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p1astr81 · 5 months ago

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what are we? - mv33

in which: Max gets romantically involved with Red Bull’s new hire, changing his life for better and worse.

pairing: Max Verstappen x co-worker!reader

warnings: smut 18+, Christian Horner, cursing, time jumps, angst, not proof read, a little longer

wc: 6.9k

an: ib this fic

‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊ ‧ * ‧₊˚ ‧

The conversation came in late September. The air outside his Monaco apartment was cool. It drifted in gusts through the open window. His grip around your waist tightened when a particularly cold breeze creeped it’s way over his naked figure. His limbs, intertwined with yours, sought the warmth radiating off your skin. Legs mindlessly brushed against yours.

“If you’re cold, you could always put your clothes back on.” He chuckled lowly at your suggestion. The sound traveled smooth and slow through the air, like molasses. A verbal response never graced your ears. He settled for a small shake of his head, his face hid in the curve of your neck.

The scene, while grossly domestic, had your stomach curling into knots of guilt and despair. A feeling of inevitable calamity. The exact timing of it, you were uncertain. But it was sure to come, if not now then soon. Tomorrow morning, maybe. You knew putting it off would make it harder. Executing it was just as difficult, though.

It’s why you were both devastated and relieved when Max’s voice filled the air with the question. It forced you to have the conversation here and now.

“What are we?”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The first day on a job was never easy, especially when you’d been promoted from a simple marketing position at a small company to the manager of the marketing department at Red Bull Racing.

It was mid-January. Freezing cold outside. Your breath converted to a visible fog while you entered your new place of work.

The tour of the building was being given to you by a secretary. He was quiet. Only spoke when he needed to or to answer a question of yours. He led you to an empty office, nothing in the room except for a desk and a chair. Your first and last name engraved on a plaque glued to the door. Your fingertips ran over the lettering, feeling the ridges. Head of Media and Marketing engraved right above your name.

The secretary informed you that someone would be with you shortly, his voice mere mutters. You thanked him and he was on his way.

The room was spacious enough. Plenty to not feel claustrophobic but not enough to not feel vast. A small couch could be a nice edition. Floor to ceiling windows allowed for natural sunlight to illuminate the area. The view was okay. The street and parking lot to the left and a small patch of grass—currently coated by a thin layer of snow—right ahead of you.

A question of your name was called from behind you. You turned with a smile. “Yes, hello.”

Christian Horner. The team principal at Red Bull Racing. Of course, you’d heard what he’d done, read the leaked messages. You nearly didn’t take the job because of it. But it was your dream job, formula one. So a few morals had to be broken.

He smiled. “Good to finally meet you face to face.” He held his hand out to you. You shook it to be polite. “Christian Horner, team principal.” He formally introduced himself.

You remained polite as you followed him through the halls once more. His footsteps stopped outside another office space. A laugh was muffled through the wall. A man’s laugh.

Christian opened the door, allowing you to walk in first. Upon entering, the two boys in the room stopped their conversation, eyes boring into you. You knew who they both were. Liam Lawson and Max Verstappen.

Liam stood first, teeth shining as he smiled. He held a hand out to you and introduced himself. Polite. Max stood, but hovered behind Liam. He studied your form, your face, the way you nervously fiddled with the ends of your hair and tucked a strand behind your ear.

Only when your conversation with Liam ran dry did Max step in to introduce himself.

“Will you be traveling with us to races, then?” His voice was level, unreadable. His gaze jumping between Christian and yourself. Christian answered for you. “No. She won’t be needed. Most of her work will be done here.”

Max’s brow twitched, a faint line appearing between his two brows for less than a second. “Shame.” Was all he said, eyes drifting from your own to analyze the other details of your face. You tried your best to ignore it.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The following weeks consisted of introduction and the drafting of ideas. Your colleagues would filter in and out of your office, presenting vague ideas and handing you long winded proposals. Working in formula one was not nearly as thrilling as you expected it to be.

Your routine shifted one day. Your fingers were dashing across the keyboard, responding to an email sent from another in the marketing department. The door had opened, but assuming it was one of your colleagues you didn’t acknowledge them right away. You were too focused on finishing the email to even realize your visiter had made himself comfy on the small sofa.

Only after you hit send did you look up, slightly-irritated smile embellished on your lips. “Hi, sorry I was-“ the face registered in your mind, though it made the synapses in your brain backfire momentarily, your speech inhibited. Your expression bordered on confusion. When your brain finally caught up, the words that came out of your mouth were, “do you need something?”

You cringed when your own voice hit your ears, your tone suggesting he was bothering you. You fell into quick apologies. “I’m sorry I didn’t mean it like that just… I didn’t know if you came in here for something from me or… yeah.”

There it was again. The anxious action of playing with your hair. His own face shifted. Amusement. He shook his head. “Just came to ask you how you’re settling in.”

The nod that came to you was like a foreign action. Delayed and not quite a smooth gesture. The prospect of Max Verstappen coming to casually check in on you was a little inconceivable, so forgive you if your motions weren’t quite fluid. “Yeah.” You blinked, then realizing that wasn’t really an adequate response, you continued, “It’s nice. People are nice.” You nodded. You found it difficult to keep your eyes on his. Perhaps it was the intensity of it. The way it felt like he was trying to dissect your every thought.

Max hummed. “Well if that changes…” the rest of his sentence hung in the air, but you could finish it yourself.

You nodded again, swallowing the lump of nerves in your throat. “Okay.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Max continued to pop in your office every now and then, at least once a week. You’d gotten more and more comfortable with each encounter. Conversation flowed easily now.

It was the end of February, the beginning of the season drawing close. Papers collected in a small stack on your deck, ones you had to look over before the media team left in two weeks.

“Come in,” you responded to the knock on your door, focus still on the paper in front of you. The paper was torn from your desk, your focus traveling with it. Your eyes caught Max’s blue ones and you scoffed. “Max! I need to finish that,” you complained loudly, reaching for the paper but Max pulled away.

You stood, rounding the desk. Max put his hand out to stop you while he read from the proposal. “…to improve engagement—hey!—and increase—im helping here!” Max laughed, arm extended with the paper out of your reach. “That’s not funny, I need to have that read and responded to by the end of the day!”

Your sides were flush against each other, your hand inching its way up his arm. Subconsciously, he pressed a hand to the small of your back to stabilize you while you stood on your tip toes. Max chuckled. “They’re all the same anyway. Boring for you to read and torture for me to do.”

Your eyes fell from the paper to meet his own. You became aware of the proximity then. Far too close for a couple of colleagues. You stepped back, cleared your throat. Max silently held the paper out to you. Graceful fingers pulled it from his hold.

As you sat back at your desk, Max remained standing in front of it. “I don’t think it’s fair.” He commented out of the blue. Your eyes found his once more, brows knit together. “What’s not fair?”

“Well, you do all of this for the team, and you don’t ever get to see the track.”

Your expression loosened, a breath falling past your lips, sounding like a laugh. “‘Cause my job is here.” You shook your head, finding his judgement a little silly.

A raised brow of his. “So you don’t want to go to the races?”

You dropped your pen, leaning back in your chair. “It sounds fun and all, but that’s not where I’m needed.”

“But if you had the choice, would you want to go to the races?”

You didn’t even need to think about it. “Yes.”

The next morning, as you set foot inside your office your whole body froze. On your desk sat a jar of chocolates. Passed for the weekend in Australia hung from the shoulders of the jar. You analyzed them, just to make sure they were real.

“Of course.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Max won that first race in Australia. A hard fought victory against Charles Leclerc. After the race you settled in the hospitality. People were packing up around you but you were stationary, answering emails upon emails.

You jumped when your shoulders were squeezed from behind. The sight of Max had you relaxing on instinct. He maneuvered his way around the table, taking the chair across from where you sat. “You should go out with me tonight.” He proposed.

Brows shot up, you choked on air. “Sorry, what?” Your laughter was out of control. Continuous breathy, nervous chuckles.

Max seemed to have caught his mistake, laughing to himself. “I meant— I’m going out to celebrate with some of the team. You should come with.”

“Oh, oh yeah.” You laughed. “Maybe not, though. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on, yknow?”

All it took was one little teasing “come on,” and a dazzling smile to convince you.

Party was certainly Maxs thing. One too many gin and tonics and he was drunk out of his mind. He clutched onto your shoulder, yelled something close to your ear. “That’s great, Max!” You responded, a tap of your hand to his chest, though the topic of conversation was completely lost on you.

“Great?! No ‘thank you, Max! You’ve got a beautiful face too!’? Wow ego much!” Drunk max was a hassle, and drove you to drink with every teenage-girl-esc sentence that spilled from his drunk, scrambled mind. “Sorry, didn’t quite hear you! I’m gonna get a drink!” Max wiggled his brows, remembering how you swore you wouldn’t drink tonight. “Looks like someone’s going back on her word!” He laughed. You shook your head, turning your back on him to make your way to the bar. Max clutched desperately onto your arm.

In hindsight, drinking wasn’t your smartest idea. Because one drink led to two, and two led to even more.

The very next morning you woke up with a raging headache. The curtains of the hotel room weren’t pulled closed. The morning light invaded the room, and you pulled a pillow over your head to block the rays that desperately tried to bypass your thin eyelids.

The smell of the pillow filled your nose. But it wasn’t your own perfume, or the fresh scent of a five star hotel. It was cologne. Still smelling fresh. But undoubtedly cologne. The scent strangely familiar, but you couldn’t place it.

Your heart raced. You could feel as the thrumming of it pulsated up to the surface of your skin. The headache was fought off as you opened you opened your eyes, slowly and anxiously.

Eyes meeting the figure, a small gasp left your lips. You’d never identified a person so quickly in your life.

You began to panic when you spotted your shirt from last night, thrown messily over the back of a chair. A quiet chant of no, no, no fell from your lips as you scanned the room with a frantic, unfocused gaze. And the shirt you wore wasn’t yours. Red Bull branded. But not yours. “Fuck” you whispered, tears springing to your waterline.

Careful not to wake Max, you slid from between the sheets, gathering your clothes from around the room. While you slid your pants on, Max stirred. One leg in and one leg out, you froze in place. Thankfully, he went back to sleep, his breath returning in a shallow, even rate. You placed Max’s—now neatly folded—shirt of the television stand.

On the tips of your toes and as quietly as you could, you slipped into the hallway. You could only hope that his memory was lacking as much as your own.

Once back in the security of your own room, you fell onto the bed, closing your eyes with a sigh.

The next time your eyes opened was because of a harsh series of knocks on the door. The sun was brighter now. You’d fallen asleep again.

Tired legs carried you to the door, which once opened, had you frozen in place.

A claw clip was held out to you. “I think you forgot this.” Max grinned, letting himself into the room.

“That’s not mine.” You dismissed, though it was definitely yours. Max chuckled. “You left.” He stated the obvious, eyes drilling into yours. You leaned against the door. He stood across the room.

Your head shook. A mindless movement. “I didn’t think you’d remember either.” You muttered, facing your crossed feet below you. He blinked. Brows furrowing just slightly, complementing his small frown. “Are you saying you don’t remember anything?”

You stood up straighter, back still supported by the door. “Well… bits and pieces.” Your voice was small and you forced yourself to face him. His mouth fell open, gasping out a breath, his hand falling over his face.

Seeing his reaction, you quickly tried to ease him. “I’m not going to tell HR if that’s what your worried about.”

Max froze. “You think I’m worried about HR? No I’m worried about you.” He took a few steps in your direction before stopping himself.

Your eyes widened. Shock. You laughed. “Why would you be worried about me?” You were nervous now. Max seemed to be more confused than ever. “You… because we had sex, and you don’t remember it.” He started to pace. “I though you weren’t that drunk. You swore you weren’t that drunk. I’m an idiot, obviously you were that drunk.” He rambled to himself, feet pacing back and forth along the length of the hotel room.

“Max,” you called. He froze, face meeting yours. Concern etched on every feature. “Did I consent?” He blinked before nodding. “Then it’s fine. You have nothing to worry about” You shook your head

He became confused. “Nothing to- I practically took advantage of you, and you’re saying that’s ‘fine’?”

“Yes because I trust you and I know you and I know that’s not you.” You sighed. “It’s like you want me to be mad at you.”

Max turned away from you, silent. He ventured over to the open window, a distant view of the ocean. Perhaps he did want you to be mad at him. Perhaps then the inner turmoil would be easier to face. Perhaps then he wouldn’t feel so conflicted about you.

“I just think you should value yourself more.”

You looked up from your hands, gaze only finding his backside. “What, you think I don’t value myself just because I won’t be mad at you? We made a stupid mistake, that’s all.” You bit back.

A brow of his lifted, body halfway turned to face you. “No, that’s not what I meant.” He chuckled nervously.

The nod that followed was subconscious as you stared down at your hands once more. “You should go. I need to pack.”

He called your name, a tone that suggested protest. A look from you silently told him off, and he left without another word.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

The following week you were back in your office. Max was meant to be away at a race. He placed second in China. You didn’t care. Sure it was a tiny spat, but it was easier to ignore him than face the repercussions of what you’d done. Max hadn’t reached out since that morning. So neither had you.

The day had droned on. Another Monday spent sitting in your office for hours on end. The tenth knock of the day interrupted your flow of work. “Come in,” you muttered, head rested in the palm of your hand while you read over your presentation for the thousandth time.

You hit the arrow button once again when a cough took you from your focus. You glanced up at the person, body straightening when you saw his blue eyes.

“Is there something I can help you with?” You remained polite and professional. You mentally questioned why he was not still in China, or why he was here at all. He wasn’t needed at the factory today. The question never surfaced, though.

Max let out a small sigh, standing across the room. “Look, I’m sorry.” He started sincerely.

“It’s alright.” You brushed it off, turning your attention back the the screen and hoping he’d fuck off.

“No, it’s not. I don’t think you deserve to just be a hit and run.”

“It doesn’t matter. I hardly remember it.” Your eyes refused to meet his.

“That’s exactly my point.”

You sighed deeply. “And what do you want to do about it? It’s in the past.”

The room was silent for a minute. Max thought it over, his proposal on the tip of his tongue, but he struggled to find the courage to say it. You studied him, eyes narrowed, trying to pick his brain apart.

“What about a date?” He managed to ask.

And you laughed at him. Right to his face. “You’ve lost your mind, Verstappen.”

“That’s not a no.” He grinned.

You huffed. “That is a no.” You shook your head, your words holding some finality to them. You returned to your work, thinking he’d leave after that.

But Max Verstappen is nothing if not persistent. “Why no?”

You looked up once more. The third time during this conversation. “Because it’s an HR nightmare. The second anyone gets wind that I went on a date with you, I’m fired. And I just got this job so I’d really like to keep it.” The eye roll that followed was a natural instinct.

“Then no one has to know.” He negotiated quickly.

“Why are you so persistent about this? I told you it wasn’t a big deal.”

Max swayed on his feet. He didn’t have an answer for that. At least, not one that he was willing to share with you.

“I’ll make a reservation at that stake house, cove’s, for 7. You can choose to show up or not.”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

It may have bothered you a little. Knowing that Max may have been sitting at the restaurant all by himself. The clock reads ten past the nineteenth hour. You’d been staring at the blank wall for fifteen minutes.

The two halves of your brain were at odds. Arguing for and against joining Max at the restaurant.

He’s all alone.

That’s his own fault.

Yeah but he might be upset.

His emotions aren’t my problem.

But it’s a nice restaurant, and he’s paying. A good meal won’t hurt.

You groaned, throwing the blanket from off your lap and making your way over to the closet. You picked a simple dress. Nothing too showy or extravagant. Attention wasn’t what you desired.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this,” you grumbled, looking yourself over in the mirror. The small imperfections were screaming at you, a small frown adorning your lips. You closed your eyes. A deep breath and a sigh. A shake of your head. “It’s not even a real date.”

You got there forty-five minutes late. Max could be clearly seen from across the restaurant. A glass of water sat in front of him, only half full. Fingers tapped the glass in a rhythmic manner, intense eye contact with the contained liquid.

It’s not too late to turn around, you told yourself. And you actually considered it. But the thought of getting ready just to turn back outweighed any other thoughts.

When you approached the table, Max glanced at you, an uninterested look. Then as if the image registered late in his mind, he stood. The chair was pulled out for you before you had the chance to do it yourself. “I didn’t think you’d come.” He spoke in a hushed voice, almost like he was embarrassed by the fact.

“I didn’t think you’d still be here.”

And that’s how it started.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

April passed quickly. Max tried taking you out on regular dates, though you argued. “It would be too suspicious. Everyone knows you like in Monaco.” He worked his way around your fears. He drove your car, which was not nearly as flashy. He covered his face as best he could to blend into the background. He stopped trying to convince you to go with him to races with his guest passes. “People will catch on, Max. Your fans are smart.”

So Max convinced Horner that you would be much more of use at the weekends. “It’s a much quicker flow of information, and she can be there to make changes on the spot. It only makes sense!” And somehow, Horner listened.

The first race of May, in Miami, you were there. Not just as a guest of Max Verstappen, but as a critical part of the team.

You never found out it was Max’s doing. He let you believe the promotion was for your hard work. You deserved that.

The Red Bull car, adorned with a big red number 1 on the wing of the car, was out in front. It would be his first win since the season opener if he could hold onto the lead. You were stressed, fingers twisting up in the ends of your hair. The strands moved like liquid between the gaps of your fingers.

Later that night, you happened to end up in a club, Max’s hands glued to your hips while you twirled around on the dance floor. “You won again!” You shouted over the music, arms tightening around his neck. “I think you’re my good luck charm!” He grinned. You shook your head, laughing. A sound he wished he could keep on file in his brain so he could listen to it on a bad day. “No, I think you’re just that amazing!”

“Fuck, you’re so amazing.” Max groaned, his entire cock sheathed inside of you. Of course you found yourselves back in his hotel room, making a mess of the sheets.

“Ah, Max,” You whined. His thrusts perfectly measured, hitting the deepest parts inside of you. “Faster, oh please Max, faster!” Words were a struggle to get past your panting. Your nails dug into his bare shoulders. He hissed, but the pain quickly morphed with the pleasure and spurred him on.

His teeth scraped along the curve of your neck as he sucked marks into the skin, trying to quiet his noises. “So good. Fuck,” he mumbled against your skin, a hand guiding your thighs to wrap around his waist. The noises you released at the feeling of the new, deeper angle had Max thrusting his hips into yours harder than before. Thank god the headboard was bolted to the wall. Any consideration for the next door neighbor—probably a team member—flew out the window.

“Fuck! Fuck, I’m so close!” Your hips started meeting his, searching for a release. “Please,” the word fell from your lips on instinct.

“So good. So perfect. So perfect for me.” Max continued to mutter praises, his hot breath fanning over the marks he’d just made. His hand ventured down your body to land harsh circles on your clit. “Come on, come for me.”

A high pitch moan added to the sinful noises already infiltrating the room, your back arched up from the bed, pushing your body into Max’s. “That’s it, come on.” He encouraged.

You came with his name on your lips, repeated over and over again like it was the only word you knew. “Fuck,” he grunted, you squeezing him, pulling him right to the edge. “Inside me, fuck, I’m on the pill.” That’s all it took for him to be spilling everything he had inside of you.

You whimpered when he pulled out, still sensitive. He apologized. Noting your closed eyes and your blissed out state, he carried you off to the bathroom and sat you down on the toilet.

“You know, I’m noticing a trend here.” You joked after you’d recovered, back in the bed and lying against his chest. Your fingers idly played with his, fingertips running along his knuckles. Max frowned, though you couldn’t see it. “This is more than just physical for me. I really do like you.” His lips met the top of your head. It brought a small smile to your lips. “I know,”

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Things were going well for you and Max. You kept it on the low. No one in HR had caught on. Of course, the fans speculated, but they had no real proof.

It was the end of June now. All day, Max had been praying to anyone who would listen, begging for a good result. It was Austria. Red Bull’s home race. He couldn’t let the team down.

Prior to the race, you stood in his driver’s room with him. He was all suited up already, you were only there to wish him luck.

Your hands ran down the front of his suit, palms settling on his stomach. “Have I ever told you that you look so good in this suit?”

Max chuckled, the sound a low rumble. “Only about every time I wear it.” His eyes, reflecting such deep admiration, worked their way over your own figure. The tips of his fingers dug into your hips, bottom lip scraping between his teeth while he drew you impossibly close. “And speaking of outfits, you look like a dream.”

You scoffed a laugh. “Really? In my business casual?”

He looked at you like you were crazy for second guessing him. “Oh, Absolutely.” He grinned, his hands coming up to move the hair from your face.

Just as his lips were about to collect yours, a knock interrupted the moment. Max jumped back, creating space on instinct. He looked at you with wide eyes, but you held up a single finger, your mind working fast to make up an excuse.

“Max? Can I come in?” His trainer spoke through the door.

You scrambled through your camera roll. You were sure there was some stupid media video you could use and pretend you were searching for his approval.

“Yeah come in,” Max answered, just as you were shoving your phone in his face. The video was just a stupid tiktok, one saved for future reference.

“So what do you think?” You asked as Rupert stepped into the room. The trainer looked surprised to see you, gaze flitting between the two of you. “Oh, hey. Wasn’t expecting you in here.”

“Last minute media duties. You know how it is.” You laughed innocently, causing Max to have to bite back a smirk. Rupert didn’t know how it was, but he nodded anyway, laughing with you.

“I wouldn’t mind it. Definitely better than some of the other ideas.” Max finally answered your question, a bit of a bite to his response. “Great, I’ll run it by the media team.”

Later that night, after the race—which Max wanted to forget all about, having gotten a puncture due to debris—you recalled the interaction. “You were jealous!” You insisted, laughing while he shook his head adamantly. “You didn’t see how he looked at you!” He insisted.

“Oh come on, that’s in your head.”

“Is it really? Because I’m almost certain he watched your ass as you left.”

You smiled, leaning into him. “You’re quite cute when you’re possessive.” Max cocked his head, trying to figure out if it was a compliment or an insult. “Thank you?” He said hesitantly.

“You’re welcome” you hummed, pecking his lips.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

Summer break. It was much needed for the both of you. Somehow, you managed to take two weeks off of work. The time was spent with Max, somewhere remote and private where eyes wouldn’t be able to pry.

The air smelled of salt water, the strands of your hair soaked in the same water. The white boat floated not far from you, Max standing on the end of it, hands rested on his hips. He observed you with a fond gaze while you swam around, head dipped under the water and a snorkel peaking up out of the water.

You resurfaced, eyes alight with excitement. You pushed the goggles to your hairline. It made your hair look like a mess, but Max found it cute. You waved him over. “Come join me!” And then noticing his hesitation you added, “there’s so many fish! And some are so pretty!”

A smile creeped up on him seeing your enthusiasm. He grabbed his own snorkel from the cushioned seats and joined you. Who was he do deny your request when you were so animated about it?

You’d already ducked back under the water, too impatient to wait for him to join you. He understood your enthusiasm quickly. While it was no coral reef beneath you, fish still swam by, scampering along when one of you made the slightest movement.

A punch was landed on Max’s arm, your movements languid due to the water. He followed your pointed finger to find a turtle at the end of it.

His eyes found yours, crinkled in the corners from how hard you were smiling.

The same smile found it’s way back on your face hours later back on the boat. Max lounged against the cushioned seats, your body right next to his, upper body rested against his.

“I told him, I said, ‘Max is not going to like that idea, you won’t get the result you think you will’ and he replied with, ‘well then maybe max shouldn’t be such a baby about everything.’” You laughed, shaking your head as you recited a conversation from a meeting last week.

Max scoffed, feigning offense. “A baby? I’m not a baby about media duties!” He defended himself.

“Oh you absolutely are. You’re a pain to do media with, to everyone except for me. But it’s okay ‘cause I still love you.” You turned your head to face him, leaning up to capture his lips in a sweet kiss. But a sour taste infected your mouth as your brain caught up with the words your lips had just spewed.

The contact was broken abruptly by you, sitting up and staring at him with wide eyes. Max just looked at you, his own gaze flicking between focusing on each of your eyes, one at a time. His brows were raised in interest, mouth slightly parted.

You found it difficult to meet his eyes, so you focused on the blue-green color of the ocean, watching as the waves folded over one another. “I don’t know where that came from.” You shook your head, voice small. “Just-“

“From your heart, I hope.” Max joked. You turned to him, seeing a cheesy grin on his face to match the equally cheesy comment.

A small yelp slipped past your lips when Max pulled you down again, his face inches from yours. “I love you, too.” He whispered against your lips.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

You’d truly never been happier. It was like you were living in heaven on earth. The smile on your face was permanent, just like how Max was permanently on your mind.

It was early August, the air warm but not hot enough to be unbearable. Your vacation just ended. Despite the fact it was an early Monday morning, you were smiling to yourself while entering the factory.

The first person you saw upon entering was Christian himself, standing in the foyer, leaning against the receptionist desk. “Morning, Horner.” You greeted, walking past him.

“Ah, just a second.” He halted your movements, voice sounding stern. Your heart rate spiked. “Come to my office with me.” It wasn’t a suggestion. You had no choice.

“Have a seat.” He instructed, an outstretched hand. You swallowed hard, trying to level your breathing. Your smile was harder to maintain now.

He sat across from you, at his desk, and pulled out a laptop. “How was your break?” He made small talk, but there was too much tension in the air for you to be comfortable. Your gut told you something was wrong.

“Great, thanks.”

“And you traveled with Max, correct?”

Your heart stopped, breathing halted. His gaze was on yours. A borderline glare. You blinked. Lying was an option that turned over in your mind, but it was evident he already knew. It would put you deeper in shit.

“Yes.”

Christian smiled wickedly. “So you will be honest with me, then.” He said to himself. “And am I correct in saying that there’s something more than professional business going on between the two of you?”

It was easy to predict what would happen next. The very thing you feared prior to diving into this with Max. But he insisted everything would be fine. It was stupid to believe him.

“Yes.”

Christian nodded slowly. “I’ve worked out an agreement with Mercedes and Toto. At the end of the season, you’ll transfer to Mercedes as their head of Media and Marketing. That is, only if you put an end to whatever is going on between you and my driver. If not, then I’ll make sure you never get another job in formula one.” His voice was eerily calm, but the demanding undertones of it was what really put you off.

You nodded, a silent agreement to his terms. He waved his hand. “You may leave now.”

The door was as far as you got before he called your name. “And a bit of advice,” he started, a nasty grin on his face. “Don’t sleep with Wolff’s drivers, too.”

He thought he was being funny. A blatantly misogynistic comment, and he thought it was funny. You desperately wanted to chuck something at his head, but that surely would ruin your career. So you nodded once again.

