Hi. I'm Rita – 23, writer, academic masochist, and perpetually obsessed with morally grey men.
I write what I crave: intensity, slow burns, complicated power dynamics, and a little touch of suffering (okay, maybe a lot). My fics are half emotional devastation, half poetic thirst. If it's not smoldering with tension, I'm not interested.
Working full-time, studying for my master’s, and still somehow staring at open Google Docs like it’s a hobby.
I don't promise endings, you get what I offer. Sometimes that’s a full arc, sometimes just vibes and unresolved tension.
Catch me lurking, tagging everything, and building universes one painfully slow word at a time.
A/N: Divorced couple forced to work together on a merger. Heavily inspired by Suits and Succession because, clearly, I have a type. IDK if this is going to be a series or not, we'll see... also thank you @tezooks for the interest on this fic!
Y/n’s heels echoed sharply against the polished marble floor as she walked toward the conference room. The familiar hum of the office surrounded her, but her mind was already in the meeting, calculating, strategizing. Every step was deliberate, each movement precise.
She turned the corner to find Linda waiting by the conference room door, her posture as immaculate as ever, her gaze steady. Linda had been with the firm for years—long enough to understand the weight of every decision Y/n made, and long enough to be trusted without question.
“Good morning,” Y/n greeted, her tone crisp, but warm enough to convey a sense of connection.
Linda’s lips curled into the faintest of smiles as she met Y/n’s eyes. “Good morning, Ms. Y/n. Everything’s in place for the meeting.”
Y/n’s eyes flicked to the door of the conference room. “And Tony?”
Linda’s smile faded, her expression carefully neutral. “He’s already in there. Waiting.”
Y/n’s gaze softened for a fraction of a second before she nodded. “Let him wait. He thrives on anticipation.” She adjusted her suit, ensuring everything was perfectly in place before meeting Linda’s eyes once more. “Thank you for the heads-up.”
Linda offered a silent nod in response, her respect for Y/n clear in the way she carried herself. “Of course. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”
With that, Y/n gave a small nod of acknowledgment, the brief exchange enough to communicate the trust between them. Without another word, she pushed open the door to the conference room, her presence commanding the space before she even entered.
All eyes turned to her—except one.
Leaning back in one of the leather chairs at the far end of the table, her ex-husband lounged like he owned the place. Technically, he did own a chunk of it. His tie was loose, his tailored jacket draped over the chair next to him, and a mischievous smirk played on his lips as he scrolled through his phone.
“Well, well,well” he drawled without looking up, “the queen has arrived. Let the peasants rejoice.”
The corner of her mouth twitched, but she masked it with a pointed glance at her watch. “And here I thought you’d be too busy golfing to show up. Or was it poker night at the club?”
Finally, he looked up, his dark eyes gleaming with amusement. “Poker’s tomorrow. Today’s just my weekly charity work.” He gestured around the room. “You know, teaching the juniors how the grown-ups do mergers.”
One of the younger associates coughed to cover a laugh, and Y/n’s gaze swept over the room, silencing them with a single arch of her brow.
“Charity work?” she echoed, walking to her seat at the head of the table. “That’s funny. I thought your specialty was tax avoidance and charming widows.”
“Not just widows,” he quipped, leaning forward and resting his chin on his hand. “I have a pretty good track record with divorcees, too.”
Her hand tightened on the back of her chair, but her voice stayed cool. “So good, you’re two for two. Impressive.”
The room collectively froze, caught in the crossfire of their razor-sharp exchange. The senior partner on her right cleared his throat nervously, trying to cut the tension. “Shall we get started?”
“Please,” Y/n said smoothly, lowering herself into her seat. “We’re here to finalize the merger details for Sterling & Co. before their board meeting tomorrow. I trust everyone has reviewed the financial reports?”
“Oh, I’ve reviewed them,” her ex chimed in, pulling a neatly folded sheet of paper from his jacket pocket. “There’s just one problem. Page 17—projections for the fourth quarter are laughable. Unless Sterling’s CFO moonlights as a magician, those numbers are pure fiction.”
There were a few nervous chuckles around the table, and Y/n arched an eyebrow. “You mean to tell me you didn’t find their magical 20% growth plan convincing? Shocking.”
“Shocking is how long it took for someone to point it out,” he shot back, leaning forward.
She raised an eyebrow, flipping to the page in question. “I suppose you’re volunteering to rewrite their business plan?”
“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve saved a failing venture,” he said, leaning back with an infuriatingly confident smirk. “Or reminded someone to check their blind spots.” He slid a file across the table.
She picked it up, skimming the contents. Her lips pursed, and for a moment, the room held its breath.
