#a part of me to this day wants to continue where that fic left off and write the sonadow portion BETTER

[kyoyoyay]

i beg of u for a continuation of the lee byung hun actor fic!!!! doesnt have to be smut just like a kiss myb any sort of continuation i beeeggg it was so cute!

Take after Take - Part 2 ── .✦

Lee Byung-Hun x GN!actor!reader

warnings: hot old man warning! BEWARE! HAZARD! (not proofread 💪)

a/n: I post once in a blue moon chat idk and ignore that, and the reader is now gn bc I think I didn't use any pronouns in the last part and in this part so i'm sorry if I got it wrong :/.

Byung Hun’s hand brushed lightly against your arm as the two of you walked off set, the quiet hum of the studio fading into the background. His touch lingered just long enough to send another shiver through you, though you didn’t dare look at him yet. Your heart was still racing, and you weren’t sure if it was from the scene, his teasing, or the way his eyes seemed to linger on you just a little too long.

“Where are you parked?” he asked casually, his voice breaking the silence.

“Not parked,” you replied, finally glancing his way. “My trailer’s just around the corner.”

He nodded. “Then I’ll walk you there.”

“Oh, you don’t have to-”

“I want to,” he interrupted, his tone leaving no room for argument but carrying a gentleness that made it impossible to protest.

You gave him a small smile, and the two of you continued in companionable silence. The air outside the studio was cool, and the quiet intimacy of the moment felt like a breath of fresh air (literally) from the embarrassing moments earlier today.

When you reached your trailer, you hesitated at the bottom of the steps, turning to face him. “Thanks for walking me back. And for... everything today. I don’t think I would’ve made it through without you.”

He smiled, that easy, confident smile that always seemed to disarm you. “You would’ve been fine. But I’m glad I could help.”

His eyes held yours for a moment, and the silence between you grew heavier, charged with something unspoken. You opened your mouth to say something, anything-but the words wouldn’t come out.

“You’re still overthinking,” he said softly, stepping closer.

“I can’t help it,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

His hand lifted, his fingers brushing against yours before moving to cup your cheek. The warmth of his touch sent your thoughts scattering. “Then let me help with that too,” he murmured.

Before you could process his words, he leaned in, his lips capturing yours in a kiss that was as soft as it was deliberate. It wasn’t like the tentative kiss of the scene you’d filmed earlier... this was real, and it left you breathless.

Your hands moved instinctively, finding their way to his shoulders as you steadied yourself. His thumb stroked gently along your cheek, and for a moment, everything else fell away... the long day, the nerves, the lingering embarrassment.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested lightly against yours, his breath warm against your skin. “Better?” he asked, his voice low and teasing.

You laughed softly, the sound breaking the tension. “A little,” you admitted, though your heart was still racing.

“Good,” he said, his lips quirking into a small smile. “Because I’ve been waiting to do that all day.”

Your cheeks burned, but you couldn’t help the grin spreading across your face. “You’re really good at this whole charming thing, aren’t you?”

He chuckled, stepping back but letting his hand linger on yours. “It’s not about being charming. It’s about you.”

His words left you speechless, and before you could recover, he gave your hand a gentle squeeze and nodded toward your trailer door. “Get some rest. Big day tomorrow.”

You nodded, your voice refusing to cooperate. As you climbed the steps, you glanced back at him one last time. He was still standing there, watching you with a soft smile that made your heart flip.

“Goodnight, Byung Hun,” you managed, your voice steady despite the chaos in your chest.

“Goodnight, Y/n,” he replied, his voice in a low and sort of seductive tone that made your stomach do a backflip. (brookhaven style)

As you closed the door behind you, leaning against it for support, you couldn’t stop the smile that spread across your face. The day might have started as a disaster, but now, as you replayed that kiss in your mind, you tried not to let your mind linger to other not so PG thoughts about him.

IM SORRY FOR THE ROBLOX JOKE.

[bunnis-monsters]

A witch and her werewolf Pt1

Male!Werewolf x Fem!Witch Reader

Bunni’s Monstertober Event

Oct 25th

Oct 19

Oct 26

summary: You meet a lone wolf in the woods, and realize he’s more than you thought.

a/n: this is a reskin of a Kurapika x reader fic I wrote, but never got past the first chapter. If you want a continuation, please comment or send me a Kofi.