You made quick work of getting to your office, hardly breathing to contain the tears. It felt like you were suffocating. The world was crashing down around you. You’d just achieved everything you wanted in life, and now it was being pulled out from underneath you like some tablecloth magic trick gone wrong.

Once in your office, you sat at your desk. Palms flat on the table while you took deep breaths. Trying to ground yourself wasn’t working. So you let it flow. You locked the door and cried into your hands. Your palms collected the droplets into salty little puddles.

And then there was Max. God, how were you going to tell Max? It would break his heart, maybe even more than it’s breaking yours.

₊ ‧ *‧₊˚ ⋅* ۶ৎ ‧₊ ‧₊˚ ⋅* ‧₊

You pondered for weeks how to go about telling him. No way seemed good enough. No way seemed gentle enough. So you resorted to slowly pulling yourself away from from. The thought process was that perhaps you could ease him into your leave. That way, it wouldn’t be nearly as painful.

The constant distancing didn’t go unnoticed by Max. He questioned you about it multiple times, but you brushed it off every time. In the past weeks, you’d declined every date. You only talked to him when necessary. And even answered his messages with short responses.

Which is why he felt the need to drag you back to Monaco with him after Baku. You stayed in his flat for the week, so you couldn’t escape him even if you wanted to.

The very last night in Monaco, you allowed Max to have his way with you. Any position he liked, however he liked. You knew you’d end it the following morning. If anything, it was a farewell gift and he didn’t even know it.

The conversation came sooner than expected. His question had your heart jump to your throat.

“What are we?”

He wanted a label. Confirmation. You knew that. But you couldn’t give it to him, only to tear it from his grasp in a few hours time. That would be ten times more painful than what you answered with.

“We aren’t anything.”

Max sat up quickly, your head falling to the pillows. He scanned your face for any sign that would tell him you were joking.

But your face was cold, stoic. He became angry, face twisted in rage as he stood from the bed. “You don’t mean that.” While his face may have reflected anger, his voice broke like a small child’s.

Max thought you had something special going on. Something more than just a fling. But with the confirmation of your words, it seemed it was only that. A fling.

You felt vulnerable under his burning gaze, but you remained expressionless. “You don’t-“ he choked on his words. “you don’t tell someone you love them and then…” he shook his head. He couldn’t understand. “Tell me you don’t mean that.” He demanded, feeling totally defenseless, small, pathetic.

You blinked, finally an emotion coming to the surface of your face. Total despair. “I can’t.” Your voice broke, your head shaking on impulse. Tears began to bloom in your eyes.

Max turned his back on you, his shoulders heaving from the deep breaths he was taking. “You said you love me.” His voice was a near whisper, back still facing you. “Did you lie?”

You’d never stood faster, and you were in front of him in seconds. He stared ahead refusing to meet your eyes. You could see the collection of tears on his waterline. It broke your heart to know you were doing this to him.

Two hands reached out to him. He took a step back, avoiding your touch. “Max I swear to you, I do love you.”

Confusion and hurt filled his eyes when they met yours. “Then why are you doing this?”

“I-“ you stumbled over your words, struggling for an explanation. His brows furrowed. “You don’t even know, do you?” His tone was accusing, creating more distance between the both of you.

You turned the accusation down quickly with a shake of your head. “No. I just- promise me you won’t let it affect your work relations.” Red Bull was his home. You weren’t sure if you would be able to sleep at night if Max hated them after you explained everything to him.

His confusion didn’t lift. “What do they have to do with this?” Max hated feeling like he was in the dark, and right now, the world around him felt pitch black.

“Just promise me.” You begged him.

He nodded. “Okay.”

“I don’t know how, but Christian found out. He told me if I didn’t end things that he would make sure I never got another job working in F1.” You breathed a shaky breath. “I promise you Max, I do love you. So much. And you mean so much to me.” You sniffled. “But I just can’t give up my dream job.”

Max blinked, his expression softening. He understood you completely. If the roles were reversed, he suspected he would’ve done the same thing. Now the only thing that could be read on his face was great sorrow.

He sat on the end of the bed, the influx of information causing his legs to feel week. “How long ago was that?”

“Beginning of August.” You confessed.

“Christ.” His voice was a whisper, head in his hands. He put the pieces together on his own. It was the sole explanation for your distance, he concluded. “I don’t think I can function knowing you’re going to be there every weekend.”

The spot on the bed beside him was no longer available, having been occupied by you. When you put a comforting hand on his arm, didn’t move away this time. “Well, I’m moving to Mercedes next year.”

He looked up, mouth parted. “That’s… good- yeah I’m really happy for you.” He congratulated, and he meant it.

You laid your head on his shoulder. “Let’s just enjoy the time we have left, yeah?” You suggested.

A warm sensation bloomed across Max’s shoulder. Your tears, he quickly realized. He let his own flow free now, and agreed with you, whispering out a, “yeah.”

#f1 #f1 x reader #formula 1 #formula 1 x reader #f1 blurb #f1 fluff #f1 angst #f1 x you #max verstappen x reader #max verstappen #max vertsappen fic #max verstappen x you #max verstappen angst #max verstappen smut #f1 smut #mv33 #mv1

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xhoess · 9 months ago

Text

Falling for the Star

Nicholas Alexander Chavez x reader

Summary: You meet actor Nicholas Alexander Chavez at a gala, sparking an intense romance. As passion builds, you navigate the challenges of his fame, facing public scrutiny and personal doubts. Through steamy moments and emotional struggles, you both fight for a love that’s worth the spotlight.

Wc: 10.7 K

Smut, fluff, drammaaaaaa

The moon hung low in the Los Angeles sky, a silver crescent illuminating the sprawling city below. The air buzzed with excitement and anticipation as you cautiously approached the entrance of the exclusive charity gala at a luxurious rooftop venue. The invitation had arrived with bright golden lettering, but in truth, you had almost turned it down. The mere thought of mingling with celebrities, the glitterati, and Hollywood’s elite had been overwhelming. Nevertheless, a gentle push from a close friend, coupled with a curiosity that ignited within you, led you to this moment.

As you stepped through the large glass doors, the atmosphere enveloped you like a warm embrace. The soft notes of a live jazz band floated through the air, a blend of elegance and vibrancy. Lush greenery adorned the venue, with fairy lights twinkling like stars overhead, and champagne glasses clinking gently as laughter erupted around you. You took a moment to appreciate your reflection in the mirrored walls, wearing a stunning emerald green dress that hugged your figure perfectly. It cascaded to just above your knees, with delicate lace details accentuating your collarbone, making you feel both empowered and graceful.

You scanned the room, your heart racing, when your eyes caught sight of him — Nicholas Alexander Chavez. He was standing across the room, effortlessly charming, with an easy smile that lit up the dimly lit space. His attire was flawless, a tailored navy suit that complemented his physique, making him look like he had stepped right off a magazine cover. His dark curls framed his face, and the spark in his eye held an undeniable allure. You felt an involuntary blush creep up your cheeks as your gaze lingered, making you acutely aware of how stunning he truly was.

Just as you thought you might have imagined the connection, Nicholas glanced in your direction. His gaze met yours, and an electric thrill surged through you, igniting a pulse of energy that felt both thrilling and terrifying. You quickly averted your eyes, pretending to study a nearby artwork, though you could feel his stare still lingering.

With a deep breath to steady your nerves, you decided to get a drink from the bar, hoping to calm the fluttering in your stomach. The bar was swarming with well-dressed attendees, all lost in their own animated conversations. You ordered a glass of sparkling wine, and just as you turned to survey the party, you bumped into a broad shoulder.

“Whoa there,” came a deep voice, smooth as velvet.

You looked up, instantly recognizing the familiar face. Nicholas was standing right in front of you, a playful grin on his lips that made your heart skip a beat. “Looks like you’ve fallen for me already,” he teased, his eyes twinkling with mischief.

You tried to keep your composure, laughing nervously as you brushed your hair back. “Well, I might be a clumsy drinker,” you shot back, a lightness in your tone that surprised even you.

“The drinks aren’t the only thing that sparkles here,” he replied, his gaze simmering with an intensity that made your cheeks flush. “I’m Nicholas, by the way.”

“Y/N,” you replied, your voice steadier than you felt.

“Nice to meet you, Y/N,” he said, leaning closer, the warmth of his presence enveloping you. “What brings you to this shindig? I’m sure you could have found somewhere more exciting to spend your evening.”

You chuckled, feeling more at ease. “Believe it or not, I was contemplating staying home and binge-watching my favorite series. But the charity cause pulled me in—along with the chance to dress up a little, I suppose.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, curiosity piqued. “And what’s your favorite show?”

Do you really want to know? It’s quite embarrassing,” you replied, a sheepish grin spreading across your face.

“Embarrassing? Nah, I want to hear it,” he insisted, his playful demeanor captivating you further.

The conversation flowed easily from there, a delightful exchange filled with laughter and banter. It was clear that he was down-to-earth, someone who didn’t take himself too seriously despite his rising stardom. He listened intently, leaning against the bar with relaxed confidence that made you feel at ease.

As the night progressed, you found yourselves inching closer, the chemistry undeniable. With every stolen glance and shared laughter, the space between you seemed to shrink. Everything else faded away. Just as you felt the urge to lean in, the crowded bar suddenly erupted into laughter, startling you back to reality.

Nicholas chuckled, his gaze holding yours captive. “Looks like we’re commandeered. How about I steal you away for a moment before we get swallowed by the masses?”

“Lead the way,” you said, your heart racing as he gestured toward a quieter section of the venue.

Working through the sea of guests, you found a reprieve on a balcony that overlooked the stunning LA skyline. The city lights glimmered like a cascade of stars, and for a moment, it felt as if you were both the only two people in the world. The evening breeze danced around you, carrying the sweet scent of blooming jasmine from nearby plants.

Nicholas leaned against the railing beside you, a soft smile playing on his lips. "You know," he said softly, the music from inside blending into the background, "I’m glad you came tonight. You have this energy about you, something refreshing."

our heart fluttered at his words, the sincerity in his tone leaving a weight on your chest. “And I’m glad I bumped into you. I didn’t expect to meet someone like you tonight.”

Just then, the moment felt charged, his gaze intent as he held you captive. You could sense the potential for something deeper, something more than just a fleeting encounter at a glamorous gala. But before you could react, a friend called out for Nicholas, interrupting the silence that had built around the two of you.

With a reluctant smile, he turned back to you. “I have to go, but I hope we can pick up where we left off.”

Me too,” you replied, biting your lip, hoping it spoke volumes about what you felt.

He flashed that dazzling smile again. “Here’s my number. Call me. Let’s not let the night end like this, okay?”

You took the slip of paper, your fingers brushing against his as you felt a shiver of delight at the contact. “I definitely will,” you promised, watching as he faded back into the crowd, leaving you breathless and craving more.

The gala had been a whirlwind of elegance, laughter, and glittering lights. You had spent the evening swirling through rooms filled with celebrities, each moment feeling like a scene from a movie. But the real magic began when Nicholas Alexander Chavez approached you during the afterparty, his charming smile effortlessly stealing your breath away. Now, you found yourself on the rooftop of a trendy Los Angeles venue, the city sparkling below as the cool night air wrapped around you.

Nicholas's deep voice carried a playful tone as he arched a brow, “So, did you come here to dazzle everyone with your beauty, or is there a hidden talent I should know about?”

You chuckled, leaning back against the railing, your fingers brushing his casually. “Dazzling was the aim, but I didn’t expect to run into anyone like you tonight.”

The atmosphere was charged; the intimacy of the rooftop—complete with twinkling fairy lights strung overhead—set the perfect backdrop for your budding connection. Below, L.A. hummed with life, yet up here it was just you and him, everything else fading away.

“Tell me more. What’s it like being a dazzling star in your own right?” he asked, running a hand through his dark hair, drawing your attention to the way the moonlight caught the angles of his jaw.

What can I say? I’m just a regular person who got lucky,” you replied, trying to infuse some levity into the conversation even though your heart raced in his presence. “By day, I’m probably just a boring desk jockey, but at night…” you trailed off teasingly, “I become the queen of charity events.”

His laugh was warm, infectious. “A queen, huh? I’ve always wanted to meet royalty.” He leaned in closer, the scent of his cologne—a mix of cedarwood and something distinctly him—invading your senses. Living in a dream, you felt that maybe, just maybe, it wouldn’t break.

“I’m not sure how much royalty I am,” you said, feeling daring. “But I do know how to throw a fantastic ball.”

“Care to demonstrate sometime?" he winked, but then his smile softened. “I think it’s important for people to see beyond the lights and glitz. That’s what I try to show in my work too. There’s more to me than what’s at surface level.”

You considered his words, your gaze locked on the sincerity reflected in his eyes. “What do you want them to see?”

Nicholas ran a hand along the back of his neck, a habit you found endearing as he looked for the right words. “That I’m just… well, I’m just trying to figure it all out like everyone else. Being in the spotlight can make things so complicated.”

I can only imagine,” you murmured, absorbing the weight of his confession. It felt nice to know he shared this vulnerability, drawing you closer to him. The edges of the conversation had shifted, moving from playful banter to something deeper.

As he spoke, his hand brushed against yours, sending a jolt of electricity through you. Time slowed as you both lingered over the lightest of touches, an entire world of unspoken words swirling around you.

Do you think the stars are what they seem?” he mused, his voice lowering as he locked eyes with you. “Or just another layer of a persona?”

Sometimes they seem so perfect,” you replied, barely above a whisper. “But underneath, they’re human too.”

Nicholas smiled, and in that moment, the air felt thick with expectation. He leaned closer, and you could almost taste the warmth radiating between you. The moment elongated, both of you dancing around your desire, a symphony of unfulfilled tension hovering just inches apart.

Then, the serene bubble popped with a shout from below; a group of fellow gala attendees had spilled onto the rooftop, laughter spilling and echoing into the night. The connection between you and Nicholas fractured. He stepped back, breaking the moment like glass shattering on concrete.

“Maybe we should join the party,” he suggested, though you could hear the hint of disappointment in his tone.

“Yeah, let’s not keep the others waiting,” you said, your own heart sinking at the missed opportunity.

But as you both made your way back downstairs, the chemistry lingered electric in the air, weaving around you like a warm embrace. Nicholas walked close; he brushed against you, and goosebumps raced down your arms. You caught fleeting whispers from the crowd as you rejoined—words of admiration and intrigue—as if the guests could sense the bubble of tension that encapsulated you both.

Each glance exchanged with Nicholas sparked further anticipation. You could feel his gaze on you, a warmth that made your cheeks flush. As the evening progressed, small moments of contact sent your heart racing. The lightest brush of his fingers on your back as you maneuvered through the crowd made your breath hitch.

Finally, the night reached its peak, and you found yourself standing at the edge of the rooftop once more, feeling slightly more at ease and anxious all at once. “Thank you for tonight; it was… amazing,” you said, leaning against the railing.

Nicholas turned to you, a soft smile curving his lips. “I had a great time too. But I have a feeling this is just the beginning, isn’t it?”

His voice held a promise that sent butterflies dancing in your stomach. “I hope so,” you replied, allowing a shy smile to break through your facade.

“I’d like to take you on a proper adventure,” he said, a hint of mischief in his eyes. “How about we escalate this?”

“Esclare? I’m intrigued.” You crossed your arms, wanting to feign nonchalance but failing miserably.

Tomorrow. Just you, me, and no distractions,” he proposed, excitement bubbling within you at the thought. This was more than just flirting; you could sense things moving to another level.

You could hardly find the words. “I’d like that.”

With a grin that lit up his face, he nodded. The tension hanging in the air was undeniable, and you felt it wrap around you like a heavy blanket woven from the threads of your growing connection. As he leaned close, just hovering as if weighing the options, the world faded into nothingness.

And just then, in that brief moment, everything felt just right. Because in this vast city of stars, you had found one that was distinctly Nicholas, and you were ready to explore wherever the night—or your blossoming relationship—might lead you next.

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across your room as you stood in front of the mirror, scrutinizing your reflection. Tonight was more than just another evening. This was a date. A date with Nicholas Alexander Chavez, the charming actor who had stolen your attention—and heart—at the charity gala just days ago. You felt a delicious blend of nerves and excitement bubbling within you, urging you to make the right choice. After rummaging through your closet, you finally settled on a sleek, midnight blue dress. It hugged your curves just right, striking a perfect balance between elegant and alluring. The fabric shimmered slightly under the light, mirroring the glint of anticipation in your eyes.

As you finished your look with a swipe of lipstick and a hint of perfume, you couldn’t help but smile at the thought of what was to come. Nicholas was not only stunningly handsome but also had a down-to-earth charm that made your heart race. You picked up your phone, your fingers trembling as you checked the time. You were supposed to meet him at a secluded restaurant hidden away from the prying eyes of the paparazzi, a secret oasis in the bustling city.

The short drive to the restaurant was a whirlwind of thoughts racing through your mind. What would you talk about? Would he lean in closer like he did at the gala? Would you have chemistry over dinner? The mere thought made your heart flutter, and you could feel a blush creeping onto your cheeks.

The restaurant was everything you could have imagined and more. Nestled on a quiet street, adorned with twinkling lights and soft music, it had an intimate atmosphere that instantly set your nerves at ease. As you walked in, you spotted Nicholas seated at a small table in the corner, his dark hair tousled just right, wearing a casual yet stylish outfit that emphasized his toned physique. He looked up and met your gaze, his smile lighting up the space around him, and suddenly, all the anxious thoughts melted away.

“Hey, you look incredible,” he said, standing to pull out the chair for you.

“Thank you! You’re not so bad yourself,” you replied, your voice playful, but your heart raced at the closeness of him.

As you settled into your seat, the conversation flowed effortlessly. You spoke about the gala, sharing laughs over the awkwardness of celebrity encounters, and Nicholas shared funny behind-the-scenes stories from the show. There was an undeniable chemistry, a palpable tension that lingered in the air between you. You couldn’t help but lean in a little closer, wanting to soak in every detail of his expressions and the slight huskiness of his voice when he laughed.

The waiter appeared, taking your orders, but your focus remained on Nicholas, who effortlessly carried the conversation. He spoke of his childhood dreams, his journey into acting, and his love for the craft. “I never thought I’d end up here,” he admitted, his eyes twinkling with a mix of pride and humility. “It’s surreal, to say the least.”

“I can’t imagine how challenging it must be,” you said, genuinely admiring his dedication. “But I’m glad you’re here. You’re incredibly talented.”

The way his eyes softened at your words made your heart skip a beat. “I appreciate that. It means a lot coming from someone like you,” he replied, his gaze lingering on you, making the room seem smaller, just the two of you in your own world.

As dinner progressed, the food became secondary to the moments that were passing between you—slight touches when handing over his plate, the warmth of his gaze locking onto yours. Each shared smile felt like a silent promise, and you found yourself leaning in as if drawn by an invisible string. There was an undercurrent of desire, thick and tangible, yet neither of you was willing to break the spell just yet.

After the main course, you shared a decadent dessert—a rich chocolate lava cake—playfully feeding each other bites as laughter echoed softly around you. The sweet treat punctuated the sweetness blooming between you. The laughter faded into a comfortable silence, and in that moment, the world outside ceased to exist.

Nicholas studied you, his expression serious yet softening the longer he watched. “Can I ask you something?” he said, his tone turning unexpectedly sincere.

“Of course,” you replied, your throat dry with anticipation.

He leaned in, his voice dropping to a near whisper. “What do you want in life? Beyond what you do, beyond this moment?”

Your heart raced as you stared into his deep brown eyes, sensing the authenticity of his question. “I want to experience life fully. I crave adventure, connection, and authenticity—like what I feel right now.” You held his gaze, feeling exposed yet free.

“And do you feel that with me?” he asked, a slight smirk playing on his lips.

You bit your lip, nodding slightly. The air thickened with unspoken words, and as you opened your mouth to respond, your heart pounded in anticipation of his next move.

Just then, the waiter returned with the check, ruining the moment as you both leaned back, the tension momentarily shattered. After settling the bill, you found yourselves back on the sidewalk, the crisp night air washing over you as you walked under the stars.

Nicholas slowed his pace, walking closely beside you, the hum of the city fading into the background. As you approached your doorstep, the atmosphere became charged with unspoken possibilities. He turned to you, his gaze deep and sincere. “I had an amazing time tonight,” he said, the corner of his mouth lifting into that smile that made your heart flutter.

“Me too,” you replied, trying to contain your excitement.

With the height of tension building, he stepped closer, your body instinctively responding to his proximity. His hand brushed against your arm, sending tingles through your skin. Time seemed to freeze, and you both leaned in, breaths mingling, hearts racing.

But then, a car passed by, its headlights illuminating the moment, reminding you both of the world outside. He didn’t pull away, but rather hesitated, drawn to you yet respecting the moment. “Can I…?” he began, stepping even closer, leaning in as though daring to close the distance between your lips.

“Please…” you whispered, your heart hammering against your chest, wanting nothing more than to feel the warmth of his kiss.

But then, he pulled back slightly, a teasing glint in his eyes. “I think I’ll save that for next time,” he said with a smirk, leaving you both breathless and wanting more, the promise of what was to come hanging in the air like the sweetest poison.

As you both stood there, the connection cemented, deepened yet oh-so tantalizingly just out of reach. You knew that this was only the beginning of a whirlwind romance that neither of you could resist.

The days after your last date with Nicholas were an intoxicating mix of anxious anticipation and exhilarating daydreams. He had called you the very next day, his voice smooth and inviting, as if the warmth of the previous night had never really faded. You felt the thrill of those moments linger in your veins, and every text he sent only stoked the flames of your imagination. It was with a flutter of nervous excitement that you prepared for this evening—a dinner at his cozy apartment.

Standing in front of your mirror, you ran a hand through your hair, taking in the reflection of your carefully chosen outfit. You had settled on a flowy, olive-green dress that hugged your curves just enough to leave an impression while still retaining an air of elegance. The fabric floated around your legs as you moved, and you decided on a pair of simple yet chic heels that accentuated the subtle tone in your skin. A touch of makeup polished your look, enhancing your features without overshadowing your natural beauty.

As you stepped out of your apartment, the evening sun cast a golden glow over the city. It seemed to mirror the excitement building within you for tonight. Each heartbeat was a reminder of what might lay ahead—a chance to get to know Nicholas in a way that was private and personal.

Nicholas' place was tucked away in a quieter part of Los Angeles, the streets lined with palm trees that swayed gently in the evening breeze. When you reached the front door, he opened it with a smile that lit up his whole face, making your heart skip. He was wearing a soft gray sweater that clung to his frame and fitted jeans, effortlessly stylish yet comfortably laid back. “You look stunning,” he said, his eyes dancing over your figure.

“Thanks! You clean up pretty well yourself,” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the flutter of nerves in your stomach.

He ushered you inside, and it was exactly as you had imagined—stylish yet inviting, decorated in a way that felt uniquely him. The living room was warmed by soft lighting, highlighting the modern artwork that adorned the walls. A fluffy beige couch faced a modest kitchen where the smell of garlic sautéing filled the air. Nicholas grinned cheekily. “I hope you like Italian. I may have gone a little overboard with the pasta.”

You laughed, feeling instantly at ease. “I’m not complaining. It smells amazing!”

As he led you into the kitchen, the playful vibe between you flared like a spark. You slipped off your heels, enjoying the coolness of the wooden floor beneath your feet. “Let’s get to work, shall we?” he said, reaching for a bottle of wine.

“Wine first?” you teased.

“Only if you promise to help me cook,” he shot back, amusement dancing in his eyes.

You accepted a glass, savoring the way his fingers brushed against yours as he handed it to you; the simple gesture sent a jolt of electricity coursing through your body. As you both prepared dinner together, Nicholas cracked jokes about his culinary skills—claiming he was still trying to impress his mother—and you returned his playful banter, playfully questioning his choice of ingredients.

“Is this how you charm all the ladies?” you asked with a smirk as he accidentally spilled a pinch of salt into the sauce.

“Only the ones who can keep up,” he replied, winking at you, his gaze lingering just a second longer than necessary on your lips.

You could feel the warmth pooling inside you, a thrilling mix of nerves and intrigue. Raising an eyebrow, you leaned closer, close enough to catch the scent of his cologne mingling with the aromatic fumes wafting from the stove. “A challenge, huh? I think I’m up for it.”

His hand found its way to your waist as he moved around you, the touch intentional yet innocently casual. The heat radiated from where he held you, and the atmosphere thickened with unspoken desires, tension carved from every shared glance.

Dinner was a success—delicious and slightly chaotic, filled with laughter and lively conversation. Afterward, you both settled on the couch, the remnants of the meal cleared away. A bottle of wine was uncorked, and as the rich liquid flowed into your glasses, so too did the deeper conversations about life, ambition, and art. You shared pieces of yourself, opening up in a way that felt natural and liberating.

Nicholas listened intently, his focus unwavering, his eyes piercing through the dim light in the room. He shared stories from his childhood, the ups and downs of navigating fame, and the pressures that came with it. Each story unveiled another layer of the man you were growing to admire—not just his on-screen charm but the authenticity that lay beneath.

As the night wore on, the conversation took a flirtatious turn, lingering touches transitioning into palpable tension. The air was thick with anticipation, the quiet intensity building like a crescendo in a symphony. You could feel the magnetic pull between you, every brush of his hand against yours awakening a fire deep within.

In a moment that seemed suspended in time, he looked at you intently, a thousand emotions swirling in his gaze. “You have no idea how captivating you are,” he said softly, his voice low and husky.

Your heart raced, and you could barely find your voice. “And you have no idea what you’re doing to me,” you replied, your heartbeat hammering wildly in your chest.

Just as the tension reached its peak, it snapped, and before you could register what was happening, his lips were on yours, urgent and filled with the emotions that had been bubbling beneath the surface. The kiss was electric, igniting every nerve in your body. His hands cradled your face as if you were the most precious thing in the world, and you melted into him, shared moment of longing finding its release.

Your heart raced, and you could barely find your voice. "And you have no idea what you’re doing to me," you replied, your heartbeat hammering wildly in your chest. Just as the tension reached its peak, it snapped, and before you could register what was happening, his lips were on yours, urgent and filled with the emotions that had been bubbling beneath the surface. The kiss was electric, igniting every nerve in your body. His hands cradled your face as if you were the most precious thing in the world, and you melted into him, every shared moment of longing finding its release.

His lips moved from your mouth to your neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses. You gasped as his teeth gently nipped at your earlobe, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body. "You're so responsive," he murmured, his voice laced with desire. "I love how you react to my touch."

You pulled him closer, your hands exploring the hard muscles of his back. "I want more," you whispered, your voice barely audible. Nicholas smiled, his eyes dark with lust. "I thought you'd never ask," he said, his hands moving to the hem of your shirt.