“Not bad,” she admitted, her tone grudging. “For someone who spends more time golfing than working.”
He leaned back, grinning. “You’d be amazed at how productive I can be between holes.”
“Spare us the details,” she retorted, her eyes still on the file. “Let’s focus on salvaging this merger before Sterling’s board meeting tomorrow.”
Tony leaned back, his hands behind his head, his grin infuriatingly smug. “Fine. But if we’re going to save Sterling, we need to talk about their litigation risks. Their portfolio’s a disaster.”
Y/n glanced up, her expression sharp. “I’ve already flagged that. Their employment practices alone are a lawsuit waiting to happen. The severance disputes in their HR files could sink them if they’re not handled correctly.”
“Handled correctly?” Tony echoed, feigning shock. “Darling, they need a complete overhaul. Their HR policies look like they were written on a napkin in the ‘80s. I suggest we include mandatory compliance training as part of the merger terms.”
She raised an eyebrow, flipping to another section of the report. “I’ve already drafted a clause for that. But compliance training alone won’t cut it. We need to clean house, starting with their general counsel.”
Tony whistled low, clearly impressed. “Ouch. Cold as ever. But you’re not wrong. Their general counsel is... how should I put this? Underwhelming. What’s your plan for the inevitable PR fallout when we push them out?”
“Mitigation,” she replied, not missing a beat. “We’ll preemptively frame it as a step toward modernization and efficiency. Their board will eat it up, especially if we back it with an improved diversity and inclusion plan.”
Tony smirked. “Always ten steps ahead, aren’t you?”
“Someone has to be,” she shot back. “While you’re busy charming the press and schmoozing clients, I’m the one keeping the ship from sinking.”
“Hey,” he said, holding up his hands in mock surrender, “I schmooze strategically. You’d be surprised how much a little charm can smooth over merger tensions.”
“Charm doesn’t fix bad contracts,” she countered. “Or litigation traps. Sterling’s arbitration agreements are a mess, and their partnership structure is barely holding together. If we don’t address those, this merger will be dead on arrival.”
Tony sat up, his tone serious now. “Agreed. Let’s restructure their partnership agreements entirely—transition them to a tiered equity model. It’ll stabilize their revenue streams and make it easier to retain top talent post-merger.”
Y/n nodded, jotting notes as he spoke. “Good. But we’ll need to sweeten the deal for their junior partners. Increased buy-in options tied to performance metrics should do the trick. We’ll incentivize loyalty without draining their resources.”
“Smart,” he said, leaning forward. “But let’s not forget client retention. Sterling’s client portfolio is solid, but they’re vulnerable. If we don’t reassure their top clients during this transition, we risk defections.”
“I’ve already scheduled meetings with their top five clients,” she replied. “We’ll present the merger as a move toward stronger, more efficient representation. If we position it correctly, we can even upsell them on additional services.”
Tony’s grin returned. “God, I missed this. Watching you destroy everyone else’s arguments is like poetry in motion.”
She didn’t look up, her pen still moving across the page. “Focus, Tony. We’re not here to reminisce.”
The senior partner cleared his throat, interrupting the moment. “If I may,” he began hesitantly, “how do you propose handling Sterling’s ongoing class-action suit? Their legal team seems... ill-equipped.”
Tony rolled his eyes. “Ill-equipped" is putting it mildly. Their lead counsel couldn’t argue his way out of a parking ticket. I’ll take point on this one.”
Y/n shook her head. “No. You’ll assist, but this is my case. I’ve already started drafting a strategy. First, we push for mediation. If that fails, we’ve got a fallback plan for a quick settlement. The longer this drags on, the more it jeopardizes the merger.”
Tony smirked. “Always the control freak.”
“Always the improviser,” she shot back. “Which is why you’re better as my backup.”
The team exchanged amused glances, their dynamic both entertaining and awe-inspiring.
Tony leaned back, giving her a mock salute. “Yes, ma’am. You drive; I’ll navigate.”
As the meeting progressed, the room buzzed with energy. Y/n and Tony dissected every aspect of the merger with precision, their combined expertise a masterclass in legal strategy.
By the time the meeting adjourned, the team looked equal parts exhausted and inspired.
“Alright,” Y/n said, gathering her notes. “Tony, I expect your revisions on the partnership agreements by midnight.”
He smirked. “Midnight? Cutting me some slack, will you?”
“Don’t push your luck,” she replied, her tone sharp but with a hint of a smile.
As the team filed out, Tony lingered, his eyes following her as she packed up her things.
“You know,” he said, his voice softer now, “we make a hell of a team.”
She paused, her expression unreadable. “We always did.”