WK: 5k+

It was finally spring, a time where flowers bloomed and the snow melted away to reveal all kinds of herbs and plants for the little witch (Name) to gather.

Today she was doing just that, gathering herbs to begin making more potions. Through the winter, her stock of salves and potions had grown smaller and smaller, until she only had a few left.

(Name) had customers that would be coming by any day now to buy her goods, so she was determined to go out and hunt for all the ingredients she would need.

She was a good witch, focusing on healing salves and helping the villagers nearby. It was partially out of the goodness of her heart, and partly because she wanted to keep a good relationship with the townspeople so they didn’t grab their pitchforks and torches to chase her out of town with.

So (Name) grabbed her hat, wearing a thick pair of boots to protect her feet from the thorny vegetation. She was always careful when visiting the forest. After all, there were rumors that many magical beasts made it their home.

Along the path, she spotted small clusters of mint, frowning. “Mint is so invasive, I thought I told the villagers not to plant it in the ground…”

(Name) did her best to dig up and pick what she could, then moved on along the path. Mushrooms, herbs, and pretty rocks all found a new home in her basket. After searching for a while, she wiped the sweat from her brow. ‘Hmm… I should still have some time to go by the lake before I go home… I wonder if anything is growing near the water's edge..?’

(Name) stepped on a branch as she neared the lake, ready to search for aquatic plant life and maybe even find a good spot to go fishing!

But before she could get too close, (Name) heard a loud howl that made her freeze in her tracks. When she turned, she spotted it.

There was a large, golden wolf near the water’s edge, its ears pinned back and snarling. From the water dripping from its furry chin, the witch assumed it had just been drinking from the lake before she interrupted it by making noise.

She was quick to hold up her hands in a sign of surrender, talking in an even voice. “Easy, boy, I’ll go,”

Backing up slowly, (Name) made sure not to meet the wolf’s eyes, though she did notice they were a sparkling shade of scarlet she had never seen before.

The beast huffed, watching her for a moment longer before turning back to drink. Once it did, she broke out in a sprint, her basket held firmly against her chest. (Name) knew the forest wasn’t exactly safe, but she had never encountered a wild animal besides some chipmunks and bunnies.

‘I’ve never seen a wolf with that coloration before…’ (Name) thought, putting away her foraged goods once she arrived home. ‘Maybe it’s an albino or something? But wouldn’t it’s fur be more white then?’

Despite being a little afraid, (Name) couldn’t get her mind off of the wolf she had seen before. It was easily the top predator in the forest, yet it only gave her a warning growl before minding its business again. Was that normal wolf behavior? She had no idea.

‘I’m thinking too much…’ (Name) thought, changing into her pajamas. ‘I need to sleep, or I’ll be late to the coven meeting tomorrow…’

Turning over, (Name) wondered what exactly she would even speak about during the meeting. She wasn’t exactly the most confident witch, often being spoken over or ignored due to her shy nature. No one would think she was the very first apprentice Ania Quell, the head of the very coven (Name) was a part of.

‘I may have been her first apprentice, but I’m definitely not her best. Miles and Gil have me beat for sure…’ she thought, rolling over onto her side to stare out of the window.

Through the gaps in the curtains, she could see the moon shining up above, big and full. It’s light bathed her in a soft glow, and made her feel both rejuvenated and relaxed.

‘It’ll be okay… after all, I have friends there. Everything should… be fine…’

(Name) drifted off to sleep, the last image on her mind before she was taken to slumberland being the golden wolf peering at her with those scarlet eyes.

—————

(Name) packed a small basket full of jams and jellies, humming a tune as she carefully stacked a small jar of syrup on the top. “I know Jill won’t be there today, but Ania loves my jams and jellies. Hopefully I’ll actually have a chance to speak with her…”

Ania, being the head of the coven, was always busy. She was usually stuck talking with several other witches about various topics, or leaving early to conduct business with other covens. Getting the opportunity to talk to her was rare enough, but being able to sit down and have a conversation was nearly impossible, especially these days.

