look.

The I’m not here to ask about your chemistry, but I see it anyway look.

Because it keeps happening. Every time Y/N glances at me mid-answer, like she’s checking if I agree. Every time I catch myself mirroring the way she shifts in her chair. Every time we break at the same time over something small—a joke that wasn’t really a joke, a word that came out weird, a memory that doesn’t need explaining.

“So, I’ve seen an early cut of the film,” the journalist continues, flipping through their notes, “and I think what really makes it so compelling is how lived-in these performances feel. Nothing feels rehearsed, everything just... moves naturally. Did you two spend a lot of time together before filming?”

Y/N and I glance at each other at the same time.

And then—it happens.

That thing where we have a conversation without having a conversation. A flicker of amusement in her eyes, a twitch of my lips in response. A silent should we mess with them?

She bites back a smile. “Well, we met before filming,” she says lightly.

I hum, pretending to think. “Yeah. Darren got us together for dinner so we could talk about the script.”

Y/N groans, leaning forward. “Oh my God, I forgot about that.”

I raise an eyebrow. “Forgot?”

She places a hand on her chest, feigning sincerity. “I blocked it out.”

I let out a quiet laugh, shaking my head. “You’re so full of it.”

The journalist chuckles, glancing between us. Their posture shifts—more relaxed now, like they’ve stopped trying to decipher something and have simply settled into the reality of it.

It happens in almost every interview.

No one asks about chemistry, but they see it. It’s in the way our movements fall into sync without trying. It’s in the way Y/N mutters something under her breath when the next question is a little too serious, and the way I exhale a laugh before I can stop myself. It’s in the way we don’t overthink it, even when everyone else does.

The next question comes, but I only half-hear it, because suddenly, I'm remembering.

That first dinner.

The first time I saw her.

Darren had chosen some quiet little restaurant in the West Village, the kind of place with handwritten menus and candle wax pooling in the centre of the tables.

I got there first, early enough to check my phone three times, drink half a glass of water, and wonder if showing up early made me look too eager.

Then the door opened.

And Y/N had walked in.

She was slightly breathless from the cold, scarf slipping from her shoulders as she unwrapped it, tucking her gloves into her bag.

“Hey,” she’d said, flashing a quick smile.

I stood up automatically—I don’t know why, it just felt right—offering my hand.

She took it, fingers warm. “Y/N.”

“Austin.”

Her lips twitched. “Yeah, I figured.”

Darren arrived moments later, launching straight into the script—breaking down the themes, the character dynamics, what made this different from other films in the same space.

But I wasn’t fully listening.

Because Y/N had pulled out a notebook, flipping past scribbled-out words and margin notes, and suddenly, I was captivated.

“What’s that?” I asked.

She’d glanced up. “Just—thoughts on Yvonne. Stuff I don’t wanna forget.”

I leaned forward slightly. “Like what?”

She hesitated, then turned the notebook toward me. A half-filled page, little arrows linking thoughts together.

Wants to leave, but stays. Doesn’t trust him, but can’t let go. Is it love, or just familiar?

She spoke, voice softer now. “You don’t think she’s stupid for going back, do you?”

I looked at her then, really looked at her.

“No,” I said. “I think she’s just human.”

And that was it.

That was the moment it clicked.

“—Austin?”

I blink, snapping back to the present. The journalist is looking at me expectantly. Y/N is hiding a knowing smile behind her coffee cup.

“Sorry,” I say, clearing my throat. “What was the question?”

And just like that, I’m here.

With her.

And suddenly, press tours don’t feel so exhausting after all.

Another city, another wave of interviews.

I barely register which one anymore. The cycle repeats itself—airport, hotel, press junket, premiere. Somewhere in between, I sleep just enough to keep functioning, drink enough coffee to keep from crashing. It should feel exhausting. Maybe it is. But this time, there’s Y/N. She makes it easier.

It’s in the way she always has some inside joke ready to throw at me when the energy in the room starts to dip, the way she leans in a little too close when she laughs, eyes bright with something mischievous, like she knows exactly what she’s doing. And maybe she does.

We’ve slipped into a rhythm now, something easy and unspoken, something that doesn’t need rehearsing. The interviews blur together, but I can still pinpoint the exact moment in each one when she catches my eye, when my response shifts just slightly because I’m talking to her now instead of the room.

And people are noticing.

I can feel it—not just in the way interviewers hesitate a second too long before moving on, but in the way the internet is running wild with it.

I don’t look at the posts. Not directly, anyway.

But Callum does.

My phone buzzes during a break between interviews, and when I check it, there’s a message waiting for me.

You guys are the internet’s new favourite obsession.

I frown, scrolling up. He’s sent a link.

I shouldn’t click it.

I click it.

It’s a tweet. One of those slowed-down edits, the kind people put together when they’ve decided to make something out of nothing. Except—it’s not nothing.

Clips from the press tour, spliced together like evidence in some case file. Y/N laughing at something I said. Me turning toward her at the same time she turns toward me. The way my hand lingers a second too long on her back before we pose for pictures. A moment where we both start speaking at the same time, cut together with a voiceover about “soulmates always mirroring each other.”

The caption reads:

They think they’re being subtle. They are not.

I lock my phone and shove it into my pocket before I can spiral.

It’s not that deep.

Except—it kind of is.

Because it looks exactly how it feels.

It’s always felt like this, hasn’t it?

The thought sticks, lingers like something just out of reach, and suddenly, I’m not here anymore.

I’m back in New York.

Back in a darkened theatre.

Darren had suggested it. Said we should see Y/N’s play before filming started.

“She’s good,” he’d said. “Better than good. You’ll see.”

I’d nodded, agreed, gone in expecting to be impressed.

I hadn’t expected to be ruined.

She stepped onto the stage like she belonged there, and for the next two hours, I forgot about everything else. Forgot why I was there, forgot who I was supposed to be.

There was a moment—halfway through the second act—where her character stood in the centre of the stage, framed by dim, moody lighting, and she wasn’t even speaking. She was just there.

And somehow, that was enough.

The audience was silent, caught in the gravity of it, but I could feel my own breath sticking in my throat, my hands tightening around the armrests.

Because I wasn’t watching her as a director would. Or a co-star. Or even as an actor admiring another actor’s performance.

I was watching her as something else.

And that scared the hell out of me.

Then the moment broke. The scene shifted, the lights changed, the spell lifted.

But something stayed.

Something stuck.

After the final bow, Darren and I waited backstage. When she walked out, eyes still bright with adrenaline, she spotted us instantly.

“Austin?”

I grinned. “Hey, superstar.”

Her smile widened. “You came.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it.”

Something shifted then.

Something that’s only gotten stronger since.

I blink, the theatre fading, the present snapping back into focus. Y/N, sitting across from me, scrolling through her phone like she doesn’t know I was just somewhere else entirely. Like she has no idea I was just remembering the first time she wrecked me without even trying. I run a hand over my jaw, exhale slowly. Maybe I should let this go. Maybe I should stop overthinking it.

Or maybe—maybe it’s too late for that.

We’re in a different city now, a different room, but everything blends together—same setup, same questions. Except this time, we’re sitting on the floor. And this time, there are puppies.

A producer counts down, “We’re rolling in three, two—”

Before they even hit one, there’s barking, followed by the unmistakable sound of tiny paws skidding across the floor. A handful of golden retriever puppies burst into the room, tails wagging, tripping over each other in their rush toward us.

Y/N lets out a dramatic gasp, eyes going wide as one immediately scrambles into her lap, burying its face against her sweater. “This is the best day of my life!”

I laugh, already struggling to keep hold of one that’s climbing up my chest like it has somewhere important to be. “I don’t think we’re getting through a single question.”

The interviewer chuckles. “We’ll do our best. First one—what’s something you learned about each other while filming?”

Y/N hums, absentmindedly scratching behind the puppy’s ear. “Austin has an insane memory. Like, borderline freaky. He’d hear a line once and know it perfectly. And all of my lines, too.”

I shrug. “Or maybe you just forgot yours a lot.”

She gasps, pressing a hand to her chest. “The slander.”

I smirk, nudging her shoulder with mine.

The interviewer shakes his head, amused. “I feel like you two just communicate in banter at this point.”

Y/N sighs dramatically, cradling the puppy against her. “It’s our love language.”

It happens before I can stop it—a flicker of something in my chest, a second where my breath catches before I smooth it over.

I don’t react.

I definitely don’t react.

But later, the internet catches it—the way my fingers freeze for just a second before I move again.

By the time we get to London, the speculation is already spiralling.

At Radio 1, Greg James grins as he leans into the mic. “Alright, we’re gonna play Unpopular Opinion. You two ready?”

Y/N adjusts her mic. “Born ready.”

A listener’s voice crackles through the speakers.

“I think tea is overrated.”

Y/N’s reaction is instant. She sits up so fast she nearly knocks over her drink, outrage etched across her face. “Get. Out.”

Greg bursts into laughter. “This might be the most visceral reaction we’ve ever had.”

I shake my head, grinning. “I knew that was gonna set you off.”

“I’m actually upset,” Y/N says, turning to me. “Tea is a lifestyle.”

I shrug, smirking. “I mean, I’m a coffee guy, so…”

Her head whips toward me, genuine betrayal in her eyes. “And I thought I knew you.”

Greg loses it.

The internet follows.

- I THOUGHT I KNEW YOU?? THEY’RE MARRIED. - She reacts like he personally betrayed her, and he just smirks through it. - Austin being a little shit and Y/N getting dramatic about tea… classic.

Snack Wars is worse.

It starts harmlessly enough. A debate over crisps versus chips, a minor disagreement about the correct way to eat a scone. But then—

Then it happens.

I bite into a Jaffa Cake and immediately make a face.

“What is this texture?”

Y/N gasps, horrified. “How dare you?”

“It’s like it can’t decide if it wants to be a cookie or a cake,” I insist, chewing slowly.

She shakes her head like I’ve personally offended her. “You don’t deserve British snacks.”

I smirk. “Say that again after you try this peanut butter cup.”

She takes a bite.

And then—she moans.

The room freezes.

I stare. My brain completely short-circuits. It’s one second, maybe two, but it’s enough. Enough for heat to prickle at the back of my neck, for my thoughts to spin somewhere I really, really shouldn’t be going right now. I force myself to blink. To swallow. To not react.

The crew laughs.

Y/N turns red. “Oh my God.”

I recover before she does, settling back in my chair with a smug grin. “Yeah. That’s what I thought.”

The TikTok edits hit the internet before we even leave the studio.

- The way Austin looked at her when she moaned over a peanut butter cup?? Sir. - Y/N making an accidental NSFW noise and Austin malfunctioning? Top-tier content.

I don’t check the posts.

Not really.

But later that night, as I scroll through my phone in my hotel room, I can feel it sinking in.

This is getting harder to hide.

And maybe… maybe I don’t want to anymore.

The London premiere is tomorrow. We should be getting some sleep. Instead, I’m lying on my hotel bed, staring at my phone, watching the internet completely lose its mind.

I knew the speculation was getting out of hand, but now it’s everywhere. The TikTok edits, the slowed-down clips, the tweet threads analysing our every move.

- They literally breathe in sync. This is not normal co-star behaviour. - Austin leans into her every time she speaks and it’s driving me insane. - The way he LOOKED at her after the peanut butter cup?? Sir, do you have something you’d like to tell the class?

I sigh, running a hand down my face.

Callum’s latest text sits at the top of my notifications.

Not to alarm you, mate, but the internet is in full FBI mode.

I shouldn’t click the link.

I do anyway.

It’s another edit—this time, someone’s taken clips from the press tour and layered them with a soft, romantic score.

Me laughing at something Y/N said. Her looking at me before finishing a sentence, like she’s checking my reaction. The way my hand lingers too long on her back before we pose for pictures. The moment in the Buzzfeed interview, when I freeze for just a second after she says love language.

It looks…

It looks exactly how it feels.

I lock my phone and toss it onto the nightstand like it’s burning a hole in my palm. I know what’s happening. I’ve spent enough time in this industry to recognise when something is slipping out of my hands. It’s not just edits and slowed-down clips anymore.

People know.

And maybe it wouldn’t bother me if it wasn’t true.

Maybe it wouldn’t make my chest feel tight if every single clip didn’t look like a confession.

There’s a soft knock on my hotel room door. I don’t even have to ask who it is. I open it, and Y/N is standing there, barefoot, hair still damp from the shower. She’s wearing a hoodie that isn’t hers. It’s mine.

She exhales a small laugh when she sees my expression. “You look like you just saw a ghost.”

I shake my head, stepping aside to let her in. “The internet’s insane.”

She moves past me, curling up on the couch without waiting for an invitation. Her legs tuck beneath her, and she reaches for the TV remote like she belongs here. Like this is normal. And maybe that’s the problem.

It is.

It’s the easiest thing in the world to let her stay, to sit beside her, to lose a few more hours in this quiet, private version of us that no one else gets to see. But how much longer can we pretend it’s still a secret?

I lean against the back of the couch, rubbing a hand over my jaw. “You seen the posts?”

She raises an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips. “Which ones? The ones calling me the girl who made a peanut butter cup sound R-rated, or the ones diagnosing you with unhinged heart-eyes syndrome?”

I huff out a quiet laugh, tipping my head back. “Both, apparently.”

She grins, but it softens at the edges. Like she knows what I’m actually asking. Like she knows this is getting harder.

There’s a long silence before she shifts slightly, one foot nudging against my knee. “Does it bother you?”

I don’t answer right away.

Because the truth is—I don’t know.

I should say yes. I should say we should be more careful.

But sitting here, watching her pull my hoodie over her hands, watching the way she fits so easily into my space—

I think I stopped caring the second she walked through that door.

I glance at her, my voice quieter now. “Does it bother you?”

She watches me for a beat. Then she just shakes her head.

“No,” she says simply.

And that’s the end of it.

The next night, the speculation is at a breaking point. I feel it the second we step onto the red carpet. The questions aren’t direct, but the way the reporters phrase them—it’s careful, curious.

"How was it working together?"

"Did you two always have that natural chemistry?"

Y/N laughs at something a reporter says, tilting her head up to look at me.

I smile back at her without thinking, and the camera flashes go off like fireworks.

I don’t have to check Twitter to know what’s being said.

At this point, they should just hold hands and put us out of our misery.

And the thing is—I want to.

Not yet. But soon. I can feel it creeping up on me, the inevitability of it.

Just like I felt it that day on set.

It was one of the final days of filming.

We were outside, crammed into the narrow space between two graffiti-covered buildings. The scene was a turning point—our characters finally giving in to everything they’d been denying.

The kiss was scripted.

We’d rehearsed it, blocked every movement. I knew where to put my hands, how to tilt my head to stay in frame, how to match her rhythm without stepping on it.

But when the cameras rolled, it felt like none of that mattered.

She stepped closer, her breath just brushing my neck, and suddenly the world shrank. It wasn’t the set anymore. It wasn’t the crew, or the lights, or the dozen people standing just out of frame.

It was just her.

When her lips met mine, it was deliberate but soft, the kind of kiss that says everything without words. My hands slid around her waist, pulling her closer without even thinking.

And then—just for a second—she used her tongue.

It wasn’t in the script.

I don’t think she even meant to do it—just a fleeting touch, tentative, like she’d caught herself halfway through. But it was enough.

It was enough to make my grip tighten on her waist, enough for me to tilt my head deeper into the kiss, lifting her slightly onto her toes without realising I’d done it.