The team exchanged glances, marveling at the seamless way the two bounced ideas off each other. It was like watching two virtuosos perform a duet—each one pushing the other to greater heights.
Y/n gathered her notes, sliding them into her leather portfolio with meticulous precision, fully aware of Tony’s eyes tracking her every move. His gaze was too heavy, too familiar.
“So,” he said casually, leaning against the edge of the table like he owned not just the furniture but the air she was breathing, “since we’re working so well together, how about lunch? To strategize further, of course. I hear that new French place downtown is incredible.”
She glanced up, arching a brow. “Lunch? Is that your latest excuse for trying to spend more time with me?”
“Excuse?” he repeated, his tone mock-wounded as he straightened. “Ouch, sweetheart. I thought you’d jump at the chance to pick my brain over a plate of foie gras.”
Y/n’s lips twitched—almost—but she didn’t give him the satisfaction. “Your brain is the last thing I’d want to pick, Tony. And stop calling me ‘sweetheart.’”
“Force of habit,” he replied, the smirk in his voice as audible as the one gracing his lips. He stepped closer, invading her space, his cologne a maddening reminder of nights she didn’t want to remember but couldn’t forget. “But come on. Just lunch. Strictly professional. You have my word.”
“Your word?” she repeated, closing her portfolio with a sharp snap. “Excuse me if I don’t find that particularly reassuring.”
He leaned down, hands on the table on either side of her notes, caging her in with that infuriating mix of charm and audacity. “Oh, come on. I’m not that bad.”
Her breath hitched despite herself. Damn him. “You’re worse.”
His smirk widened as his dark eyes bore into hers. “You’re smiling, though.”
“Barely,” she countered, stepping back—or trying to. The table behind her left nowhere to go.
Tony’s grin softened, a rare flicker of something real slipping through. “You used to like my bad habits.”
“That was before I knew better,” she shot back, though her voice lacked its usual sharp edge.
He tilted his head, closing the space between them again, so close now she could feel the heat radiating from him. His gaze dropped to her lips for a fraction of a second, and her pulse betrayed her, quickening.
“For the record,” he murmured, his voice low and impossibly smooth, “you haven’t learned a thing. Otherwise, you’d have kicked me out by now.”
She swallowed hard, willing her composure back. “Don’t tempt me.”
Tony chuckled, his breath brushing her cheek. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
The air between them crackled, the distance practically nonexistent. His hand drifted just slightly, brushing her arm, a touch so brief it could have been accidental—but wasn’t.
And then, as if the moment teetered on the edge of something neither of them was ready to admit, Y/n sidestepped, breaking the spell.
“Lunch,” she said briskly, grabbing her portfolio and stepping around him. “Twenty minutes. Don’t be late.”
He turned as she walked away, his smirk returning, though his voice was softer. “When am I ever late?”
She didn’t answer, disappearing through the door with her usual grace.
The French bistro had a quiet sophistication that suited the occasion. Light chatter filled the room, underscored by soft classical music, but Y/n barely noticed. Her focus was on the folder in front of her, its contents neatly arranged—notes, projections, and proposals that could make or break the merger.
Tony arrived a few minutes late, as usual, but with the air of someone who knew how to make an entrance. He shed his coat and slid into the seat across from her, his casual demeanor contrasting sharply with her poised professionalism.
“So, what’s on the agenda, boss?”
Y/n’s lips twitched at the title, but she let it slide. “Sterling,” she said, cutting straight to the point. “They’re playing hardball on equity redistribution. I’ve outlined our options, but we need to decide on a strategy before the board meeting tomorrow.”
Tony leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Let me guess—they’re trying to hold out for a bigger piece of the pie?”
“Exactly,” she confirmed. “But their position isn’t as strong as they think. They’re banking on us blinking first.”
The waiter appeared, interrupting them briefly to take their orders. Y/n opted for a salade niçoise, Tony for steak frites. As soon as the waiter left, Tony turned back to her, his expression unusually serious.
“So, what’s the play?” he asked, scanning the document she slid across the table.
“We present minor concessions as a gesture of goodwill,” she explained. “Enough to make them feel like they’ve won something, but not enough to disrupt the structure. If they push for more, we call their bluff. Their position won’t hold up under scrutiny, and they know it.”
Tony nodded, his eyes darting over the document. “Solid plan. But what if they double down instead? They might drag this out just to see how far we’ll bend.”
“I’ve factored that in,” Y/n said, pulling another sheet from her portfolio. “This is our fallback position. It’s not ideal, but it’ll keep the deal moving forward without giving up too much leverage.”
He studied the paper, his brow furrowing slightly. “You’ve been busy.”