He lifted your shirt over your head, his eyes taking in every inch of your body. You stood there, vulnerable and exposed, yet feeling more confident than ever. His hands cupped your breasts, his thumbs brushing against your nipples, making them harden instantly. You moaned, arching your back to press yourself against him.

Nicholas's mouth found your nipple, his tongue swirling around it before he took it into his mouth, sucking and nipping gently. You cried out, your hands tangled in his hair, holding him in place. He moved to your other breast, giving it the same attention, making you squirm with pleasure.

His hands moved down your body, tracing the curve of your hips before slipping under the waistband of your skirt. You gasped as his fingers found your clit, rubbing it gently through your panties. "You're so wet," he murmured, his voice filled with satisfaction. "I can't wait to taste you."

He slid your panties down your legs, his eyes never leaving yours. You stepped out of them, standing before him completely naked. Nicholas knelt down, his hands on your thighs, spreading them apart. You braced yourself against the wall as his mouth found your pussy, his tongue licking you from your opening to your clit.

You moaned, your hips bucking against his face. Nicholas gripped your thighs tighter, holding you in place as he continued to lick and suck you. His fingers found their way inside you, pumping in and out, matching the rhythm of his tongue. "You taste so good," he murmured, his voice muffled against your skin.

You could feel your orgasm building, your body tensing as waves of pleasure crashed over you. "I'm close," you gasped, your hands clutching his hair. Nicholas looked up at you, his eyes filled with desire. "Come for me," he said, his voice commanding. And with that, you did, your body convulsing as your orgasm ripped through you.

Nicholas stood up, his lips covered in your juices. You pulled him into a kiss, tasting yourself on his lips. "I want you inside me," you whispered against his mouth. He smiled, his cock hard and ready against your stomach. "I want that too," he said, his voice filled with lust.

Taste yourself on him, the taste of your desire and pleasure. He laid down next to you, his arm wrapped around your waist, pulling you close.

As your bodies cooled down, Nicholas whispered in your ear, "That was incredible." You smiled, your body still humming with pleasure. "It was," you agreed, your voice soft. Nicholas kissed your shoulder, his hand tracing lazy circles on your stomach.

The sun hung in the sky like a lazy star, casting golden rays on the bustling streets of Los Angeles. The city had a certain energy at noon—a buzz of laughter, chatter, and music that thrummed in the background as you and Nicholas made your way to a quaint café. You felt the familiar flutter in your stomach every time you laid eyes on him, this charming man who had flipped your world upside down since that fateful gala.

He was effortlessly stylish in a light denim jacket over a fitted t-shirt, his hair slightly tousled as though he’d just rolled out of bed. You, on the other hand, wore your confidence like your favorite dress; a royal blue sundress that swayed lightly with every step. The perfect dress for a casual afternoon felt like it had a purpose—to catch his eye, and today, it worked.

As you approached the entrance, Nicholas waved to a couple of fans who recognized him. They squealed in delight, their phones snapping pictures. A small smile played on his lips, but you could see the flicker of discomfort in his eyes. This was one of those moments when the reality of celebrity life hit hard.

You exchanged glances, your heart racing irrationally as he opened the door for you. “After you,” he grinned, revealing that perfectly straight line of teeth. Entering the café felt familiar and safe—a hidden gem filled with small wooden tables, rustic decor, and soft background music. As you settled in, the sunlight kissed your foreheads, creating a cozy atmosphere.

“So, are you ready for your first official sighting as my girlfriend?” Nicholas teased, leaning back in his chair, his arms casually resting against the wooden surface of the table.

Your cheeks flushed at that label—girlfriend. It was surreal how quickly everything had escalated since that magical charity gala. "I’m not sure I’m ready for the spotlight yet,” you replied cautiously, stirring your iced coffee with a straw, trying to mask the nervous excitement rising within you.

Nicholas leaned forward, his hair falling slightly into his eyes as he spoke softly, “You don’t have to be. I’ll protect you from the madness, I promise.” His intensity sent a jolt through you, an understanding of why you’d been drawn to this enigmatic man in the first place. There was sincerity in his voice like you were the only two people in the world at that moment.

You suddenly felt exposed in the café filled with fellow patrons, but the air between you shifted as he reached across the table and brushed his fingers lightly over your hand, a gesture so innocent yet electrifying. You fought to maintain composure; it was as if the world outside had faded away, leaving just the two of you drowning in each other’s gaze.

You laughed softly, attempting to lighten the mood. “What happens if we get caught in the act, huh? A scandalous photo of Nicholas Alexander Chavez holding hands with ‘mysterious girl’? That'll definitely pique the tabloids’ interest.”

His laughter echoed your own, bright and genuine. “Right? They’d paint me out to be a heartthrob dating a ‘nobody’—the things they’ll come up with!” He mirrored your playful tone, clearly enjoying the idea.

Just then, the bell above the café door jingled, and a few patrons turned their heads to you. You pressed your lips together, not wanting to draw attention but unable to hide your reaction. You required a steady heartbeat, but somehow, being out with him felt exhilarating, like you were both part of a bit of magical fiction.

After placing your order, you focused on light conversation, sharing stories of your work and traveling. But as you delved deeper, the atmosphere began to shift. You spoke of dreams and ambitions, and he listened with such intent that the heat between you grew palpable. It was as if you were no longer just a fan but two souls connecting, sharing experiences that transcended the celebrity facade.

“So, what’s your greatest dream?” he asked suddenly, his gaze unwavering, making you feel like the center of his universe.

“I suppose I want to create something…” you said hesitantly. “Something that resonates with people, like a book or a novel that could help someone out there feel less alone.” You bit your lip, unsure whether your vulnerability would push him away.

A smile of encouragement spread across Nicholas's features. “I love that. You have such a kind heart, wanting to uplift others. But I have to admit, I always thought your first dream would be to become an actress.”

You chuckled, shaking your head. “No, that’s definitely not my path. I’ll leave the acting to you.”

“But you’d be fantastic—give it a try!” His enthusiasm shifted the conversation’s tone.

At that moment, your eyes locked, and the world around you faded again. His compliment lingered. In a cacophony of noise, it felt serene, amplifying the longing and tenderness brewing in the air.

As you finished lunch, Nicholas paid the bill, but before you could rise, he leaned in closer, whispering, “Want to take a walk? I think we could enjoy this beautiful weather.”

You nodded, heart racing as the waiter smiled knowingly at you both. The walk turned into a leisurely stroll down the picturesque street, but the quiet chatter and laughter from other customers filled the air. As couples passed, holding hands and giggling, doubt crept in. Would you fit into his world? Did you belong in a love story where the media followed every footstep?

Suddenly, someone shouted, “Nicholas!” from behind. You turned to see a group of people snapping photos and shouting questions.

Nicholas held your hand tighter, his protective instincts kicking in as he led you away, heart pounding. “Don’t worry; I won’t let them overwhelm you,” he reassured you, leading you down a quieter alleyway.

“Hiding from the paparazzi already?” you teased, the wild energy of the afternoon igniting a playful spark.

“I think for now, it’s better to avoid the spotlight… but I promise we’ll get used to it together.” He winked, the cheeky grin returning to his face.

Just then, you felt it—his fingers brushing lightly against yours as you navigated the narrow space between two buildings, the electricity crackling and their connections sparking:

His eyes met yours, the air growing thick with unexpressed emotions and unspoken promises. It was a moment that reminded you there was still magic in the world.

As you turned, you collided against him, leaning into his warmth, your pulse racing. “You’ll keep me safe, right?” you murmured, inviting vulnerability.

“Always,” he whispered, leaning ever closer, tantalizingly close yet challenging the rules of what was appropriate.

And in that sanctuary away from prying eyes and flashing cameras, you both indulged in the escalating tension, knowing the path ahead lay somewhere between public dreams and private desires. You were ready to embrace it.

The early morning sun poured through your window, casting a warm glow across your room. The excitement bubbling in your stomach was contagious, filling your thoughts as you prepared for a weekend that promised to be life-changing. Nicholas had invited you to a secluded beach house for a romantic getaway, a break from the intensities of the public eye and the constant buzz of Los Angeles. This was your chance to explore what had been building between you, surrounded by soft sand and the gentle sounds of the waves.

You slipped into a light sundress, the fabric flowing gracefully around your legs as you caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror. The vibrant colors highlighted your features, and you couldn’t help but smile at your reflection. Today wasn’t just another day; it was the beginning of an escape, a chance to relax and truly be yourself around Nicholas.

Arriving at the meeting point, you spotted Nicholas standing by his car, his face lit up with that captivating smile that made your heart race. He wore a casual ensemble: fitted jeans and a simple white T-shirt, yet he looked effortlessly handsome. As you approached, he greeted you with a warm hug, and a rush of butterflies fluttered through your stomach at the contact.

“Ready for the best weekend of your life?” he asked, his eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You nodded, unable to form words. Instead, you climbed into the passenger seat, unable to suppress a grin as he slipped into the driver’s seat beside you. The car hummed to life, and with a quick glance your way, he put on a playlist of lighthearted tunes, instantly setting a cheerful tone for the road trip ahead.

As you pulled away from the city, the congested streets gave way to open roads flanked by tall trees and endless skies. You chatted about everything and nothing, laughter spilling easily between you—stories about childhood, your favorite places, dreams you hadn’t shared with anyone before. With each passing mile, your connection deepened, growing from a spark to a flame.

“Do you ever get used to the whole celebrity thing?” you asked, curiosity guiding your question.

Nicholas chuckled softly, his hands tightening around the steering wheel. “Honestly? Sometimes it feels like a double life. The lights and glamour, yes, but then there’s just normal me, you know? I love moments like this—away from it all."

His candidness made you smile. “I can only imagine. What do you do to escape?”

He glanced at you, a playful glint in his eye. “I’m a pro at finding cozy little spots. But nothing quite like this weekend—with you, everything feels just right.”

The complimentary exchange of your thoughts flowed effortlessly, a gentle rhythm establishing between you both. Just as the sun began its descent, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, you arrived at the beach house, a charming retreat nestled on the shore. The scents of salt and sea breeze welcomed you as you stepped out of the car.

“Welcome to paradise,” he declared theatrically, throwing his arms wide to encompass the view. The house was stunning, with large windows that framed views of the ocean, its soft roar beckoning you forward.

You took in the surroundings, feeling the magic of the setting. It was everything you’d dreamed of for a special weekend. Inside, the decor was warm and inviting, a mixture of coastal charm and modern amenities. Nicholas stepped over to the kitchen, a place where the evening’s culinary adventure would soon unfold

kitchen, a place where the evening’s culinary adventure would soon unfold.

“Any requests for dinner?” he asked, already pulling out pots and pans as if he had been preparing for this moment.

Your eyes lit up. “Surprise me! Just nothing too spicy—I’m not great with heat in my food,” you replied, good-naturedly teasing.

s he began preparing the meal, the kitchen transformed into a lively atmosphere. You took a content seat on the counter, watching him work. “You’re quite the chef,” you commented, impressed as he expertly diced vegetables, contrasting with the actor persona you had become accustomed to seeing on-screen.

“Oh, I dabble. Cooking is one of my favorite escapes. Want to help?”

He reached out, grabbing your hands and pulling you down to the floor, guiding you to stand beside him. The two of you continued the evening, creating delicious dishes and sharing flirtatious banter, his playful touches igniting electricity between you as he moved in close, his hands often resting on your waist or brushing your arms.

As the aromas of a delightful meal filled the air, the atmosphere gradually shifted. Dinner was served on the terrace, a beautiful candlelit setup overlooking the ocean. The flickering lights danced softly in the evening breeze, creating an intimate sanctuary away from the world.

With each bite, your conversation took on a deeper tone, revealing your hopes, dreams, and fears. Nicholas shared stories about his upbringing, moments that shaped him, and you reciprocated with your own stories, revealing layers of your life you rarely discussed. There was raw honesty in your exchanges, and the chemistry between you both became palpable.

Eventually, you transitioned from the terrace to the cozy living room, still wrapped in the warmth of each other’s company. A half-empty bottle of red wine sat on the coffee table, two glasses clinking softly as you filled them. Sparks of laughter and connection intertwined as you prepared to settle down.

Finally, as he leaned back against the couch, he turned toward you, a serious look replacing the lighthearted atmosphere. “Can I tell you something?” he asked, his voice dropping to a husky whisper.

You nodded, curious.

“I’ve never felt this way about anyone before. There’s something about you, something that pulls me in.”

Your heart raced, the raw honesty of his admission echoing loudly in the stillness of the room. You shifted closer, his gaze intoxicating.

“Me too, Nicholas,” you whispered back, your pulse quickening.

In that charged moment, the world melted away, leaving only the two of you suspended in time. Nicholas leaned in, brushing a stray hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made your heart flutter. The tension between you escalated, magnetic and electric.

He paused, searching your eyes for permission. You could feel the heat radiating off him, and there was no denying the longing that sparked in the air.

Then, in an instant, all the teasing and banter that had built up between you both broke free. His lips met yours in a flurry of passion—soft, sweet, then deepening as he cupped your face in his hands. You melted against him, surrendering yourself to the intoxicating warmth of the moment. Yet, just when things began to escalate, you pulled away, breathless.

Time skip

It was one of those gloomy afternoons when the clouds hung low like a shroud over the bustling city. You had planned to spend the day curled up with a book and a cup of coffee, a comforting escape from the whirlwind of emotions that had become your life since dating Nicholas Alexander Chavez. However, as you scrolled through your phone, your relaxed intentions swiftly turned into a sensation of dread.

Your heart sank as you stumbled across the latest gossip blog, its headline screaming about Nicholas’s alleged romantic involvement with a co-star on set, someone whose name you recognized all too well. The article painted a scandalous picture, dripping with insinuation and wild conjecture. The infamous paparazzi photos were splashed across the screen, showing them laughing together: a moment that seemed innocent enough but was now twisted into a narrative that pricked at your insecurities.

hough you knew better than to believe everything you read, the fear gnawed at you. How could you ignore the whispers that echoed through your social media feed, fueled by both envy and intrigue? Your relationship with Nicholas had come with its share of challenges, but today felt particularly heavy.

You tossed your phone down, feeling the walls of your small apartment closing in. The truth was that the euphoria of dating a celebrity was fading, and the pressures were beginning to take a toll. You felt like a shadow of your former self, scared that the spotlight on him would ultimately burn you both.

Later that evening, you found yourself standing in the kitchen, the scent of spaghetti sauce filling the air, an attempt at normalcy. Just as you were about to plate up dinner, your phone buzzed on the table. It was a call from Nicholas, and your heart quickened.

“Hey,” you managed to say, feigning nonchalance.

“Hey, you! I just wrapped up for the day. How are you?” His voice was warm, inviting, grounding, despite the distance.

You took a deep breath and forced yourself to reply with enthusiasm, but the words caught in your throat. Silence stretched between you two as you contemplated how to broach the topic that loomed between you. Nicholas finally broke the silence, concern lacing his tone. “You there?”

“Yeah, just… saw something online.” You could hear the pitiful waver in your voice.

“What did you see?” He sounded wary, the weight of his career pressing down on both of you even over the phone.

You took another deep breath, knowing you had to be honest, yet fearing the repercussions. “The rumors about you and Jade …”

“Jade?” His voice instantly hardened, the warmth vanishing. “What rumors?”

You quickly explained the article, feeling more exposed with each word. You could almost feel him stiffen through the line as he processed the information. “That’s insane. It’s purely professional. We’re acting, Y/N! It’s work!”

“I know that,” you responded, a twinge of frustration creeping into your voice. “But everyone else doesn’t. I can’t— I don’t think I can handle this. All this scrutiny… it’s overwhelming.”

There was a heavy silence before he spoke again, his voice brimming with tension. “So you’re just going to believe what strangers think? I thought you knew me better than that.”

our heart raced as you protested, “It’s not that easy! You’re living in a different universe! I’m just… just trying to figure out if I fit into it.”

Are you saying you don’t want this?” His voice cracked, and you could feel the heat of the confrontation rising.

“I don’t know!” Tears pricked your eyes. “Maybe I’m just scared… scared that this isn’t real, that I’m just a passing thought for you.”

“Y/N, please—don’t say that.” His voice softened as if he could sense the fracture in your heart. “You’re not a passing thought. You’re everything to me. I’m just trying to keep everything balanced.”

“Is that really what this is about?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “Can you even make time for me with your crazy schedule?”

“I’m trying!” he snapped back, frustration spilling into the conversation. “Can’t you see I’m trying?”

The emotional storm swirling around you started to feel unbearable. “You’re not the only one who’s struggling, Nicholas. I love you, but I can’t keep fighting this war of doubts, not when every new headline feels like a dagger to the relationship we’ve built.”

His silence felt as heavy as the dense clouds outside. Finally, he sighed deeply. “I wish you could see how much I want this to work.”

Then show me,” you challenged, your voice trembling with vulnerability. “Show me how much I matter.”

A long pause hung in the air before he said, “I need you to trust me, Y/N. I’m all in—just give me the chance to prove it.”

The tension was palpable, a push and pull of raw emotions crashing in waves against the shore of your relationship. You both wanted to bridge the gap, but scarring doubts lingered like ghostly whispers, refusing to be easily banished.

“Alright,” you finally breathed, torn between belief and fear. “I’ll try.”

Good,” he replied softly, the warmth creeping back into his voice. “Just don’t shut me out, okay?”

“I won’t. I promise.” With that, you decided to let the conversation end for now. A bittersweet sense of hope flickered within you, but still, the tension lingered, unresolved, heavy between you like a storm waiting to break.

As night fell, you wrapped your arms around yourself, wishing for clarity. Your heart ached with uncertainty, leaving you to wonder if love could be enough to weather the darkest clouds. You just hoped that amidst the chaos, Nicholas would find a way to show you that your place in the storm was secure.

long shadows cast across your living room as you sat curled up on the couch, surrounded by a fortress of pillow cushions. The remnants of a half-eaten tub of your favorite ice cream lay abandoned beside you, and the TV buzzed in the background, but you couldn't concentrate on the screen. Your mind was tangled in knots, replaying everything that had happened in the last couple of weeks since that fateful argument with Nicholas.

He had stormed out after you accused him of being too wrapped up in his fame and his new co-star, Jade. You hadn't meant it to sound so harsh, but doubt had crept in, nurtured by the gossip blogs that twisted every picture of Nicholas and Jade into scandalous narratives. The backlash on social media was relentless, and it had hurt to see the way his fans celebrated every interaction with her. The moment had spiraled out of control, and you hadn’t seen him since.

Part of you had fought to suppress the nagging voice that whispered you were better off without him. But deep down, you knew that was a lie. Your heart ached with longing; the laughter you shared, the way his dark eyes sparkled when he told you stories from the set, and the intensity of the moments when it was just the two of you. It all felt like a dream slipping away and leaving nothing behind but confusion.

As you stared wistfully out of the window, a sudden vibration from your phone nearly startled you, pulling you from your reverie. Your heart raced as you picked it up. The screen lit up with Nicholas’s name, and for a moment, you hesitated. A part of you wanted to ignore it, to keep your distance and maintain the facade of being strong and self-sufficient. But the longing was almost unbearable, and you answered.

“Nicholas,” you breathed, your heart hammering against your ribcage.

Y/N,” he replied, his voice warm yet laced with an urgency that set you on fire. “Can we talk?”

“Yes,” you whispered, emotions swirling like a tempest inside you. His tone seemed both reassured and uncertain, a blend that made your stomach churn with anxiety. A few moments later, he announced, “I’m on my way.”

You nearly dropped the phone, panic intertwining with excitement in your chest. “Where? How?”

Just… meet me outside?” The call ended abruptly, leaving you both exhilarated and apprehensive. You sprang to your feet, the ice cream forgotten, rushing to compose yourself. You combed your fingers through your hair and replaced your sweatpants with a casual but flattering outfit. The wait felt like an eternity as you hovered near the window, glancing outside between drags of breaths.

Then you saw him, stepping out of an Uber, his familiar silhouette striking against the late afternoon sun. His hair tousled and a hint of stubble adorning his jawbone, he looked as if he had just walked out of a magazine cover—stunningly recognizable yet painfully human all at once. Your pulse quickened, a rush of love and anxiety engulfing you, surfacing just as he approached your door.

When you opened it, he stood there, his face a mixture of determination and vulnerability that tugged at your heartstrings. The moment hung heavy between you, neither of you quite ready to bridge the gap that had formed during your time apart.

“Can I come in?” he asked softly.

You nodded, stepping aside to allow him entry, and as you closed the door, a weight settled on your chest. He turned to face you, and in that instant, memories of laughter and shared moments flooded back, heavy with what you both had built amid the chaos of his celebrity life and escalating pressures.

Look,” Nicholas began, running a hand through his hair, a gesture you recognized as one of frustration. “I flew back from shooting just to talk to you. I needed to understand why…” He trailed off, searching for the right words.

“Why I doubted you?” you supplied, your voice catching in your throat. “Why I called out your relationship with Jade as something it wasn’t?”

Exactly.” He drew closer, his intensity drawing you into a whirlpool of emotions. “You have every right to feel insecure, and if I made you feel that way... I’m sorry. But I want you to know it’s always been you for me. The glimpses of my world you saw were never meant to keep you out. It was never just publicity for me. This…” He stepped back slightly, motioning between you two. “This is real.”

Tears stung your eyes at the sincerity of his words. “What about the rumors? People say…”

People say a lot of things. I let the noise drown out our silence. I thought I could handle it, but losing you... it’s the worst part of all this.” His voice smoldered beneath layers of vulnerability. “I’d give up everything if it meant keeping you close.”

You swallowed hard, the echoes of his confession wrapping around your heart. “But can we manage this? Can love withstand all the chaos surrounding you?”

He took a step closer, invading the space with his presence, his warm breath mingling with yours. “We can fight for it. The world can be loud, but I want every moment I can steal with you. The quiet parts. The messy ones. The fights when we disagree. All of it.”

He was close enough that you could feel the heat radiating from his skin, and for a moment, everything else faded—the doubts, the scrutiny, the world outside. It felt just like those stolen moments you had experienced before. “What if I can’t handle the spotlight?” you asked, your heart racing as you met his gaze.

Nicholas took your hand gently, brushing his thumb along your knuckles. “Then I’ll ensure you never have to face it alone. I’ll be there, holding your hand through every ordeal, every misunderstanding. We can figure this out together.”

His voice dropped to a husky whisper that made your heart flutter. The intensity between you was palpable, the distance collapsing into closeness until your lips were just inches apart. Your breath mingled with his as the weight of uncertainty melted into a spark of connection.

“I might need some convincing,” you teased lightly, searching for a way to ease the tension that had built. Nicholas grinned, and that boyish charm made your insides tingle.

"Then allow me." He closed the gap, capturing your lips with his, the kiss igniting everything you had been missing—desire and warmth swept over you like an all-consuming flame, melting away your fears. It was electric, each brush of his lips reminding you why you had fought so hard against doubt.

His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as his tongue teased your lips. You parted them, inviting him deeper, and he accepted the invitation with a hungry groan. His fingers trailed up your back, leaving a trail of goosebumps in their wake, before they tangled in your hair, holding you in place as he deepened the kiss.

You melted into him, your body pressing against his as your hands explored the contours of his chest. The feel of his muscles beneath your fingertips made you ache for more. You broke the kiss, gasping for breath, and he trailed soft kisses down your neck, making you shiver.

You taste amazing," he murmured, his voice laced with desire. "I could kiss you all night."

And I could let you," you whispered back, your voice barely audible over the music. "But I have a feeling there's more you want to do."

He chuckled, a low, throaty sound that made you shiver. "You're right, I want to see you," he said, his voice rough with need. "Every inch of you."

You smiled, slowly unbuttoning your blouse as his eyes followed your every move. He reached out, helping you slip it off your shoulders, his fingers brushing against your skin and sending shivers down your spine.

You're gorgeous," he said, his voice barely a whisper as he traced the line of your bra with his fingertips. "And I want to taste every inch of you."

He leaned down, his lips claiming yours once more as his hands unhooked your bra, letting it fall to the floor. You gasped as his mouth found your nipple, his tongue circling the sensitive bud before taking it into his mouth. You arched against him, a moan escaping your lips as he sucked and teased, sending waves of pleasure coursing through your body.

His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and dip as he made his way down to your waistband. He unbuttoned your jeans, his fingers brushing against your skin as he slid them down your hips. You stepped out of them, standing before him in nothing but your panties.

He looked up at you, his eyes dark with desire. "You're amazing," he said, his voice a low growl. "And I want to make you feel amazing."

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your panties, slowly pulling them down until they joined your jeans on the floor. You stood before him, completely naked, as he took a moment to appreciate every inch of your body.

"You're perfect," he said, his voice a low murmur. "Absolutely perfect."

He led you to his bed, laying you down gently before joining you. His hands explored your body, his touch gentle yet firm as he traced the line of your thigh, his fingers brushing against your most intimate place. You gasped, your hips arching against his touch as he slipped a finger inside you, his thumb circling your clit.

You're so wet," he murmured, his voice thick with desire. "So ready for me."

ou nodded, your breath coming in short gasps as he added another finger, his pace increasing as he brought you closer and closer to the edge. You could feel the pleasure building, your body tensing as you teetered on the brink.

Come for me," he whispered, his voice a command as his thumb pressed against your clit. You cried out, your body convulsing as waves of pleasure washed over you, leaving you breathless and trembling.

He kissed you gently, his fingers still inside you as he slowly pulled them out. You could feel the emptiness, the ache for more, and you knew that you wanted him inside you.

e rolled onto his back, pulling you on top of him. You straddled him, his cock hard and ready against your entrance. You guided him inside, gasping as he filled you completely. You began to move, your hips rising and falling as you found your rhythm.

He gripped your hips, his fingers digging into your skin as he met your thrusts, his cock sliding in and out of you with a wet, slapping sound that filled the room. You could hear your own moans, the sound of your breath as it caught in your throat, the feel of his cock inside you sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.

"Faster," you gasped, your body aching for more. "Harder."

He obliged, his hips thrusting upwards as he met your downward strokes, his cock slamming into you with a force that made you cry out. You could feel the pleasure building again, your body tensing as you rode him, your fingers gripping his shoulders for support.

Yes," you gasped, your body convulsing as another orgasm washed over you, leaving you breathless and shaking. You could feel him inside you, his cock pulsing as he found his own release, his body tensing as he came with a low groan.

You collapsed against him, your body slick with sweat as you struggled to catch your breath. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both came down from the high.

"That was amazing," he said, his voice a low murmur as he kissed the top of your head. "Absolutely amazing."

You smiled, your body still tingling with the aftershocks of your orgasm. "It certainly Was"

Nicholas drew you closer, kissing you deeper, his hands weaving into your.

“Let’s not let anything come between us again,” he murmured, his forehead resting against yours.

“I want that too,” you replied, the tension of unresolved issues still swirling in the air. But there was something vibrant, something alive in the way his gaze held yours.