Her fingers curled into the front of my jacket, her breath hitching against my mouth before she eased back, just barely breaking the kiss.

The director didn’t call cut right away. We stayed in it longer than we were supposed to, neither of us pulling back until the moment dissolved around us.

When it was over, Y/N stepped back, her breathing a little uneven, her eyes just barely meeting mine before she turned away.

I stayed where I was, frozen, trying to pull myself out of it.

I didn’t know what to do with what I was feeling.

Later, I was sitting in the corner of my trailer, still trying to piece myself back together, when she knocked.

She didn’t wait for me to answer.

The door creaked open, and there she was, still in costume, her hair loose around her face.

“You okay?”

Her voice was soft—quieter than usual, like she didn’t want to spook me.

I nodded, but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t trust myself to.

She stepped inside, closing the door behind her. “You sure? Because you’ve been in here for, like, an hour.”

I looked at her then, and the words just spilled out. “That scene…”

She leaned against the edge of the couch, her arms crossed. “What about it?”

“It felt…” I trailed off, trying to find the right word.

Her gaze softened, her lips curving just slightly. “Yeah. It did.”

She didn’t have to explain.

I didn’t have to ask.

In that moment, we both knew.

And when she crossed the room and sat beside me, her shoulder brushing mine, I didn’t stop her.

I just let her stay.

Now, standing on the red carpet, cameras flashing, her voice somewhere behind me, laughing at something a reporter said—I realise it’s been inevitable for a while.

She steps closer, our arms brushing, and lowers her voice just for me.

“You okay?”

Her voice is light, teasing, but her eyes are warm.

And I know, right then, that I don’t care who sees it.

Not anymore.

The energy in the studio is infectious.

The stage lights are bright, the applause thunderous as Jimmy Fallon greets me with his signature enthusiasm. I settle into the chair, offering the audience a grin as I adjust my jacket. I’ve done this before.

I know how to play along, how to keep things light, how to sidestep the questions that toe the line between work and personal life.

But tonight feels different.

Maybe it’s the fact that Y/N isn’t here. She’s back at the hotel, catching up on some sleep after a whirlwind day of press. Or maybe it’s the knowledge that her absence doesn’t mean people aren’t still talking about her.

About us.

Jimmy starts with the usual—talking about the film, throwing in a few jokes about the intensity of the role, teasing me about the internet’s obsession with my hair.

It’s easy. Familiar.

But then he leans forward, his grin widening in that way that lets me know what’s coming.

“So,” he says, dragging the word out for effect, “we have to talk about the internet’s other obsession—your chemistry with Y/N.”

The audience reacts immediately—applause, laughter, a few cheers from the back.

I laugh, shaking my head as I rub the back of my neck. “I knew this was coming.”

Jimmy laughs too, holding up his hands like he’s innocent. “Hey, I’m just saying what everyone’s thinking! You guys are electric on-screen. And off-screen, it’s like… I don’t know, there’s just something there.”

I open my mouth to respond, but he keeps going, gesturing dramatically.

“I mean, have you seen the edits people are making? It’s like a rom-com trailer, but better. They’re calling you guys ‘the internet’s favourite couple who won’t admit they’re a couple.’”

The audience erupts again, and I can feel the tips of my ears burning.

I shake my head, trying to laugh it off. “That’s—yeah, that’s the internet for you.”

Jimmy leans back, his grin turning sly. “So… what’s it like working with her?”

It’s a harmless question.

I’ve answered it a hundred times.

But tonight, for some reason, the words don’t come as easily.

I glance down for a second, my hand instinctively moving to rub the crease of my pants at my thigh. “She’s… amazing.”

Jimmy raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “Just amazing?”

The audience laughs, and I can feel their anticipation like a weight in the room.

I clear my throat, my fingers brushing along my jawline before I let them drop to the armrest. “No, seriously. She’s one of the most talented people I’ve ever worked with. She’s so committed, so intuitive—she just gets it, you know? And she makes everyone around her better.”

I should stop there.

I know I should.

But the words keep coming.

“She has this way of… I don’t know, making everything feel real. Like, you forget there are cameras and crew and a million distractions. It’s just her. And it’s…”

I trail off, my thumb grazing my bottom lip like it might steady me.

Jimmy tilts his head, his expression softening. “You okay, man?”

I nod quickly, forcing a laugh. “Yeah. Sorry. I just… I guess I didn’t realise how much I appreciate her until I started talking about it.”

The audience lets out a collective “aww,” and I feel a pang in my chest—not embarrassment, but something softer.

Jimmy gives me a knowing smile, his tone gentler now. “Sounds like you’ve got a lot of respect for her.”

I nod again, my voice quieter this time. “I do. A lot.”

It’s not a confirmation. Not really.

But as I glance out at the audience, I catch a few people exchanging smiles, whispering. The energy in the room has shifted—warmer, quieter, like everyone is in on something now.

And I know that whatever they’re thinking, whatever they’ve decided to believe…

They’re not wrong.

The studio is buzzing when the cameras stop rolling. Crew members scatter to reset the stage for the next segment, and I make my way backstage, still trying to shake off the weight of what just happened.

Jimmy claps me on the shoulder as I pass him. “You killed it, man.”

I nod, offering him a quick smile, but my head’s somewhere else entirely.

The moment keeps replaying in my mind—the way my voice caught when I talked about her, the look on Jimmy’s face when he realised I wasn’t just talking about a co-star.

The audience’s reaction.

I can still hear their collective aww, feel the way the room shifted.

I shouldn’t check my phone, but I do anyway.

The notifications are already piling up. Mentions, tags, texts. My fingers hover over Callum’s name when a text from him flashes on the screen.

Mate… you’re trending.

I exhale, running a hand down my face. Of course I am.

But trending or not, it doesn’t matter. Because at the end of the day, she’s the one waiting for me. She’s the constant—the one thing in all of this noise that makes sense. And that’s what I’ll always come back to. Always.

By the time I get back to the hotel, it’s late. The lights in the hallway are dim, the soft hum of the elevator the only sound as I make my way to my room.

I unlock the door, step inside, and freeze.

Y/N is curled up on the couch, one of the hotel’s oversized robes wrapped around her, hair messy from sleep. She stirs at the sound of the door, her eyes blinking open slowly.

“You’re back,” she murmurs, her voice soft and a little raspy.

I nod, setting my bag down by the door. “Yeah. Thought you’d be asleep.”

She stretches, the robe slipping slightly off her shoulder. “I tried. Didn’t stick.”

I cross the room, sitting on the edge of the armchair across from her. For a moment, we just look at each other, the silence between us stretching but never uncomfortable.

Then she tilts her head, a small smile tugging at her lips. “So, how’d it go?”

I let out a soft laugh, rubbing the back of my neck. “It was fine. The usual… until it wasn’t.”

Her smile falters, her brows pulling together. “What do you mean?”

I hesitate, my fingers tapping against the armrest. “Jimmy brought you up.”

She doesn’t say anything, but her expression shifts—something soft, something careful. She straightens a little, pulling her legs underneath her as she waits for me to go on.

I lean back in the chair, exhaling. “He asked about working together. About the internet stuff, the edits, the… chemistry.” The word feels heavier than it should.

Her lips part slightly, her brows lifting just enough to show surprise. “What did you say?”

I glance at her, then down at my hands, which are resting against my thighs, fingers fidgeting. “I said you’re one of the most talented people I’ve ever worked with.”

She doesn’t say anything, just watching me, waiting for the rest.

“And…” My voice drops, my thumb brushing over the seam of my pants. “I said you make everything feel real. That you make everyone around you better. That…” I trail off, my throat tightening like it did back on the show.

“That what?” she asks softly.

I rub the back of my neck, forcing myself to meet her gaze. “That I didn’t realise how much I appreciate you until I started talking about it.”

Her eyes widen slightly, her lips parting, but she doesn’t say anything.

“And the thing is…” I lean forward, my elbows on my knees, my hands clasped together as I let out a breath. “I meant every word. But now—now everyone’s talking about it. They’ll read into it, twist it, turn it into something bigger. And I don’t—I don’t know how to feel about that.”

She shifts on the couch, the robe slipping again, revealing her bare collarbone. Her fingers fidget with the hem of the oversized robe, and for a moment, she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, something I’ve noticed she only does when she’s trying to find the right words. Her lips press together briefly, like she’s weighing what to say, and it makes her look so completely like herself—unguarded, soft—that my chest tightens just watching her.

Her voice is quiet when she speaks, steady. “Does it bother you? That they’ll think there’s something between us?”

I blink, caught off guard by the question. My first instinct is to say no, to brush it off like it doesn’t matter. But that’s not the truth.

“It doesn’t bother me,” I admit, my voice low. “Not because it’s not true, but because… I think maybe I don’t want it to be a secret anymore.”

Her breath catches—just barely—but I see it. Her hands rest against her knees, fingers curling into the plush fabric of the robe.

“Then why are you so worried?” she asks, her voice softer now, almost tentative.

I shake my head, my hands moving restlessly against my thighs. “I don’t know. Maybe because once it’s out there, it’s not just ours anymore. It’s theirs. And I don’t want this—what we have—to feel like… like something we have to defend, or explain.”

Her expression softens, and she shifts closer, sitting on the edge of the couch. “Austin…”

I look at her, and for a moment, the air between us feels heavier, quieter. She reaches out, her hand covering mine where it rests on the armrest. Her touch is warm, grounding.

“You’re right,” she says gently. “Once it’s out there, we can’t control it. But we can control how we handle it. And honestly?” She tilts her head, a small, wry smile curving her lips. “I’m kind of tired of pretending I don’t love you.”

The words hit me like a punch to the chest—not because I didn’t know, but because hearing her say it out loud feels different. Bigger.

I exhale a quiet laugh, shaking my head as I cover her hand with mine. “You just say stuff like that, huh?”

She shrugs, her smile widening just slightly. “Guess so.”

For a moment, I just look at her, my thumb brushing over the back of her hand. And then, without thinking, I slide off the chair and onto the couch beside her. She shifts to make room, her legs brushing against mine as I settle in, and when I don’t answer right away, her hand moves—just barely—to rest on my jaw, her fingers light, hesitant, like she’s giving me space to pull back if I need to. I don’t. Instead, I lean into her touch, the faint pressure grounding me in a way nothing else can.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Okay?” she echoes, her brows lifting.

“Okay,” I repeat, leaning in just enough for our foreheads to touch. “Let them talk. Let them say whatever they want. Because none of it changes this.”

Her smile softens, her hand moves back further, her fingers threading gently through the hair at the nape of my neck. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

And for the first time in weeks, the weight in my chest feels lighter.

Because she’s right.

None of it changes this.

[prythiansprincess]

── .✦ DAY THREE | [02/16] : ENZO. ♡ ₊˚⊹

prythian's princess presents... day three of the valentine special ⋆.˚ .ᐟ up next, a pretty face that no one can resist: enzo.

[edging kink] — a sexual technique for delaying orgasm, by bringing yourself or your partner to the edge, and then cooling down for a while before starting again.

[degradation kink] — a sexual preference characterized by individuals deriving arousal from acts of humiliation or degradation within a controlled and consensual context. 

home ✦ special ✦ more

lorenzo berkshire loved to play games.

his favorite one was the intricate battle of wills between the two of you; the never-ending game of sexual tension and mutual loathing that spanned the entirety of your relationship. enzo knew how to push and prod, lived for the thrill of provoking and instigating for his own entertainment and there was no one more entertaining to him than you.

over the years, he had gotten good at identifying your weaknesses, picking at the sore spots over and over again until he got the result that he wanted — anger, hatred, loathing. there was nothing that enzo loved more than fighting, arguing, and bickering with you. the two of you pushed each other's limits and drove each other to the point of insanity only to do it all over again without ever addressing the underlying attraction that caused these explosive clashes in the first place.

enzo was content to play this game with you day after day. sometimes he won, sometimes he lost, but the only thing that truly mattered to him was that no one got under your skin like he did. he liked knowing that he had this hold on you; relished in the fact that only he could elicit such a reaction. perhaps he underestimated his own expertise because he truly hadn't expected you to snap.

you were already having a terrible day to begin with when enzo decided to corner you in the corridor, that smug smirk present on his stupidly handsome face as he tugged on the hem of your skirt.

"nice skirt, sweetheart," enzo drawled. "did you wear this just for me?"

"piss off, berkshire." you snapped. "i'm not in the bloody mood."

enzo chuckled as you tried to shoulder past him. with his towering figure, it was easy to cage you between his arms, palms pressed against the wall as he leaned down and sneered at you. "someone woke up on the wrong side of the bed," he teased. "what's the matter, love? is it that time of the month again?"

"shut the fuck up," you growled.

a mischevious glimmer twinkled in his gaze as enzo ducked his head down, bringing his face mere inches away from yours. "make me."

enzo expected you to huff and puff, to angrily push past him, leaving him to stare at that perky arse of yours that was barely covered by your tight little skirt, but that wasn't what happened. one second enzo was staring down at you, smiling smugly at your incensed expression, and the next second he was being tugged down by his tie as you kissed him angrily.

there was so much venom and vitriol in the way your teeth clashed together, passion and hatred and tension finally bubbling up to the surface until neither one of you could take it any longer. all that pent up aggression poured out in the form of kissing and touching, your lips and hands exploring uncharted territory. enzo whined pathetically when you yanked him down by his tie, his cheeks flushed and lips kiss-bitten.

“I should have shut you up a long time ago, berkshire,” you taunted. enzo whimpered when you brought him down to your level, his honey eyes cloudy with lust. “i’m going to enjoy taking all my anger out on you.”

that’s how enzo ended up bound in the broom closet, struggling against the restraints while you bounced on his cock. he wanted to touch you, kiss you, feel you, but you made it clear that he wasn’t the one in charge. you were calling the shots now.

“please, honey, i’ll be good I promise,” enzo pleaded with tears in his eyes. “just untie me and I swear i’ll make you feel so good…”

“stop whining or i’ll gag you next.”

enzo was already painfully hard from the torture of you grinding against him and not being able to do anything about it. it had been an hour since you started this cruel routine, bringing him to the edge over and over again, but never giving him what he wanted.

“but it hurts,” he pleaded. “fuck, it hurts so bad. I just want to cum.”

you frowned, shaking your head at him as you slowed the roll of your hips until only his tip poked at your entrance. the absence was worse than the edging. “you should have thought about that before acting like such a dick. maybe next time you’ll learn to leave me alone when I tell you to.”

he wouldn’t. it didn’t matter what you did to him, enzo would never leave you alone. he physically couldn’t. he was drawn to you in a way that defied all logic. but it wasn’t like he could admit it out loud.

instead, enzo whined and squirmed, whimpering that he was too hard, he was too sensitive; it was too much and not enough all at the same time.

you slapped him across the face and enzo actually moaned. a whiny, pathetic moan that he would have otherwise been embarrassed of. but because it was you, the pleasure overshadowed the shame. he was too fucking turned on by this side of you.

“shut the fuck up, berkshire,” you growled as you gripped his chin and forced him to look at you. “this is what you get for being such an asshole. after all the shit that you’ve pulled, do you really think i’d let you cum so easily?”

“please, honey. please, i’ll do anything. anything you want.”

your pleased chuckle sent a shiver down his spine. “you’re so fucking pathetic. begging, really?” enzo bit his lip as you degraded him, aroused by the humiliation. “I almost feel sorry for you.”

enzo sighed in relief as you started moving your hips again, your warmth hugging around his cock once more. he was barely hanging on to his sanity yet enjoying every second of it. “fuck, thank you. god, that feels so good. please, please, don’t stop, baby.”