“Someone has to be,” she replied dryly.
Tony glanced up, a flicker of something unreadable in his expression. “You know, most people would have called it a day after the last round of negotiations. But not you.”
“Most people aren’t trying to save a multi-million-dollar merger,” she shot back.
His lips curved into a faint smile, but he didn’t push further. Instead, he leaned back, his gaze lingering on her for a moment before shifting to the folder still open on the table.
“So,” he began, his tone casual, “what’s your take on Sterling’s new CFO? Walters, right? He’s been suspiciously quiet in these meetings.”
Y/n’s eyes narrowed slightly. “Quiet, but not absent. He’s been feeding his team notes—counterpoints, objections. He’s not as passive as he seems.”
Tony nodded thoughtfully, drumming his fingers lightly on the table. “That’s what I figured. I had a chat with one of his former colleagues. Apparently, Walters likes to fly under the radar until he’s ready to pounce.”
She arched a brow. “And you just happened to run into one of his colleagues?”
“What can I say?” he replied, a hint of mischief in his tone. “I like to be thorough.”
“Thorough,” she repeated, her voice laced with skepticism.
“Thorough,” he confirmed, his grin widening. “You trust me, don’t you?”
“On this?” she said after a pause. “Yes. But don’t push it.”
Their conversation paused as the waiter returned with their food. Tony’s steak frites looked indulgent compared to her lighter salad, but he didn’t comment, instead diving into the meal with surprising restraint.
As they ate, the discussion shifted to logistics: timelines, integration plans, and the delicate task of managing client lists. Tony contributed more than she’d expected, his insights sharp and his instincts—when not veering into overly charming territory—on point.
“I’ll follow up with Walters,” he said as they reached the end of their plates. “See if I can’t get a better read on him.”
Y/n hesitated, her fork hovering over her plate. “Be careful. He’s not the type to underestimate. If he realizes you’re fishing for information—”
“He won’t,” Tony interrupted smoothly. “I’ll keep it subtle. Promise.”
She gave him a long look, weighing her trust against her better judgment. Finally, she nodded. “Fine. But let me know what you find.”
“Always,” he said, his tone lighter now, almost teasing. “What would you do without me?”
“Sleep better, for one,” she replied, closing her portfolio with a sharp snap.
He laughed, the sound warm and genuine. “Fair enough.”
As they stood to leave, Tony lingered for a moment, holding the door open for her. His usual smirk was absent, replaced by something quieter, almost thoughtful.
“You know,” he said as they stepped into the street, “for all your talk about strategy, I think you just like keeping me on my toes.”
“Someone has to,” she quipped, her tone brisk but not unkind.
He grinned, falling into step beside her. “Well, keep it up. You’re pretty good at it.”
They walked down the street together, their usual banter fading into companionable silence.
Summary: When Agent Y/N is everything the reports promised,and worse. She’s here to clean up a mess, not make friends. But Javier Peña has never been one to back down from danger , even when it wears a badge, walks like it owns the room, and looks at him like she already knows how he’ll break.
She’s the storm. He’s already standing in the rain.
A/N: yeah. no one’s shocked. i’ve been feral about narcos for years, but this whole pedro renaissance really dragged my javier peña brainrot back from the grave.
this one’s been simmering for a while. let’s just call it what it is: a sad excuse for a porn fic with javi disguised as plot. enjoy the spiral.
The buzz of overhead lights hummed low over the tarmac, flickering like a dying pulse. The airport was quiet, but never truly still. Somewhere in the distance, a dog barked. A truck engine sputtered. The air was thick with diesel, heat, and the kind of silence that always came before bad news.
Peña leaned against the hood of the battered sedan, one boot crossed over the other, cigarette burning low between his fingers. Sweat clung to the back of his neck, plastering the collar of his shirt to his skin. Murphy sat inside, window down, head tilted back and eyes closed, pretending not to be counting minutes.
They’d been waiting for over an hour on the sun-bleached tarmac of the José María Córdova International Airport. Long enough for the afternoon to die into something heavier, dusk dragging its knuckles across the horizon. The clouds hung low, swollen and waiting.
Peña flicked the last of his cigarette into the dust, grinding it under his heel with exaggerated boredom.
“When the fuck did we get demoted to chauffeurs?”
Murphy didn’t open his eyes. “Since Bogotá wants all their shiny imports delivered with a bow on top.”
Peña scoffed and shifted his weight. “Next they’ll have us carrying bags and handing out mints.”
Murphy snorted. “Might be easier than chasing coke labs through swamps.”