Nicholas paused, his expression turning serious once more, “I’ll fight for you, Y/N. Always.”

_________

BYEEE LONGEST FIC EVER.. #needthat

Comments are much appreciate I love it 😋

#nicholas alexander chavez #nicholas chavez #nicholas Alexander chavez x reader #smut #fluff #nicholas chavez smut #nicholas chavez fluff #nicholas chavez fanfiction #nicholas chavez x reader #x reader #drama #i need that man so bad #so hot and sexy

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odileeclipse · 2 months ago

Text

In the Presence of Truth {"Sage of Truth" (SMC) x Reader} PT 21

<<<Previous Next>>>

When morning came…The door to the lecture hall swung shut behind you with a dull thud, the echo trailing like the remnants of Professor Almond Custard’s latest rambling theory, something about spontaneous infusion patterns that had your mind swimming more than it should have.

You rubbed at your eyes, blinking away the residual glaze of boredom. Your mind dozed off before you knew it whatever was said was lost on you.

“Another riveting lecture,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie drawled, slinging his bag over his shoulder as he caught up with you in the hall.

“I think my soul left my body around minute twenty.”

“You lasted that long?” Chai Latte Cookie teased, linking her arm through yours as the group moved toward the central corridor. “I lost interest when he pulled out the second chalkboard.”

“I rather liked the second chalkboard,” Earl Grey Cookie said smoothly, appearing at your side with his usual effortless poise. Hazelnut Biscotti rolling his eyes trailing behind Earl Grey. “Though I suppose it’s only natural that one must enjoy chaos to appreciate it.”

“Speaking of chaos,” you muttered, squinting up at him, “you said you’d show us what’s required for the Spire, right?”

Earl Grey Cookie gave a short nod. “Ah. Yes. I was wondering when you’d ask.” He gestured for you all to follow him and led you through the glass-paneled corridor that cut through the Scholar’s Wing like a vein of light. The noonday sun spilled through in dappled patterns, illuminating golden dust motes as they danced lazily in the air. He stopped just outside the smaller lecture annex and pulled a folded parchment from the inner pocket of his coat. The seal on it shimmered faintly with magic, stamped with the same sigil that had been on the article you'd read about the Spire. “This,” Earl Grey began, unfolding the paper with careful precision, “is what’s required to be considered for student placement at the Spire of Knowledge.” He held it out so everyone could see.

You and the others leaned in, eyes scanning the list.

Preliminary Application Requirements for the Spire of Knowledge (Student Research Cohort): -Demonstrated academic excellence in magical theory and application (minimum GPA threshold: 3.5) - One letter of recommendation from a faculty member (Spire-affiliated or Senior Scholar preferred) -A minimum of one completed research project within your department -Submission of an intent proposal: a 750-word document explaining your desired research path and its relevance to the future of magical study -Optional: portfolio of magical constructs, spellwork matrices, or theoretical contributions

Your mouth felt a little dry as you reached the bottom. “That’s… a lot.”

Earl Grey tilted his head. “They want promising scholars. Not perfect ones. But those who can prove they’re capable of more than passive learning.”

“You said this was optional?” Hazelnut Biscotti asked, pointing to the final note about portfolios.

Earl Grey nodded. “Optional, but highly encouraged. It’s a way to stand out. The review board will be selective.”

Chai Latte Cookie leaned closer to you, whispering, “Looks like we’ve got our work cut out for us.” You nodded slowly, still taking it all in. The list in your hands was more than a formality; it was a door. One that could lead you there. To the Spire. To him.

“Applications open next month,” Earl Grey added, tucking the parchment back into his coat. “That gives you a few weeks to pull things together. I’d suggest speaking with your current professors about research topics, if you haven’t already.”

Hazelnut let out a low whistle. “Well, this just got a whole lot more real.” You stood quietly for a moment, the magnitude of it settling in your bones. Research. Letters. The proposal. You could do this. You had to do this.

For yourself. And for the chance to be where he was, too. “Think we’ll make it?” you asked, mostly to yourself.

Earl Grey regarded you with something almost fond in his expression. “I think you’re more than capable,” he said simply.

Chai Latte bumped your shoulder with hers. “We’re doing it together, remember?” You looked between them Hazelnut Biscotti already plotting aloud how to spin his latest project, Earl Grey calmly listing professors who might agree to sponsor a recommendation, Chai Latte’s quiet determination and felt the edges of your fear soften. Together. That part was never in doubt. You exhaled, a slow breath, one hand curling around the strap of your bag.

“Then let’s get to work.” You chewed the inside of your cheek for a moment before glancing up at him. “Earl?” Your voice was smaller than you meant for it to be, but the moment felt fragile somehow, and you didn’t want to break it. “Would you… help me organize everything?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie leaned back in his chair, letting out a soft laugh. “What, you don’t trust us to help?”

You shot him a look. “I trust you to set my desk on fire by accident.”

“Rude,” he grinned, clearly unbothered.

Chai Latte Cookie hummed. “Fair, though.”

You turned back to Earl Grey, offering a sheepish half-smile. “No offense to either of them, but… you just have a way of making things make sense. I don’t want to mess this up.” Earl Grey Cookie tilted his head, gaze unreadable for a moment before softening, just slightly. “We’ll all help,” he said. “That was always the plan.” His eyes met yours, steady and sincere. “But I’ll make sure your materials are in order. I know how… overwhelmed you can get.”

You winced, just a little. “Is it that obvious?”

“To most? No.” His voice was low, reassuring. “To me? You forget how long I’ve been watching you wrestle with your notes during every group study session.” A flush crept into your cheeks, but it faded quickly beneath the warmth blooming in your chest. There was no judgment in his tone just gentle honesty, the kind that made you feel more seen than exposed.

“Thanks,” you mumbled, your voice barely above a whisper. Chai Latte Cookie leaned her head against your shoulder. “We’ve got you.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie offered a lazy thumbs-up. “Team effort, as always.” You glanced at the stack of papers again daunting, yes, but suddenly, not quite so impossible. Not with them beside you. Not with him. You smiled down at the neatly arranged documents, a weight lifting off your chest now that it wasn’t just you staring down a mountain of requirements alone. The way Earl Grey had broken everything into clean, digestible pieces, color-coded tabs and annotated margins made it all feel far less impossible than it had even ten minutes ago.

“I think I’ll look over it tomorrow,” you said, fingers brushing the edge of the folder. “Maybe… after I’ve slept and recovered from Professor Almond Custard’s war on attention spans.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted. “Sleep first, suffer later. Classic.”

Chai Latte Cookie giggled. “I’ll bring snacks for morale support. You know, the important kind of support.”

You beamed at her, heart light. “You always do.”

Earl Grey Cookie gave a quiet hum of approval as he slid the folder back into its case. “Sleep is an acceptable excuse for now,” he teased, a rare note of mischief in his otherwise polished tone.

“I’ll hold you to that,” you said, stretching your arms out with a small sigh. “Tomorrow, then. We’ll tackle it together.” There was a warmth at the table that lingered, a quiet promise spoken not in declarations, but in gestures. In how Earl Grey kept the documents close at hand, in how Chai was already thinking of snacks, in the way Hazelnut’s relaxed posture said you’ve got this without a single word. And deep down, you knew you’d be okay. Because you wouldn’t be doing this alone. Chai Latte Cookie reached across the table, her fingers lightly brushing yours as she closed the folder you’d been staring at for the past few minutes.

“You should nap,” she said gently, her tone so sweet and final it left no room for protest. “We’ll wake you when it’s time for tutoring. Promise.”

You blinked at her, blinking slowly, the heaviness in your limbs catching up to you all at once. “But what if-”

“Nope,” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie interrupted with a lopsided grin. “No arguing. You look like you’ve been dragged through five lectures and four existential crises.”

“That’s… alarmingly accurate,” you muttered, already sinking back into your chair. Chai Latte Cookie giggled, brushing a loose strand of hair from your face like she had every right to like she always did. “You’ve done enough for today. Let your brain take a break.” Earl Grey Cookie gave an approving nod, already tidying the papers as if sealing the deal. “We’ll keep everything safe. You’ll be far more efficient after rest.”

You gave a weak laugh, warmth blooming somewhere in your chest at the quiet care in all their voices. “Alright, alright. Just for a bit.”

Chai Latte Cookie stood and held out her hand, helping you up. “Come on. You can use my blanket. It smells like cinnamon and reassurance.” You let her guide you away. Chai Latte Cookie’s dorm room smelled exactly like her warm, floral, and ever-so-slightly spiced, like steamed milk kissed with cardamom and honey. The door clicked shut behind you, muffling the sounds of the hallway, and you stood still for a moment, letting the atmosphere settle around you. It was soft.

Every corner of her room breathed softness, like it had been designed not just for comfort but for care. The walls were a muted rose color, washed gently in natural light filtering through gossamer curtains embroidered with little constellations of gold thread. Strands of fairy lights looped from one end of the room to the other, casting a gentle, magical glow over the shelves lined with worn novels, dried flower bundles, and carefully curated trinkets from festivals and markets long past. There were pictures, too tucked in between vases and books of the four of you, of her family, of blurry sunrises captured in shaky hands and bright, unfiltered smiles.

Her bed was massive, layered in plush quilts and far too many pillows, silk, velvet, hand-stitched, patterned with swirling florals and soft geometric shapes. It looked like a cloud pulled down from the heavens and coaxed into a shape meant for daydreamers. On the desk, there were journals open and overflowing with curling cursive and half-doodles, stars and teacups and notes-to-self and an old teapot kept warm on a charm-cast tray. There was a small music box by her windowsill, its paint chipped just slightly, as if it had been loved too much to stay pristine. She placed a hand on your back, guiding you gently toward the bed.

“You’re using the quilt with the little stars,” she declared, already fluffing the pillows behind you. “It’s my favorite, and it’s good for dreaming.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie dropped onto a chair in the corner, stretching his arms overhead with a yawn. “Place still smells like poetry,” he muttered.

Earl Grey Cookie only nodded once, fingers ghosting along the edge of her bookshelf as he glanced over the titles. “A surprising number of historical romances,” he mused.

“I contain multitudes,” Chai Latte replied sweetly, pulling the quilt over your legs once you settled down.

“And a hopeless romantic streak.” You murmured something incoherent into the pillow, and she brushed your hair back, tucking it behind your ear like she always had. Her touch was as familiar as the rest of her gentle, grounded, and unflinchingly kind. “We’ll be right here,” she whispered, voice quiet enough to rest on your skin like sunlight. “Just rest, okay? When it’s time, we’ll wake you.”

The last thing you saw before your eyes drifted shut was the soft, golden lantern light flickering above, casting faint stars across the ceiling. And the sound you fell asleep to wasn’t a lullaby, but the low hum of your friends talking softly just beyond you, safe and close. You didn’t remember falling asleep. One moment, the quilt was warm against your cheek, the scent of Chai Latte Cookie’s lavender sachets settling deep into your lungs, and the next gentle fingers were brushing over your shoulder.

“Hey,” Chai Latte Cookie murmured, her voice like steam rising from a fresh cup. “Time to wake up, sleepyhead.”

You groaned softly, blinking into the plush folds of her favorite star-quilt, bleary-eyed and dazed. The golden hue of the room hadn’t changed much, though the fairy lights now glowed a little brighter with the late afternoon sun dipping behind the window curtains. A hand gently patted your back.

“You should get to your study date,” Chai Latte said lightly, a playful lilt in her voice. Your eyes opened a little wider. “Tutoring,” she corrected, in the exact same breath, as if she hadn’t just tripped over her words.

“Obviously.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted from where he lounged on the floor, flipping through one of Chai’s romance novels. “That slip was louder than a thunderclap.”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed and mildly insufferable, offered a knowing glance over the rim of his teacup. “I believe the term is freudian. Though I’m not entirely convinced you mind the implication.”

Your face flushed as you pushed yourself upright, the quilt pooling around your waist. “It’s tutoring,” you mumbled, throat dry from sleep. “Academically-motivated tutoring.”

Chai Latte Cookie only grinned, her hands on her hips, betraying no shame. “Mm-hmm. That’s what we’re calling it.” You shoved your arms through your sleeves, cheeks still hot as you gathered your bag. “You guys are the worst.”

Earl Grey grinned, rising to his feet, “you still rely on us though.”

Chai handed you a small to-go cup of tea warm and sweet, because of course she’d made something while you slept. “Go,” she whispered, her teasing replaced with something gentler. “You’re gonna be late.”

You clutched the tea to your chest and nodded once. There was no turning back now. Whatever this was, whatever it would become you were already stepping toward it. You moved through the Scholar’s Wing on autopilot, feet barely grazing the floor as you weaved through the golden afternoon light slanting in through the high-arched windows. The halls were quieter now most students still lingering in their final classes or tucked into the library, looking over pages with ink-smudged fingers. But you?

You had somewhere else to be. The cup of tea Chai Latte Cookie had pressed into your hands remained warm, cradled like a charm of courage between your palms. You hadn’t taken a sip yet. Just holding it felt like enough a silent reminder of your friends’ unwavering support. You reached the familiar door tucked in the Scholar’s Wing, simple and heavy, carved with the faint outline of ancient runes barely visible unless you knew how to look. Your hand hesitated for only a breath, hovering before the wood. Then, with a quiet rap of your knuckles, you knocked. Just three times. A formality, really. You both knew you didn’t need to anymore. But still you knocked.

From within, you heard the soft shuffle of parchment, the closing of a book, and then his voice: calm, measured, and unmistakably him. “Come in.”

You exhaled slowly, adjusting your grip on the tea, and pushed the door open. “Hey,” you said, the word coming out softer than you intended, like your voice hadn’t quite found its footing. It was the same type of greeting you always gave him, informal, unceremonious, something that once masked how nervous you used to be just being in the same room as him. You had said it a hundred times, maybe more. But today… it didn’t sound the same. Not to your ears. Shadow Milk Cookie looked up at you from behind his desk, and though his expression remained composed, there was something quieter in the air between you. Something not yet named, but no longer hidden.

He didn’t answer right away. Just held your gaze for a moment too long…long enough that your heart skipped. Then, with a faint curve to his lips, he replied in kind. “Hello.” You sat down without being asked, as you always did. The chair was familiar beneath you, the desk scattered with papers and ink. Everything about the moment should have felt like routine. The familiar rhythm of your tutoring sessions, the way the silence filled the room like velvet, the warm scent of parchment and candle wax clinging to the air. But it wasn’t the same. Not really. Because even though you were still you and he was still him, something had changed. The truth had shifted the light in the room gentle, but unmistakable. And maybe no one else would notice. But you did. You sat straighter than usual. Your fingers didn’t fidget with your notes. And when you looked at him you saw something new in the way his gaze lingered, in the way he waited for you to speak like he already knew you would, but still hoped to be surprised. “Long day?” he asked, voice calm as always, but softer somehow.

You smiled, small and private, the kind of smile that only belonged here. “Not yet,” you murmured. “But it’s about to be.” You reached into your bag and pulled out your notes slightly crumpled from being stuffed between too many books, corners folded and scribbled with your usual half-formed thoughts and highlighted passages you weren’t entirely sure you understood. You flattened the pages out on his desk between the two of you, fingers hovering over the diagrams you'd drawn. “So,” you said, nudging the notebook forward, “I think I’m missing something here between the leyline convergence and the anchor sigils.” You tapped your pen against the margin, frowning. “This part just… doesn’t make sense to me.”

Shadow Milk Cookie leaned forward, his expression sharpening not with judgment, but with focus. His eyes swept across the notes, tracing the lines you’d drawn, the hastily-sketched symbols. And just like that, something shifted. Gone was the quiet, almost tender stillness from moments ago. This was the Sage of Truth. His gaze took on that unmistakable glint, bright as a star yet weighted like ancient stone. He didn’t rush. He simply began his voice even, calm, yet commanding in that way that always made you sit a little straighter, hold your breath a little longer.

“You’re approaching it as if the sigils are meant to reinforce the leyline. But in this configuration,” he said, lightly turning the notebook toward you, “they’re actually meant to contain its flow, not strengthen it.”

He reached for a piece of parchment, already illustrating the concept anew, translating the arcane theory into something tangible with practiced ease. His voice wove through the explanation, never faltering, never hesitating. Words that might’ve felt impenetrable in a lecture hall unfolded here with clarity, like pages turned by a knowing hand. “And this,” he added, pointing toward a corner of your notes, “is not a convergence, but a divergence caused by residual energy. You mistook it for equilibrium but in truth, it’s instability.”

You blinked. “But how is that even sustainable?” He glanced at you, the faintest smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Because it isn’t. That’s the lesson.” Oh. You sat back slightly, processing the weight of his words not just the answer, but the way he always knew how to give it. As if he had peeled back the layers of your confusion before you’d even fully formed the question. It was humbling. A reminder of why you’d come to rely on these sessions more than you ever thought you would. And yet… this time, the air between you carried something more. You weren’t just looking at a scholar, or a guide, or even the Fount of Knowledge. You were looking at him. The one who had seen your worst confusion and never turned you away. The one who’d waited quietly, patiently for you to understand more than just theory. You exhaled slowly, gaze flickering from his notes back to his face. “…You always make it sound so simple.”

Shadow Milk Cookie looked up at you fully then, the golden light catching in his eyes like some distant, steady flame. “Truth,” he said gently, “is rarely simple. But clarity that, I can offer.” And you believed him. You always had. You leaned forward slightly, propping your chin on your hand, the faintest hint of a smile tugging at your lips. Your notebook still lay between the two of you, now marked with new annotations and precise diagrams that only he could make look so elegant.

“You know,” you said, half-teasing, “I was thinking…”

Shadow Milk Cookie glanced up from the parchment he’d just finished sketching on, one brow arching in mild curiosity. “Were you?”

You gave a soft, amused exhale. “What’s it like? Being able to reshape the academic world with, like… a flick of your wrist?” You wiggled your fingers dramatically for effect. “One stroke of a quill and suddenly entire departments are reorganizing themselves to follow your latest lecture.”

There was a beat of silence. Then he laughed. A real one, low and soft, like the echo of a library chuckle that had never quite forgotten how to be human. “If only it were as effortless as you make it sound,” he replied, eyes gleaming with something like fondness. “Influence is not granted by the flick of a wrist. It is earned over years, sometimes centuries by the flicker of ideas. The wrist simply carries them forward.”

You wrinkled your nose. “You could’ve just said, ‘It’s a lot of work.’”

“I could have,” he agreed, amused. “But then, you wouldn’t have had your little moment of reverence.”

You scoffed. “Who said I was reverent?”

He leaned forward ever so slightly, voice dipping lower, quieter. “You speak as if I move stars with my hands,” he murmured. “Yet it is you who offers constellations in your margins, and truths in half-formed questions.”

Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your face flushed with heat as you quickly averted your gaze, muttering, “That’s… unfair.”

Shadow Milk Cookie only tilted his head, the faintest smile still playing at his lips. “You’re the one who asked.”

You groaned, covering your face with your hands. “I’m never asking anything again.”

“You will,” he said, with maddening certainty. You would. You were supposed to be reviewing ley line variance theories, something about elemental drift and spatial fractures but somewhere between diagrams and ink stains, your mind veered off-course. It always did with him. You tapped your pen against the page, then looked up at him slowly, voice casual despite the steady thrum beneath your skin. “If you weren’t doing this teaching, theorizing, being the Fount of Knowledge or whatever what do you think you’d be doing instead?”

Shadow Milk Cookie paused, the tip of his quill held just above the margin of your notes. “An intriguing question,” he said, not looking up yet. “Though I suspect anything I answer will sound terribly pretentious.”

You tilted your head, smirking. “Try me.”

He finally set the quill down, folding his hands atop the desk, expression thoughtful. “I suppose I’d be… a lighthouse keeper.”

You blinked. “What?”

“A lighthouse keeper,” he repeated, as if the idea wasn’t completely ridiculous. “Somewhere far from here. Remote. A cliffside, perhaps. I would tend to the light. Keep records. Listen to the sea.”

You stared at him. “That’s so dramatic.”

“I am dramatic,” he said mildly. “And there’s poetry in solitude.”

You leaned forward, grinning now. “So you’d rather be alone on a craggy coast with no one but a thousand squawking seabirds for company?”

“I never said I’d be alone,” he said, and the corner of his mouth twitched. “I’d simply prefer… quieter company. Perhaps someone who asks nonsensical questions to fill the silence.” Your breath hitched. It was such a small thing his tone was still and even. His gaze was still soft but it made your heart lurch anyway.

You looked back down at your notes, suddenly embarrassed by how warm your face felt. “…You’re impossible,” you mumbled.

“I prefer inevitable,” he replied smoothly. You bit the inside of your cheek, holding back a laugh. And for a long, quiet moment, the question of ley lines was forgotten, suspended in the hush that had settled between you the kind that needed no explanation. The study session passed more smoothly than you had anticipated. The gaps in your understanding didn’t feel like deep chasms waiting to swallow you whole, but rather, shallow dips you could step across with care. You flipped through your notes with a practiced hand, the ink clean and your diagrams if a little messy and accurate.

Shadow Milk Cookie sat across from you in that same elegant stillness he always did, his hands folded atop a stack of tomes, golden eyes sweeping across the parchment you laid out before him. He didn’t interrupt, didn’t steer, he simply watched, letting you walk yourself through the concepts. You knew he’d only speak if you faltered, if your logic veered too far off course, but today… you didn’t falter much at all.

“…So, if the anchor pulse destabilizes, it starts to slip through the ley line current, right?” you asked, tapping your pen against the diagram you'd drawn. “But if the convergence point is reinforced beforehand, the distortion minimizes less of a ripple?”

His gaze didn’t leave the page. “Precisely.”

You looked up at him, blinking. “Wait, really?” A slow nod. “You’ve grasped the core concept. That’s more than most.” There was no teasing in his tone, no quiet amusement at your surprise just a calm certainty, the kind of praise that didn’t flare and vanish but settled deep into your chest like a quiet ember. You looked back down at your notes, a small smile tugging at your lips. It felt good, so good to not be drowning for once. Every now and then, you still asked a question. But they weren’t frantic or confused, not desperate grasps at meaning. They were thoughtful, steady. The kind you could only ask when you understood enough to start wondering why. And he answered them with the same gentle depth he always had. But there was something different about it now. Something less guarded. Something warmer. Eventually, you leaned back in your seat, stretching your arms over your head with a soft groan. “Okay,” you said, smiling a little, “I think that’s everything. I mean for now. Until I find a way to confuse myself again tomorrow.”

Shadow Milk Cookie regarded you with a soft look, the corners of his mouth curving upward in that quiet, elusive way of his. “Then tomorrow, I will be here.”

You let out a laugh, your hand brushing your notes into a neat pile. “Of course you will. You’re as consistent as the moon.”

He tilted his head slightly, expression unreadable but not distant. “Even the moon waxes and wanes.”

“…But you don’t,” you said, then quickly added, “At least, not when it comes to this.” He didn’t answer right away. But his gaze lingered on you longer than it needed to. Something soft. Something steady. And you found that for today you didn’t need him to say anything more. Shadow Milk Cookie had begun tidying the corner of his desk a quiet, practiced movement, like brushing away the remnants of time. You gathered your things just as softly, your fingertips trailing along the edge of your notebook before finally lifting it from the polished wood. But as you stood, something lingered. Not just your steps, not just your thoughts, but a truth you hadn’t spoken yet. The kind that pressed at your throat with hesitant breath. You clutched your notebook to your chest, and before turning to go, you paused by his desk once more.

“…Can I ask you something?”

He looked up immediately. Not surprised. Not impatient. Just present. “As always.”

You bit your lip, gaze faltering. “Do you want to keep this” you gestured vaguely between you, between the two chairs and the shared silence and all the unnamed moments that had stacked quietly in the space between your hearts “us… quiet?”

His expression didn’t change at first. But you saw the flicker in his eyes. A small shift, like a truth catching the light. “I wouldn’t mind,” you said, quickly, earnestly. “If you did. If that’s what you want. I mean, I understand. You’re… you.” You offered a small smile. “You belong to a bigger world than I do. You have so much ahead of you, and I just…” You swallowed. “I don’t want to be the thing that ever holds you back. I want your happiness more than anything.”

Shadow Milk Cookie remained still for a heartbeat. Then another. He set the scroll in his hand down with quiet precision, the soft papery hush of it folding into the quiet. His gaze met yours not the gaze of the Sage of Truth, but of the man beneath it. The man who let you ask nonsensical questions just to hear your voice. The one who never looked away when you were uncertain.

“You are not something to hide,” he said at last, his voice low and even as always held the weight of something certain. “But some truths deserve to unfold in peace.” Your heart gave a strange, aching flutter. He stood, stepping around the desk not to close the distance between you, but simply to see you off, as he always did.

“If discretion grants us quiet joy for a time,” he said softly, “then let us choose that joy.” You nodded slowly, understanding, grateful. “Then that’s what we’ll do.”

You turned toward the door, pulse steadying as your hand reached for the handle. “And for the record,” his voice came, just before you opened it, “your happiness is not a cost to be weighed against mine.” You turned to glance at him, surprised. His gaze met yours, unwavering. “It is part of it.” That moment was enough to carry you through the rest of the night.

The dining hall buzzed with its usual chatter, but your friends were easy to find same table, same chaotic energy. Chai Latte Cookie spotted you first, her hand already raised before you’d fully stepped inside. She waved you over with all the subtlety of a spell gone awry. “Look who finally returns from their very academic meeting,” she sang, scooting over to make room.

You slid into your seat, giving her a look. “Don’t start.”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie snorted into his cup. “Oh, we’ve already started. You’re just catching up.”

Earl Grey Cookie, ever composed, gave a polite nod. “Welcome back.” He set his teacup down with that familiar, deliberate clink. “We took the liberty of organizing your Spire application.”

You blinked. “Wait, what?”

Chai Latte grinned. “Well, not submitting anything. Just getting everything in one place.”

Hazelnut stretched his arms behind his head. “More like rescuing your drafts from binder purgatory.”

Earl Grey reached into his satchel and produced a neatly clipped stack of papers, which he passed across the table to you. “You had almost everything already. We compiled what we found. Personal essay, transcripts, relevant project summaries, letters you’ve started…”

Chai Latte Cookie beamed. “We even labeled the sections. Earl Grey wouldn’t let me use glitter ink, though.”

“I spared you,” Earl Grey said dryly. You flipped through the pages, a bit stunned. “This is… really well-organized.”

“Of course it is,” Chai said, reaching over to straighten one of the tabs. “He color-codes everything like his life depends on it.”

Earl Grey ignored her. “You’ve got four weeks until the deadline. But if you want to be considered for the earlier review batch, I’d recommend finishing your research statement by the end of next week.”