“don’t thank me yet,” you said. “i’m only using you to get myself off. if you make me cum, then i’ll think about untying you, but until then, shut the fuck up and take it.”

[reverieblondie]

Friends With Benefits

Paring: Rolan x Female Tav

Request: Anon: What about our favorite tiefling wizard, Rolan, and Tav having ended up in a 'friends with benefits' thing with each other, but then- Whoops! Romantic feelings developed! Rolan has since fallen hard for Tav. Now what? (Tav would be open to pursuing something romantic with Rolan, too, but they were also convinced that the archwizard would never be interested in them that way—especially considering the rather rocky start they had—so they didn't dwell on it or get their hopes up, just learned to be content with what they did have with him

@dark-and-kawaii : Rolan in nothing but his socks waiting for you in his tower. Legs spread with the cutest blush, and that tail of his won’t stop thrashing around. He’s trying to be more spontaneous xoxo

I combined the two ask! I hope you all enjoy! 18+ minors DNI! Oral (both receiving) and Riding.

Rolan stands there with an irritatingly smug smirk, but gods, you have to admit as you look at his nude body shamelessly on display as his cock hangs heavy between his firm thighs. As you keep taking in his impressive build you then see he's only in socks… You roll your eyes as you undo your shirt, when did he get so cocky? - oh wait…

"Master Rolan… did I catch you at a bad time… should-" 

Before you can finish your sentence, a mage hand is pulling you by your loose shirt towards him. As soon as you're close enough, Rolan grabs you by the hips and kisses you, a kiss that always feels like more than your little arrangement. 

You two had been back and forth arguing since the very moment you met. The tension between you two had been building till, one fateful night, it hit a fever pitch. Then, before you knew it, you and Rolan were tangled in limbs with heavy breaths and desperate kisses. The next morning you two agreed it was only a one-night deal… but then you ended up riding his cock all morning… 

So an agreement was made; when you two needed, the other was just a sending spell away. And it has been utter bliss since…

Rolan makes quick work stripping off your clothes as his lips caress your flushed neck, "you're late… I sent that message an hour ago…" he mutters as he rolls down your underwear past your hips, his fingers quickly finding your clit and rubbing tight circles making you gasp and hold on to him tighter…

"I- ah~ Was busy!" you lick and bite against his neck, rolling your hips for more pleasure against his hand. 

Rolan moans at the feeling of your teeth marking him, his tail wrapping around your leg tighter, "I was, gods… waiting in socks…" 

"The whole time? How scandalous…" 

"Tav." 

You laugh, leaning to press your chest against his, your arms wrapped around his neck as you kiss him. The first time you kissed, it was all desperate hunger and crashing teeth… but slowly, as you two kept meeting and indulging in one another, the kisses grew softer. Though you refused to find meaning in that… it's just you two getting used to each other… nothing more… Rolan doesn't want more, so neither do you…

Breaking away from his lips, you give him a coy smile, "I could… try and make it up to you…" 

"No, no, it's fine. Just next time, let me…"

"Rolan." you stop him mid-ramble, "Just say yes and don't argue." 

Rolan looks surprised for a second before it clicks and he grins as he leans in, tucking a strain of hair behind your ear, "Fine, make it up to me then…" 

In an instant, you're on your knees rubbing your thumb over the head of his cock, relishing in how his legs tremble from just your hand. Slowly you lean in, wrapping your lips around the swollen head, dragging your tongue to taste his tangy precum that makes you suck for more. Rolan's knees shake as he moans, his hand quickly grabbing your hair in a tight fist. No matter how many times you take his cock he always whimpers and moans just like the first time. The best part, however, is when you sink down lower on his ridged length and hollow out your cheeks, sucking as you look up at his beautiful face. His eyes lidded, his lips parted in awe, as his flushed face showed how good you were making him feel. 

"Gods T-tav…" 

You have to hold in your laugh as you keep sucking his cock faster. How quickly that cockiness fades when he between your teeth sucking on his throbbing cock, and his hips buckle down your throat uncontrollably.  You relish in the feeling of his cock stretching your throat, the way your mind clouds, and your cunt drips for more. His breathy whimpers, so soft with a slight pur… you can't help yourself from shoving your hand down to your aching cunt, rubbing your clit in anguish slow circles… It's when you moan against his cock that Rolan rolls his head, gripping your hair tighter before pulling you off and getting you spread out on his desk in a flash.  

Rolan's golden eyes trace over your quivering sex, your legs threatening to tremble in the grasp of his clawed hands.

"I've been waiting for this all day..." he flicks his eyes to yours, giving you that charming smile that always makes your stomach flutter.

His hands grasp firmly on the back of your thighs. Pushing your knees further up to your face before he finally leans down and licks against your quivering slit. Rolan moans from the taste and can't keep himself from the taste and can't keep himself from pushing into you for more. His nose pushes your swollen clit as his tongue plunges into you, desperate for your taste. 

You're gasping for breaths as his dextrous tongue goes in and out. Moaning his name shamelessly as you run your hands through his soft hair, almost grinding yourself against him. The coil in your lower stomach is tightening as sparks start forming in your vision. 

“Mmm… come on Tav… squirt on my face…”

Your face turns bright red as you tighten your legs around his head, embarrassed, "Rolan! You promised you wouldn't bring that up!" you squeak. 

Rolan chuckles as he licks and groans into your cunt, "Hm? But it was so cute… and fun to watch you get embarrassed… making a mess like a filthy girl." 

He gives your clit a nip, and you cry out, "Ah! I… I hate you!" 

"Mmm… you said that last time…" 

Rolan mutters as he slides his tongue through your silky folds before finally wrapping his lips around your clit, humming as his fingers stretch you curling inside till your coil is snapping. That white-hot wave of pleasure rushes over you, crashing over on Rolan eager tongue. 

And that's only the beginning of the night…

You're not sure when you passed out; it wasn't unusual that you two went at it until you were both thoroughly exhausted. Though you've never fallen asleep with him. 

You had the most pleasantly warm dream before you softly woke. It was the best sleep you had gotten in a while. When waking you hadn't fully registered where you were, until you noticed that your pillow was breathing. Jerking up, you're confronted with Rolan's shocked eyes; looking around, you see the early streams of morning lights peering through the window. - Shit, you didn't mean to stay the whole night... 

Preparing yourself for a verbal thrashing for inconveniencing Rolan, you turn back to him, seeing that he's completely unbothered; if anything, he seems relaxed. Rolan has a book in one hand while the other rests around you.

"Sorry, I stayed... didn't mean to be in the way…” As you go to move, you are paused by the feeling of something wrapped around your leg. Rolan flushes a bit as he closes his book and uncoils his tail.

"No, you're alright. I wasn't bothered at all... you're a very sound sleeper." He manages to stumble out as you leave the bed, starting to gather your clothes. Reaching for your robe, you see that Rolan grabs it simultaneously. Your eyes met before he handed over the article of clothing. Rolan quickly averts his eyes as you dress. -really… you just ate me out, and now you're nervous? 

You get dressed, and you hear him clear his throat as you pull on your shoes. 

"Might as well spit out what you want to say now before I leave Rolan; we wouldn't want you festering on it," you say teasingly, turning to stick your tongue out at him. When you get a good look at him, though, you see he's biting his lip, his jaw tight… 

Does he want to end things…

"What are you doing tomorrow evening?" He finally says, "Ah, I want to make another rondeau… 

You give him a smile, "My schedule is clear; what do you have planned? Something new you wanted to try?" 

Rolan seems to perk up at your response. He clasps his hands together and stands just a bit taller. "Perfect! I will see you here at dusk." 

Dusk? That's a bit earlier than you used to? Whatever he has planned for you two must be pretty involved.

A date... No? Just dinner?

The question spiraled through your mind as soon as you met with Rolan. You had been expecting just one of your regular hookups, but Rolan had been waiting outside for you when you arrived at the tower. Then, of course, you made an ass out of yourself, asking if he was that eager to see you. Poor Rolan had looked at you a bit surprised before muttering how he was hungry and asking you to tag along. But the place he took to you feels... a bit more than random.

Low-lit candles, everywhere you look, seem so fancy; from the others, you glance in the room... it's clear to them they are on a date.

But for you and Rolan, that's more complicated... Is this a date? You look up at Rolan, who's adjusting his collar and looking around; he's nervous...that answers that… 

 With the wine poured and food ordered and now placed. You two have an oddly quiet dinner. You try to talk, though it does not flow like usual.

Rolan's golden eyes keep flicking from his plate to your face, and you swear you hear his tail thumping against the hardwood... What is his deal? Finally, you can't take it anymore... he doesn't want people to see you on what could be a date?

 "You know you didn't have to bring me here, I could've just eaten later."

Rolan's jaw tenses, "Do you not like the food?"

"No, it's great… I just don't want to waste your time. I mean, it's a secret, right?"

Rolan avoids your gaze, "Right... don't want to confuse anything..."

Confuse anything? You're trying to be helpful! Uncomplicated too! Isn't that what he wants? Rolan, what the hell do you want!

Dinner wraps up shortly after that. You so badly wanted to talk about the dinner, your relationship, and maybe... how you want more, though the walk back to the tower is quicker than you thought. Rolans shy, nervous demeanor suddenly seems sour as he opens the door. 

This is your favorite part of this arrangement. You love when he takes your hand and gently guides you to his room, the whole way kissing you like you're the most important person to him. He is so sweet and desperate as if he hasn't been able to breathe without you.

But this isn’t how it happens tonight…

"I have some letters to write back to... and the store's books need review... So goodnight, Tav." 

Before Rolan shut the door, he gave you a final look and a tense nod, but the sadness in his eyes caused your chest to feel tight. You wanted to pry, but before you could, the door was shut, and with the click of the lock, you knew the night was indeed done.

It's been days, and it's been total silence... and you're so lonely... Rolan's your friend; he's more than a friend, and now you're in some weird space.

Uhg, you miss the days when he would just yell at you, this silence treatment is agonizing.

You miss his attitude, dorky mannerisms, glowing eyes looking over you in the dark, and adorable lisp. If you're honest, you miss everything about Rolan; you don't make it a habit of not seeing for this long; it's getting close to a week, and you need to hear him being huffy over anything, if that something is you. 

That's how you found yourself here in Sundries, wanting to be looking at Rolan instead of his purple projection. Feeling dejected, you slump onto the front counter, looking up at the smiling figure.

"How can I help you, valued customer?" It sounds enough like him, but you can hear that slightly cold artificial edge.

"Where is the real archmage?" You ask slightly bitter.

The projection regards you with a change in its smile, staring silently... "Currently, the master is busy...".

You sigh. That's code for him avoiding people right now, and that makes me feel even worse.

"I miss you..." It rolled out of you so quickly that you didn't even realize what you said. 

You look up the projection; it is still unchanged, but you need to vent.

"I don't miss what you think... I miss your warmth, your voice. Just being close to you."

The projection stays quiet, and the shop is busy... This should be embarrassing... but all you can focus on is how he has Rolan's exact features. So you keep talking…

"I love being your friend... and our arrangement, but I want more... I don't know if that was because I didn't want to get my hopes up, but I don't want you to think I'm just using you..." You pause and pick at your hands for a second before looking back up at the projection again. "Was it a date?" Of course, it says nothing... Please just say something. 

You reach out your hand to him, and your fingers go right through... you want to laugh at the irony of it all...

You stay focused on its hands, "Rolan, if I tell you I love you, what would you say back..."

"What the bloody hells!"

Shouting from upstairs makes the whole shop look up. You see a flushed Rolan staring daggers down at you.

"Ro…" 

Before you can say anything more, he's storming down the stairs and approaching you. 

"After that night, what you said. Now you're telling me telling me you love me!"

He's yelling, but he's talking... Wait, how did he hear you? "You heard?"

"Of course I did! I have a hearing spell attached to the projection just in case." He huffs, folding his arms.

"Wait. Are you mad?"

“Yes! I finally got the nerve to ask you on a date, which goes terribly! And now, days later, you're! Confessing! I had a plan, you know!"  You can't help but smile at his flushed ranting, amused at how cute he looks with his tail whipping about.

"A plan?"

"Yes! A really good one!"

Tilting your head, you step closer with a smile, silently prompting him for more explanation. Rolls his eyes before starting.

"I was going to ask you out to a romantic dinner... then afterward, I was going to grab your hands, pull you in for a kiss, then confess how I've been falling more and more in love with you every day I get to see you... But no! As usual, you uproot my plans! I swear you are-"

You couldn't take it anymore, so you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him into a passionate kiss. Right in the middle of his shop, no more secrets, no more hiding the desire, no more lying about your feelings. 

You finally pull away, smiling at his starstruck eyes, "I love you." he says, making you want to kiss him more.

You hold him tighter… "I love you too."

[imagineweasley]

I Love You Deerly

Harry Potter x Reader

summary: after a DA meeting, you and your boyfriend harry take a second to be alone together.

y/n: your name

author's note: basically no plot, just so much fluff! fluff here, fluff there, fluff everywhere!!

submit a request!

"Fantastic job tonight everyone! See you all next Tuesday, 8 pm sharp!" Harry claps his hands and grins at the DA.

The group disperses, happily chatting amongst themselves. Tonight's meeting was pretty successful, so the group is in a cheery mood. We'd been working on Expecto patronum for the past two weeks, and today, a few more students, including myself, had been able to conjure our patronuses. I weave my way through the crowd towards Harry, who's standing in the far corner of the room with Neville, who looks dejected. Poor Neville. I can't blame him, he's been trying really hard for the last two meetings with only a few wisps of his patronus to show for it.

"See ya later y/n!" Hermione smiles and waves at me as she passes.

Ron on the other hand salutes me and says, "Remember you promised to lend me your potions notes tonight y/n!" I call after him, "I did no such thing Ronald!" I laugh and shake my head before turning back around.

"... such a hard thing to achieve, most people our age can't even get what you got consistently. Trust me, by next month you'll be an expert. It takes time." I walk up to Harry and Neville and chime in, "Yeah, and look at Zacharius, I thought the vein in his forehead would pop today and he came nowhere near what you did." Neville jumps but then smiles sheepishly when he realizes it's me, even laughing under his breath. Harry also turns at my voice and his gaze softens when he meets my eyes. With a big grin on his face, he rubs Neville's shoulder one more time before patting his arm.

"Don't lose it just yet, mate. You're really, truly doing great."

"Thanks guys." Neville wipes his nose and smiles at the both of us, "I'll see you around!" In much better spirits, Neville grabs his sweater and heads out.

Once we're alone, Harry steps towards me and wraps me in a tight embrace, and my face ends up smushed in his chest

"Mmmph - hey, mm, can't breathe here!" Harry laughs and kisses the top of my head before loosening his grip.

"Sorry love, I'm sorry, I've just been waiting to do that since you walked into the room. It's hard to focus on everyone else here when you're right there, you know?"

I smile up at him before wrapping my arms around his neck to pull him down for a kiss.

"Maybe... I should... stop... coming... so you... can focus!" I peck his lips between every word and he snakes his arms around my waist.

"Little... do you know... that's... useless... because... you're... always... on... my... mind!" Harry plants big kisses on the top of my head, my forehead, my cheeks, each ear, and the rest on my lips, making me giggle like a little girl.

"By the way... a doe?" He's talking about my patronus that revealed itself today, a graceful doe. As soon as I had conjured it, it had pranced in a circle around Harry and his stag before returning to me. Everyone had paused in their own efforts to stare, jaws dropped. Hermione had gasped and grabbed onto Ron's arm and she gazed up at it with wide eyes and a huge smile.