The glove compartment clicked open, and Peña reached for the manila folder inside. Thumbing through the pages, he squinted at the top sheet, reading aloud with a lazy drawl. “Special Agent Y/L/N, Federal Bureau of Investigation. Seattle Division.”
He paused, lips curling faintly. “Jesus. Even got a commendation from the Attorney General. Must be nice.”
Murphy finally opened one eye, glancing toward the folder. He stilled.
“Y/L/N?” he repeated. “No shit.”
Peña raised a brow. “You know him?”
Murphy sat up straighter and took the file from his partner, flipping pages with a furrowed brow. “Her,” he corrected.
Peña looked up at that, interest flickering to life.
Murphy kept reading. “Yeah… Y/N Y/L/N. We were in the academy at the same time. Not close, just… same year. She was the one everyone either hated or wanted to be.”
Peña smirked. “Which one were you?”
Murphy gave him a look. “The one who knew better.”
Peña tilted his head, eyes narrowing as he watched Murphy linger over the personnel photo. “She that good?”
“She’s a fucking monster,” Murphy said, not unkindly. “Languages, marksmanship, field tactics. They said she was recruited before she even graduated. Fluent Spanish. Got sent to Mexico straight out of Quantico. Cut her teeth chasing cartel lieutenants while we were still learning to tie ties.”
Peña took the file back, flipping through the reports. Arrests, commendations, undercover work, sealed attachments. He let out a low whistle.
Murphy smacked him lightly with the back of the folder. “Don’t even think about it.”
Peña’s smirk widened. “You always this protective of people you barely know?”
“Just warning you,” Murphy said, lighting another cigarette. “She’s way, way out of your league, Peña.”
“We’ll see about that.”
They heard the jet before they saw it. The long, low rumble of engines sweeping down from the mountains, cutting through the dying light like a blade. The plane touched down hard, wheels screaming against the tarmac. It coasted to a halt, engines ticking as they wound down.
The door opened.
A few agents stepped out—two men, another woman—moving like people used to being deployed, not greeted.
And then her.
She descended the steps with an unhurried, deliberate grace. Tan slacks. Rolled sleeves. Aviators glinting against the last of the sun. Her duffel was slung over one shoulder like it weighed nothing. Not even a glance around, just a straight line toward them—eyes locked, body relaxed, the kind of calm that spoke of training and bone-deep control.
Peña straightened instinctively. Murphy didn’t miss it. He grinned around his cigarette.
“Wipe that look off your face.”
She stopped in front of them. Pulled off her sunglasses. Sharp eyes.
“Agent Murphy,” she said, extending a hand. “Good to see you.”
Murphy took it. “Agent Y/L/N. Long flight?”
She gave the briefest of smiles. “Longer layover.”
He nodded, then gestured toward his partner. “This is my partner Agent Javier Peña.”
Peña stepped forward, dragging the cigarette from his mouth and offering his hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Agent Y/L/N.”
She looked him over once—no hurry, no nerves—and took his hand. Firm grip. Cool fingers. Eyes unreadable.
“Likewise.”
And just like that, something shifted. Something subtle, subterranean.
It wasn’t love. Wasn’t even interest—not yet.
It was recognition. Like a mirror held up between two wolves.
All the works listed are for mature audiences and contain adult themes. Please proceed responsibly.
[updated 03/12/2025]
Logan Howlett
✧˖°'The Weight of Us' - a series featuring Origins!Logan - Set against the backdrop of a small, secluded town in 1979, Evelyn is rebuilding her life after being abandoned on her wedding day. Seeking solace, she retreats to the quiet of the countryside, where her path crosses with Logan, a rugged, reserved man with a past as heavy as her own.
✧˖°'Unspoken Desires'- One shot fic featuring Old Man!Logan (my beloved)- Y/N is always the one taking care of everyone, but tonight Logan decides it’s her turn to let go. Rough, tender, and unapologetically intense, he’ll make sure she doesn’t forget who’s in charge—or how good it feels to be taken care of for once.
✧˖° 'Lessons in Desire'- One shot fic featuring Professor!Logan- In the classroom, their power dynamics shift, drawing them closer to the edge of what’s acceptable. Caught between desire and the threat of scandal, they push past boundaries, each unable to deny the magnetic pull between them. But with stakes this high, the real question is: how much will they sacrifice for a forbidden passion they can’t control?
Javier Peña
✧˖°'Collateral Damage' (teaser) - When Agent Y/N is everything the reports promised,and worse. She’s here to clean up a mess, not make friends. But Javier Peña has never been one to back down from danger , even when it wears a badge, walks like it owns the room, and looks at him like she already knows how he’ll break.