You looked at the stack, heart catching just a little at the effort they’d put in. “I didn’t even ask.”

“You didn’t have to,” Chai said, nudging your arm. “We knew you’d want to apply early.”

Hazelnut nodded. “Besides, this way you don’t have to panic last-minute. Very unlike you, I know.”

You rolled your eyes, but the smile tugging at your lips was hard to fight. “I don’t even look stressed.”

“No,” Earl Grey agreed smoothly, “you look suspiciously well-balanced. Which is why we struck while the calm was fresh.”

“We can go over the rest of it tomorrow,” Chai offered, tugging your tray toward you. “Tonight, just eat and bask in how loved and supported you are.”

You laughed. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re welcome.” She tapped your arm. “Come back to my dorm after, yeah? We’ll start organizing the research sections. Or nap. Or both.”

Hazelnut grinned. “Mostly the nap.”

Earl Grey just smirked, sipping his tea. “I’ll bring copies of the department rubrics tomorrow. For your reference.” Your chest ached, but in a good way. Full. Grateful. This strange, unexpected life you were building wasn't just yours anymore. “Okay,” you murmured, hugging the papers closer to your chest.

“Tomorrow.” The thought of the Spire didn’t feel far away. It felt like something real. Something possible. Something within reach. You let your fingers linger on the edge of the neatly compiled documents, flipping absently through the labeled sections again as warmth rose in your chest. All the care, all the little details each one held pieces of your friends. It wasn’t just their effort you held in your hands. It was them.

“So…” you said, glancing up at them around the table, “what about you guys? Are you all submitting for early review too?”

Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie looked up from his plate, a half-eaten bread roll hanging between his fingers. “That’s the plan,” he said. “Assuming Chai doesn’t start rewriting her personal statement every other night.”

Chai Latte Cookie swatted his arm. “I’m just thinking about fine-tuning the narrative voice.”

“You’re going to be rewriting your life story like it’s a romance novel,” he shot back, grinning.

“It is!” she declared with a dramatic flourish, earning a chuckle from Earl Grey Cookie. You turned to him. “And you?”

Earl Grey lifted his cup, always so poised. “I’ll be submitting before the week is out,” he said.

“Just waiting on one final signature.” You nodded slowly. “So… letters of recommendation are all that’s left for everyone?”

“Pretty much,” Chai said, balancing her spoon on her finger. “Professor Mulberry’s writing mine, but I’m going to ask Professor Pistachio, too. She knows my research better.”

Hazelnut raised a hand. “Professor Currant. He already said yes. He owes me after I helped him fix his projector like three times.” Earl Grey took a measured sip of tea. “I’ve asked Professor Cardamom, as mentioned.”

He paused, looking at you. “Have you decided who you’ll ask?” Your breath caught. Your thoughts immediately drifted to him his eyes, the soft way he’d looked at you when you’d asked what you were, the weight in your chest when he didn’t answer but stayed anyway.

“I think I know,” you said softly. Chai Latte’s smile bloomed like sunlight. “He’d say yes,” she said. “I know he would.”

You offered a sheepish smile, tucking your papers closer. “I’ll… ask tomorrow. Maybe.” Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie smirked. “Oh, come on. You’ve already made out with the man, what's a letter of rec in comparison?”

Your face went red. “Hazel-!” Chai burst out laughing, Earl Grey pressed a hand to his mouth in a rare moment of stifled amusement, and you could only bury your face in your hands.

“I hate you all,” you muttered into your palms.

“No, you don’t,” Chai teased, leaning her shoulder against yours. “You love us. And you’re going to do great.” You peeked out from between your fingers, and for a moment, the thought of the Spire didn’t feel heavy or impossible or frightening. It felt like something you were walking toward together. Maybe it wasn’t about reaching the top alone. Maybe it was about the ones walking beside you the whole way there. And tomorrow… you’d ask.

Dinner had ended in a blur of laughter and half-finished stories, the kind of night that made you forget the time until it was too late. By the time you and Chai Latte Cookie reached her dorm, the halls of the Orchid Wing had quieted to a sleepy hush, the enchanted lanterns dimmed to their softer, golden hue. Her room welcomed you with its usual warmth, soft and familiar the scent of cardamom and honey curling around you like a shawl. The constellation-threaded curtains danced in the faint breeze, and the fairy lights blinked low and slow, like they too were ready for rest. Books and trinkets stood like sentinels in their places, watching over the space with a kind of loving stillness. Chai didn’t bother to turn on any brighter lights. Instead, she set her satchel down with a sigh and pulled out the packet Earl Grey had prepared. “Okay,” she whispered, her voice a murmur in the hush of the room. “Research tracks. Let’s at least pick the ones you’re leaning toward so we’re not scrambling tomorrow.”

You dropped your bag beside hers, stifling a yawn as you joined her on the bed. The plush quilts dipped beneath your weight like they were embracing you, and the moment you sat down, you felt how late it truly was. “Do we really have Almond Custard first thing?” you muttered, rubbing your eyes. You don’t know why you bothered to ask…you knew the answer.

Chai smirked. “Unfortunately, yes. Bright and early. And you know how he gets if we’re late he drones slower just to punish us.”

You groaned and flopped back against the pillows. “This is cruel. There should be a rule against late-night responsibility and early-morning boredom coexisting.”

She chuckled, laying down beside you with the research packet still in her hands. “Just pick your top three tonight, and we’ll organize the rest tomorrow after class.”

“Fine.” You reached over, squinting at the categories in the low light. “Leylines. Dimensional stability. Artifact restoration.”

Chai hummed in approval. “Strong choices. We’ll mark those and build out the proposal after class.”

You let out a soft breath. “Thanks for doing this with me.” She didn’t say anything at first. Just reached over and gently adjusted one of the velvet pillows behind your head. “Of course.” You both knew you wouldn’t be awake much longer. She clicked off the fairy lights with a flick of her fingers, leaving only the soft glow of the charm-warmed teapot on her desk. Then she settled beside you, her arm brushing yours beneath the covers.

“Wake-up call at dawn,” she said through a yawn, “and I swear, if you fake sleep, I’m dunking you in cold water.” You smiled sleepily. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

“Liar.”

You let the silence stretch between you, quiet and safe. And then, just as your eyes began to flutter shut, you heard her whisper, barely audible beneath the breath of the curtains “I’m proud of you.” You didn’t answer. Not because you didn’t hear her. But because your heart did, and that was enough. Sleep claimed you gently, wrapped in the warmth and scent of tea and twilight. And someone who had always, always stayed.

The next morning came far too soon. Drowsy sunlight filtered through the constellation-speckled curtains, casting golden patterns over the room. The air smelled of jasmine and cinnamon warm, familiar, like the remnants of a half-forgotten dream. You blinked awake slowly, blinking against the soft light, your mind still wrapped in the folds of sleep. And that’s when you noticed it. Chai Latte Cookie had, at some point in the night, wrapped herself around you like a favorite pillow. Her arm was slung over your waist, her cheek resting against your shoulder, her breath soft and steady in the crook of your neck. Her hair smelled like her tea floral, warm, and sweet and the weight of her presence was both grounding and… impossible to slip away from.

You shifted slightly, trying not to wake her. Her grip tightened. You groaned softly. Of course. A muffled voice mumbled from behind you. “No moving. Warm.”

“Chai,” you whispered, poking at her arm, “we have class.”

“Don’t care,” she mumbled, nuzzling closer. “You’re comfy. Five more minutes.”

“Professor Almond Custard will literally bore us to death if we’re late.” A dramatic sigh. Her arm loosened slightly, but she still didn’t let go.

You gave her a gentle shake. “Chai.” Another groan.

Then, reluctantly, she peeled her arm back with the sluggish agony of someone parting with the last honey-drizzled waffle on campus. She flopped onto her back, blinking up at the ceiling with one eye open. “…You’re so annoying in the mornings,” she muttered, voice hoarse with sleep.

You smiled. “You say that like it’s new.”

She waved a hand limply toward the teapot still warm on her charm tray. “Warm tea on the desk. Go be functional. I’ll rise like the dead in a minute.” As you sat up and stretched, your heart swelled a little with affection. It was the kind of morning that, despite the looming threat of Almond Custard’s lecture, felt soft and safe woven with lazy smiles and quiet friendship.

You reached for the tea. “You’re the one who latched onto me like I was a quilt.” Her only response was a sleepy hum and a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes… but lingered all the same. You paused mid-sip, blinking down at the cup in your hands. The tea was warm and comforting, as if it had just been poured and yet you knew neither of you had gotten up in hours.

You glanced over your shoulder at Chai Latte Cookie, who still hadn’t moved from her sprawled position on the bed, one arm thrown dramatically over her eyes like a swooning noble.

“…How is this tea still warm?” you asked, eyeing the cup like it might reveal its secrets if you stared hard enough. “It’s been sitting here since last night, hasn’t it?”

She cracked open one eye, lips curling into a lazy, triumphant smirk. “Mm. Magic.” You squinted. “That’s not an answer.”

“It is an answer. Just not one you understand before breakfast.”

You set the cup back on the tray, though your hands lingered near the steam curling up in delicate wisps. “Seriously though, what spell keeps tea warm but doesn’t overbrew it?”

Chai rolled onto her side, propping her head up with one hand. “An enchantment I learned from my aunt. She used to make whole pitchers of chai and keep them warm for days. Said the secret was warmth without burn. Gentle heat. Like affection.” She grinned. “Like me.”

You gave her a look. “So what you’re saying is the tea is imbued with the essence of you.”

“Exactly.” She tossed a pillow at you with very little aim. “Drink it with reverence.” You caught it with a laugh, shaking your head. “You are so full of yourself.”

“And you love it.” You didn’t argue. Mostly because she wasn’t wrong. The morning air was crisp as you and Chai Latte Cookie stepped out of the dorm, the soft clink of her tea thermos tapping against her satchel with every step. You’d barely managed to wriggle out of her grip earlier; she had clung to you sometime during the night like a beloved plush, soft and immovable, mumbling half-asleep protests when you’d tried to move.

You’d barely had time before the morning pulled you both forward, the hazy light of dawn glimmering through the ivy-veiled arches of Blueberry Yogurt Academy. By the time you reached the central fountain on the way to Professor Almond Custard’s lecture, Earl Grey Cookie was already there, unsurprisingly punctual, tea in hand and posture perfectly composed. He nodded toward you both, adjusting the strap of his satchel. “Good morning,” he greeted smoothly. “I hope the sleepover didn’t devolve into midnight chaos.”

“Oh, it absolutely did,” Chai said proudly.

“You didn’t hear about it because you weren’t invited,” you added. He hummed in amusement, eyes twinkling behind his glasses. “Noted.”

Then Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie arrived, nearly bouncing down the steps with his usual easy charm. “There they are!” he said with a grin, stepping up beside you.

“Good morning to you too,” you said, already bracing for whatever chaos he brought with him. “Hold on,” he said, reaching into the pocket of his coat. “I found something the other day meant to give it to you sooner but kept forgetting.” He pulled out a small pendant on a delicate chain, an orchid carved in fine silver, its petals etched with intricate veins and tiny dew-drop sparkles that caught the light.

“I saw it in a market stall,” he explained. “Made me think of you. It’s got this… quiet strength to it. Like it blooms when it wants, not when it’s told.”

You blinked, stunned. “Hazelnut…”

He grinned, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, yeah, I know. Sentimental. Just take it before I regret getting all poetic this early in the morning.” You took the pendant carefully, the silver cool against your palm. “Thank you. It’s… beautiful.”

Chai Latte leaned in, whispering with a wicked smile, “You’re getting all the suitors lately.” You elbowed her gently, but your heart fluttered all the same.

Hazelnut just chuckled. “Come on, we’re gonna be late for Almond Custard’s lecture of doom.” Together, the four of you moved as one through the morning mist, the comfort of friendship tucked quietly between the space of laughter. The lecture hall was unusually still for an early morning. No fidgeting. No distracted glances at the window. No whispered side conversations. For once, everyone including your trio of partners-in-chaos was focused. Professor Almond Custard stood at the front of the room, droning on in his usual syrup-slow cadence about interdimensional grain storage and enchanted fermentation ratios, but somehow… it stuck.

Maybe it was the looming exam next week. Maybe it was the collective determination to end the semester strong. Maybe it was just that shared sense of urgency that crept in when the finish line was finally in sight. You found yourself scribbling notes faster than you could think, underlining terms you knew you’d have to memorize, circling formulas with half-formed mnemonic devices already taking shape in your head. Beside you, Chai Latte Cookie was unusually silent, her brow furrowed and her pen dancing swiftly across her notebook. Her handwriting, always looping and dreamy, had sharpened into something tighter still lovely, but undeniably focused.

Every so often, she’d tilt her notes your way for you to copy something you’d missed. Behind you, Hazelnut Biscotti Cookie didn’t make a single joke. Not one. His gaze was locked on the board, his fingers tapping steadily as he jotted down formula after formula. His notes weren’t neat, no surprise but they were thorough. You could hear the quiet rustle of his pages turning, one after another, like he was chasing the lecture’s pace and determined not to fall behind.

And Earl Grey Cookie, of course, looked like he was born for moments like these. His notes were already color-coded, diagrams annotated, keywords highlighted with exacting precision. He barely blinked, the corner of his mouth twitching every so often when something particularly important was mentioned. He looked perfectly calm, but you could see the intensity in his eyes, the kind of focus that could burn through stone if left unchecked. You sat straighter. You matched their pace.

You wanted to do well not just for yourself, but for them. For everything you’d been building. For the Spire. The professor’s voice faded in and out of clarity, not because you weren’t listening, but because your mind was working faster now linking concepts, stitching them together with things you’d learned from Shadow Milk Cookie, from your own late-night study sessions, from the lingering weight of all the time you’d invested. This was the final stretch. And you weren’t going to stumble. Not now. The clink of chalk against the board marked the end of a long equation. Almond Custard cleared his throat and turned back toward the hall.

“This,” he intoned, “will be the cornerstone of your final exam.” A quiet rustle of pages. Pens pressing faster against parchment. No one slacked. No one dared. You glanced at your friends, all of them immersed, serious, determined, burning quietly with a shared sense of purpose. You took a breath. And kept writing. The lecture ended with a dry scrape of chalk and Professor Almond Custard’s half-hearted reminder about next week’s exam. You were already closing your notes before he’d finished his sentence, your fingers itching to be anywhere else.

Outside the classroom, the halls buzzed as usual. You and your friends walked in easy step together, still half-absorbed in the material. Earl Grey had already started analyzing one of the professor’s offhand comments. Chai Latte, always the multitasker, chimed in while braiding a bit of ribbon into her hair. Hazelnut Biscotti popped a candy into his mouth and offered you one without even looking. You shook your head, hugging your portfolio close.

“Hey… I’m gonna head to the Scholar’s Wing.” Chai looked over with a knowing glance. “Another meeting with him?”

“Tutoring,” you said too fast, clearing your throat. “Mostly. Also… I want him to look over this.” You lifted your binder slightly for emphasis.

Hazelnut raised an eyebrow. “You don’t trust our craftsmanship?”

“Please,” you said, giving him a look. “I trust you three more than I trust myself on most days.”

“Correct answer,” Earl Grey murmured. You smiled faintly. “I just… want a fourth opinion. He sees things differently. Thoroughly. Painfully, sometimes.”

Chai Latte nudged your elbow. “You’re hoping for an endorsement, aren’t you?”

“I mean,” you began, “if anyone’s word could get something noticed by the Spire committee, it’s his.” Hazelnut gave a low whistle. “Think he’d recommend all four of us?”

You shrugged. “I’m not counting on anything. He probably wouldn’t unless he thought it was deserved. Too much integrity, that one.”

Earl Grey nodded in agreement. “He won’t be swayed by sentiment. But he will tell you the truth. Whether you want to hear it or not.”

“That’s the plan,” you murmured. Chai gave your shoulder a light squeeze. “Go get your truth, then.” You glanced back at the three of them, warmth pooling low in your chest. “Thanks. I’ll meet you at dinner?”

“We’ll save your seat,” Hazelnut said, already pulling Chai into a new conversation. And with that, you turned down the familiar path to the Scholar’s Wing, fingers curled tight around the edge of your binder. This wasn’t about doubt. You just wanted to know what he saw when he looked at your work, when he looked at you. You weren’t late. You weren’t even close to late, actually but your pace had been brisk more out of nerves than necessity. Still, there was something jittery about the way your fingers tapped against your binder, like your body hadn’t yet received the memo that everything was, technically, on time.

The Scholar’s Wing greeted you with its usual hush soft-echoing footsteps, warm sconces glowing like suspended starlight, the faint scent of ancient parchment lingering in the air. You passed a few scholars deep in discussion near the far alcoves, but no one paid you any mind. It was peaceful. Familiar. And maybe that was what made it worse when your foot suddenly slipped on the overly polished marble. It wasn’t dramatic. No witnesses. No loud crash. But your binder, your painstakingly organized, section-labeled, early-application-ready binder flew from your hands in an arc that felt cruelly slow. The contents fanned out in every direction: pages sliding across the floor like they were trying to flee your academic future, post-it notes scattering like panicked birds. You didn’t fall. You just stumbled, catching yourself with a quick, awkward step forward.

But somehow, that was worse. You stood still for a second, heat flooding your face. Not because anyone was watching. Not because someone laughed. But because of that ridiculous little flinch in your chest that whispered, Of course. Of course this would happen now. You crouched down quickly, gathering up your pages, cursing every single loose document for not staying put in their designated folders. You had dividers for a reason.

Earl Grey would have been appalled. A soft sigh slipped past your lips as you pressed everything back into place, palms brushing away the dust that had settled along the page corners. You gave the binder a pat like it was a pet that needed soothing and straightened. Still not late. Still fine. Just… slightly less composed than you wanted to be. You smoothed your hands down the front of your robes, forced your shoulders back, and took the last stretch of hallway with steady steps. Shadow Milk Cookie’s door came into view, tall and dark and just a little intimidating, like it always was. You paused at the threshold, one breath to center yourself, then knocked three times softly. For formality’s sake.

And then, you opened the door, stepping inside with your binder pressed close to your chest and a heart that beat just a little too loud in your ears. Shadow Milk Cookie didn’t glance up at first. His desk was covered in constellations of parchment and drifting quills notes levitating just above the surface, slowly rotating through invisible orbits as though the air around him itself hummed with focus. His brows were furrowed, eyes moving quickly as he scribbled something down with a deep indigo ink that shimmered faintly, catching the warm lamplight.

You didn’t speak right away. You never did when he looked like this. There was something endearing about it this kind of focused stillness he fell into when no one else was watching. He wasn’t the Sage of Truth then, or the Fount of Knowledge, or any of the titles inked beneath his name in gilded letters. He was just… Shadow Milk. Lost in thought, and unaware at least for the moment that you had entered. You lingered by the door, hugging your binder closer to your chest. Not out of nervousness, not really. Just… quiet admiration. There was something sacred about watching someone so consumed by something they loved.

Eventually, as if the rhythm of your breath finally disturbed the quiet equilibrium of the room, he paused. His quill stilled mid-word. His fingers relaxed. And then, he lifted his gaze. His eyes found yours calm, luminous, sharp as ever and you could see the shift behind them. That subtle click back into awareness. “You’re early,” he said, voice low and steady, the faintest curl at the edge of his mouth betraying his otherwise unreadable tone.

You smiled, a little sheepish. “Not really. You’re just distracted.” Shadow Milk Cookie set his quill down with care, the ink on the parchment still drying in slow, shimmering trails.

“Is that what I am?” he asked, tilting his head slightly. “Distracted?”

“Thoroughly,” you replied, stepping further into the room. “But in a charming way.” He huffed, a soft exhale that could almost be called a laugh, and leaned back in his chair as his papers gently rearranged themselves with a flutter.

“And what brings you here with such flattery on your tongue?” he asked, eyes gleaming. You placed your binder on his desk and slid into your usual seat.

“I want a fourth opinion,” you said. “On the Spire portfolio. My friends helped me get it together, but well, I figured I’d ask the most terrifyingly honest person I know to look it over.”

He looked at the binder. Then back at you. “And what makes you think I would go easy on you?”

“I don’t,” you admitted, smiling. “That’s the point.” You nudged the binder closer across his desk, its neatly clipped pages now feeling heavier than ever. Your fingers hesitated just for a second before slipping away. “I want you to look it over,” you said, meeting his gaze. “All of it.”

Shadow Milk Cookie’s eyes flicked to the binder, then back to you. “I gathered as much.” You let out a breath, shoulders tightening with something nervous but steady. “And I want you to be honest. Completely. Brutally, if you have to.”

There was a pause. He looked at you not just with those piercing, soul-deep eyes that always made you feel like your thoughts were laid bare, but with something gentler hidden beneath the surface. Something knowing. “Brutally?” he echoed. “Even if it leaves your pride in tatters?”

You snorted. “Please. My pride’s already hanging on by a thread.”

He considered you for a moment longer, his expression unreadable. Then, slowly, he reached out and opened the binder. “If you ask for truth, you shall have it,” he said, flipping to the first page. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

You smiled faintly, hands settling in your lap. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.”

A/N Hey y'all <3 So I finally got around to posting this I am so excited to finally have more time to write and work on things I want so yah!!! HELLL YEAHHH!!!! anyways I have been doing well... I am getting through my inbox...I will have more time tomorrow...Now excuse me as I go to finish my genetics lab report <3 I'm almost done

anyways...

Remember to follow and reblog for more bangers 😎😎😎🔥🔥🔥🔥

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prythianpages · 2 months ago

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Ooh-la-love | Cassian x Reader

cassian x love witch reader | summary: just some scenes of you helping Cassian with his love life, completely oblivious to the fact that you are the love of his life. aka idiots in love (Think of this of like a little montage of 'scenes')

warnings: fluff, both reader & Cas are pretty dense in this lol, mentions of Cas puking

a/n: This has been in my drafts since last summer. I had hoped to post it for valentines day...but better late than never right? This is approx 6.1K words. I tried to write this as a stand alone but it may need some further context from the other parts.

The Love Altar Mishap

“Oh, this won’t do.”

Nothing was working your way. Your coffee this morning was too bitter, you stained your pink satin shoes with some strawberry jam and you forgot the keys to your shop, forcing you to walk back to your apartment. Not that it was a far walk but you never forgot your keys!

It was all the aftermath of last night’s ritual–the one Maeve led again. Had it been anyone else leading your coven’s monthly rituals, you wouldn’t have minded it. Sure, you’d still be a little upset.

For years, that has been your role.

But the other witches wouldn’t have been as cruel as Maeve. She enjoyed rubbing salt to your wounded heart, reminding you of what you could no longer deny. Your magic was no longer the same. It hasn’t been since your fall, since…

A knot formed in your stomach and you took a deep breath, forcing the dark memories of those starless nights out.

As you gazed up at the bright neon sign in your shop, you couldn’t help but wonder if Maeve’s chaotic energy lingered within you. What once proudly proclaimed “Love This Way” now sputtered and flickered, the neon light barely illuminating the jumbled message of “Loe This Wa.”

With a determined frown, you lifted your hands towards the sign, your fingers trailing pink stardust that drifted towards the bulbs.

Instead of tightening the loose bulbs, a sharp, discordant crack echoed from the sign. You tried again, willing your magic to align with your intent…only for it to leave you with the bitter taste of failure. One worse than the coffee you had this morning.

The pink magic dwindled from your fingertips like a candle being extinguished. You took a step back. Just in time as one of the bulbs broke free from the sign, shattering on the floor and causing you to wince. You glared at your hands and then up at the sign. It continued to sputter and flicker but louder.

“Guess, I’ll have to do this the mundane way,” you huffed, turning your head toward where your lovely apprentice was. Moxie sat on a stool near the counter, absentmindedly swatting at the air.

“Are you sure this is safe?” She asked after you summoned her for help, holding onto a wooden step ladder skeptically.

You had pulled it from the dusty corners of your storage room. It wobbled precariously and you shot a stern look down at Moxie as you slowly climbed up the steps. “It’s safe if you help hold the ladder steady.”

“Sorry,” she murmured, her face etched with unease. “These pesky love bugs have been taunting me all morning. I do not want to get bitten.”

“Why not?” You asked, voice strained from the way you were reaching up with your arm. The sign had originally been hung using your magic and never imagining your magic to wane, you had hung it way up high. Even on the ladder, reaching those bulbs in the cursive letters was a stretch. “A bite from them is a–is a blessing.”

“So you say.”

“So I say and everything I say…” your voice trails off as the tips of your fingers twisted one of the bulbs, successfully tightening it. “Goes. Ha! Look at that!”

“I refuse to believe they are blessings when they left red, angry bumps all over that customer’s skin last week.” Moxie pressed on with a grimace.

“Those are love bites, they–”

The sound of bells chiming and Honey’s curt “meow” cut through the air, causing you both to pause. You didn’t turn around, intent on finishing the job, instead calling over your shoulder, “We’ll be with you shortly!”

A sudden shriek from Moxie made your heart leap. You felt the ladder sway violently, a dangerous tilt threatening to send you crashing down. You moved with haste, hoping it’d stay steady long enough for you to descend but gravity worked quicker.

Your eyes squeezed shut as you prepared for the worst, your body instinctively curling into itself. The ladder clattered against the floor, echoing through the shop but you did not meet the same fate as the ladder.

A strong arm wrapped itself around your waist, pulling you flush against their chest.

“I’ve got you.”

If the voice did not give it away, then the scent of sandalwood and leather overwhelming your senses did.

You blinked up at him, breathless. Hazel eyes scanned you with open concern, assessing for any injury. Relief flooded you, making your limbs weak, and you found yourself leaning into the warmth of his embrace.

“Cas,” you murmured, offering a breathless smile as you tilted your head back to look at him. Placing a hand over your hammering heart, you teased, “My hero.

A deep flush colored Cassian’s cheeks. It was endearing how you could easily make him blush. It seemed no one was immune to your charm. Not even the Night Court’s general.

It wasn’t until you gently pushed away that he seemed to realize he was still holding onto your waist. “Are you okay?” He asked as he let you go so you could turn and face him fully.

“Yes,” you answered, then frowned, glancing toward the flickering sign. “But also, no. My magic is… well, it’s not magic-ing.” You winced at your own phrasing but were relieved when Cassian didn’t laugh. You only found concern etched onto his face. “And so I thought I could just fix it myself…”

You motioned toward the ladder and Cassian’s gaze dropped down to it. A frown creased his brow when he noticed the splintered wood scattered around. “The fact that you had so much faith in that ladder is horrifying.” Cassian commented, lifting his gaze to meet yours once more.

“I had faith in Moxie.” You corrected him, sparing a glance your apprentice’s way. She was swatting at the air and had now caught Honey’s attention, your cat’s eyes searching for those pesky little love bugs too.