"Mmm what a surprise, huh?" I look up at Harry and he looks back at me fondly, grinning so wide I think his face might crack in two.

"Maybe we can make our patronuses kiss in front of everyone."

I laugh before wriggling out of his grasp to retrieve my things. "You are ridiculous Mr. Potter, utterly ridiculous."

I don't make it far before Harry pounces and wraps himself around me from behind, "Where do you think you're going!"

"Hey!" I lose my balance and we both fall to the ground onto one of the mats, giggling. I roll onto my back so he's on top of me, our limbs entangled and our noses touching. He rubs our noses together before kissing me and I can't but melt into the it. Almost two years of dating and his kisses still never fail to make me all fluttery inside.

He pulls away, suddenly serious, and leans his forehead against mine.

"You know I couldn't have done this without you, you know?"

"Yes you absolutely could have, and you know it."

"Actually, I know that I wouldn't have been able to. You're my strength, my love. You were the one who encouraged me to take the risk. You were the one who believed that I could do it when I didn't."

I cup his cheek and he leans into it before continuing, "Even during meetings when I don't think I can, all I have to do is look for you and your smile tells me I can keep going. I have to keep going. For you. For us."

My heart swells with his words and all I can think about is how in love I am with this boy, with the Boy Who Lived And Captured My Heart. "Merlin, I love you so much, Harry." He lets his head rest on my chest and I snuggle into him.

"I love you, y/n."

I close my eyes and lean into my boyfriend while I mindlessly run my fingers through his hair. We lay in comfortable silence.

"Y/n?"

"Hmm?"

"Can we stay here for a second?"

"Of course, my love. Let's stay here forever."

[daveth-isnt-dead]

RPF

Summary:

She had sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica directly to her colleague's printer and that isn’t even the worst part. The worst part. Is that she sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica to the very person it was written about. The hot professor in her manuscript, the man who fucks the main character on practically every surface, is Viktor in everything but name. His accent, his hair and eye colour, even the cane. If it was possible to plagiarise a person then she had done just that.

Contains: Third person POV, She/Her Pronouns for reader, Modern AU, Explicit Sexual Content, Professor Kink (kinda, reader isn't a student but viktor is a professor)

Word Count: 11,462

Read on AO3

He can’t know, she reasons, clutching tightly to her binder as she walks down the halls of the university. It’s early evening, so the walk is silent but for the sound of her heels clicking on the tiles. A few students with late classes will still be around, but other than that, the university is dead. She swallows nervously, heart racing in her chest as she rounds the final corner and comes face to face with Viktor’s office door. He asked to review the supply manifest for his class next semester, to review it in person which seemed very strange. The two of them have a largely friendly (albeit professional) relationship and if he just wanted a reason to talk he would have said so, which is what makes this situation so odd. 

“This definitely could have been an email.” She mutters to herself, dithering in front of his door.

There must be a reason, and it can't be the one she is catastrophising about. Because he can’t know. She takes a few quick breaths in through her nose and wipes her sweaty palm on her skirt before reaching out and grabbing the doorknob. She inches the door open, peering around the frame. Viktor is sitting at his desk where she had been expecting him, the setting sun casts an orange light in through an open window and the gentle breeze tangles around the curtains. He’s in the middle of writing something, grading papers, she assumes. One of his hands rests against his head, twirling his hair around his fingers. 

Her heart begins racing again, stomach churning. He can't know, she asserts and gains the confidence to clear her throat. 

Viktor doesn't startle, he takes a second to finish his sentence before slowly inclining his head up in her direction. She half suspects that he knew she was there the whole time. 

“Hi!” She says, a little too perky, “You wanted me?”

A smile crawls across his face, too self-satisfied for her liking, “Yes, I did. Thank you very much for coming.”

She steps into the room proper and holds her binder up with an awkward smile, “I’ve brought the manifest with me if you’d like to take a look?”

“That would be appreciated, yes.” He stands from his desk and she clutches tightly to the binder. He’s wearing a burgundy sweater and the crisp white collar of his shirt is several buttons undone, tie hanging loose. A very appropriate outfit for lecturing, despite the way it makes her eyes dart briefly down to his barely exposed collarbone. Viktor rounds the desk, leaning on his cane before inclining his head towards the door, “Close the door, would you?”

“Yep, no worries!” She replies quickly, gently pushing it shut behind her and trying to ignore the churning anxiety she feels at being alone in a closed room with him. A ridiculous feeling, because they know each other, she would even dare to call him her friend if someone were to ask and finally, because he can’t know. There’s no reason for this to be anything other than a meeting, a work meeting. So she ignores the nervous patter of her heart and steps over to the desk, opening the binder to the relevant page and waiting for Viktor to make his way over to her. 

It might just be her already hair-trigger nerves, but it feels like he stands a lot closer than is required. Her hands grip tight to the edge of the desk when his shoulder bumps against hers and she sucks a deep breath in through her nose. At this rate, he’s going to start wondering why she is behaving so strangely and that would likely be the death of her. She steadies herself, and gestures to the manifest on the desk, “Everything is all as you previously requested, I was worried about having trouble with one of the suppliers, but I managed to make it work, so no biggie there.”

Viktor hums and leans in closer to assess the manifest, running over the well-laid-out (if she may say so herself) spreadsheet with his pointer finger, “This does seem to be more than adequate.” He says evenly, tilting his head to meet her eyes, “And I appreciate your colour-coding.” Her cheeks flush and she feels immediately embarrassed at how flustered a compliment regarding her spreadsheet makes her. She chews on her lower lip a moment and then replies, “Thank you. Um, were there some changes you were looking to make, or am I free to go?” “I would like a moment to review it, if that is alright.” He inclines his head towards the chair usually reserved for guests to the office and says, “Have a seat, if you would like. I don't plan on being long.” “Oh, sure, thanks. I will.” She says quickly, stepping away from him and taking a slightly awkward seat in the chair. She gets that uncomfortable feeling again, that it is strange for him to want extra time to review a manifest that he just called ‘more than adequate’ and that it’s even stranger for her to wait around while he does so. But she is just being paranoid, and there is no reason for her to be, because he can’t-

“How are things at the administration office this time of year?” Viktor asks, still leaning over the desk. 

She braves a look in his direction and then quickly regrets it when she takes stock of how well-fitted his trousers are. She swallows and looks at his bookshelf instead, “Quiet, mostly. I’ve already gotten through most of the admissions work for next semester, so work won’t really pick up again until the new students start arriving after break.” her eyes unwittingly dart back in his direction, he has most of his weight on his right elbow where it rests on the desk and his sweater has rucked up just enough that she can see half an inch of his white shirt where it tucks into his slacks. She looks away again, “How are things for you? Finals just wrapped, didn’t they?”

“Busy, a lot of grading to do, as I’m sure you can imagine.” it sounds like he is smirking when he says, “I haven’t had much of a break since that faculty party last week.”

Her heart kicks into high gear, the faculty party is the last thing she wants to talk about. The real reason that she worries he might know something he shouldn't, that he can't know, is because she said something very stupid at that damn party. Wringing her hands in her lap, she forces herself to give a polite laugh and replies, “I was surprised to see you there, you’re not usually so…sociable.”

Viktor hums quietly, pushing back up off the desk and turning around to face her. Her eyes dart down to his hand on the grip of his cane and then quickly back up to his face. The shift of his eyes is appraising, almost curious and the corner of his mouth lifts in a smile when he responds, “That is quite hypocritical of you, as I recall, neither are you.”

She laughs a little, he’s right. She usually tries to avoid faculty parties, they’re loud and full of people she doesn’t know, but she had heard from some of the other professors that Viktor was planning to make an appearance and that swiftly changed her mind, “You’ve got me there.” She replies, standing from her chair and smoothing down her skirt. She swallows, “Well, I hope you’re able to get some rest over the break. You’re um- You’re an incredibly hard worker, you deserve it.”

He shrugs a shoulder, “Eh, I do what I can.” and then, more sincerely, “Thank you, though, you are very kind.”

Her toes suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room, “Oh, uh, well, I try to be.” her hands fidget at her sides a moment and then she adds, “If you’re finished reviewing the manifest, I can let you get back to your work for the evening.”

Viktor reaches behind himself, grabs her binder and snaps it shut, then he takes a deliberate step towards her and holds it out. Her hand shakes as she reaches out to grab it, clutching it tightly to her chest. Viktor is standing very close to her, she has to crane her head up to meet his eyes, “Th-Thank you.” she says quickly, already preparing to dash out into the hallway and catch her uneven breath, “Email me if you need anything else, okay?” “Before you go,” Viktor begins and she gets the sudden, disquieting feeling that she’s walked into some sort of trap, “I would be interested in eh picking your brain.” She laughs a little, “There’s not all that much to pick, unfortunately. That’s why some of us are working admin and not lecturing.” she shuffles her feet, aware that she’s laying the self-depreciation on a little too thick, “Sorry, how can I help?”

A slow smile crawls across Viktor’s face and he leans in just a bit closer, “Do you remember last month when I asked for the updated meeting timetable and you so kindly sent a copy directly to my printer?” he asks, voice low and even She has no idea where this is going, but her heart races at his close proximity regardless, “Yes, I do…” “Well…” he begins, voice quiet and even, “About an hour after that, something I had not requested came through on my printer. It was quite an inconvenience, I couldn’t print anything myself until the two hundred or so pages finished coming through.”

Her stomach drops like a rock, her hands grip white knuckle tight to the edges of her binder and her throat goes completely dry. Oh no. Oh nononononono.

“That’s um…That’s very strange…” She replies, trying to keep the nervous laugh building in her throat clamped behind her teeth, “Did something go wrong with your printer, maybe?”

He shakes his head, “No. No, I do not believe so. If anything, I presumed the error may have been on your end.”

The laugh escapes, a nervous little giggle that does her attempt at composure no favours, “My end?”

“Quite. The print order did come from your computer, after all.”

She isn't sure whether it would be a better idea to go sprinting out of the room right now or to try and find something heavy to knock Viktor out with first. He is right, of course. A month ago she did print him a copy of the meeting timetable and then an hour or so after that, she attempted to print the very thing he can’t know about. It comes back in a rush, remembering that when she first hit the print button, nothing happened, her printer didn't wake up. “Oh god…” She mutters, inching the binder up to hide the lower half of her face behind it, “I- I thought my printer wasn’t working, I didn’t realise.” 

She had sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica directly to her colleague's printer and that isn’t even the worst part.

“I have some more supplementary questions if you wouldn't mind,” Viktor says casually, too casually. 

She squeaks out a quiet little, “Okay.” and continues cowering behind her binder, preparing for the moment when he reveals this has all been an elaborate sting operation to get her disciplined by HR or fired. 

“I didn’t realise it was yours at first.” Viktor clarifies, “You use a pseudonym. Truthfully, I assumed that it was a PDF you had downloaded and decided to print for better reading. A wise idea, by the by, much better for your eyes.” He hums quietly to himself and readjusts briefly into a more comfortable stance for his leg, “Incorrectly surmising that it was a piece of already published literature, I presumed there would be no harm in me reading it-” A shocked gasp escapes her at him admitting that he read it. There’s no way out now, she finds herself praying that he lost interest a few pages in and then threw it out and that maybe he only asked her here to complain about the quality of her writing. The corner of Viktor’s mouth curls at her shocked expression, and she quickly darts her eyes away, heaving a shaky breath. 

“As I was saying,” Viktor continues, “I did not realise the work was yours for some time. At least not until I began noticing certain, shall we say, similarities.”

The worst part. Is that she sent two hundred pages of unedited erotica to the very person it was written about. The object of affection in her manuscript, the man who fucks the main character on practically every surface, Professor Novák, is Viktor in everything but name. His accent, his hair and eye colour, even the cane. ‘Similarities’ is putting it lightly, if it was possible to plagiarise a person then she had done just that.

At first, she hadn’t even realised she was doing it, she was just creating her vision of the ideal professor archetype and that just happened to be quite a bit like Viktor. It was harmless, nothing to be even slightly concerned about. Then the more she wrote, the more details she added, the more she rounded him out the more and more his features settled into a shape that looked exactly like Viktor. 

She briefly considers the likelihood of survival if she dives from his third-story window, and then wonders if it might actually make things easier if she dies on impact. As she is mulling this over, Viktor walks back over to his desk and she feels like she can finally breathe, at least until he lowers himself into his seat and pulls a heavy stack of paper out from one of his drawers. She mutters a quiet, “Oh no…” under her breath when she realises that the stack of paper isher manuscript.

“Would you mind telling the class why Professor Novák walks with a cane?” Viktor asks, cocking his head to the side.

The mix of emotions she is filled with hearing that, a combination of arousal at him using his lecturer voice and complete and utter terror at this line of questioning, is discombobulating. She panics, she can feel sweat beading at the nape of her neck and she just manages to stammer out,  “I write for a very specific audience of House MD fans.”

Viktor chuckles, “Not the most defensible argument, but I am willing to accept it.” He hums aloud, “The accent then, explain that.”

“Eastern European is in right now?” She defends weakly.

“No no no. You were hardly casting such a wide net.” Viktor picks the manuscript up in one hand and she realises with horror that he has it annotated. He flips deftly to a page marked with a blue tab, “Here on page seventy-two it’s specifically described as Czech.”

“You…” she collapses backwards into her chair, suddenly feeling like her legs can’t hold her weight any longer, “You read all the way to page seventy-two?”

He chuckles, “Oh, no no. I read the entire thing.”

She grips tightly to her binder, staring at Viktor with wide, blown-out eyes. Her whole body shakes with some horrific amalgamation of both dread and arousal. Clenching her thighs and shifting in her seat, she lets out a weak little breath, “You read it a month ago and you didn’t say anything?” another nervous laugh bubbles up and out of her, “And you acted so normal the whole time, I don’t-”

“I had dismissed it at first” Viktor clarifies, closing the manuscript and crossing his arms on the desk, “After all, what you write in your spare time is none of my business, even if you accidentally send it directly to my printer.” He rests his chin in the palm of his hand, leaning forward just a little, “And then, last week at the faculty party, you said something very intriguing.”

This is the worst possible sequence of events. A scenario devised from her nightmares. She can’t even think of a single word to say, she just stares at him open-mouthed, hands clenched. She remembers exactly what she said that night, so innocuous, so easily defensible if not for the other mountain of evidence he has already provided. A few drinks deep, alcohol buzzing in her veins, she was watching Viktor speak with her chin in her palm, paying little attention to what he was actually saying, swaying side to side and just absorbing the way he gesticulated as he spoke. At some point, he asked her a question that she didn’t even hear and then, likely in jest, he sternly asked if she was paying attention and in her lust-drunk stupor she had replied: Yes, Professor.  

“D-Did I?” she responds, playing dumb even though she knows it won't save her.

“Yes, you did. You called me Professor.” Viktor says slowly, and the way his accent wraps around that word has warmth building in her stomach, “Normally, that sort of thing could be dismissed as a joke, a little eh playful mockery towards a man who’d just used his ‘teacher voice’ at a party, but no. I remember the tone of your voice far too well and there was not an ounce of sarcasm in it. In fact, and this may be presumptive of me, but I do believe you nearly moaned it.” he smiles, and then whispers, “How was I supposed to interpret that? Especially after those two hundred pages of highly descriptive erotica I already read. It is not so much a hypothesis as it is a conclusion. Even the way you greeted me when you entered the room this evening, points towards only one possible outcome.” he says quietly, “You wanted me?” he parrots, sending an ice-cold chill down her spine.