Tony Stark
✧˖° 'Terms and Conditions' -Divorced couple forced to work together on a merger. Heavily inspired by Suits and Succession because, clearly, I have a type.
once again obsessed with narcos and everything surrounding pedro pascal. how can i vicariously live through this spiral? oh right, javier peña x agent!reader fic it is.
thinking: airports, tension, 80s heat, mutual ego bruising, and a man who absolutely doesn’t know how to behave professionally.
Fandoms stopped being a fun escape from reality when people started spreading the belief that you should prioritize purity over pleasure and the art you create must be a reflection of your moral standards at all times.
@ovaryacted since I always circle back to this prompt I decided to give it a go)
Y/n spotted him before he even had a chance to approach. She was standing near the edge of the reception tent, the stem of a champagne flute loosely held between her fingers. The laughter and hum of conversation around her blurred into nothing as her eyes landed on him, standing across the venue like some specter conjured from the memories she tried not to revisit.
Lucien.
He was already looking at her, his gaze sharp and steady, like he’d been waiting for her to notice him. A flicker of something passed between them—recognition, surprise, and, beneath it all, a thread of longing that time hadn’t managed to sever.
Fifteen years. Fifteen years since they’d burned through each other like wildfire, leaving behind only ashes and questions neither had been brave enough to ask. The weight of all those years pressed down on Y/n's chest as she held his gaze, the rest of the party fading into insignificance.
He looked good. Too good. His dark hair was touched with silver at the temples, his jawline more defined, and the suit he wore fit him like a second skin. But it wasn’t just the years that had refined him—it was the way he stood, confident and composed in a way that spoke of experience, of time lived.
Y/n forced herself to breathe, to look away, to remind herself that he was just another guest at this party, just another piece of her past. But when her gaze slipped back to him, he was already walking toward her.
Fuck, fuck, fuck
Her heart quickened, and she cursed herself for it.
“Y/n,” he said when he reached her, his voice low and familiar in a way that made her throat tighten.
She met his gaze, forcing herself to stay composed even as old wounds reopened. “Lucien.”
For a moment, neither of them spoke. The silence between them was heavy, thick with everything they’d never said, everything they’d left behind.
“I wasn’t sure it was you at first,” he said, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “But then I thought, who else could stop a room like that?”
Y/n swallowed hard, refusing to let his words affect her. “Still good at flattery, I see,” she said lightly, though her voice was tighter than she intended.
“And you’re still good at pretending it doesn’t work,” he replied, his eyes softening.
She hated how easily he could disarm her, even now. Hated the way her pulse raced at the sound of his voice, the way his presence brought to the surface emotions she thought she’d buried long ago.
---
Fifteen years ago, they’d been too young and too reckless to understand what they’d found in each other. They had met at Alisson and Brian’s engagement party, just a pair of twenty-something year old's trying to figure out who they were and where they fit in the world.
Lucien had been charming, infuriating, and utterly irresistible, and Y/n had fallen for him before she even realized what was happening.
For six months, they’d been inseparable. Passionate. Wild. But it wasn’t enough. Lucien had been restless, always chasing the next thrill, and Y/n had been too afraid to ask for more, too afraid he wouldn’t stay if she did. So, when he left—no big fight, no dramatic goodbye, just a quiet slip out of her life—she’d told herself it was for the best.
Except it hadn’t been.
---
They both looked at Alisson and Jason that were slowdancing in the middle of the venue.
“Fifteen years,” Lucien said now, breaking the silence. “It feels like another lifetime.”
“Does it?” Y/n asked, the words sharper than she intended. “Because some days, it feels like yesterday.”
Lucien’s expression shifted, guilt flashing in his eyes, and Y/n hated herself for letting it show. She didn’t want him to know how deeply he’d affected her, how long it had taken to stop measuring every other man against him.
“I was an idiot,” he said, his voice quieter now.
Y/n blinked, caught off guard. “What?”
“I was an idiot,” he repeated, his eyes locking onto hers. “Back then. With you. With us.I didn’t realize what I had until it was too late.”
Her chest tightened, and she forced herself to look away, to keep her composure. “We were young,” she said, her voice brittle. “Neither of us knew what we were doing.”
“I did,” Lucien said softly, his words stopping her cold. “At least, part of me did. I just… I didn’t know how to hold onto it. Hold onto you.”
Y/n stared at him, the air suddenly too heavy to breathe. She wanted to say something, to tell him he had no right to bring this up now, not after all these years. But the words wouldn’t come.
“Y/n,” he said, stepping closer, his voice low and rough. “I never stopped thinking about you.”
She shook her head, forcing herself to take a step back, to put distance between them. “Don’t do this,” she said, her voice trembling. “Not here. Not now.”