“I can help.”

“Great!” Moxie beamed, clasping her hands together with an overly enthusiastic smile. “I’ll go back to sorting the candles in the back!”

You glared at her retreating back as she walked away. Honey trailed after her. So much for her help…or his…

Once Moxie was out of sight, you turned your attention back to Cassian. “How? I just broke my one and only ladder,” you said, nodding toward the broken wood lying not far from your feet.

Cassian crossed his arms, the motion making the muscles of his biceps flex beneath his fitted leathers. The movement was effortless, unintentional, and yet you couldn’t help but stare.

“Have a little faith in me, sweetheart.”

His words sent a jolt through you and your gaze perked back up to catch him sending you a wink. Even the red siphons wrapped around his wrists seemed glimmered, as if they, too, were winking at you. Had he caught you staring?

“Right…” you huffed out, fighting the blush threatening to take over your features. Since when were you flustered?

“You forget I’m not vertically challenged like you.”

“Excuse you?” Your jaw dropped in exaggerated disbelief, regretting not wearing one of your many platform shoes. “I’m not vertically challenged. You’re just vertically…blessed.”

Cassian raised a brow at you. “Blessed,” he echoed in an amused manner. “I was referring to these,” he said, flexing his wings with a lazy stretch.

“Oh,” you breathed and you were left flustered. Again. Crossing your arms, you tried to appear to be unimpressed. “Well then, Mr. Winged Tall and Mighty, show me what you got.”

“Lovely!” You said with a small, excited squeal as you gazed up at the fully functioning sign. “I’m so happy, I just might kiss you!”

Cassian’s cheeks tinted. He descended with a satisfied but slightly sheepish grin, the red forcefield from his siphons giving out as soon as his feet met the ground. He had placed it to shield your shop from the gusts created by his wingbeats, not wanting to break any of your antiques or potions. As he tucked his wings behind him, a light breeze tousled your hair that you just knew was done on purpose. Most likely in retaliation for your comment.

However, you couldn’t bring yourself to care. Not when the flickering sign was glowing steadily once more. That wave of warmth fluttered through your chest, full of gratitude and content. It spread through your veins, radiating out to your fingertips, where it ignited the long match you held, setting it ablaze with a vivid pink flame.

“Thank you,” you said with a smile, extending the match toward him. An act of kindness could go a long way in your world. Cassian took it with a curious look. “No kiss as payment—unless you absolutely insist—but since you’ve helped me out, let’s see what the love gods have to say today!”

You were already making your way toward the section of your shop dedicated to the altars, where the air hummed with the enchanting energy of love. Honey, now nestled comfortably in his heart-shaped bed by the counter, lifted his head at the sound of your movement. With an excited purr, the fluffy white cat stretched languidly before following after you, brushing affectionately against Cassian’s leg as he passed.

With every step Cassian took toward the five love altars, the magnetic allure in the air intensified, wrapping around him like a warm, invisible thread. The altars, each representing a different aspect of love—self-love, familial love, platonic love, romantic love, and erotic love—had been carefully arranged in the shape of a five-pointed star. The star itself was outlined in bright pink paint, glowing faintly with the very essence of love magic.

Cassian placed a protective hand around the match in his hand, though he suspected the flame would not go out until its purpose was fulfilled. To light one of the candles on one of the altars.

You stood right outside of the star, your eyes sparkling with excitement. Honey, ever-attuned to the energy of the space, brushed against your leg, his fluffy tail curling around you as he looked up at Cassian. He let out a curious, “meow.”

In the center of the star stood an older fae female. She, too, held a match, but its flame was kindled by the eternal candle that flickered on a small table beside you. After a moment of deep contemplation, the fae female approached the altar dedicated to erotic love, surprising Cassian.

He looked toward that altar. It was a vision of passion and desire, draped in deep reds and lush pinks. A chalice of what smelled like the sweetest red wine was in the middle, surrounded by silver charms and chains. Rose petals, soft and fragrant, were scattered across its surface. The flame of her match danced brightly as she extended it toward one of the waiting candles.

As the candle ignited with a bright, unwavering flame, the match in her hand extinguished, its purpose fulfilled. The older fae gave a small, reverent bow before turning to leave, her eyes suddenly widening as her gaze landed on Cassian, and then on you.

“May your desires be fulfilled,” you said sincerely. Your smile matched the brightness of the candle she had just lit.

The older fae returned your smile, her expression softening with gratitude. As she stepped aside, you turned to Cassian, giving him a gentle, playful shove. “Your turn.”

Cassian took a deep breath, attempting to calm the flutter of nerves in his chest. He didn’t know why he was so nervous. He was just lighting a candle. He approached the center of the star slowly, his eyes drawn to the altar dedicated to romantic love. It shared the passionate reds and tender pinks of the erotic love altar, but where the latter exuded raw desire, the romantic love altar was adorned with heart-shaped charms, rose quartz crystals, and answered love letters.

His reflection caught his eye in the small, framed mirror at the back of the altar. For a fleeting moment, his gaze locked with yours in the mirror's reflection. There was a glimmer of hope in your eyes, but when you realized he had caught you watching, a reassuring yet slightly bashful smile played on your lips. You offered him an encouraging nod and he concentrated on his deepest desires.

With determination, Cassian stepped forward, intent on lighting one of the candles from the romantic love altar. But just as he raised his match, Honey darted toward him, curious eyes focused on the red siphons that began to glow. The cat weaved swiftly between his legs, the unexpected movement catching Cassian off guard. He stumbled, struggling to regain his balance as his arms flailed slightly.

A collective gasp rippled through the shop, and Cassian’s heart sank as he realized what had happened. He had lit the wrong altar. The candle’s wick flared to life, the flame swirling into a vivid heart shape before his eyes. He instinctively stepped back, his wings twitching in response to the sudden surge of magic in the air.

“By the Cauldron, I’ve been blessed!” the older fae female, who could easily be his great, great grandmother, exclaimed.

Before Cassian could react, she threw her arms around him. He glanced down at Honey, who was now blissfully licking his paw, completely untroubled by the chaos he had just caused. Then, Cassian’s head whipped toward you, hazel eyes pleading.

“Oh my,” you couldn’t help but giggle before rushing to his aid.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗

The Butterfly's Kiss Mishap

Your reflection was bathed in a celestial glow as you gazed into the grand, full length mirror before you. The Mirror of Veiled Hearts, its glass enchanted to reflect your deepest desires when the right incantation is spoken. An heirloom entrusted to your family for generations. Due to its power and significance, you kept the mirror in the private room of your shop.

It’s surface was a perfect expanse of polished glass framed in silver filigree, its design woven with patterns of entwined hearts and vines. Clear quartz and moonstone draped over the top of its frame. The crystals glowed faintly and you sensed it was time to charge them.

As you reached out for them, something caught your eye.

Confusion etched onto your face and you took a step back. A glimmer of hope sparked. Because as you looked at the mirror, you found hazel eyes staring back at you.

“y/n?”

You blinked, turning around and realizing that those hazel eyes were literally right behind you. How silly of you to think so, considering you needed to charge the crystals and say the incantation that gave life to its magic...

“Simmering Cauldron, Cas,” you breathed, hand flying to your chest as a blush crept up into your cheeks. “You made my heart flutter!”

Cassian grinned sheepishly, his presence filling the room with warmth and air with his scent. He was dressed in casual pants and a snug black t-shirt that accentuated his muscular build. Your gaze lingered on the way the muscles in his arms shifted as he gestured toward the door. “I did knock, by the way.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” Cassian replied, one hand rubbing at the back of his neck, his expression growing more sheepish. “Moxie said you didn’t have a client so after the third knock, I just let myself in…”

“I see…,” your voice trailed off awkwardly…wait a minute, since when were you awkward?

“What is that?” Cassian asked, nodding toward the magic mirror behind you. His siphons, reduced to two glowing crimson bands around his wrists, gleamed in response to the mirror’s energy.

“The Mirror of Veiled Hearts,” you replied as you turned to face the mirror once more. You reached for the purple cloth you kept nearby, hesitating for a moment before stealing one last glance at the mirror.

A shiver coursed through you, and you quickly covered the mirror with the cloth. “Perhaps, when it’s charged, I’ll let you gaze into it.”

When you turned back to Cassian, your usual, charming demeanor returned. A warm smile lit up your face. “But I have something else in store for you today!”

Cassian leaned casually against the counter of your shop, his eyes tracking your movements as you approached the shelves lined with colorful potions. The last potion you had given him had left him feeling all warm and giddy and giggly. “Glee brew,” you had called it. “A feel good potion.”

The potion worked in a similar way to alcohol. It held the power to make you feel light and release your inhibitions without the consequences of losing your balance or feeling hungover the following day. You even claimed it brought good luck.

Tapping one finger against your lips in deep contemplation, your eyes scanned the array of vibrant elixirs. Cassian watched as your eyes brightened, lingering on a vial filled with a shimmering blush-colored liquid.

“This one’s called ‘Butterfly’s Kiss,’” you said as you reached for it and made your way back to him. “It’s said to awaken the butterflies in your stomach, guiding you toward love. It’s one of my most popular—and potent—potions. I just brewed this batch this morning!”

Cassian glanced down at the potion you held out to him. The cork was fashioned into a dainty butterfly, its wings spread as if caught in mid-flight. He examined it for a moment before uncapping it with a crisp pop that startled Honey from his nap. The little feline’s white tail twitched as he blinked open his sleepy eyes and Cassian eyed the cat in a wary manner, remembering the last time he had piqued Honey’s interest.

“The nice thing about this potion,” you continued, drawing his attention back to you, “is that it smells different to everyone, according to what they find most attractive. The stronger the scent, the more potent the potion.”

Cassian brought the vial to his nose, his brows furrowing slightly in a curious manner. He frowned slightly and looked back at you. “All I can smell is you,” he said, though the scent of rose and vanilla seemed to have wrapped itself around him since he entered your shop.

“What?” You exclaimed, a look of disbelief crossing your face. You took the vial from him, leaning in to sniff it yourself. “I’m getting the same thing—just you,” you murmured, puzzled. A small frown tugged at your lips as you set the vial down on the counter. “Why didn’t I–Cauldron above, my magic has never failed my potions…”

“I can still try it,” Cassian offered. You opened your mouth to protest, but before you could utter a word, Cassian had already lifted the potion to his lips.

“Cas…” you gasped, your hand freezing mid air, your eyes widening.

Time seemed to stretch into an eternity as you watched him take a tentative sip and then a large gulp. The atmosphere in the room thickened with anticipation. Honey’s tail had gone still, and even Moxie, who had been restocking crystals, peered around the corner.

Cassian felt hot.

His face flushed and he felt short of breath as a violent flutter tore through his stomach. It quickly escalated into a nauseating churn that spread through his insides and began to rise and rise and–

He set the vial down with a trembling hand, his knuckles white against the counter as he leaned heavily on it for support.

“Oh, Cas,” he heard you murmur.

You disappeared from his side with a sense of urgency and returned quickly. Moxie had brought a chair for him to sit and you placed a trash bin in front of him just in time. Cassian barely had a moment to react before he was doubled over, the effects of the potion manifesting violently.

“I’m so sorry,” you continued to apologize profusely as you brought Cassian some water.

He had wanted to help you in gathering all of the Butterfly’s Kiss potions but you insisted he remained seated, worried any movement would provoke his nausea again. You could only hope he spewed up all the potion he had drunk, worried about the lingering effects of a faulty potion still in his stomach.

Moxie and Honey had helped you instead, the young fae holding out a box as Honey nudged the faulty potions off the shelves with his paw. The clattering sounds of the vials made you wince, a deep frown settling over your features.

“It’s okay. I’m fine,” Cassian said, offering you a smile as if he hadn’t just thrown up moments ago. “Truly.”

Your pacing came to a brief halt as you looked at him with tear-brimmed eyes and though he seemed genuine, you refused to believe him. “No, this isn’t okay. I made you sick and this has never happened before,” you said, starting to pace again.

With a resigned sigh, you brought your hands to your face. “Just burn me and carry my ashes to Day. High Lord Helion will know what to do.”

Cassian’s gaze shifted to Moxie and Honey. The young fae looked just as perplexed as he felt, while Honey blinked at him with mild indifference. He walked over to you and gently placed his hands on your shoulders, guiding you to a stop. Then, he reached for your hands, slowly prying them away from your face.

Seeing the guilt and fear in your eyes made him feel worse than the potion he just drank. “I’m okay,” he repeated, hoping that if you couldn’t see the sincerity in his eyes, at least you could hear it in his voice. “You tried to warn me about the potion but I didn’t listen.”

“I’m still sorry…” Your lower lip wobbled, and Cassian had to resist the urge to soothe it with his thumb. “Are you sure you feel alright? I can call for a healer.”

“Sweetheart,” Cassian said, his voice warm and reassuring, “I’ve faced far worse than a faulty potion. I’m perfectly fine.” He paused, a thoughtful look crossing his face. There was a spark of mischief in his hazel eyes. “Actually, you know what?”

“What?” you asked, your eyes wide and earnest, filled with a desperate need to make things right. The sight made something in Cassian’s chest tighten and soften all at once.

“I’d like to rinse my mouth.”

“Of course.” You nodded quickly as you motioned for him to follow you, leading him towards the bathroom at the back of the shop.

“Oh and y/n?”

You paused. “Yes?”

“I’m feeling quite famished.”

You blinked, the frown on your face slowly dissolving into an expression of disbelief. “You’re hungry…?”

Cassian’s response was a simple pat to his stomach, a grin spreading across his face. “Okay,” you shook your head, determination flaring in your eyes. “What would you like to eat? My treat.”

As you led Cassian through the shop, Moxie’s curiosity got the better of her. She peered into the box where you had hastily gathered all the potions, her fingers itching to explore. She picked one up, the glass cool against her skin, and uncapped it with a soft pop. Bringing it close to her nose, she inhaled deeply, a thoughtful hum escaping her lips.

“It smells like cardamom and parchment to me,” she mused aloud. Her cheeks flushed in embarrassment as realization slowly began to dawn on her.

Honey, ever the watchful companion, blinked knowingly at her, his bright blue eyes seeming to glow.

The bell above the door jingled as Cassian, Moxie, and you walked into the cozy crepe shop. The rich scent of fresh batter and sweet fillings filled the air, mingling with the faint aroma of brewed coffee and vanilla.

Cassian led the way to a corner booth. Moxie slid into one side, her eyes wide with excitement as she picked up one of the menus, eagerly looking through it. You, on the other hand, trudged along behind him like a sad little raincloud, your mood still heavy from the earlier mishap in the shop.

You slumped next to Moxie and Cassian slid into the booth opposite you, the forced cheerfulness on his face doing little to lighten your mood. Their voices blurred into the background as your thoughts took over. Your magic faltering was one thing but now your potion making skills? Had you been cursed? Had the stars lied to you??

You hadn’t realized Cassian had ordered for you until two crepes were gently placed before you. One savory, filled with ham and cheese, and one sweet, filled with berries and dusted with powdered sugar. Your favorites. You blinked, staring at the plates. Then at Cassian.

He was already halfway through his own plate, devouring his crepes with such eagerness (as if to prove a point) that it was almost comical. But the twitch of his lips let you know he had noticed your gaze.

Moxie, sitting across from you, nibbled on her own crepe, glancing between you and Cassian with a curious expression.

“Sorry, I didn’t realize you weren’t a fan of blueberries,” Cassian commented mid-bite, noticing the way you pushed them around with your fork.

“S’okay,” you said with a shrug, not bothered. How would he have known? The fact that he knew you well enough to order something with berries was enough. “I’m just already feeling too blue…”

Moxie let out a snort, almost choking on her crepe. Cassian speared a strawberry from his own plate and dropped it onto yours. “Here—eat up.” He gave you a lopsided grin. “Can’t have you feeling blue. Red suits you better, anyway.”

Cassian watched with satisfaction as the light returned to your eyes, the earlier heaviness melting away. And when you finally smiled back at him, he felt something flutter in his stomach.

But this time, there was no nausea. Only happiness.

He really liked your smiles.

˗ˏˋ ★ ★ ˏˋ˗

The Blind Date Mishap

“I look ridiculous.”

Cassian groaned, glaring at his reflection in the mirror. He tugged at the collar of his dress shirt. It was a deep emerald green, a color he seldom wore. But a color you and Maurice, the shop’s ever-charming owner, meticulously picked out for him, claiming it “complemented the warm undertones of his tanned skin and brought out the different flecks of colors in his hazel eyes.” Whatever that meant.

From where you sat perched on a velvet chaise, legs elegantly crossed, you let out a dramatic gasp. “Nonsense! You look absolutely radiant!”

And you were right. Cassian did look good. The deep green fabric stretched perfectly over his broad chest, the expertly tailored cut emphasizing his build. Still, Cassian couldn’t help but reply, “you say that about everything.”

“That’s because you are handsome, darling,” you said matter-of-factly, waving a dismissive hand before hopping up from your seat. You made your way toward him, the soft rustling of your rose-colored skirt and clunk of your platform heels accompanying your every step. “But trust that I would let you know if something does not look good. Such as that faded flaxen yellow shirt you wore the other day...yuck!”

Cassian grimaced, his eyes twinkling with amusement at the memory. The look of utter horror on your face at his poor choice of fashion was one for the books. He turned back to the mirror, rolling his shoulders. Fine. Maybe the color did bring out the golden and green flecks in his hazel eyes, but something still felt... off.

And he was starting to realize it had nothing to do with the shirt and everything to do with the fact that he didn’t want to be here, picking an outfit for a date he wasn’t particularly excited about.

What if his date didn’t like him? He hadn’t gone on a proper date in months. What if he was out of practice? What if the conversation felt forced, each topic stretched thin until there was nothing left but awkward silence? What if she liked all the right things but didn’t get him, not in the way that you did? What if–what if he spent the whole evening searching for a feeling that wasn’t there?

Stop, he told himself. It’s just nerves. Anyone would feel the same after being out of the dating world for so long. It didn’t mean anything. And he wasn’t about to let a little nervousness stop him. Especially not when you had gone out of your way to set this up for him. He owed it to you to try. He owed it to himself, too.

“If you don’t feel confident in it, we can find you something else,” you said, resting a perfectly manicured hand on his shoulder in reassurance. “Something that makes you feel more like yourself.”

“No, I’ll take this one,” Cassian responded a little too quickly, standing rigid. He had no desire to spend another minute in this shop.

Your eyes met his through the mirror’s reflection, searching. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

“Great!” You beamed, stepping in front of him. There was a brief pause as you tilted your head, studying him with a look of deep concentration. Your lips parted slightly, eyes trailing over him, and Cassian felt his heartbeat stutter in his chest.

Then, without a second thought, you reached up and—Mother above—unbuttoned the top two buttons of his shirt, the backs of your fingers lightly grazing his collarbone as you did so. Cassian’s breath faltered, willing himself to stay still. You didn’t seem to notice or were polite enough to pretend not to. Instead, you moved on to smoothing his hair.

“There,” you declared, taking a step back and grinning with satisfaction. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

Cassian barely heard you over the hammering of his own heartbeat. You tossed out compliments as effortlessly as breathing, so often and so sincerely that no one ever doubted their truth. And yet, no matter how many times he reminded himself of this, it still made his cheeks warm and his chest tighten whenever you said things like that to him.

From behind the counter, Maurice let out a delighted chuckle. “You two make an adorable couple.”

Cassian choked on his own spit, coughing as he scrambled to regain composure. If he hadn’t been so preoccupied with clearing his throat, he might have noticed the flicker of nervousness that crossed your face beneath your giggle. “Oh! No, no, we’re just friends. This outfit is actually for a blind date I set up for him.”

“Oh,” Maurice said, perking up. And then, as if the idea had just dawned on him, he turned to you with a wolfish grin. “Well, if you’re not taken, my dear, I know quite a few eligible bachelors who would love to court a beauty like you. Such as my son. He seems about your age.”

Cassian’s lips parted, but no sound came out. His stomach twisted in a way he didn’t quite understand. An odd mix of irritation and something dangerously close to panic. His jaw tensed as Maurice turned his full attention to you, flashing that all-too-eager grin.

He suddenly hated this conversation. He hated the way the shopkeeper was looking at you—as if he had already decided you would be his daughter-in-law. He also was not fond of the way you were blushing.

Blushing??

Why were you blushing?

“Oh, that’s very sweet, but—”

“She’s very particular,” Cassian blurted out.

You blinked up at him in surprise.

Maurice arched a brow. “Oh? And do you know what she likes?”

Cassian opened his mouth—then closed it just as quickly. Not because he didn’t know what you liked. Of course, he knew. He knew your favorite shade of pink, your favorite dessert, your favorite candle scent. He knew the way you twirled a strand of hair around your finger when deep in thought, the way you practically melted when eating strawberry tarts.

But if he said any of that, he’d sound more like a boyfriend.

And he wasn’t your boyfriend. He was just your friend. A friend you were currently trying to set up with someone else. A date he was now actively dreading. Cauldron, save him.

Maurice smirked, his eyes flickering between the two of you, far too entertained. “Well,” he said, voice dripping with amusement, “if you ever lower those particular standards, I'd be happy to set you up.”

Cassian’s scowl deepened.

This was going to be a very, very long night.

Cassian sat at the candlelit table across from a beautiful fae woman with such warm and kind brown eyes. She was nice—sweet even—but as she spoke, he found himself only half-listening, his mind constantly drifting elsewhere.

Or rather, to someone else.

His gaze flickered toward the bar, where you sat nursing a glass of rosé. Sensing his gaze, you looked up and sent him a thumbs-up. He let out a small exhale, trying to focus on his date, but then someone approached you. A tall, handsome golden-haired male. He sat next to you and then, he leaned in, murmuring something that made you smile.

Something in Cassian’s chest twisted. He straightened in his seat, his wings tensing at his back.

“Everything all right?” his date asked, amusement lacing her tone.

Cassian cleared his throat, feeling a bit of guilt. The date had been lovely—held at one of Velaris’s most upscale restaurants. The appetizers were phenomenal, the wine the smoothest he’d ever tasted. And the female across from him was stunning, turning heads the moment she walked in. Yet he’d already forgotten her name. Petunia? No, but it was something with a P or maybe some other type of flower...

“Yeah. Just—uh, the wine’s strong," he managed to say.

She seemed to smile knowingly, eyes drifting between him and the bar. “Or maybe it’s a lovely someone at the bar?”

Cassian stiffened, ready to deny it, but she only chuckled lightly. “It’s all right. I see the way you look at her.”

Heat rose to his face. “I don’t—” He sighed, almost defeatedly, shifting in his seat. “She’s my friend.”

“She’s the one who set up this date,” she pointed out, swirling her drink thoughtfully. “And yet, you haven’t stopped looking at her all night.”

Cassian had no response to that, his eyes involuntarily drifting back to you. You were still smiling with that stranger, and Mother above, it irked him more than he liked to admit.

“I get it,” his date said softly, and Cassian blinked, surprised by the warm admiration in her voice as she followed his gaze. “She’s… lovely. There’s this energy about her—it's I don't know, it's irresistible. She almost swept me off my own feet when we first met."

Cassian let out a small chuckle. “Yeah,” he murmured, a hint of wistfulness in his tone. “She kind of does that.”

Meanwhile, you sipped your wine, engaging in light conversation with the male beside you. Every so often, your eyes drifted toward Cassian—just to check that he was doing alright, of course. You truly hoped the date was going well for him, but you couldn’t shake the strange feeling twisting in your gut.

Maybe tagging along had been a mistake, even if you’d kept your distance. Still, he’d been too nervous to go alone, almost backing out last minute, and that’s exactly why you came.

The feeling settled a little when you saw Cassian and his date now engaged in some conversation. You couldn’t deny the tiny pang in your chest at the sight then. But this was what you wanted—for Cassian to find someone, to be happy. And yet, something settled over you, an ache you didn’t understand...

Jealousy? No, that couldn’t be it. Could it…?

You turned your attention back to the male beside you, forcing yourself to stay engaged.

But a commotion at Cassian’s table immediately drew your gaze.

“Shit—” Cassian cursed, suddenly pushing back from the table. Your gaze narrowed in concern, following his own as he looked down at his hand, flexing his fingers as if they burned. His date blinked in confusion.

“You okay?” You heard her ask.

“I—I think I’m allergic to something,” Cassian muttered, standing abruptly. He looked at his date with some guilt. “I’m so sorry. I think I need some air. I'll be right back."

Without another word, he strode toward the exit.

Alarmed, you set down your drink and hurried after him. Cassian stood near the restaurant's entrance, shaking out his hand as if trying to rid himself of some invisible ailment.

“What’s wrong?” you asked, reaching him.

He turned his palms toward you, and even in the dim glow of the lanterns, you could see the faint redness blooming across his skin. “My hand,” he muttered. “It's tingling and feels like its on fire.”

You grabbed his wrist, bringing his hand closer to inspect the redness. And then—you saw it. A tiny mark, flushed red like lipstick on skin, near the pulse point of his wrist.

You gasped, a flutter in your chest and pupils flaring into hearts. “Cassian, you got bit by a love bug!”

He blinked. “A what?”

“A love bug!” you repeated, excitement creeping into your tone, despite his growing confusion. “It means your soulmate is near!”

Cassian stared at you, dumbfounded. “You’re joking.”

“I wouldn’t joke about this!” you said, deadly serious. “This is a good thing, Cas! The love bug only bites when you’re close to your true love, whether it's physical proximity or the right time. I knew Viola was a match!"

He frowned, rubbing at the mark like he could erase it. He conveniently ignored the part about Viola. His eyes met yours instead

“Have you ever been bitten?” he asked.

Your smile faltered, just slightly, a shadow flitting across your expression, as you quietly admitted, “no.”

The single word hung between you, heavier than it should have been.

If the love bug only bit when someone’s true love was near…

Cassian's heart stuttered. Why now? Why here? Why did the bite come when he was on a date with someone else?

When all he'd been able to think about...talk about...was you?

a/n: I feel like it's still lacking it's zazz but idk if that's just because I've read this over so many times. I hope y'all still enjoyed these two idiots that are falling in love with each other.

series masterlist

series taglist: @mrsjna , @shadowsingercassia, @acourtofbatboydreams, @rcarbo1, @mvidaaaa ,

@stuff-i-found-while-crying , @lipstickmarks, @yamisukehoe , @mp-littlebit , @thecraziestcrayon,

@talesofadragon, @ceoofyearning, @anuttellaa, @breadsticks2004, @chicken-fifi, @bxtchopolis

General tag list: @scooobies, @kennedy-brooke, @sillysillygoose444, @lilah-asteria @the-sweet-psycho

@daycourtofficial, @milswrites, @stormhearty, @pit-and-the-pen, @mybestfriendmademe

@loving-and-dreaming @azriels-human, @mrsjna, @adventure-awaits13, @lorosette,

@alwayshave-faith, @xadenswhore, @kodafics

#cassian x reader #cassian x you #cassian x y/n #cassian fluff #acotar x reader #acotar fanfiction #cassian fanfiction

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whencyclopedia · 9 months ago

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Book of Kells

The Book of Kells (c. 800) is an illuminated manuscript of the four gospels of the Christian New Testament, currently housed at Trinity College, Dublin, Ireland. The work is the most famous of the medieval illuminated manuscripts for the intricacy, detail, and majesty of the illustrations. It is thought the book was created as a showpiece for the altar, not for daily use, because more attention was obviously given to the artwork than the text.