She hadn't even realised she’d said it like that, why had she said it like that?

“You seem to be wondering the same thing as me, hm?” Viktor continues, rising up from his chair and resting his palms flat on the desk, “Why on earth did you decide to word it that way? Unless of course, you wanted me, to want you.”

She did, god she did. For some time she tried to convince herself that what she wrote in her book and her personal feelings were not entangled. Illogically she had spent months on end writing and rewriting scenes of Viktor in every sexual position imaginable and clung to the idea that it was all just for the book, that there wasn’t any sort of emotional reason for her to choose Viktor as her incredibly vivid inspiration. Maybe it was because she hadn’t dated in years and the idea of confronting a real person was terrifying, or because part of her always thought that she was beneath him somehow. 

“Is that how it is, then?” Viktor breathes, grabbing his cane before rounding the desk and stepping towards her, “Do you want me to play the part of your professor, like in that book of yours?”

Her next exhale is shaky and wanton, her thighs press together in a fruitless attempt to calm the ache between them. She suddenly gets the sense that he has no plans of reporting her to HR. Her head tilts backwards to meet his gaze above her and she swallows thickly before whispering, “Would you be,” she cant believe this is happening, “opposed to that?”

“No. Not at all.” Viktor replies, reaching down and running his index finger along the cut of her jaw, a smile tugging at his lips when her breath hitches, “Do you think those fantasies of yours haven’t assimilated into my own? Do not be mistaken, I would not have pored over a novel’s worth of smut had I not found it so prepossessing.”

“Prepossessing?” She repeats timidly.

“Incredibly.” He responds, “You write very vividly.”

She mutters a quiet, “Thank you.” under her breath and musters up enough confidence to say, “That would be because my thoughts are very vivid too.”

He hums and he’s standing close enough that she can hear the sound rumble through his chest, “Are they, now?” He asks, gently grasping her chin in his hand and letting the pad of his thumb brush across her lower lip. She whimpers, inclining her head up towards him, desperate for him to touch her more.

“Allow me to be candid with you, for just a moment.” Viktor says, hand sliding away from her skin as he stands upright and takes a step backwards to lean against his desk, cane tucked into the crook of his elbow, “I do not usually do this. Intimacy between coworkers can be eh complicated-”

“W-We’re not technically coworkers.” She says quickly, “Different departments!”

Viktor chuckles, “There is no need to try and convince me, if that is what you are doing.” He looks her up and down, slowly, “I am already quite certain of what exactly I’d like from this encounter. I would just like to be sure that we are both on the same page, as it were. So, to be clear, if you change your mind at any time, you are free to leave and we maintain our professional relationship, no harm done.” He rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and her eyes dart down to his bare forearms, “Do you understand?”

She nods, staring abashedly at his hands.

“Words, please.”

“Oh, sorry!” She exclaims, “Yes, I do, I’m good, I don’t uh-” she swallows, “I don’t want to leave.”

That smirk comes back and she feels it all the way down to her toes, “Good girl.”

Her breath catches in the back of her throat and her heart thumps hard and fast. She can feel herself growing wet already, the heat at the apex of her thighs is becoming unbearable and her professional work outfit feels tight and restrictive. Viktor notices, she sees his eyes dart down to her tightly pressed-together knees, to the way her chest swells with her heavy breath. She realises quickly that she likes being embarrassed like this and that her long drawn-out humiliation was practically foreplay. Then it hits her that Viktor already knew that, of course, he already knew that, he read two hundred pages littered with her own wants and desires, both subconscious and conscious. A little whine escapes her lips as she realises that he entered this encounter with ample ammunition and surely intends to make the most of it.

“Stand up for me,” Viktor says quickly and she practically leaps up out of the seat. A smile tugs at the corner of his mouth and then he adds, “Binder on the floor, please.”

She bends down just enough to drop it down onto the carpet, suddenly missing having an object to hold onto, realising she has no idea what to do with her shaky hands. Lacking something else to grab, she clutches to the fabric of her pencil skirt, bunching it up on either side of her thighs. She inhales sharply through her nose when Viktor takes a few slow steps towards her, stopping less than an arm's length away. At first, she tries to meet his gaze but quickly finds it too intimidating, too observant. So her eyes quickly dart back down to her toes, trying to find some way to slow her rapid breathing. 

Then she feels something under her chin, slowly inclining her head back to meet his eyes again. It’s the handle of his cane. She lets out a whimpering little sound at that knowledge, thighs clenching and hands gripping tighter to the fabric of her skirt. She remembers this. Chapter Seven, page twelve. Viktor must see the gears turning in her brain, because a satisfied smile crosses his face, “Eyes on me, please.” He says quietly, slowly returning his cane to its place at his side. 

“You paid attention,” she says in near disbelief, “To the book, I mean.”

He chuckles and she finds that she loves the sound of it, loves the easy, half-lidded set of his eyes and the almost boyish way his hair curls over his ears. Viktor takes another step forward and she has to tilt her head back even further to maintain their eye contact, “I did.” he replies easily, “I wanted to do this correctly and a little thorough research goes a long way, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Yes,” she answers, breathless and wanting. He must see it in her eyes, because his head tilts slightly and his free hand reaches out, sliding his fingers through the hair at her temple and then pressing tightly against the side of her head. 

He slowly leans over her, close enough that she can feel his breath on her face. Her eyes dart from his own, down to his lips and then quickly between both of his moles. His head inclines downward enough that their noses are almost touching and she can feel her heart pounding through her entire body, her knees grow weak and her palms sweat. Viktor’s thumb slowly rubs a comforting circle over her temple and he whispers, “May I?”

It’s embarrassing how quick the rush of, “God yes, please Viktor, please.” comes bursting forth from her mouth, but luckily the senseless ramble is quickly cut off by his lips pressing against her own, slow but hungry. She melts into him, restless hands gripping tightly to his shoulders, mewling at the sensation of his hand in her hair and the addictive softness of his lips. The kiss is languid, slow and wet. There is little urgency to it, even though his hand slides around to the back of her head and holds her firmly in place, any desperation on Viktor’s part is exhibited in his thorough exploration of her mouth, more so than in his vigour.

His kisses are explorative, testing a bite to her lower lip, testing how she might react to him sucking on it instead. She practically hangs off him, gasping out little moans in between each re-connection of their lips. Viktor lets out a pleased little hum when her mouth opens beneath his and her nails dig tight into the fabric of his sweater when their tongues meet in a brief, tentative flick. She allows one of her hands to slide up from his shoulder and into his hair, it’s soft and she is very pleased to find he makes a very pretty sound when she tugs on it. 

When he pulls back, Viktor is a vision with kiss swollen lips and wide eyes engulfed by the black of his pupil. A smile plays at the corner of his mouth and she watches enraptured at the bob of his throat when he swallows. 

“Forgive me for the interruption.” He breathes, “But I believe now would be a prudent time for me to lock the door, yes?”

She nods loosely, unsure she can even manage words at this point and when Viktor turns to move over to the door, she spins around so she can continue watching him, bringing two disbelieving fingers up to her lips to convince herself that what happened had really just happened. The click of the lock sends an entirely new shiver down her spine and Viktor must see it on her face when he turns around because he looks incredibly self-satisfied. Her heart begins to race as he makes his way back over to her, desperate to be touched again, only for her to blink down at him dumbly when he walks past her and takes a seat in the abandoned chair in the middle of the room. 

He tuts at her, leaning forward and resting an elbow on his knee, “There is no need to look so disappointed.” He says slowly, “I have many plans for you.”

She lets out a shaky breath and stammers out, “S-Such as?”

Viktor reclines back in the chair, crossing one leg over the other, “I’d like to watch you touch yourself.”

Her breath hitches. Chapter Nine. Page Three. Her heart beats wildly in her chest, she feels lightheaded and cloudy. She swallows thickly and responds, “You…You would?”

“Yes.” Viktor confirms, hands lifting to loosen his tie some more, undoing enough buttons that she has a full view of his prominent collarbone, “If you would be willing to do that for me.”

“I would,” she replies after some time, willing, but timid and then because she has already gone this far, she adds a cautious little, “Professor”

Viktor moans at that, and the resulting zip up her spine at having said the right thing is addictive. His slouched posture in the chair makes her eyes widen, one of his arms flung over the side of the chair, the other gripping tightly to his thigh. She wants nothing more than to climb him, ride him, but she is aware there is a part she is playing and admittedly, the role had very much been written with her in mind. So she sucks in a nervous breath and averts her eyes to his bookcase as she begins unbuttoning her shirt. It’s difficult, her fingers shake on the buttons, but the way Viktor’s breath catches when the garment falls open and catches on her elbows has her desperate to continue. She is aware that her underwear is nothing to write home about, she had been anticipatinga slow, boring day at work, after all. Her bra is at least lacy even though it’s otherwise plain white (anything else would be visible through her shirt) and she almost wants to apologise for not offering a better show, but when her eyes cautiously dart back to Viktor she finds him watching with such rapt attention that she suddenly feels less inadequate. 

His eyes are blown wide, his cheeks dusted with pink and she can see the way his chest shifts with his heavy breath. It’s enough that she manages to feel a little confident, even. Deciding not to divert her eyes back to the bookcase and to peer shyly in his direction instead. The bob of his throat is what catches her eyes at first, keeping her attention as she finishes the buttons on her shirt and allows it to fall to the floor. Then the tight dig of his blunt fingernails into the fabric of his slacks, that keeps her occupied through the process of unzipping her skirt and letting it join her shirt with a quiet rustle. It’s the vision of Viktor’s teeth biting down on his lower lip that gives her the confidence to reach around and unclasp her bra, and then the sound of her name leaving his mouth in a teetering whine that allows her to drop it entirely. 

Viktor hums approvingly at the sight of her in nothing more than her underwear and sheer black stockings, “You are a vision.” He croons, eyes half-lidded and intense, “But I do believe I asked to watch you touch.”

She closes her eyes, nerves returning in a rush, but not strong enough to fight back the coiling heat of arousal, “Yes, Professor.” 

At first, she is too self-conscious to even open her eyes, chewing on her lower lip as one of her hands slides up from her hip and over the soft weight of her breast. Viktor makes a sound, something between a gasp and a moan, she takes that to mean she is doing well and so gently squeezes her breast in her palm. When she finds the confidence to circle her thumb over her nipple, she releases a keening moan that she quickly tries to silence with her other palm. She is already so unbelievably, shamefully sensitive, that even that one tentative touch of her own hand has her legs shaking beneath her. 

“Eyes on me, please.” Viktor says again and she grits out a whimper from between her teeth before doing as asked. 

The sight of him, has her moaning again. One of his hands is now tightly pressed to his chin, his teeth chewing on one of his prominent knuckles. His other hand remains on his thigh, gripping somehow even more tightly than before. Most significantly, he’s uncrossed his legs, thighs hanging wide open and making the strain of his slacks blatantly obvious between them. Her head lolls to the side and her next moan is more wanton, liberating. She pinches her nipple between finger and thumb, rolling it between them and lets her other hand fall from her mouth and rest instead at the waistband of her stockings. 

Viktor lets out a slow breath as her fingertips slowly edge down into her stockings and then further down into her conservative underwear. Black, not white. Maybe she would have put some effort into locating a matching set, if she had any inclination of this happening, though Viktor doesn't seem at all bothered by her mismatched undergarments. He hums, chewing on his knuckle some more as his eyes dart down to the shift of her hand inside her underwear and when she finally dares to run a finger up the length of her sex, her resounding whine has him biting down hard enough that she is sure it will leave a mark.

“Are you wet?” He asks, gaze shifting back up to her face.

She scrunches her eyes shut, embarrassed at the more than obvious answer to that question, “Uh, I-I” Her finger bumps against her clit and she loses her train of thought.

Viktor chuckles, “A more coherent response, please. If you can manage it.”

“I-I am.” she gulps a breath, feeling just how easily her finger slides between her folds, “very.”

It's hard for her to stay upright, every feather-light touch of a single finger has her suffering a full body shake. She's so wet that she can feel the gusset of both her underwear and stockings have been soaked through, clinging wetly to the back of her hand as she continues her tentative ministrations. She very nearly sobs when she adds a second finger and rubs a slow circle around her swollen clit, her legs quivering under her weight and hips stuttering out towards her hand.

"Look at you…" Viktor says breathlessly, hooded eyes darting between her hand between her thighs and the pinched expression on her face, "You're barely able to stand, aren't you?"

Her head lolls forward into a boneless nod, biting down on her lower lip as she slides her fingers backward to tease at her entrance, her insides fluttering at even the promise of penetration, "I'm sorry, I-"

"No no, do not apologise." Viktor insists, his voice thick and addictive, "It has been quite, hm, stimulating, observing the way your legs shake, but, I may have a suggestion to make this a little easier for you." He shoots her a smirk and pats his left thigh, “Take a seat.”

Chapter Five. Page Eleven. She gulps a breath, sliding her fingers out from beneath her stockings, shivering as they brush past her clit on the way up. Viktor regards her intently as she takes several shaky steps towards him, reclining further backward against his chair when she positions herself with his leg between her own, still a few inches away from contact. Then, without warning, Viktor takes her hand (the one that had just been down her stockings) and brings it to his mouth, opening his lips and taking her two slick-covered fingers inside. Chapter Seven. Page Fifteen. She moans at the warm wetness that is the inside of his mouth, whimpering at the feeling of his tongue sliding between both of her fingers, his head bobbing forward and then back just a little, encouraging her to fuck his mouth properly.

"F-Fuck…" She stammers, hips quivering, desperate for any sort of friction as she begins to slowly thrust her fingers in and out of Viktor's open mouth. He peers up at her, eyes hooded and releasing a moan that she can feel around her digits. She quickly grows more generous with her fingers, sliding them back out until barely her fingertips remain between his lips and then languidly pushing back in until they are hilted all the way to the final knuckle, deep enough that she can feel them at the back of his throat. Viktor moans again, and she curses under her breath at the sight of his red cheeks and the saliva accumulating at the corners of his mouth.

One of his hands slides up the side of her torso, coming to rest on her shoulder where it then presses down firm. Encouraging her to do as he asked earlier and take a seat. Her knees shake as she slowly lowers herself down, a gasp catching in the back of her throat the moment her aching clit presses down on his thigh, even through three layers of cloth. Viktor lets out a pleased sound around the intrusion of her fingers, lifting his leg just a little and grinding it up against her. She stutters out a moan, writhing impatiently on his thigh, so wanting that she spares only a brief thought for how her wetness must be ruining his slacks.

Viktor pulls back far enough that her fingers slip from his mouth with a perverse wet sound, he takes a few seconds to inhale some heavy, rasping breaths before grunting out the words, "That's it, good girl." and occupying himself with the side of her throat instead. She chokes on a whimper, grinding her hips desperately against his thigh, eyes nearly rolling back in her head with the white hot pleasure that lances through her. Her hands jump up to grip his shoulders, desperate for purchase as her legs shake under the relentless, rhythmless speed of her hips. All the while, Viktor is leaving wet and messy kisses the whole way down the length of her throat, sucking lavishly against the pulse point under her jaw before moving down to her shoulder where he bites. Her hips stutter at the feeling of his teeth, and then again at the soothing lathe of his tongue a moment after.