Lucien’s jaw tightened, but he nodded, taking a step back himself. “Okay,” he said quietly. “But this isn’t over. We're not over”
-----
Y/n escaped to the far side of the tent, where the open bar and a few scattered tables provided a semblance of distraction. She set her half-empty glass on a nearby table, her hand trembling slightly as she exhaled. The air outside was cooler, the breeze carrying the faint scent of grapes from the surrounding vineyard, but it did little to soothe the storm inside her.
Fifteen years. It had been fifteen years, and somehow, in the span of five minutes, Lucien had undone every wall she’d carefully built since then.
“Y/n?”
Alisson’s voice jolted her out of her thoughts. Her best friend appeared beside her, her cheeks flushed from dancing, the unmistakable glow of happiness radiating from her.
“Hey,” Y/n said, forcing a smile that she hoped looked convincing.
“I saw you talking to Lucien,” Alisson said, her grin widening. “I knew you’d run into each other eventually. Small world, huh?”
Y/n laughed weakly, trying to match Alisson’s lighthearted tone. “Yeah. Small world.”
Alisson tilted her head, her expression softening. “You okay? I know things were… complicated back then.”
Y/n hesitated, then nodded. “It’s fine. We’re fine. It’s ancient history.”
Alisson studied her for a moment, clearly unconvinced, but before she could say anything else, Brian called her over to the dance floor, and she waved apologetically before hurrying away.
---
Y/n didn’t know how long she stayed there, staring out at the rows of grapevines stretching into the darkness. She was trying to compose herself, to will her mind back to the present, when a voice broke the quiet.
“You always did need time to breathe after a crowd.”
She turned, and there he was again.
Lucien.
He wasn’t smiling now. His expression was guarded, almost hesitant, and Y/n hated how it made him look even more human, more real. She wanted to be angry at him for following her, for not letting her slip away like he had all those years ago. But the anger didn’t come.
“What do you want, Lucien?” she asked, her voice sharper than she intended.
He didn’t flinch. “Just to talk.”
“About what?” Y/n crossed her arms, trying to put up some kind of shield between them. “We’ve had fifteen years to talk, and you didn’t seem interested before.”
His jaw tightened, and he looked down for a moment, as if gathering his thoughts. “I didn’t know how,” he admitted finally. “I was young, selfish, and stupid. I told myself walking away was better than messing up what we had.”
Y/n’s laugh was bitter. “What we had? Lucien, you didn’t even let us figure out what we could have been. You just left.”
“I know.” His voice was quiet, heavy with regret. “And I’ve regretted it every day since.”
Y/n blinked, startled by the rawness in his tone. She had imagined this conversation countless times over the years, but she had never expected him to say that.
“Why now?” she asked, her voice softening despite herself. “Why say any of this now?”
Lucien stepped closer, his hands shoved into his pockets like he was trying to keep himself from reaching for her. “Because seeing you tonight, it hit me all over again. How much I screwed up. How much I—” He stopped himself, exhaling sharply. “How much I miss you.”
Her breath caught, and she looked away, staring out at the vineyard. “You don’t even know me anymore, Lucien.”
“I know enough,” he said. “I know you’re still the smartest, most frustratingly stubborn person I’ve ever met. I know you still tilt your head a little when you’re trying to hold back an argument. And I know I’ve never met anyone who made me feel the way you did.”
Y/n shook her head, tears prickling at the edges of her vision. “It’s too late, Lucien. You can’t just show up after fifteen years and say these things. It’s not fair.”
“I know it’s not fair,” he said, his voice breaking slightly. “And I don’t expect you to forgive me. But I couldn’t leave this time without telling you the truth.”
She turned to face him, and for the first time, she saw it—the weight he carried, the years of regret etched into his features. He looked older, yes, but he also looked… different. Like he had spent the last fifteen years trying to find something he’d lost and was only now realizing where he’d left it.
“You’re right,” she said quietly. “It is too late.”
Lucien's shoulders sagged slightly, but he nodded, accepting her words. “I get it,” he said, stepping back. “I just… I needed you to know.”
Y/n watched him walk away, her heart aching in a way she hadn’t felt in years. She told herself it was better this way, that the past was better left buried.
But as she stood there, the cool breeze brushing against her skin, she realized she wasn’t as sure as she wanted to be.
------
The music from the party had quieted to a soft background hum, but Y/n could still feel the tension from her conversation with Lucien, lingering in the air like smoke. She moved toward the edge of the reception, seeking solitude again, but a part of her wanted him to follow. Wanted him to say more, to explain the ache she could hear in his voice. She knew it was foolish. She had already heard it—the apology, the regret—but it didn't change anything.