The beauty of the lettering, portraits of the evangelists, and other images, often framed by intricate Celtic knotwork motifs, has been praised by writers through the centuries. Scholar Thomas Cahill notes that, “as late as the twelfth century, Geraldus Cambrensis was forced to conclude that the Book of Kells was “the work of an angel, not of a man” owing to its majestic illustrations and that, in the present day, the letters illustrating the Chi-Rho (the monogram of Christ) are regarded as “more presences than letters” on the page for their beauty (165). Unlike other illuminated manuscripts, where text was written and illustration and illumination added afterwards, the creators of the Book of Kells focused on the impression the work would have visually and so the artwork was the focus of the piece.

Origin & Purpose

The Book of Kells was produced by monks of St. Columba's order of Iona, Scotland, but exactly where it was made is disputed. Theories regarding composition range from its creation on the island of Iona to Kells, Ireland, to Lindisfarne, Britain. It was most likely created, at least in part, at Iona and then brought to Kells to keep it safe from Viking raiders who first struck Iona in 795, shortly after their raid on Lindisfarne Priory in Britain.

A Viking raid in 806 killed 68 monks at Iona and led to the survivors abandoning the abbey in favor of another or their order at Kells. It is likely that the Book of Kells traveled with them at this time and may have been completed in Ireland. The oft-repeated claim that it was made or first owned by St. Columba (521-597) is untenable as the book was created no earlier than c. 800, but there is no doubt it was produced by later members of his order.

The work is commonly regarded as the greatest illuminated manuscript of any era owing to the beauty of the artwork and this, no doubt, had to do with the purpose it was made for. Scholars have concluded that the book was created for use during the celebration of the mass but most likely was not read from so much as shown to the congregation.

This theory is supported by the fact that the text is often carelessly written, contains a number of errors, and at points certainly seems an afterthought to the illustrations on the page. The priests who would have used the book most likely already had the biblical passages memorized and so would recite them while holding the book, having no need to read from the text.

Scholar Christopher de Hamel notes how, in the present day, “books are very visible in churches” but that in the Middle Ages this would not have been the case (186). De Hamel describes the rough outline of a medieval church service:

There were no pews (people usually stood or sat on the floor), and there would probably have been no books on view. The priest read the Mass in Latin from a manuscript placed on the altar and the choir chanted their part of the daily office from a volume visible only to them. Members of the congregation were not expected to join in the singing; some might have brought their Books of Hours to help ease themselves into a suitable frame of mind, but the services were conducted by the priests. (186)

The Book of Kells is thought to have been the manuscript on the altar which may have been first used in services on Iona and then certainly was at the abbey of Kells. The brightly-colored illustrations and illumination would have made it an exceptionally impressive piece to a congregation, adding a visual emphasis to the words the priest recited while being shown to the people; much in the way one today would read a picture book to a small child.

#History #1007 #186 #806 #WHE #[#]

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jostystyles · 7 months ago

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this mad love makes you come running | jh

a/n: me posting a fic? who'd have thought! this is my entry for the eras tour fic challenge hosted by @comphy-and-cozy and @wyattjohnston ! i was assigned i wish you would (taylor's version). ive never written for jack before and i felt as if this song fits him perfectly and this was born. thanks to c and demi for hosting <3

word count: 2.1k

2:07 AM

The bolded white lettering of the clock on Jack’s dashboard shone at him as he glanced at it, the clicking of his turn signal drowning out the low volume of Stick Season that played through his speakers. As he rounded the corner, his chest tightened with a sense of a feeling he couldn't quite figure out. Coming into view was the street he grew up on, where he played street hockey with his brothers, the pond that would freeze over in the winters that they’d skate on for hours until their cheeks were numb. But before he arrived at his family home, he passed a house that brought back a feeling he knew. Guilt. As the memories started reeling through his mind, his foot let up on the gas slightly as his headlights crossed the yard. Illuminated was the front door his fist had knocked on too many times to remember. His knuckles were white from gripping the steering wheel so hard, releasing pressure as he let a soft sigh fall from his lips. Jack’s heart told him to turn into the driveway, but he thought to himself, no. It’s in the past. That was his problem. The past. Something he can’t change, but he yearned to fix. Swallowing the guilt, he continued on to pass a few houses before pulling into the driveway of his parents home. He shook Luke awake lightly before exiting the car. Grabbing the bag out of his backseat, he let himself look towards the window down the street he used to throw snowballs at, seeing a dim light glow through the curtains. He threw his bag over his shoulder and crept quietly into the house, the darkness guiding him to the bedroom he once occupied when he lived there. Baggage discarded to the ground and stripped to just his sweats, he climbed under the cold covers and unlocked his phone, opening his contacts. His thumb hovered over the one he wanted, and pressed it quickly before staring at the blinking blue cursor trying to think of what he wanted to say. He hadn’t reached out since that night, when he was hung up on and he threw his phone across the room with salty tears streaming down his face silently. I can’t. She hates me. He thought to himself, before locking his phone and tossing it onto the bedside table, rolling over and waiting for sleep to overtake him and free his mind of the memories running through it.

2:07 AM

(Y/N) glanced at the clock that sat on the desk next to her, wondering who the hell is driving down her street with those stupid LED lights this late, and why the hell they were going so slow. Shadows appeared on the wall across from her window, and she knew exactly who it was as hs he thought back to a conversation she had with her neighbor yesterday. It was Jack. The thought of him pulled at her heartstrings, just like it did when Ellen mentioned he’d be home for a few days, the Devil’s schedule giving them a few days to take maintenance and drive home. (Y/N) tried to play off the way her body was shaking was due to the bitter Michigan cold that came with the holiday season, and not the fact that just the mention of Jack’s name sent a chill through her bones. Did his mom even know? Did she know that for the past 6 months her middle son and his best friend hadn’t spoken because they had crossed the line that was once rising and crooked but fell straight down? Did she know that (Y/N) still loved him after he broke her heart? She probably didn't. So she put on a smile and said she looked forward to seeing him at the Christmas party. Blinking back to reality, (Y/N) sighed and picked up her phone. The email was still pulled up that contained her lease agreement to the apartment she just signed in Brooklyn. If things went the way she wanted, she’d have told him the second she signed it because in reality, she missed him too much to be mad anymore. She wanted badly to remember what they were fighting for, and why it turned into Jack telling her he didn't want to see her anymore and they needed to go back to being friends. She hung up the phone too quickly to give him a chance to explain. The reality of it was that neither of them knew if they could even call each other that. Friends. (Y/N) didn't realize how fast her heart was pounding until one of her cats jumped into her lap with an inquisitive purr. Giving her a pet, she sighed and opened the contact she hadn’t touched since that day 6 months ago. Just ask him. Swallowing her nerves, she pressed the call button and put the phone to ear. It rang a few times before going to voicemail. “Yo, its Jack. Leave me a message and I’ll get back to you” Hearing his voice, she inhaled before letting herself talk.

Jack couldn't sleep. He was tired, but his body wanted otherwise. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, he grabbed his phone and almost choked on the breath he didn't know he was holding when he saw a notification he never thought he'd see again.

(Y/N) <3 voicemail 10 min. ago

Hands shaking, he clicked on it and the voice he had been longing to hear started speaking. “Hey, Jack. It’s uh, (Y/N). I saw your mom yesterday when I got to my parents. She told me you and Luke were coming home for a few days. I’ll uh, be here too until a little after Christmas. Um, I know this is like, probably not anything you were expecting but uh, if you wanna talk I’d really like that. Just let me know.”

He couldn't bring himself to do anything but stare at the screen for a few seconds, before opening his texts and typing out a message. Hey, got ur voicemail. Meet at the pond in 10? If ur still awake. The bubble appeared that she was typing almost instantly. see you there. His heart almost exploded out of his chest as he scrambled out of bed, grabbing his Devil’s hoodie and tossing on his beanie. He crept quietly down the stairs, trying to not fall because his joints felt like jello. Coat and boots on, he let the door click shut behind him as he walked through his backyard. A million thoughts were going through his brain as he walked the path to the park in the neighborhood where the pond was. Don't mess this up. He reprimanded himself. The snow crunching under his boots, he stopped in his tracks as he approached the pond. (Y/N) stood by the streetlamp, the soft yellow glow illuminating her features. Jack’s heart leapt and his body felt warm. She was the most beautiful girl he’d ever seen. Her hands were shoved in the pockets of her puffer coat, the earmuffs he bought her in New York covering her ears. He smiled softly. Was it a good sign she didn't throw away something he gave her? Forcing himself to move, he walked towards her.

“You look freezing.” A voice pulled (Y/N) from her thoughts, as she’d been staring at the giant analog pole clock that read 2:43 AM. Jack always knew how to push her buttons, especially with his stupid little chirps. “I’m sweating right now actually. Very warm.” She chirped back.

“Hi.” he said, big blue eyes looking up at her. He was nervous, she could tell. His shoulders were hunched over and he has a look about him that resembled a dog with it’s tail between it’s legs.

“Hey. “ She replied, giving him a soft smile as if to say, This isn’t a fight. You're ok.

“I'm really glad you called. Sorry I didn't answer right away. I’m sorry.” He said, shifting his weight back and forth. (Y/N) had a feeling that the second apology didn't have to do with the message she left.

“Its okay, Jack.”

He looked at her, seeing the (Y/E/C) of her eyes for the first time in what felt like forever. It took everything he had to keep his feet planted where they were and not to jump into her arms and start sobbing. Instead, he swallowed the tears he knew were bound to fall and nodded at her, a sign she took to start talking.

“I wish I never hung up the phone like I did that day. I should've let you explain yourself. I deserved an explanation. You told me you didn't want me anymore, and I just shut down. We were doing so good, J. I mean we had finally figured out whatever the fuck had been going on between us for years and then all of a sudden you acted like none of it was true. Can’t you imagine how fucked up that is? How shitty I felt? I was so in love with you, and we were fighting over something stupid, and then you just fucking break my heart our of nowhere.”

Jack shook his head so fast it might as well have fallen off his shoulders. “No, no. I never said I didn't want you. I’ll always want you.”

“Then why did you forget about me? Why didn't you call me back and tell me?” She retorted, stepping towards him.

“I’ll never forget you as long as I live. I wish I could go back and do it all over again. I never would've said all those things.” Jack replied, his frozen hands reaching out to wipe the tears falling from her eyes.

“Then why did you say them, J?”

The nickname only she ever called him made his heart soar. “Because I was trying to push you away. When we were just friends, I knew I could never lose you. And then when we started seeing each other over the summer, I knew it was going to kill me if it ever ended. I love you so much that it terrifies me, and so I figured that if I shut you out before it got too serious it would hurt less. Especially because you still live here, and I’m in Jersey. I’d be too selfish to always wish you were with me. I’m a fucking idiot. You did deserve an explanation, and I was too caught up in my own self loathing to give you one. I figured having you hate me was better than letting you love me and then one day realizing you don’t.” By now, they were both crying, Jack’s hands still caressing (Y/N)’s face and her gloved hands resting on his hips.

“You’re so fucking dumb, Rowdy. I could never hate you. You're the love of my life. I was so afraid you found someone else and didn't want me. I should have reached out.”

“No. No. There's never been anyone else. I could never love anyone else. Not while I love you.”

Silence fell between them for a moment. “You still left.” (Y/N) spoke.

“I know. You see me in a way no one else does. And you love me for who I am, like the real Jack Hughes. Not the Jack Hughes everyone else sees. That’s, I think, a part of why I did it. I was terrified of you leaving me. So I left first. And I’m sorry. I want you. I wish you would know that.”

“I do Jack. I wish you would've told me that from the start. You deserve love, no matter how scared it makes you. Stop thinking about if it doesn't work out, and think about if it does.”

He pressed his forehead to hers, lips brushing ever so slightly. “I love you, I’m sorry.”

“I know, baby. I love you too.” She kissed him. It was full of force, like it would be the last.

Jack sighed into it, thinking back to the summer when he kissed her for the first time. It was a warm summer night by the lake. Now, it was a snowy frozen night but the warmth of her lips would be a feeling he’d never grow tired of.

6 hours later, when Luke woke up and walked past Jack’s room to see them embraced and fast asleep, he smiled to himself, glad he suggested they return home for a few days.

tagging: @wineauntie @2manytabsopen @lam-ila @fallinallincurls @laurenairay @ilyasorokinn @senditcolton @cellythefloshie

#my writing #in my jack era no one say anything!!!!#jack hughes #jack hughes imagine #jack hughes x reader #jack hughes fic #new jersey devils #nhl imagine #nhl fanfiction #hockey imagine

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diamonddaze01 · 6 months ago

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bad for business

pairing: ferrari driver!yoon jeonghan x journalist!reader chapter wc: 0.9K genre: humor, fluff, suggestive | au: f1 au | rating: pg-13 warnings: suggestive. no actual sex. a/n: based on an ask by @ylangelegy for my follower celebration! love you so much kae <3 // takes place after full throttle // based on bad for business by sabrina carpenter

We look good in photographs I like the way you like to laugh at dirty jokes I know they'll always land Used to get work on time But now you're taking up my nights Never been so glad to be so tired

The cameras loved Jeonghan almost as much as you did. The way the flashbulbs caught the sharp angles of his face, the slight smirk tugging at the corner of his lips—it was no wonder the photographers jostled for position every time he turned his head. He looked like he belonged in this world, draped in a perfectly tailored tuxedo, the satin lapels catching the glow of the chandeliers spilling out from the Hôtel de Paris.

His hand never left your back, a steady, grounding presence as you posed for photos. You felt his thumb brush the fabric of your dress—barely perceptible but enough to send a thrill up your spine.

“You know,” he murmured, his lips just brushing your ear as the cameras clicked furiously, “this dress is dangerous.”

You glanced at him, your lips barely moving as you replied, “How so?”

“It’s doing things to me.” He smirked, his voice dropping lower. “But I’m also thinking about how easy it’d be to get it off you later.”

Your cheeks flamed, but you held your composure, only narrowing your eyes at him. “Behave,” you whispered.

“Not a chance.”

Inside the gala, the air buzzed with champagne-fueled conversations and quiet deals being struck beneath the glittering chandeliers. You found yourself stuck in a polite discussion with a sponsor, Jeonghan lingering at your side like a shadow.

“That’s a lovely necklace,” the sponsor remarked, their gaze lingering on the delicate chain around your neck.

“Thank you,” you said, your fingers brushing over the two charms: a microphone and the letter J.

“She hasn’t taken it off since Christmas,” Jeonghan interjected smoothly, his voice tinged with pride.

“And why would I?” you teased, turning to him with a playful look.

“I can think of a few reasons,” he said under his breath, low enough that only you could hear. “Starting with how good it’d look dangling against your skin while you’re wearing nothing else.”

You barely managed to stifle your laugh, but it bubbled out in a way that made the sponsor glance at you curiously. “Excuse me,” you said hastily, covering your mouth as Jeonghan’s eyes gleamed with mischief.

Later, as you mingled through the crowd, he caught your hand, tugging you close enough that your hips brushed. “You’re laughing too much tonight,” he said, his tone light but his fingers firm around your wrist.

“Maybe someone keeps whispering indecent things in my ear,” you shot back, raising an eyebrow.

“You love it,” he said simply, his thumb brushing over your pulse point in a way that made your heart stutter.

By the time the gala ended, you were exhausted but giddy, a heady mix of champagne and Jeonghan’s constant teasing swirling in your veins. He didn’t wait for a car to be called, instead pulling you by the hand through the glittering streets of Monaco.

“Jeonghan, we have media tomorrow,” you protested as he led you up the narrow staircase to your shared apartment.

“And?” he said over his shoulder, his smirk illuminated by the golden streetlights.

“And you’re going to regret this when you’re sitting in a press conference tomorrow, struggling to keep your eyes open.”

“I don’t regret anything when it comes to you,” he replied smoothly, stopping just outside the door. His hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him. “Besides,” he added, his lips brushing your ear, “I think I’ve proven I’m at my best when I’m running on no sleep.”

The door to your apartment had barely closed behind you before he was on you, pressing you against it with a kind of urgency that made your head spin.

“I like you tired,” you teased between kisses, your fingers tugging at his hair in a way that made him hiss against your lips.

“I like you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the corner of your mouth, “in red.”

“You’re impossible,” you murmured, though your fingers betrayed you, tangling in the loose knot of his tie.

“I’m yours,” he said simply, leaning down to press his mouth against yours. The kiss was slow at first, deliberate, as though he wanted to savor every second, but it quickly deepened. His hands slid to your waist, gripping you like he couldn’t stand the thought of letting go.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead resting against yours, he said, “You wore red tonight just to kill me, didn’t you?”

“Maybe,” you teased, your voice breathless as you smiled up at him.

“Well, mission accomplished,” he said, his lips ghosting over your collarbone before trailing back up to your jaw. “But if I’m going down, I’m taking you with me.”

The next morning, the sunlight streaming through the windows woke you before your alarm. Jeonghan was still asleep, his arm draped over your waist, his hair a tousled mess against the pillows. You couldn’t help but smile as you traced lazy patterns on his bare shoulder.

As if sensing your gaze, he stirred, cracking one eye open. “What time is it?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sleep.

“Too early,” you said softly, brushing a kiss against his temple.

“Worth it,” he replied, a slow grin spreading across his face as he pulled you closer.

And as you lay there, tangled up in each other, the exhaustion was nothing compared to the warmth blooming in your chest. Some things were just worth losing sleep over.

participate in my follower celebration HERE!

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lazy4honey · 20 days ago

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Morella’s Wonder

Contains: clueless fem/afab reader x what-even-is-this m!shopkeeper, aphrodisiac affecting everyone, dub-con, tentacle p in v, cervix stimulation, initiative swap towards the end, NSFW & MDNI

At the end of a dark and narrow alley, hidden in the shadow of the citadel’s grand palace, stood the apothecary shop recommended to you by your fellow witch’s apprentice — Morella’s Wonder.

You gazed up at the sign board above the entrance with its crookedly arranged metal letters barely hanging on, and swallowed nervously. Then you took a deep breath, gathered the little bit of courage life had left you with, and entered.

Inside, the shop was just a little prettier than how shabby it looked from the outside. Star and moon shaped lights dangling from the ceiling dimly illuminated the cramped space decked in dark wood, immediately drawing attention to the deep scratches marring the towering medicine cabinets and creaky floorboards that made the shop look like a beast had rampaged through it. Then the scent hit you — heavy, bitter, somehow dry yet sticky at the same time, making you feel dirty.

Looking around, apart from a few old stains and herbs so lacking in moisture they crumbled with nothing but a simple touch, you only noticed the weathered pieces of paper with illegible worlds scrawled upon them labeling the countless drawers. Actually, compared to labels, they rather resembled those occult scriptures you’d caught glimpses of in your teacher’s grimoire.

Just as you were deep in thought, a chill ran up your spine. You spun around, taking a sharp breath — only to choke on the shop’s... unique scent. Suppressing your gag reflex, you regretted not just playing dead and holding still.

If the shopkeeper wanted to stare at you, then let them stare! It was their shop, anyway!

You pursed your lips and stepped before the counter. It separated you from a doorway leading to the back of the shop, resembling an open maw waiting for unknowing prey to wander in before it suddenly snapped shut.

The moment you reached the counter, a figure emerged from the dark doorway. It was a man with long hair as black as pitch, much taller than you, his body tightly covered by dusty grey robes with wide sleeves revealing unusually beautiful hands, and his face hidden behind the plain paper veil commonly worn by healers. His entire being exuded a silent gloom as he moved without a sound and, as per tradition of the healers’ guild, didn’t talk but signed for you to speak.

You felt your cheeks burn and turned your head, not daring to look at him. “I want to experience lust.”

After hearing so much about sex from your fellow apprentice, you wanted to try it yourself, but... All that fun and pleasure she talked about, you never felt it. When you asked her about it, she said that your partner probably just wasn’t doing it for you, and recommend you either go looking for a new partner, got yourself a potion to spice things up, or both (and if that didn’t help, it’s fine, just let it be). So here you were.

The shopkeeper paused for a moment, then knocked on the counter to get your attention, signed for you to follow him, and led you through the maw-like doorway to the back of the shop. There, various strangely glowing liquids, plants, mushrooms and animal parts filling perhaps thousands of bottles tightly crammed into rickety shelves lit up the windowless room with their light.

You were then given an artfully twisted glass bottle labeled... something, containing a bright pink potion. Without any hesitation whatsoever, you handed the shopkeeper five gold coins, uncorked the bottle, and directly chugged the potion. It tasted of strawberries, going smoothly down your throat and spreading a wonderful warmth throughout your body.

The shopkeeper, Morella, froze as he watched your actions. He’d never seen someone drink a potion. Wasn’t it general knowledge that they had to be applied to the corresponding area?? And yet here you were, drinking an aphrodisiac like a shot of alcohol, right in his shop…!

Meanwhile, you soon started to suffer the consequences of your not at all thought through actions.

The initially gentle warmth quickly turned into a stream of unbearable heat that kept pooling in your abdomen. It made your crotch tingle and your pussy felt terribly empty like never before, desperately needing to be filled by something. Your perception of the world shrank to only your body, almost uncomfortably aware of every twitch and each throb.

Being lifted, carried, and put down on something with a lot of give were only vague impressions at the edge of your current reality. In contrast, you clearly felt how slick leaked from your pussy and how simply the little bit of pressure of sitting down made lust course through your veins.

You twisted your legs, clenched your thighs, and rocked your hips, not knowing what to do to relieve this unprecedented longing. The desire to be filled continuously rampaged through your mind as you were gradually soaked in your own fluids, and all your thoughts melted like ice in the sun.

At this moment, a pair of hands reached for you. Their cool touch grazing your skin as they peeled you out of your clothes made you tremble and gasp, feeling like your spine was being caressed.

“Help... Please help me..."

Morella’s hands stalled.

“I beg of you... I need— aah, I need..."

You meant to hear a soft sigh, followed by a tap on your nose. It was both helpless and indulgent, stirring your already chaotic thoughts into a mess.

Then he continued. His cool fingertips brushed over your bare shoulders, chest, and waist, down your hips and thighs as he undressed you. It was tantalizing, every touch setting off sparks that shot along your nerves, leaving you whimpering and writhing at his hands as falling clothes grazed your skin.

Morella admired you unabashedly from behind his paper veil. Your entire body suffused with a fierce blush, your unfocused gaze blurred by unshed tears, your heaving chest with its perked up nipples, your glistening wet folds exposed to his sight as he gently pressed you down on the soft couch, your soft, pleading murmurs spilling from your lips at every touch, and that scent you exuded... His breathing became a little rushed. It seemed like the consequences of drinking an aphrodisiac were more severe than he thought.

He flicked his hand, a breeze twirling around his fingers and blowing through the shop to close the front door. Then he straightened up and started undressing himself, laying bare a hulking frame with three sets of wings resembling a colorful rose window shattered into six parts sprouting from his back, and flowing, dark purple markings winding across his body to cumulate in four additional arms and a large tentacle cock, a sweet and salty scent wafting from the peculiar appendage.

You blinked, a single tear finally falling and clearing up your sight to this unholy view. It made your heart pound and pussy twitch, urging you to jump at him and seek relief, yet your body was soft from the intense lust washing over you.

Morella bent over you, pale light filtering through his mesmerizing wings and dancing across you with their movement, spread your legs and aligned his tentacle cock with your dripping entrance. The thing writhed, bumps spiraling from the narrow tip to the thick hilt glistening with mucus, and it felt hot and slimy as it curled around your clit, and tugged.

You moaned and panted. Your pussy fluttered around nothing, your body seemed to still be getting hotter, and all you knew was that you desperately needed release from this sweet torture.

His tentacle cock dragged between your folds, letting you feel the full stimulation of his bumps, and sank into your dripping wet hole. Just the tip was already heavenly, and then there was the rest, stretching you further the deeper he penetrated. He watched you swallow him up in one slow, uninterrupted stroke and his chest heaved from the restrained he needed to prevent himself from railing you into a mess since the moment he entered. But it was really hard to hold back...

Morella’s wings trembled, causing the mottled light to dance, and he started to thrust.

Measured and powerful, every thrust made your breasts bounce and squeezed a moan out of you. The couch creaked beneath you, the tempo increasing with each repetition, as if he was just as desperate to fuck as you.

However, you had no time to think about anything. All you felt was his exhilarating tentacle cock pleasuring you.

His hips snapped against your ass like a tireless piston, and as he bent over you, his wings fluttered and the paper veil swayed so hard it revealed his mouth. Beyond pale lips lay lines of terrifyingly sharp teeth and a dark purple tongue with bumps, closely resembling his tentacle cock, his breath even carrying the same sweet and salty scent.

You swallowed subconsciously, and then you felt his gaze. Unseen yet burning hot wherever it touched, it slithered over your exposed skin like a tongue. Your body subconsciously tensed, eliciting a raspy moan, the first sound you’d ever heard from him.

His pace grew hurried as he chased his pleasure. The bumps on his tentacle cock dragged deliciously against your soft walls and you could barely breathe amidst the ecstasy they brought. You felt your pussy pulse, releasing waves of bliss that surged through your veins and swept across your bones. Just a bit more—

Morella came. Buried in your pussy up to his balls, a particularly big bump at the base pressed against your clit and his tentacle cock squirmed within you as cum shot out of it, triggering your orgasm.

The mesmerizing wings resembling a rose window buzzed above you, making you feel like you were being fucked like a beast in heat right in front of a church’s altar under the eyes of god.

Morella’s weight pressed down on you. Chest against chest, you felt his heavy heartbeat. His breath hit against the paper veil and pushed it aside, baring his mouth to you.

You captured his lips.

Sharp teeth skimmed over your extended tongue as you deepened the kiss. And then you felt his tongue. Hot, wet, bumpy, sweet and salty, tightly wrapping around the tender meat and following it into your mouth. You felt him at the back of your throat and in the depths of your pussy, your body overwhelmed with his presence.

The breeze created by his trembling wings brushed over your skin. He started moving again, quickly transitioning from slow to quick thrusts. Slick and cum squelched quietly, spilling out of your hole with every move and overflowing when he came again.