"God, Viktor!" She grits out from between her teeth when he sucks a purple mark on her collarbone and then his mouth moves down to capture one of her nipples between his lips and that makes her go nearly boneless against him. Her hips grind and rut and fuck almost without her permission and her head falls slack against his shoulder, nails digging into the fabric of his sweater as she feels her stomach coiling with an unbearable arousal. Having her head buried in his shoulder makes her take notice of just how good he smells and the endless grind of her clit against him is making her lose herself, unable to even think about being embarrassed anymore. Viktor nips at her breast and she mewls in response, moving faster, faster, her breath coming heavy, mind completely lost to the pleasure. The sounds escaping her mouth are unfettered and increasing with pitch and fervour with every passing second. Her pleasure is so intense that it nearly aches, she is so close but still so far and a grunt of frustration escapes her that she tries to hide by biting down on Viktor's sweater.

Then, his hands clamp down on her hips, tight enough to impede her writhing. She whimpers, lifting her head up from his shoulder and one of his hands instead moves to cup her cheek while the other works hard to keep her locked in place. Viktor tilts his head to the side and brushes his thumb across her cheekbone, "I apologise," He coos, kissing lightly against her collarbone, "but this is not how I wanted you to finish."

She whines, grinding against him as much as she can, which is no longer very much, "H-How, then?" she manages to force out between her rapid breaths.

"Do you recall the events of chapter six?” Viktor asks against the side of her throat, “I found them to be particularly enthralling.”

"God yes, so did I," She responds breathlessly.

He chuckles, pressing his lips to her jugular, “Would you like to get on the desk for me, then?”

"Yes"

Viktor leans back, tilting her chin to meet his eyes, "Yes, what?" He asks, a playful mirth shining in his eyes.

Her heart races behind her ribs and she forces herself to swallow before whispering, "yes, Professor."

Viktor sighs pleasantly, thumb tracing her well bitten lower lip, "Such a good girl." He breathes, pressing a quick kiss under her jaw and giving the side of her thigh a quick tap, "Up, please."

She does as asked, rising on her shaky legs and giggling shyly when she needs to rest a hand on his shoulder for balance. Once she is steady, Viktor takes that hand and brings it to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss to the back of her knuckles.

"Stockings off, if you would be so kind.” he whispers against her skin.

"Oh! Yes, of course, sorry!" She kicks off her shoes and scrambles to roll the offending pantyhose down her legs without tearing a hole in them, struggling a little when they get down to her ankles and she has to stand on one foot to yank each side off, “Sorry.” she mumbles, shaking the last bit of the offending garment off her toes, “That part is always much sexier in writing.”

Viktor laughs warmly, “Do not worry. I appreciate the touch of realism.” he inclines his head towards the desk, “Up you go.”

She feels her cheeks flushing but does as asked, taking a few steps backwards and hoisting herself upwards so her legs are dangling off the desk. Viktor smiles and then slowly stands so that he can push his chair forward until it is right between her thighs. He rounds the chair and leans his cane up against the desk just beside her leg and then returns to his seat.

The anxiety comes back in a sudden rush at the sight of him settled in between the open invitation of her thighs, her breath races away from her and she struggles to catch it. Viktor's expression shifts, eyebrows pulling together in a concerned furrow.

"Are you alright?" He asks, rubbing a comforting hand on her knee that feels far more platonic than anything else has this evening.

She nods loosely, "Y-Yeah, I'm fine. Just uh…overwhelmed?"

"Would you like to stop?"

"No!" She replies a bit too quickly and then let's out a nervous laugh before correcting, "I mean- No, I wouldn't. Thank you for asking, though."

He hums under his breath, "If you ever do need to stop or take a break, just let me know, alright?"

"I will, promise" She responds, managing what she hopes is a coy smile before adding, "So don't worry about me, do whatever you want to."

"Oh?" Viktor answers playfully, smirking up at her from between her legs, "I suppose I should pick up where I left off then, shouldn't I?" He inches in a little closer and she squeaks at the feeling of his lips pressing against the side of her knee and one of his hands sliding up and under, holding her leg slightly aloft. He hums against her skin, placing another kiss further up on her inner thigh and she grips tightly to the edge of the desk to ground herself somehow. A shocked little whine escapes her mouth when he nips gently at her thigh, and then a whimper follows as the feeling of his tongue lapping over the bite.

In between kisses, Viktor mumbles, “If would indulge me, I have some questions to ask.” against her skin.

“O-Okay.” She replies, a little too shocked at their positioning to really understand what is being asked of her. 

He makes a pleased sort of sound, his next kiss so far up her thigh that she can feel his warm breath through her underwear, “When you were writing this scene, the one in chapter six.” another kiss, on the opposite leg, “Did you have to take breaks?”

Her mind is so addled at the feeling of his mouth so close to her sex that she doesn't even manage to catch his implication,“W-What like to eat? I try to, but sometimes I get distracted and forget.”

Viktor chuckles into her thigh, “No.” he begins, sucking gently on the skin there before continuing, “Did the process of writing that scene, of committing it to paper, ever fluster you so much that you had to leave your desk to relieve yourself?”

Another swirling of aroused humiliation begins in the pit of her stomach, her thighs quivering on either side of Viktor's shoulders as she tries to maintain composure, “Yes.” She admits, voice shaking, “Sometimes.”

“Sometimes or often?” Viktor insists, the hand under her leg sliding upward and toying with the leg of her underwear.

She curses under her breath, squeezing her eyes shut, “Often.” She corrects.

"Good." He responds, his delicate finger running up and along the lacy hemline, gentle enough that she can just barely feel it, "Though I would prefer that I do not need to request clarification again." he bites at her innermost thigh, right at the join to her pelvis, "So please do try and be honest with your responses, yes?"

She nods loosely, still too overwhelmed to open her eyes, "O-Okay, I will, I promise."

"Good." Viktor answers, his voice low and utterly addictive, "Then allow me to ask my next question." He whispers and she feels his breath right at the apex of her thighs, "When you did this, when you took the time to…recuperate before returning to your writing. Was it him, Professor Novák,you were thinking about?”

Her hips stutter upward just a little and she bites down on her lower lip to silence a moan, “No.” She says unevenly.

“Who then?” He asks, as if he doesn't already know the answer.

“V-Viktor you’re embarrassing me.” She stammers, her heart climbing its way up her throat, her sex growing shamefully wet with each of his meticulous, prodding insinuations.

He laughs fondly, palm rubbing a warm circle on her inner thigh, “There’s no need to be embarrassed, I just want to hear you say it, that's all.”

"You." She whispers.

Something a little bit like a whine escapes Viktor's mouth and his hands move to either side of her underwear, "Open your eyes for me." He breathes and then adds, "Please."

She does, slowly and nervously, still chewing away on her lower lip. Viktor peers up at her with something almost like reverence, his summer-gold eyes wide and his cheeks flushed. His throat bobs and he slowly starts tugging her underwear down over her hips, she lifts herself up for him as they slide down her thighs, her knees, her calves and then catch on her left ankle where Viktor seems content to leave them.

He leans forward, close enough that she can feel his hot breath directly on her wetness. She twitches and Viktor lets out a soft groan, peering up at her from beneath his eyelashes, "Tell me again." He croons, lifting one of her legs up over his shoulder, "Tell me who you were thinking about."

She releases a shaky breath, unable to pull her eyes from his despite her nerves begging her to, “You, always you. Every single time.”

"Fuck, zlato" Viktor hisses out between his teeth, sucking a mark on the inside of her thigh as his free hand inches up the other leg, gripping to the uppermost part of her thigh, his thumb inching so close to where she really wants it, "Such a good girl." He drawls, the words rolling around delectably on his tongue, "So good for me."

She shifts her arms, hands flat on the desk behind her, head lolling backward at the duel sensations of his mouth on her thigh and his thumb lingering so close to her sex. When she suddenly feels the warmth of his breath brush her wetness again she mumbles a sudden, "Please." and rolls her hips up towards him.

"Please, what?" He asks, still fully committed to his role even as she hears his voice losing it's even tone.

An utterly pathetic whine escapes her and her hips roll again, "Please, Viktor. Your mouth, please, I-" his hand slides up the join between her thigh and pelvis and she whimpers, "I've been good, please!"

Viktor's next moan is low and deep, all the way in the back of his throat and her head shoots up at the sudden eruptive pleasure of his tongue against her swollen clit, gasping at the sight of his head buried between her thighs. She curses under her breath as he draws slow circles around her clit, his tongue is so wet and warm and the uncombed tips of his hair tickle her inner thighs. Her arms shake beneath her and it takes every ounce of energy to not collapse backwards onto the desk, but she doesn't, she refuses to, because it's Viktor between her legs and she can't bear to stop looking at him.

Then, his second hand joins his mouth between her legs, one of those devious fingers teasing at her entrance and she feels her insides clench involuntarily in anticipation. Viktor grunts against her, sucking on her clit as his finger slides all the way inside in one fluid motion. Her eyes nearly roll back in her head, her hips cant up to meet his ministrations, the whole room filled with the slick sounds of his fingers and mouth, she knew she was wet, but god she is wet. She's lets out a rasping gasp when a second finger joins the first, the both of them curling up in just the right spot to have her seeing stars and then Viktor has the gall to look at her, his eyes blown wide, peering up at her over the curve of her belly. A third finger, then, as his eyes are still locked with hers. The stretch is addictive, she can feel tears beading in the corners of her eyes and her teeth are grit, breath huffing desperately in and out through her nose. Viktor moans against her and the vibrations of that have her quivering, the effort of holding herself up is starting to take toll, she can feel her stomach muscles burning with the strain, but she can't stop looking at him.

She yelps at the feeling of another finger sliding inside of her, the protrusion obvious but still so easy and not at all painful. Viktor pulls his mouth from her for just a moment, just long enough for him to praise, "That's four fingers, zlato." he pumps them in and out of her, slowly enough that she feels the gravity of it, "And I barely even had to work for it."

She's close now, fuck she's so close. Her arms finally give way behind her and she manages to catch herself before she hits the desk, shakily lowering herself down onto the wood. With her hands free, the both of them quickly jump up to grab at Viktor's hair, tangling in it, holding him firmly against her as she grinds her hips into his face, her mind utterly lost, the very concept of shame vanishing as all four of his fingers fuck her and his tongue works its magic on her over sensitive clit. He grunts when both her legs hook up behind him, her feet locking behind his head, "Fuck fuck, please, m'close, so close, fuck please." she pleads, her moans beginning to sound like desperate sobs, tears streaming down her cheeks with exertion.

Viktor takes the hint, fingers moving faster, lips locking around her clit and suckling ravenously as she shakes and grinds above him. His fingers crook up just the way she needs them to and her back arches up off the desk as the pleasure coiling in the belly snaps and shoots from her centre all the way out to her fingers, leaving her quivering and wrecked. Viktor slows, carefully removing his fingers and gently lapping at her with the flat of his tongue, at first even that feels like too much, her hips twitching with every swipe of his tongue, but after a little bit the feeling starts settling warm in her stomach and she regains the energy to unhook her feet and sit back up.

Viktor lifts his head up, resting it on her thigh and giving her an utterly salacious smile. His fingers take the place of his tongue, not touching her clit directly, but slowly sliding up and down the full length of her sex, "Do you think you have another in you?" He asks.

She assesses for a moment, considering how the fingers between her thighs feel. Good, she surmises, "Yes. I think so." and then, a little boldly, "Chapter nine, then? Since I'm already on the desk."

Viktor practically purrs, nipping gently at her thigh before rising from the chair, "Ah, like you read my mind." he says, smirking and wiping the bottom of his face with the back of his free hand. His fingers continue their slow movements against her sex and she slides her hand up the side of his neck around to the back of his head.

She tastes little more than herself when their lips meet, but Viktor hums a moan into her mouth that tastes far sweeter. Her tongue runs behind his upper row of teeth and then she sucks gently on the tip of his tongue when it ventures into her mouth in return, he grunts in response adjusting his weight to rest further forward on the desk all while his fingers continue stroking up and down the length of her. She bites a moan, pulling back from him and drowning in his lax, lust drunk expression for just a moment before jumping her hands down to the hem of his sweater and yanking it up as best she can.

"A little help?" She says, struggling to get it past his arms.

Viktor laughs good naturally, pressing a quick kiss to her cheek before leaning backward and pulling the sweater up over his head on one swift motion. She reaches up and quickly undoes a few more buttons on his shirt, enough that she can see down to his sternum and becomes suddenly distracted by the expanse of skin that she pauses in her effort of undoing the rest, instead latching her lips to his exposed collarbone, sucking and kissing the length of it. Her lips travel upward, licking at the side of his throat when her hands return to their task, undoing the rest of his buttons and then shoving the shirt down off his shoulders. Viktor quickly yanks his tie up over his head and she shuffles forward just a little on the desk, wrapping her arms around his middle and tugging him up against her, relishing in the feeling of her breasts pressing against his bare skin, leaving a trail of hot kisses from the protrusion of his shoulder all the way up to his jaw. Viktor releases a shaky sigh, two of his fingers between her legs tentatively dipping into her, just to the first knuckle to test her sensitivity. When she doesn't immediately recoil he inches them in a little further, all the way, at the sound of her breathless moan.

"It seems as if you are ready for me, don't you think?" He says against the side of her throat, sucking a mark beneath her jaw.

She moans a little at even the thought of it, "Yes, please, I want you so badly."

Viktor coos at her, the hand between her legs moving instead to his belt, quickly working to undo it as his other hand cups her cheek, "Oh, I know you do, zlato. I read all about it."

She laughs despite herself, the sound is easy and bubbles right up and out of her. She covers his hand on her cheek with her own, leaning into the warmth of his palm, "Viktor?" she asks cheekily, "When you were reading my manuscript," she cocks her head to the side, "did you ever have to take breaks?"

His responding laugh is warm and not at all embarrassed, instead he raises their interlinked hands to his lips and places a kiss on the back of her knuckles, "Not during the first perusal." he replies evenly, "I did not quite realise the gravity of what I was reading at that point." he releases her hand, needing two to undo his trousers and inch them just far enough down his thighs, "Ah, the second time however, that is a different matter entirely."

She can't resist quickly darting her eyes downward, hissing a breath through her teeth at the sight of his hand wrapping loosely around the base of his cock. It looks almost painfully hard, flushed red and dripping. Her breath hitches when he nudges against her, just barely, a minuscule pressure against her sensitive clit that sends a quiver through her legs. Viktor hums, watching her intently as he moves his right hand to balance his weight on the desk, compensating for his right leg, she assumes. His left hand remains somewhere between their legs, but he's now leaning in so close that it's difficult for her to see what is happening down there anymore.

"Would you like to hear some more about my second reading?" He asks smoothly, slowly running his tip up and down her slit, lathering it in the accumulation of wetness between her thighs.

She whimpers, nodding her head, "Please."

He sighs, a wide and loose smile playing around his lips, "My second reading, was a great deal more eventful, because by then I had more than a suspicion of just who you were writing about." the head of his cock stills at her entrance, the heat of him, the promise of penetration has her biting down on her lower lip. Viktor's eyes are wide and dark, he leans down to nip at her throat and continues, "It became increasingly difficult to maintain focus, as you might imagine, when I realised that I was reading about you, on your knees, sucking my cock." he grunts, his cool demeanour betrayed for just a moment as his hips stutter forward.

She wriggles her hips, a breathless sigh escaping her throat, "Chapter four?"

"Yes." He responds lowly, hand on the desk gripping tight as he inches himself inside her, connecting his lips to hers so he can swallow the sound of her resounding moan before pulling back with a heavy breath, "I did not survive chapter four, at least, not at first."