Not really.
She leaned against the stone pillar, her hand pressed against the cool surface as she closed her eyes. The weight of the night was beginning to sink into her bones, but what weighed on her most were the years they’d lost—the years she’d spent pretending she hadn’t cared when she’d never really stopped.
The night had been a blur of laughter, music, and stolen moments. She hadn’t planned on it, hadn’t expected him to be so—there. So magnetic.
The reception hall was far behind them now, its lights and laughter fading into the cool night. Y/n walked a few steps ahead, her heels dangling from her fingertips, the soft crunch of gravel underfoot the only sound. Lucien followed at a distance, his footsteps steady but slower, as though he were giving her space—or waiting for her to make the first move.
When she reached the small iron gate at the edge of the vineyard, she stopped, resting her hand against the cool metal. For a moment, she just stood there, staring out at the moonlit path ahead, her chest tightening with every breath.
Lucien came to a halt a few steps behind her, his hands shoved deep into his pockets. The silence stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.
“It’s late,” she said finally, her voice soft, almost hesitant.
“Yeah,” Lucien replied, his tone unreadable.
She turned then, her heart pounding as her gaze met his. He was standing there, his face half-lit by the faint glow of the lanterns lining the path, his expression caught somewhere between hope and hesitation.
“I’m staying at the inn just up the road,” she said, her voice carefully casual. “It’s a nice place. Quiet. A good spot to think.”
Lucien’s brow furrowed slightly, his lips parting as though he wanted to say something. But he didn’t. He just stood there, his silence saying more than words ever could.
They stood there for a moment, the space between them humming with possibility. Lucien’s hand reached out, tentative, brushing against hers. “You don’t have to do this, Y/n. I don’t want you to feel like—”
“I’m not doing this for you,” she interrupted, her voice firm but soft. “I’m doing it because I want to. Because…” She took a deep breath, her chest tightening with the weight of her confession. “Because I’ve spent too long wondering what it would be like to have this back. To have you back.”
Her words hung in the air, raw and unguarded, and for a moment, Lucien didn’t move. Then, slowly, he stepped closer, closing the space between them until their hands brushed again.
“You don’t have to wonder anymore,” he said quietly, his voice thick with emotion.
Y/n swallowed hard, her heart racing as she looked up at him. “So don’t make me regret this,” she whispered.
Lucien's lips twitched into the faintest of smiles, and without another word, he reached for her hand, his fingers threading through hers as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Y/n turned, pushing the gate open and stepping onto the cobblestone path that led to the inn. She didn’t look back to see if he was following. She didn’t have to. His footsteps fell in line with hers, steady and deliberate, and for the first time in years, she felt a flicker of certainty in her chest.
---
The room was warm and inviting, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting long shadows across the walls. Y/n set her heels down carefully by the door, her movements slow and deliberate as she tried to calm the storm of nerves swirling inside her.
Lucien stood just inside the doorway, his hands still in his pockets, his gaze fixed on her with an intensity that made her breath catch.
“You don’t have to stay,” she said softly, her voice trembling slightly as she turned to face him. “If this doesn’t feel—”
“Stop,” he interrupted gently, his voice low but steady. “I’m here because I want to be.”
She let out a shaky breath, her heart pounding as he stepped closer, his presence filling the small room.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Lucien” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.
He reached for her then, his hand brushing against her arm before sliding down to take her hand. “Neither do I,” he said, his voice soft, almost reverent. “But I know I don’t want to spend the rest of my life wondering.”
Her lips parted, but no words came out. Instead, she squeezed his hand, grounding herself in the warmth of his touch.
Lucien’s free hand came up to cup her cheek, his thumb brushing lightly against her skin. “Are you sure?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.
Y/n nodded, her throat tight with unspoken emotion. “I’m sure,” she said, her voice steadier now.
Lucien leaned in then, his lips brushing against hers in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative, as if testing the waters. But when she responded—when her hands slid up to curl into his shirt, pulling him closer—the kiss deepened into something fiercer, something that spoke of all the years they’d lost and everything they still wanted.
When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, Lucien rested his forehead against hers, his hands still framing her face.
“This is real,” he murmured, his voice trembling with emotion. “This is us.”
Y/n closed her eyes, her fingers gripping the fabric of his shirt as if anchoring herself to him. “It always has been,” she whispered.
And as the night unfolded, the years of distance between them seemed to fade away, leaving only the quiet certainty that they had found their way back to each other at last.
'he would not fucking say that' maybe he would if he knew he was starring in his very own porn fic for the sole purpose of delighting some freaks on archive of our own dot org. maybe he'd play it up for the cameras. ever consider that