Morella released your tongue, lifted you up, and sat down with you on his lap. A lot of cum gushed out with his actions and splashed onto the floor, leaving a puddle by his feet. Then he adjusted your limp body on top of him, letting you lean against his broad shoulder, and his tentacle cock bottomed out. The bumpy tip just barely reached your cervix, the new, strange sensation quickly arousing you again.

He firmly held your waist and hips, almost using you like a cock sleeve. Every time he slammed you down, his cock prodded at your untouched depths and sent you reeling. You cried out every time, drool dripping from your uncontrollably open mouth and trickling down his and your chest, cold and stimulating on your hot skin.

His flexible tentacle cock curled and arched and the bumps were in every right position, pressing in the perfect places to throw you over the edge again and again. Your clit, lips, entrance, channel and even the cervix were caressed by this tongue-like appendage and doused in cum that was getting more and more transparent with every ejaculation. Liquid squelched, skin slapped, hearts pounded, and chests heaved with pants and moans, but it still wasn’t enough.

Morella pulled you up, made you kneel on the couch, and pounded into you from behind. The new angle made you gasp and soon, you couldn’t prop yourself up anymore, leaving only your reddened ass up high. He tightly held your hips, adding more redness to your asscheeks with is frenzied thrusts.

After coming this time, he wanted to take a rest, but you had finally recovered some mobility. You grabbed his long black hair and pulled him down for a kiss. He was forced to swallow your aphrodisiac-laden saliva, and his lust was almost immediately reignited.

While kissing him, you rolled over. With a loud sound he fell onto the floor, right into the puddle that had grown larger with every round. His cock once more pressed deep into your pussy, squirming almost pitifully but only triggering more desire. You rolled your hips and rode him so hard your breasts bounced, giving him a nearly hypnotic view of your nipples.

A beautiful pain shot through your chest and made you groan. Looking down, you found Morella had bitten your nipple, sharp teeth grinding dangerously against the soft thing before being replaced by his tongue.

You stroked his head, his shoulders and chest, pinched his nipples and then viciously twisted them. He released you with a loud groan and came again, his cock throbbing as if you’d squeezed him dry. His soft moans were husky and so pleasant to hear you doubled your efforts riding him. The moment you came, your pussy fluttering around his length, he was forced to come once more, his wings rustling as they shook.

Your eyes and lungs, mouth and pussy, heart and mind, were filled with him, leaving no space for anything else. By the time you were done, you had no idea how long you’d been at it. All you knew was that you were more tired than ever before, and your entire body hurt.

Still, you stubbornly clung to Morella as you fell unconscious, absolutely refusing to let go. And just before your awareness completely slipped away, you meant to hear a soft sight, a sweet and salty breath lingering on your lips.

#monster fucker #monster smut #teratophillia #monster kink #terato #monster lust #monsterfucking nsft #monster fudger #monster fuqqer #monster x human #monster x reader #monster x you #monster x female #monster x fem!reader #x female reader #x fem!reader

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signonllc · 1 year ago

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yan-lorkai · 9 months ago

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.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Day four: Making a pact with Sebastian

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ A/n: hehehe *twirls hair and blushes* you guys know that sebastian makes me weak, sir just one chance plsss 🥺💕💕

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Warnings: Yandere content, animal's death, demonic ritual, implied stalking.

.⁠｡⁠*⁠♡ Tagging: @harukishiyo @laythestar

The room was dim, illuminated only by flickering candles arranged in a perfect circle on the cold, uneven stone floor. The scent of melting wax filled the air, mingling with the metallic tang of blood that had already begun to pool in the center of the chalk-drawn sigil. Your heart raced in your chest, each beat a thunderous reminder of what you were about to do.

There was no turning back now.

The world had turned its back on you. It started with the threatening letters slipped under your door, then escalated to the ominous shadows that lingered outside your window, following you through empty streets at night. You’d gone to the police, desperate and pleading, but all they saw was another poor soul who couldn't afford to buy their attention or sympathy.

Their dismissive laughter, the way they turned you away with false promises and empty reassurances, still echoed in your ears.

When they refused to help, you knew you had to take matters into your own hands. So here you were, kneeling on the cold floor with a trembling, white dove clutched between your blood-stained fingers. The small creature fluttered weakly, its eyes wide with fear, mirroring your own.

"I'm sorry," You whispered to the dove, its feathers soft and warm against your skin, yet there was an insincerity in your worss - you aren't sorry for what you were doing, you were sorry that you had to do it. You couldn’t hesitate now, otherwise, soon you will be on the dove's place.

The whispers of old texts, hidden away in the darkest corners of forgotten libraries, had led you here. You didn’t know if they were true but desperation has a way of making you believe in even the darkest of possibilities; sacrifices and blood rituals, murder and horrific acts, all to summon a demon powerful enough to help you. If, and only if, what it was written on the book was correct.

With a deep breath, you drew the knife across the dove's throat, watching as crimson blood spilled from the wound, staining the purity of its feathers. You winced at the sound of its final, feeble coo, but you didn’t pull away, even as warmth spread across your hands. You allowed the blood to drip into the center of the sigil, each drop absorbed into the lines until they began to glow with a faint, eerie light.

It was working.

The heavy smell of incense made your head hurt as the bird's eyes were fixed on you. Its eyes judged you, just as every other human had judged you. You ignored it.

You forced down the bile rising in your throat and began the incantation, your voice trembling as you spoke the ancient words, each syllable heavy with power. "I call upon the one who serves, the demon bound by darkness and danger. I summon you."

The air shifted, growing heavy and cold. The candles flickered wildly, their flames bending and stretching, and shadows danced along the walls, their movements frenzied and unnatural. One by one, the flames extinguished, plunging the room into darkness.

You felt a chill run down your spine and for a moment, you wondered if you had failed, if this had all been for nothing.

You closed the grimoire, frustrated. The ritualistic knife sliding from your hands till it hit the floor.

"I failed...?" You thought out loud. You closed your eyes, repeating every step you had to follow under your breath.

Step one: draw the pentagram on the ground of the chosen demon. Step two: sacrifice a living being to gain the attention of the desired demon while thinking with all your might about your goal. It was important to have a strong sense of wanting, otherwise he would ignore you.

With all the steps completed, now was the time for the demon to appear, if your will and sacrifice had pleased him. Maybe... Just maybe if you had offered something bigger like a dog or... A child... Maybe it would have worked.

Silence was your only companion for the next few seconds as you rethought your next steps. Your hands were already bloody, you might as well take care of your problem with your hands.

Then, when you reopened your eyes, from the darkness, two glowing red eyes blinked at you, their light piercing through the shadows and staring directly into your soul. You froze instantly, the air trapped in your lungs as you stared into those beautiful ruby eyes. It was real.

It was real. It had worked.

A smooth, almost amused voice filled the air, echoing off the walls. "My, my, what a desperate little human we have here."

The darkness seemed to shift and move, taking form. When the shadows receded, he stood before you - the most handsome man you have ever seen, silky black hair cascading down his neck while his red eyes mesmerized you, stealing every little breath from you so effortlessly.

He was taller than you’d imagined, with sharp features and a refined air, his black tailcoat immaculate despite the gloom that surrounded him. He regarded you with a gloved hand resting against his chin, an expression of mild curiosity dancing in his crimson eyes.

"Tell me, little lost lamb," he murmured, his voice rich and velvety. "what does someone like you desire from a demon such as myself?"

His presence was overwhelming, pressing down on you with an intensity that could make your knees tremble if you wasnt already kneeling. You swallowed hard, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. "I… I need your help," you stammered, your voice barely more than a whisper.

"Someone is trying to kill me. I've gone to the police, but they… they wouldn’t help me. They said I wasn't worth their time because I’m poor. I have no one else to turn to."

His eyes flashed, a flicker of something dark and dangerous passing through them. "How pitiful," He said softly, though there was no trace of pity in his tone. "And you believe that by summoning me, you can escape this fate?"

You nodded, biting back the fear that threatened to choke you. "Yes," Your tone was more firm this time. "Would I be mistaken?"

The demon's smile widened, revealing the faintest hint of sharp teeth. He crouched by your side, his movements so fluid and graceful that you were certain that he really wasn't human.

"You are not. But what, pray tell, would you offer in return?" He asked, his voice dropping to a whisper as he reached out, a gloved hand tracing the curve of your jaw.

"You’ve already given me the life of this poor creature, that's true." The demon continued, glancing at the lifeless dove still laying on the pentagram. "But that is merely the price of my attention, not my service."

With his free hand, he took the dove's lifeless body and without thinking twice, he opened his mouth and swallowed it whole.

You trembled under his touch, feeling the heat of his skin even through the fabric of his gloves, a mix of feelings, mainly horror, came over you when you saw him do that. But now it was too late to regret it.

"I don’t have anything else." You confessed, your voice shaking. You haven't actually thought that ahead, you were sure that this whole ritual thing wasn't going to work. Yet again, you were wrong. "But if you protect me, I… I will give myself to you. My soul, my body — whatever you want. Just please… don’t let them kill me."

His eyes narrowed, and for a moment, his expression was unreadable. Then, he leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear, the scent of death emanating from him in waves. "You would give yourself to me, body and soul, for the mere promise of protection?"

His voice was soft, but there was an edge to it, a dark hunger that sent a shiver down your spine. "How delightfully naïve."

Tears pricked at your eyes but you blinked them away, refusing to let him see you break. "Yes." You whispered. "If it means I’ll live, then yes."

A low chuckle escaped his lips, and he pulled back just enough to look you in the eyes. "Very well." The demon murmured, lifting your hand and pressing a gentle kiss to your knuckles.

The touch of his lips sent a jolt through you and you watched, entranced, as the blood from the dove's wound seeped into your skin, forming a mark that glowed faintly with an unholy light.

"The pact is sealed, dear Y/n." The demon announced, his voice echoing through the room. "From this moment onward, I accept you as my master. You may give me a name."

"Your name... I'm going to call you Sebastian." The name fits him quite well ans by the way he smiled, he thought so too.

"Sebastian, it is then," He was serene. The name rolling on his tongue as he spoke. For sure, another contratee may had given him this name before and he seemed fond of it.

Sebastian helped you stand up, still holding your hand, and the sigil beneath both of you flared to life, its lines glowing a brilliant crimson before fading into the stone. The mark on your skin pulsed once, twice, and then settled into a faint, silvery brand.

It seems like a real tattoo, you thought as you looked at it.

The pain that came with it was brief but searing, like the sting of a thousand needles all over your body. You gasped, nearly collapsing, but your demon caught you, pulling you into his arms. His touch was gentle, yet firm, and you could feel the power thrumming beneath his skin, a barely restrained force that sent your heart racing.

Your mark was pulsing in sync with him. When he breathed, air rushed into your lungs. When he smiled, you felt your mouth curve wide. It was all involuntary.

You were one; contratee and contractor.

"Now," Sebastian whispered, his lips brushing against your ear, "no one will harm you, not while I am here. I will deal with anyone who dares to threaten what is mine."

Tears welled up in your eyes, a mixture of relief and fear washing over you. "Thank you," you breathed, your voice barely audible.

"Ah, but it is I who should thank you," Sebastian replied, his smile widening, and this time, you could see the possessiveness lurking behind those crimson eyes. "You have given me something far more precious than you realize."

His arms tightened around you, holding you close as if he were afraid you might disappear right before your eyes. "I shall enjoy our time together, my dear," He murmured, "and don't worry, no one will ever take you away from me."

And as you stood there, trapped in the embrace of a demon who now owned your very soul, you felt the weight of your choice settle over you. You had sacrificed everything but for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of hope, of safety.

Even if it was the darkness that cradled you now, it was a darkness that promised to keep you, to cherish you and never let you go.

You could live with that.

#yandere sebastian x you #sebastian x y/n #yandere sebastian x reader #sebastian x you #sebastian x reader #yandere sebastian x y/n #black butler sebastian #sebastian kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji sebastian #sebastian #sebastian michaelis #yandere sebastian michaelis #sebastian michaelis x reader #sebastian michaelis x you #yandere sebastian michaelis x y/n #sebastian michaelis x y/n #yandere sebastian michaelis x reader

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lordprettyflackotara · 1 year ago

Text

summer of sam || sam golbach

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. wooo it’s getting hot in here. tw: subby sam, stripper/dom reader, humiliation, degrading, overstimulation, sub/dom dynamics in place, dry humping, choking, etc this is just complete and utter filth. ps: this is my first time writing the male to be submissive on this blog. W? L?

You were a professional at what you did.

Every summer in between college semesters you’d work the same strip club, earnings thousands of dollars all summer long. Ohio wasn’t known for its popularity in exotic dancers what so ever, your presence spicing up an otherwise dead club.

Over time you had grown a consistent fan base of men who awaited your return every summer. You were now on year five, your degree so close to being obtained you could practically taste it. It’s what kept you motivated to keep coming back. You had to pay for your degree somehow even if it was deemed shameful by your peers. Which is why you traveled to a town in Ohio far from your hometown, determined to make enough funds to scrape by the semester.

It was only week two of your return, word of your arrival spreading through the town. In an odd way it made you all jittery, feeling like a little celebrity. You were in your dressing room, pampering yourself with makeup before your set time on stage. Your eyes flickered to the door opening behind you, continuing to pat your brush across your cheek. Your body guard was the sweetest man alive, his chocolate eyes meeting yours.

“Hi Tommy, big crowd?” You asked. You had met Tom during year two of your ‘career’, the man fully dedicated to protecting you from creeps. “I’d say so, but I have an offer from a new comer. Wants a private dance,” He informed you. You set your brush aside on the vanity, grabbing a tube of lipstick. “As if, that crowd out there will provide me ten times whatever he could,” You replied. Tom cleared his throat, your gaze straying away from your plump lips to him. In his hand sat two wads of cash.

“This is fifteen thousand. He offered more if you come.”

You never did private dances. You had admittedly become egotistical over time, your time precious during the hotter season. The private dances were no where near as cash filled as public ones were. Undoubtedly you were the star of the show in this little town and you belonged in the spotlight. Your eyebrows had furrowed at the wads of cash, quickly sliding out of your chair. Your heels clicked as you grabbed one, running your thumb through it.

“They’re real?” You questioned. You already knew the answer, the tiny bumps across the blue band of the hundred dollar bills giving it away. “Every single one. He’s in room six,” Tom answered you. You nodded, handing him back the wad. “Stand outside of the room if you don’t mind. I want to see what this guy is all about,” You say.

You had almost forgotten what the hallway to the private rooms looked like, new purple led lights illuminating the dim hallway. Finding room six was a breeze, the numbers in bold letters hammered to the doors. You glanced over at Tom, nodding affirmatively for him to stand by its side. You shook off your nerves, remembering who you were. How many men would die to be in this one’s position. Your slender fingers gripped the doorknob, pushing it open.

The sight before you was not one you expected, a clean cut blonde sitting on the middle of a circular couch. His legs were spread, thin framed glasses sitting on his nose. His blue eyes met yours instantly, an undeniable intensity flooding the room. Tom closed the door behind you, giving you some privacy. The blonde awkwardly stood up, adjusting his tie. “Hi, i’m Sam,” He greeted. You watched as he held out his hand to you, waiting for you to shake it. You tried to conceal your confusion, shaking his hand. Your stage name fell off of your lips with ease,

“I’m Kailani.”

Sam cleared his throat. “Here um, sit sit,” He said, gesturing to the purple velvet couch. You followed his request, sitting down. “So Sam, what exactly did you request me here for?” You asked. Sam sat down as well, visibly nervous. He ran his fingers through his hair. “For a private dance..?” He replied, his tone sounding as if he was asking a question more than answering. You raised an eyebrow. “Sweetheart no one around here pays fifteen thousand just for my consideration. What do you actually want?” You asked. Sam gulped, his adams apple moving as he fidgeted with his hands.

“It’s kind of a long story,” He began. You could feel your patience thinning. “Time is money and unless you plan on beginning to pay me for this I will not-” You began. Your words were sharply cut off as Sam reached in his pocket, setting another wad of cash on the clear coffee table in front of you. “That cover it?” He asked you. Affirmatively you nodded.

“My name is Sam Golbach, i’m a famous youtuber with an obsessed fanbase. I’m from here and heard through the great vine about you. Might I just add you’re even hotter in person,” Sam began. His name didn’t ring a bell, but his face did look vaguely familiar. “I’m here because you’re just as discreet about your line of work as I am about what I do in my spare time in the bedroom,” He continued. You arched an eyebrow, questioning his words. “You’re very obviously not from here, only here during the summer. My guess is that you’re in college or something similar, probably in a different state,” He answered.

Your stone cold expression fell, your face visibly telling Sam everything he needed to know. You felt the urge to get up and leave, the blonde seemingly reading your mind. “No no listen I totally get it, i’m not here to judge you or anything,” He rambled. Your eyes shot daggers as they met his blue ones. “Get on with it. What do you want?” You questioned.

“It is extremely hard for me to get laid without the media making a big deal out of it, I have some things I want to uh, try in the bedroom that the media would have a field day with,” Sam told you. You audibly scoffed, rising to your feet. “I’m not a goddamn prostitute. So what was your big idea? To come here and have me call you daddy and beg for your cock? Fuck you,” You snapped. Hastily you turned towards the door, Sam’s large hand grabbing your waist. You began to protest, Sam’s meek words cutting you off.

“Quite the opposite,” He said. He was practically shaking with nerves, his cheeks flushed pink. You froze in your tracks, looking at the desperate blonde. “I-I want you to use me. To treat me like a slut or something. I don’t want to be in control,” Sam explained. His cheeks were turning a deeper shade of red, his hand dropping from your wrist. He reached into his back pocket, pulling out a black credit card. “If we make this arrangement for the entire summer, this is yours. It’ll pay off anything you need it to. Until next summer, where I’d like to do all of this again,” He offered.

You took the tiny piece of metal between your fingers. You had never held such a heavy credit card before. “What are your conditions?” You questioned. Sam lowered himself back onto the couch, rubbing the back of his neck. “No stripping while i’m around, which will be all summer. Obviously no telling anyone you ever saw me and um, I want it rough,” He answered. The offer was tempting, the boy in front of you practically a puppy dying to be played with. “Any hard limits I need to know about?” You asked.

“No anal, nothing too weird, I guess. I just want you to use me. I want to be your submissive who you use to get off.”

“And you want to start now?”

“Please.”

Fuck, his desperation was making your core throb. You slowly approached him, straddling him as you looked down at his flushed face. “Safe word is red if you want to stop for any reason,” You whispered, leaning close to his ear. Your breath was hot against his skin, a small groan escaping his lips. You rolled your hips against his, the blonde below you audibly whimpering. “There we go, keep making those pretty noises for me,” You cooed. You brought your index finger and middle to his lips, pulling them down teasingly.

“Open your mouth,” You purred. Sam opened his mouth, flattening his tongue out on display for you. You grinned devilishly as you shoved your fingers into your mouth. He groaned as you grinded down against him. “There we go, now the harder you suck them the faster I grind against that hard cock of yours, hmm?” You offered. Sam nodded profusely, groaning around your fingers as you rolled your hips against his. Your thin red panties bottoms creating the perfect amount of friction against your clit. You moaned as he swirled his tongue around your fingers, his hands placing themselves on your hips.

They slithered to your ass, massaging the mounds of flesh as you grinded against him. His whining noises were music to your ears. “Such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” You say. Sam’s eyes began to roll into the back of his head, bobbing profusely on your fingers. “I’m gonna cum,” He moaned around your fingers, his words muffled. You grinned, a sadistic idea coming into your mind. If he wanted to be treated like a fucktoy, you’d treat him like a filthy fucktoy. “Go on, cum for me you pathetic thing,” You ordered. His hips stuttered, loud groans muffled by your fingers as he came in his pants.

You took your fingers out of his mouth, bringing them to your own. You licked his saliva off, his blue eyes blown with lust. Sam swallowed as he admired you. “Let me taste you, please,” He whispered. You grabbed his face, teasingly dragging his bottom lip downwards. “Get on your knees and keep begging. I’ll think about it,” You ordered. Sam quickly slithered out from underneath you, dropping to his knees without a second thought. He looped his fingers around your panties, your hand stopping him.

“Oh baby boy I didn’t say you could use your hands,” You chuckled darkly. Sam was in a state of euphoric bliss, your degrading words making his cock grow harder in his cum soaked boxers. You spread your thighs, the blonde nuzzling in between them. He put his hands on your knees, his submissive mind trying to figure out how to obey you. You frowned at his hands on your knees. “You just can’t stop using those hands of yours,” You noted. You leaned forward, the blondes breath hitching as you undid his tie.

He could smell your perfume as you leaned over him, grabbing his hands and tying them behind his back with his own tie. Sam gulped nervously as you sat back, giving him a mischievous smile. “Go on baby boy, put that tongue of yours to good use,” You cooed mockingly. Sam brought his head in between your thighs, biting the hem of your panties with his teeth. You bit your bottom lip as he dragged them down your thighs, your core throbbing in anticipation. This is what you deserved, a rich submissive man who was willing to do whatever you wanted.

Sam dragged your panties down to your ankles, watching you slowly step out of them. He nuzzled himself back in between your thighs, flattening his tongue against your folds. He groaned at your taste, your cunts sweetness an addicting sensation. “You taste so sweet,” He mumbled into your slick, his eyes fluttering shut. Your hips had a mind of their own, grinding shamelessly against Sam’s eager tongue. He sucked and lapped at your clit, before teasingly sticking it inside of your entrance. Your fingers raked through the roots of his hair, tugging at the roots.

The pain only made Sam moan louder, his cock growing fully erect in his pants. You could feel the cord inside your stomach tighten. You’d never had a submissive partner before, your core on fire from the pleasure the eager blonde was giving you. You’d never felt more empowered. “You’re doing such a good job Sammy, just like that,” You moaned. Sam whined as he shifted awkwardly in his pants, seeking any sort of friction for his own throbbing needs. He latched his lips around your clit, sucking harshly as you finally came.

Once the blonde saw your legs tremble, he began lapping up the juices you had produced. It was like a reward. “Just like that. Lick me clean or I won’t touch you,” You threatened, swallowing to regain your authoritative tone. Once you were satisfied with Sam’s performance you grabbed him by his button up, switching places with him once more. Your fingers played with his belt, your doe eyes meeting his. “May I?” You asked. He nodded profusely, licking his lips.

“Please.”

He lifted his hips, the two of you managed to slide his pants and boxers down to his ankles. In front of you was his hard cock, his cum covering the sides. “Such a filthy little boy, making a mess like this,” You commented. You straddled his hips, lining yourself up with his cock. Your eyes met his blue ones, studying his face carefully. “This okay?” You whispered. You leaned closer to the trembling man, his face flushed pink from lust. “More than okay, please,” Sam whined. You smirked as you lowered yourself on his cock, biting your bottom lip to hold back your own moans.

His cock was stretching you much wider than you had taken before, your walls fluttering around his cock. “Oh my God,” Sam groaned, throwing his head back. Once you sank fully onto him you grabbed his throat, your slender fingers applying pressure to the sides. “Look at me while I fuck you slut,” You ordered sternly. Sam forced himself to look at you, his hips attempting to move upwards to fuck you. He needed you. He needed you now. “Awe are you really trying to fuck me? Like the filthy whore you are?” You asked mockingly. Sam groaned as you applied less pressure, your hand still settled on his throat.

“N-need it. Need you. So bad,” Sam whimpered. He wished he could touch you, his hands still bound behind his back with his own tie. It was so demeaning, so humiliating. Yet he adored every second of it. He knew from the moment he saw you that you were the one for him. The one he wanted to give control to. To dedicate his body to. As you rolled your hips against his you could feel the vibrations of Sam’s whimpers against your hand through his throat. Sam was a panting mess, your hips bouncing on his cock faster by the second.

“My fucking God- you are so tight,” Sam panted. You squeezed his neck tighter, his vision becoming hazy. “Yeah? Fuck you’re such a cute little thing,” You huffed, his cock abusing your g spot with each roll of your hips. Your hand released his throat, his lungs immediately gasping for air. You wouldn’t ever admit it, but he felt fucking amazing. Far better than any other man you’d ever had. You weren’t proud to admit your career didn’t start off on such a high note, your legs having been opened for one too many creeps.

You’d had all kinds of affairs and arrangements, ones that fizzled out immediately. But Sam? The whimpering mess beneath you? You wanted to ride him like this forever. You felt yourself getting close to the edge, taking his cock as you pleased. “Mmm i’m close,” You murmured, biting your bottom lip. Sam was convinced he hadn’t seen anything near as sexy as you cumming on his cock. Your walls spasming around him sent him into a frenzy, his dick twitching and cumming inside of you. His face was beet red, his mouth dry as he panted below you. You were a slice of heaven, one he wanted to experience every chance he could.

You grinned as you leaned back, before lifting yourself off of him. Sam had foolishly expected it to be over, before watching you drop to your knees. “W-what are you doing?” He questioned softly. He watched in fear and lust as you licked up the side of his shaft. “I’m cleaning you up silly, i’m not rude you know. I have manners,” You answered. You began bobbing your head up and down his cock, his shaft growing harder in your mouth with each passing second. He squirmed as you swirled your tongue around his shaft, sucking both of your juices off of him. His body trembled as you licked his slit.

“Holy fuck that’s t-too much I-” Sam babbled. You pulled off of his cock, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his tip. You pumped him with your hand, giving him a devilish smirk. “You can handle it. Let me clean you up. Be a good boy for me and take it,” You told him. Sam threw his head back as you began to deep throat him, your gagging only turning him on more. “I didn’t say you could look away Sammy. Look at me. Watch as I suck out your soul,” You purred. The blonde forced himself to look down at you, his legs trembling as you resumed sucking his cock.

His moans were incoherent babbles. “Fuck fuck fuck i’m so close,” He whined. The pleasure was becoming painful, your devious tongue and sinful lips showing no signs of stopping. You wanted to milk him dry. Sam’s hips jerked upwards as he came, his cum painting the inside of your mouth. You swallowed it with ease, before teasingly licking his slit. “You taste good,” You praised. You pulled away from his cock, the blonde shaking from euphoria.

You could feel his cum leaking down your upper thighs, an unholy idea popping into your head. You stood up, grabbing him by his shirt and forcing him to lay back on the couch. You straddled yourself over his head, your cunt inches away from his face, his blue eyes meeting yours, awaiting instructions. “Go ahead, why don’t you find out how you taste Sammy?”

#sam and colby #sam and colby smut #colby brock #colby brock x reader #colby brock x y/n #colby brock x you #sam golbach #sam golbach smut #sam golbach x colby brock #sam and colby x you #sam golbach x you #sam goldbach smut #sam and colby x reader #sam golbach x reader

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