She curses under her breath as he continues pushing in, a few more inches, but she is already so sensitive from her last orgasm that even that has her desperately panting, grasping wildly at his hair, his shoulders.

Viktor still mostly maintains his composure, despite the fucked out mess of his hair and the way it clings to his sweaty brow, "Chapter four would not be the last time that I put your writing aside and-" he slides in the rest of the way, a grunt escaping his teeth when his hips slot against her, "-fucked my hand to the mere thought of what you had written." He leans in, his golden eyes broiling, so close that their noses touch and their breaths intermingle, "You, zlato. Are an outstanding writer."

She moans into his mouth when his lips collide with hers, looping both of her arms around his shoulders and tugging him closer to her. Viktor's left hand grabs tightly to her hip, his tongue meeting hers in an utterly filthy writhe and his hips finally start to move. Despite the intensity of his tongue in her mouth, the pump of his hips still remains slow and methodical, a gasp escaping her lungs each time he sheathes himself back inside, his tip grinding against that perfect spot inside of her. The feeling of his bare shoulders beneath her grasping hands, and the hitches in his breath with each thrust keep her grounded, solidifying that it really is Viktor inside of her. She pulls her mouth from his, admiring the focus in his eyes, the intense furrow of his brow, his kiss bruised lips. The sun in the window behind her has well begun to set, painting him in shades of pink and orange, catching in his tangled hair and the beads of sweat on his forehead. He is unfairly beautiful. So she fully wraps herself around him, clinging tightly to his shoulders and encircling his waist with her shaky legs, encouraging him to move faster with a nudge of her heels.

"Ha, impatient?" Viktor manages to say in between panting breaths, his voice is raspy and deep, accent curling delicately around the word.

She whimpers, burying her head in his shoulder, licking at the skin there, "Want you to finish, need you to."

Viktor let's out a shaky sigh, and his hand slides from her hip to down between her legs, rubbing a quick circle around her swollen clit, "Not without you."

Even that slight touch has her gritting her teeth, breathing in hard through her nose, hips twitching. It's so much, it's too much, but somehow it isn't nearly enough, "I-I don't know if I-"

"You can. You will." He responds, his thrusts growing faster, his fingers on her clit applying just the right amount of pressure to have her hissing and gasping into his shoulder.

"F-Fuck!" She exclaims, the heat is nearly unbearable, her legs shake with each circle of his fingers and it's like all of her joints have locked around him, she couldn't be pried from him if he tried. His next thrust has her nearly sobbing, gasping aloud at the feeling of herself clenching down on him and the again at the moan he releases at the sensation.

Viktor bites a curse in Czech, all sharp consonants, the pump of his cock increasing in speed, gradually losing rhythm, "That's it." He grunts, "Such a good girl, zlato. You can do it, I know you can."

She feels his praise deep inside her, it makes her walls flutter, her legs tighten around him. She releases an aching moan against the side of his throat, kissing, biting and tonguing at his skin in equal measure. Barely coherent, she just needs her mouth on him, any way possible, "I-I'm close." she nearly sobs, burying her head in his shoulder.

"Look at me." He grunts, and then again, softer, "Please, look at me."

Her head feels heavy and her lower lashes are wet with tears of exertion, but she manages to loll her head back upward, biting back a whine at the luxurious way Viktor's golden eyes dart around her face. She rests a hand on the desk for balance, inhaling a shaky breath as she lifts her other hand to his cheek. He huffs a breath through his nose and leans into her palm, eyes fluttering closed and then reopening with a pointed intensity that she could drown in.

She feels his fingers slip down to her entrance, sliding quickly inside and then back out in the gap between his thrusts, before gliding back up to her clit, newly wet with her arousal and circling faster and faster. Her teeth grit, her jaw so tight that she can feel it in the base of her skull. She struggles to keep her eyes open, barely able to gulp down enough air to keep her brain functioning as her hips twitch and stutter with each touch of his fingers, the knot in her stomach growing tighter and tighter with each of his thrusts.

A rising crescendo of moans starts forcing it's way out from behind her teeth and she sees Viktor's eyes blow even wider, his own breath going uneven, "Are you going to come for me?" he rasps

She barely manages a nod, whimpering as she teeters on the edge of her orgasm, hand on his cheek moving down to grip tightly at his shoulder for purchase, grinding her hips upward to meet his on each thrust, "F-Fuck, Viktor I-" she's cut off by a moan, struggling her way through a near incomprehensible sentence consisting nothing but curses and pleas of his name. It feels so good that it nearly hurts and with a few more desperate panting breaths and utterly wild writhes of her hips, she feels her climax taking over her body. She shakes, she quivers, her legs lock around him impossibly tight and somewhere amongst that she feels Viktor follow her, leaning his head in to cover her mouth with his own and swallow down her moans as he jerks against her, cock pulsing warmly deep within her sex.

Then she goes limp, head collapsing on his shoulder as she slowly starts catching her breath. Her body feels lethargic and weak, but incredibly good, warm and loose and soft. Remarkably, not at all sore - especially given the less than orthopaedic status of Viktor's desk. She lets out a little giggle into the side of his neck, feeling warm and affectionate.

Viktor laughs too, a warm chuckle that he follows with a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Are you ready for me to move, zlato?" he asks and she gives him a tired nod, wincing slightly at the feeling of him sliding out of her, even though he does it very carefully. She watches as he leans back from the desk and works on getting his trousers and underwear straightened.

"You don't have a sink in here?" She slurs, very tired.

"Ah, no." Viktor responds, almost sheepishly, "It is not ideal, but I will at least need my clothes back on so I can make a trip to the faculty bathroom across the hall and steal some towels."

He does an awkward sort of hop, adjusting his clothes but avoiding putting any weight on his right leg. She quickly realises that he probably overexerted it and either hadn't noticed or just trying his best to ignore it. She frowns, "Just hang out with me for a sec, don't go yet."

He smiles, "That is very kind of you, but there is little appropriate room for me to eh, 'hang out' as you put it."

"Wait, one second." She manages to shuffle herself to the side a little, tapping the free space on the desk with her hand, "Hop on up."

Viktor gives her a warm sort of look and takes her up on the offer, lifting himself up onto the desk and then letting his upper half lie flat. She does the same, laying back on the desk and staring up at the ceiling, an overjoyed smile tugs at her lips when his hand quickly finds hers, thumb tracing the back of her knuckles.

"Remind me to give you my number when we get back down." He says warmly, squeezing her hand once.

She turns her head and gives him a quizzical look, "I already have your number."

He levels his gaze with hers, smiling, "you have my business number."

"Oh…" she mutters, feeling her cheeks grow warm.

"There is a lovely little cafe a few blocks away, I will have to show you sometime." his smile turns mischievous and he whispers, "You could always bring your laptop, if you intend on getting some more writing done."

She giggles and leans in to press a kiss to his cheek, "So long as you promise to read it when I'm done," and then, because she suddenly feels hardly nervous at all, she winks playfully and adds, "Professor."

"You will not be able to call me that during office hours." Viktor answers with a telling flush on his cheekbones, "I like it too much."

She smiles warmly, "We should meet up outside of office hours more often, then." she chews her lower lip, "Not uh, not just for sex, I-I mean-"

Viktor reaches his hand out, running the backs of his knuckles down the length of her cheek, "I'll admit, I have done this all a bit out of order, but I would like to take you on a proper date sometime." his eyes crinkle when he smiles, "Maybe after I finish grading finals?"

"That sounds perfect." She replies, unable to stop smiling, "And then, after that…" she says coyly, shuffling a little closer to him, "We never made it to chapter Eleven, did we?"

"No." Viktor replies, eyes growing wide, "We did not."

[wvyik]

what we’ve always known. d.w. ⟡ ݁₊ .

dean winchester x gn! reader

summary; after a long hunt, you and dean find yourselves alone in the bunker, the silence between you heavier than usual. It’s always been easy— watching each other’s backs, but lately, something’s been shifting. and tonight, with nowhere to run and no excuses left, the truth finally slips out. turns out, you were never just friends.

warnings; mutual pining, idiots in love finally figuring it out, lingering touches™, friends to lovers, accidental confession but not really, one bed trope’s emotional cousin: one heavy silence, touch starved but in denial, pure fluff, eventual kissing.

notes; hi everyone !! yeah, trying to capture tension between two people who are literally too shy to admit their feelings is a workout. my vape broke while writing this lmaoo.. (つ╥﹏╥)つ

words; 1488

The drive back to the bunker was silent, save for the occasional hum of the Impala’s engine. The case had been a tough one — blood, sweat, and a lot of swearing, and you both were wiped. Dean drove with his usual focus, one hand on the wheel and the other resting on the gear shift, his posture stiff from hours of hunting. You sat next to him, your mind buzzing, but you didn’t feel like talking. Not right now, anyway..

The thing about being with Dean, hunting with him for years, traveling together, relying on each other through all kinds of shit — was that it never really felt like you were just ‘friends.’ You were close, sure, but it had always been more than that. And lately? Lately it felt like something was shifting, and you didn’t know what to do with it.

You glanced at him when he let out a small sigh, his eyes flicking toward you for a second before quickly turning back to the road. You could feel the tension, thick in the air between you two, but neither of you acknowledged it.

The drive took longer than it needed to, probably because neither of you had much to say, but when the Impala finally rolled to a stop in the bunker’s driveway, you both seemed to breathe out a collective sigh of relief.

You pulled yourself out of the car, the cool night air hitting your face, and stretched. The quiet of the bunker felt heavier than usual, like the world outside was just waiting. Waiting for you both to acknowledge... anything, really

“So,” Dean broke the silence, his voice rough from the long night, “what’s the plan? Sleep?”

You gave a tired nod, but something about the way he said it caught your attention. His eyes were on you again, but there was something different in them. Something… softer.

“Yeah, sounds good,” you said, your voice quieter than usual.

You both walked inside, and there was this weird sense of being alone together that you didn’t quite know how to handle. Dean went straight for the kitchen, pulling a beer out of the fridge like he always did. You hesitated for a moment before following him, your feet dragging slightly.

“Long day,” he muttered, cracking open the bottle and taking a swig, still standing by the counter. You nodded, but for some reason, your heart was racing a little. You didn’t know why. It was just Dean. Your hunting partner. Your best friend.

Except that, lately, every little thing about him was making you feel… something. His voice. The way his lips would curl into that half-smile. The way he’d look at you when he thought you weren’t paying attention.

You looked up from the floor, catching him watching you. His expression was unreadable, but there was a flicker in his eyes, a hesitation in his stance that made your heart beat faster.

“You good? Nothin' hurts? I swear, if any of these assholes laid a hand on you—” he asked, his voice low, quieter than usual.

You nodded quickly, not trusting your voice. “No, im alright. Just tired. You?”

“Same,” Dean replied, glancing around like he was searching for something. “But, uh… you know, it’s just…”

There was this pause— an awkward, kind of heavy one— and for a moment, neither of you moved. It was like the world outside the bunker had faded away, leaving just the two of you in the silence. The kind of silence that used to be comfortable, but now felt like something more, something you couldn’t ignore.

You shifted on your feet, suddenly feeling a little too warm. “What is it, Dean?” you asked softly, unsure of where this was going but needing to know.

He cleared his throat and took another sip of beer, avoiding your gaze for a second, like he was working up the courage to say something. “I don’t know,” he said finally, his voice quieter, almost unsure. “It’s just… I don’t get it. Why is it that when it’s just the two of us, I can’t stop thinking about… well, us?”

The words hit you like a punch to the gut, and for a second, you couldn’t breathe. You just stood there, processing what he had said, watching him like he was waiting for you to say something. Anything.

But you didn’t know what to say. The silence stretched on until you could almost feel the weight of it pressing against your chest.

You cleared your throat, your fingers fidgeting with the sleeve of your jacket. “Yeah, me too,” you finally said, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I don’t know why, either.”

Dean’s gaze softened a little, and he stepped closer, just a few steps, but it felt like he was right in front of you. Close enough that you could smell the leather of his jacket, the faint scent of wood and whiskey.

His hand brushed against your arm, a lingering touch that sent a jolt through you. Neither of you moved, both of you caught in this strange, unspoken tension that had been building for who knew how long. You could feel his breath on your skin, and the space between you seemed to shrink with every second that passed.

For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, with a soft, almost reluctant sigh, Dean stepped even closer, just inches away now. His eyes searched yours like he was looking for something— an answer, maybe, or some sign that you felt the same.

“I think… I think I’ve been fighting it,” Dean murmured, his voice low, rough around the edges, like he was wrestling with his own thoughts. “Fighting this feeling. But I can’t anymore.”

Your heart was thundering in your chest, your breath catching in your throat. “Dean…” you started, but your words faltered as his hand came up, brushing the side of your face gently, his thumb tracing the curve of your cheek.

“Yeah,” he breathed, his voice barely above a whisper. “I think you know what I mean.” His eyes flicked down to your lips, then back up to your eyes, and you could see the question in them, the uncertainty. But there was something else, too. Something you couldn’t ignore anymore. Something that made your heart race even faster.

Without thinking, your hand reached up, brushing against his chest, the warmth of his body seeping into your fingertips. The touch was enough to make him lean in just a little, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative, almost questioning kiss. But as soon as they met, you both seemed to relax into it, the world falling away as everything clicked into place.

The kiss was slow at first, like you were both savoring the moment. But the longer it lasted, the more it deepened, the more you both let go of the hesitation that had been holding you back. His hand moved to the back of your neck, pulling you closer, and you responded in kind, your arms wrapping around him as you pressed into the kiss, feeling the heat of him against you.

When you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his, both of you breathing a little heavier. The silence that followed was different from before— softer, warmer, like you had finally found the right words without saying a thing.

Dean’s lips curled into that familiar half-smile, but this time it was different. There was something in his eyes that made your heart flutter.

“I… I didn’t know how to say it,” he whispered, his voice almost a little strained as if the words had been stuck in him for so long. “But I can’t keep pretending I don’t feel it. I love you. I’ve loved you for a long time, and I’m done pretending like I don’t.”

Your heart skipped a beat, and the world around you seemed to stop, everything else fading into the background. You took a sharp breath, looking up at him, the truth of his words settling in your chest like a weight you never knew you needed to carry.

“Dean,” you breathed, your hand coming up to touch his cheek, your thumb brushing over the rough stubble there. “I love you too. I always have.”

His eyes softened, and for the first time in a long while, you saw him so completely open. No walls. No defenses. Just him. And it was everything you had been waiting for. His lips curved into that slow, gentle smile of his, one that spoke volumes without him having to say another word.

“I guess we’re not so good at hiding it, huh?” he murmured, his lips brushing against yours in a soft, lingering kiss.

“No,” you whispered back, pulling him close again, as if the closeness could make the moment last forever. You chuckled softly an continued,

“We’re terrible at it.”

taglist; @lieutenantchaos ⊹ ࣪ ˖

⤿ wanna be tagged in my fics?.. don't be shy! @ taglist.

tysm for reading! more works incoming @ library. ⊹₊⟡⋆

[favefandomimagines]

I Know Places 3 (r.c)

Summary: how will Rafe and Y/N’s first date actually go?

AN: part 3 of the Rafe Cameron series!!! I hope you all like it

Previous part

Taglist: @luvrclub

Y/N couldn’t shake the guilt that had been clawing at her chest since the night by the bonfire.

Every time she was with the Pogues, every time she laughed at one of JJ’s ridiculous jokes or shared knowing glances with Kie, a small voice in the back of her head reminded her of the secret she was keeping.

She had always been the honest one. The level-headed one. The one who talked JJ down when he was ready to throw hands and reminded him that not every battle was worth fighting. The one who always said, we don’t lie to each other.

And now here she was, lying straight to their faces.

JJ would kill her if he knew she was talking to Rafe Cameron, let alone going on a date with him. It didn’t matter that Rafe seemed different, that he had listened to her in a way few people ever had. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t once made her feel like she was some charity case or a reckless thrill to be chased.

All that would matter to her friends was that she had broken the unspoken rule: you don’t mix with Kooks.

Especially not Rafe.

The day of their date, Y/N tried to push it all to the back of her mind, throwing herself into work at the bait shop.

Summer meant long days and an influx of Tourons, which meant keeping everything stocked, handling customers, and making sure JJ didn’t get caught for scamming people out of extra cash.

But the second they closed, she felt it creeping back in.

She told JJ and the others she had errands to run—nothing unusual, just a vague excuse to get out of the house for a while. She could tell JJ wasn’t paying much attention, too busy laughing with Pope about some plan to rig the annual fishing tournament.

Kie, however, had looked at her.

Not in an accusing way, not like she knew, but in the way only a best friend can. The kind of look that said, something’s off with you, and I know it.

And Y/N had smiled, pretending like nothing was wrong.

The guilt was suffocating.

Even as she got ready for the date, she could feel it sinking in, making her stomach twist. She wasn’t even doing anything wrong, not really. It was just a date. Just dinner.

Right?

She stood in front of her mirror, smoothing down the hem of her sundress, trying to ignore the gnawing feeling in her chest.

This wasn’t her. She wasn’t the girl who snuck around, who kept secrets.

But she also wasn’t the girl who had ever been looked at the way Rafe had looked at her on the dock.

And maybe—just for one night—she wanted to see where that led.

||

Rafe sat in his truck outside Tannyhill, his fingers tapping restlessly against the steering wheel.

His head still ached from the hit he’d taken during the break-in, but that wasn’t what was keeping him up at night.

He knew who had done it.

The second he had come to and seen Y/N kneeling over him, everything had clicked into place. This wasn’t a random robbery.

It was about money.

More specifically, his money—the money he owed.

When his father died, Rafe had inherited everything: the business, the estate, the weight of a name that carried both power and expectations. But he wasn’t his father. He didn’t run Cameron Development like Ward had. He made reckless investments, chased bigger deals, and, in the process, lost more money than he could afford.

Instead of owning up to it, instead of paying back the people he owed, Rafe had done what he always did—distracted himself.

He poured everything into trying to make more.

Triple. Quadruple.

If he just made enough, the debt wouldn’t matter anymore.

But some people don’t wait to be paid back.

Some people take what they think they’re owed.

Rafe clenched his jaw, staring out at the vast expanse of the property. He should be hunting them down. He should be making it clear that they messed with the wrong person.

But then he thought of Y/N.

Of the way she had looked at him—not with judgment, not with pity, but with genuine concern.

Y/N was good.

She was pure in a way he had never been. She wasn’t untouched by hardship—he knew that much—but she hadn’t been corrupted by it. She still had something he had lost a long time ago.

And the last thing he should be doing was pulling her into his mess.

He shouldn’t have asked her out.

He shouldn’t have let himself want this.

But Rafe had never been good at self-control.

So he was going to pick her up, take her somewhere where no one could see them, and—for one night—pretend like none of the other shit mattered.

Even if he didn’t deserve it.

Even if, deep down, he knew it was only a matter of time before everything caught up with him

||

The night air was crisp as the ferry cut through the water, the soft hum of the engine filling the quiet space between them. Y/N stood near the railing, the cool breeze playing with the hem of her sundress and lifting strands of her hair. The salty air clung to her skin, grounding her in the moment, in the reality that she was actually here, on a date with Rafe Cameron.

Rafe leaned against the railing beside her, one hand stuffed into the pocket of his jeans, the other resting casually against the metal bar. He had this effortless confidence about him, but there was something different about it tonight—less showy, less like he was trying to prove something.

It was just him.

“I can’t believe you actually showed up,” Rafe said after a beat, amusement lacing his voice.

Y/N smirked, glancing at him. “I figured if you were planning on murdering me, you’d pick a less public place.”

Rafe let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Damn. There goes my plan.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but there was an ease between them that she hadn’t expected.

They stood in comfortable silence for a moment, listening to the gentle slosh of water against the ferry’s hull. The lights of the mainland shimmered in the distance, the glow stretching across the horizon.

Rafe glanced at her, his eyes tracing the way she absentmindedly ran her fingers along the railing. “So,” he started, tilting his head slightly, “what’s your excuse gonna be?”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Excuse for what?”

“For why you disappeared for the night,” Rafe said, smirking. “You tell JJ and the Pogues you had to rescue an injured seagull? Maybe return some overdue library books?”

Y/N snorted. “Very funny, Cameron.”

Rafe chuckled. “I try.”

She sighed, tilting her head back to look at the stars. “I told them I had errands to run. Didn’t get any questions, but…” she trailed off, her fingers tightening slightly around the railing.

“But what?” Rafe asked, watching her.

Y/N hesitated before exhaling. “But I feel like I’m waiting for the other shoe to drop. Like they know something’s up.”

Rafe nodded slowly. “Sarah was suspicious when she saw me at the bait shop the other day.”

Y/N groaned. “Great. So, she’s probably putting it together as we speak.”

“Doubtful,” Rafe mused. “Sarah doesn’t think you’d ever go for someone like me.”

Y/N smirked, side-eyeing him. “And why’s that?”

Rafe leaned in slightly, lowering his voice just enough to make her stomach flip. “Because I’m the villain in your story, right?”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she couldn’t ignore the way her heart skipped at his proximity.

“I mean, you were a massive asshole,” she pointed out.

Rafe laughed. “Ouch.”

“Just stating facts,” she teased.

Rafe let out a slow breath, his amusement fading slightly. “Yeah, well… I deserved that.”

Y/N glanced at him, surprised by the sudden honesty in his tone. She expected him to be cocky, to deflect like he always did, but instead, he looked… regretful.

“I wasn’t exactly a saint,” Rafe admitted, his gaze fixed on the water. “Especially to JJ.”

Y/N didn’t respond immediately. She had seen the worst of Rafe Cameron—the arrogance, the entitlement, the fights with JJ. But tonight, there was something different in his posture, in the way he carried himself.

Like he was tired of being that guy.

“So, what changed?” Y/N asked.

Rafe exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “Life.”

Y/N studied him, her curiosity growing. “Care to elaborate?”

Rafe hesitated before speaking. “For a long time, I thought all the Kook-Pogue shit mattered. I thought it meant something, like it made me better than you guys. But now? I don’t know. It’s just a stupid line people draw to make themselves feel like they belong somewhere.”

Y/N stared at him, genuinely caught off guard.

She had never once expected Rafe Cameron to admit something like that.

“Wow,” she said after a beat. “Didn’t know I was going on a date with a philosopher tonight.”

Rafe smirked, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah. Laugh it up.”

“I’m just saying,” Y/N teased, nudging his arm. “If you keep talking like this, I might start thinking you have actual depth.”

Rafe shot her a sideways glance, his smirk returning. “Gotta keep you on your toes, Pretty Girl.”

Her stomach did a little flip at the nickname, and she hated how much she liked the way it sounded coming from him.

She turned back to the water, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up her neck.

“So,” Rafe said after a moment, breaking the silence, “tell me something about yourself that I don’t know.”

Y/N raised an eyebrow. “Like what?”

“Anything,” Rafe shrugged. “Something real.”

She bit her lip, considering for a moment.

Finally, she sighed. “I have this dream of leaving the Outer Banks one day.”

Rafe looked at her, intrigued. “Really?”

Y/N nodded, her voice softer now. “Not forever. Just… long enough to see something else. Something bigger than this place.”

Rafe’s lips quirked up slightly. “Yeah?”

She glanced at him. “You ever feel that way?”

Rafe exhaled, his gaze drifting to the horizon. “Yeah,” he admitted. “All the time.”

There was something in his voice, something deeper, something unspoken.

For the first time since the date started, Y/N realized that maybe—just maybe—Rafe Cameron understood her better than she thought.

The ferry horn sounded in the distance, signaling their arrival. The moment between them lingered, unspoken but there.

Rafe turned to her, his smirk softer now. “Come on, Pretty Girl. Let’s go see if I can impress you with my restaurant choice.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, but she smiled, following him toward the dock.

And as they stepped off the ferry, she couldn’t help but think that maybe—just for tonight—she didn’t mind keeping this secret

||

The restaurant Rafe had chosen was a quiet little seafood place tucked away on the mainland, far from the watchful eyes of the Outer Banks. It was the kind of place where no one would recognize them, and for the first time in a long time, Y/N felt like she wasn’t walking on eggshells.

A candle flickered between them as they sat in a cozy corner booth, the air filled with the scent of salt and lemon butter. Rafe looked relaxed, leaning back in his seat, one arm draped over the back of the booth as he watched her.

“So, Y/N Maybank,” he said, smirking as he speared a piece of grilled shrimp. “You never told me what you actually want to do with your life.”

Y/N took a sip of her drink, swirling the straw between her fingers. “What do you mean?”

Rafe shrugged. “I mean, I know you run the bait shop with JJ and the Pogues, and I know you love them. But what do you want? Like, if you could do anything, what would it be?”

Y/N hesitated. No one ever really asked her that—not in a way that made her feel like her answer mattered.

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “For a long time, I thought I’d just… stay. Run the bait shop, keep JJ out of trouble, live my life here. But lately…” She trailed off, chewing on her lip.

“Lately what?” Rafe prompted, leaning forward.

“Lately, I’ve been thinking that maybe I want more,” Y/N said. “Not that I don’t love my life—I do. I love my brother, I love the Outer Banks. But sometimes I feel like… I don’t know, like there’s a whole world out there, and I’m just stuck in the same place.”

Rafe nodded, his expression thoughtful. “I get that.”

Y/N raised a brow. “Do you?”

His lips curled into a small smirk. “Yeah, I know what it’s like to feel trapped.”

Y/N tilted her head, curious. “I thought you had everything. Money, the house, the business.”

Rafe exhaled a quiet laugh, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, turns out none of that means shit when you don’t know who you are.”

She studied him for a moment, trying to piece together this new version of Rafe Cameron—the one who wasn’t just the Kook prince, but something more complicated.

She wasn’t sure why, but that realization made her want to tell him more.

Maybe it was the way he was looking at her—like he actually cared about what she had to say. Maybe it was the fact that for once, she felt like someone was listening. Or maybe it was just the wine making her bold.

Either way, before she could stop herself, the words tumbled out.

“My dad used to hit us,” she said suddenly, staring down at the table. “JJ and me.”

Rafe stilled, his entire body going rigid.

Y/N swallowed, gripping her glass a little tighter. “I mean, it was mostly JJ. He was the one who always fought back. But I got it too, sometimes. When he was drunk enough. Or mad enough.”

The air between them shifted, the playful energy from earlier dissolving into something heavier.

Rafe knew of Luke Maybank. When he used to buy cocaine from Barry, he’d see Luke around the house, most of the time high out of his mind. There were rumors that Luke hit his kids, but Shoupe couldn’t prove it. Topper and Kelce used to make fun of JJ for it, they’d even make fun of Y/N.

But he never thought that those rumors were actually true.

“I remember this one time,” she continued, her voice holding a sense of nonchalance. “JJ and I were like, thirteen, and I don’t even remember what set our dad off. But I remember him getting in JJ’s face, screaming at him. And I remember JJ just standing there, fists clenched, trying so hard not to react because he knew it would only make it worse.”

She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to meet Rafe’s gaze. His blue eyes were dark, unreadable.

“And then he turned on me,” she spoke. “I guess he figured I was an easier target. But JJ—he lost it. He jumped in, tried to get between us. And our dad—” She sucked in a breath, blinking rapidly. “He hit him so hard that he split his lip open.”

Rafe’s grip on his fork tightened, his knuckles turning white.

“After that, JJ started fighting back more. But I think he hated it more when it was me. That’s why he’s so protective. He doesn’t ever want me to feel like I did back then.”

All Rafe could think about was what kind of monster hits their kids? Especially when one of them was as perfect as Y/N. It made him wish that he could go after Luke, make him wish he never laid a hand on Y/N.

Y/N let out a shaky breath, laughing weakly. “I don’t know why I just told you all of that. I’m sorry.”

Rafe shook his head immediately. “Don’t be.” His voice was rough, edged with something she couldn’t quite place. Anger? Guilt?

She gave him a small, uncertain smile. “I don’t usually talk about it.”

Rafe exhaled, leaning forward, his elbows resting on the table. “You shouldn’t have had to go through that. Neither of you.”

Y/N shrugged. “It’s in the past.”

“That doesn’t mean it doesn’t still matter,” Rafe said firmly.

She blinked, a little caught off guard by the conviction in his voice.

There was a long pause before Rafe spoke again, quieter this time. “I’ve known JJ for a long time. We never got along. But if I had known…” He trailed off, his jaw clenching.

Y/N reached across the table, hesitating for only a second before placing her hand on his. “It wasn’t your responsibility. It wasn’t anyone’s.”

Rafe’s gaze flickered down to where their hands touched before looking back up at her. His fingers curled slightly, not quite holding hers but not pulling away either.

After a beat, he exhaled a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. “I was already out of my depth with you before, but now? I don’t stand a chance, do I?”

Y/N smirked, squeezing his hand once before pulling away. “Nope.”

The rest of the night felt… different after that. Not in a bad way, but in a way that made everything feel a little more real.

Rafe continued asking her questions, learning about her favorite books, her dumbest childhood memories, the things she wanted but never let herself say out loud. He told her about the pressure of taking over his dad’s business, about how suffocating it felt trying to live up to something that never felt like it belonged to him.

By the time they finished dinner, the tension from earlier had melted into something easier.

On the ferry ride back, Rafe leaned against the railing, his fingers idly playing with the hem of her sleeve. “So, was this better or worse than you expected?”

Y/N hummed, pretending to think. “I mean, I figured you’d either stand me up or take me to some overpriced Kook restaurant and make me pay the bill.”

Rafe scoffed. “Wow. Way to have faith in me.”

She grinned. “You exceeded my expectations, Cameron.”

He smirked, bumping his shoulder against hers. “High praise from a Pogue.”

By the time they reached the docks, Rafe walked her to her car, hands shoved in his pockets.

“Guess this is where you tell me you had a great time and drive off into the night,” Rafe mused.

Y/N rolled her eyes but smiled. “I did have a great time.”

“So… second date?”

She crossed her arms. “You’re eager.”

Rafe grinned. “Can you blame me?”

Y/N sighed dramatically. “Fine. But you better make it good.”

“Oh, I will,” Rafe promised, eyes twinkling.

Y/N shook her head, biting back a smile as she climbed into her car. As she drove home, her heart was still light, the warmth of the night lingering.

But then she saw it.

The truck.

Parked across the street.

All the windows were rolled up, too dark to see who was inside.

Her stomach twisted.

For a long moment, nothing happened.

Then, almost as if whoever was inside had realized she had seen them, the truck’s engine roared to life, and it peeled off down the road.

Y/N sat frozen in her car, watching the taillights disappear into the darkness.

And suddenly, the warmth from her night with Rafe was gone.