There had recently been several cases of witches and their familiars disappearing, or even familiars turning on their masters and killing them, so Ania was especially busy dealing with the aftermath.

Each witch had a familiar bestowed upon them during a ceremony after becoming a full fledged witch. Some even had two or three, and witches with high status and great power possessed up to 10 familiars.

And there was (Name), with no familiar at all. At the ceremony, the wizard conducting it simply turned her away, saying she was not yet ready to become the master of familiar. Every other witch present had received their lifelong friend, while she went home empty handed.

It was lonely, all on her own. Watching the other witches go about their lives with the help and support of their familiars made her feel awfully… jealous. It wasn’t a feeling she enjoyed harboring, so (Name) tried her best to be positive!

Ania herself had said that it wasn’t unheard of for a witch to not receive their familiar during the bonding ceremony.

“Some witches just haven’t found their match yet, or perhaps they haven’t really found their true selves,” Ania had said after the ceremony, in hopes of comforting (Name).

(Name) huffed, loading her basket onto her broom. “So much for being a late bloomer. It’s been nearly five years since I became a full fledged witch, and still nothing! No familiar, not a cat or owl, not even a frog! Hell, I’d settle for a tarantula at this point!”

She flew over the forest, tilting her head when she spotted a spot of gold walking slowly near the lake. (Name) flew a bit lower, her eyes widening when she spotted the same wolf she’d seen the day before.

This time, it seemed to be walking with a bit of a limp, a small trail of blood behind it. Her heart ached to see an animal in such pain, so she landed a safe distance away from it.

“Hey there, pup.”

The wolf stiffened, quickly turning its head to growl lowly at her. (Name) held up her hands, her broom floating behind her in case she needed a quick escape.

“Woah, easy. You’re hurt, and I can help you if you’ll let me.”

She didn’t know why she was talking to it, but she kept it up. “There’s no need to be afraid, sweetheart. Shh…”

The wolf’s ears flattened against its head, and it began to bare its teeth. (Name) yelped when it began to approach her, jumping on her broom just in time to escape its jaws. It snapped at her broom bristles, but she was thankfully in the air by then and bar away enough from its jaws to not get hurt.

But… the wolf didn’t seem to be trying too hard to chase her. (Name) had a feeling it wasn’t actually attacking her, more so just trying to scare her away.

She frowned as the wolf became a small speck, her heart hurting for the poor thing. (Name) hoped that the poachers that her fellow witches had chased out from the forest years ago weren’t back.

‘I’ll have to talk to Ania about it… if I can talk to her that is.’

—————

(Name) landed in a vast meadow, wild flowers of various kinds softly swaying in the spring breeze. She took a moment to relax, bending down to pick a daily and place it in her basket.

‘Oh, I always forget where the doorway is…’ she thought to herself as she held out the stick end of her broom to feel around. When it bumped off of something solid, she grinned.

“There it is!”

(Name) reached forward and patted the surface until her hand landed on a doorknob. She turned it, and walked forward.

The empty flower field was replaced with a dark forested area, with lampposts leading down a snowy, worn down path. She could see the moon shining down through the canopy, filtered by the thick leaves until only small rays of light were visible.

‘I see the meeting is being hosted in the northern lands this time…’ she thought, pulling her cloak tighter around herself. The northern lands were often cold, even when spring came, snow still covered the land.

Each meeting was hosted in one of the four sectors of the world, North, South, East, and West. The north was her least favorite, due to the cold weather and people. The citizens of the north were often blunt and rude, having to time for warm pleasantries.

(Name) lived in the southern lands, where the weather was always warm and pleasant. Even the most severe winters in the south were not as cold as the northern spring.

She spotted the soft warm glow of a candle shining from a canon window. ‘There it is!’

(Name) opened the cabin door, revealing a bustling meeting hall. Witches all ages and genders walked around, speaking to one another and trading goods.

“(Name)!”

The woman yelped when she was tackled to the floor, knowing instantly who had done it.

“Miles, what did I tell you about jumping on her like some wild animal!?”

“Miles, Gil…” she smiled as she watched Gil drag his friend off of her, pinching his cheek.

“Hi, (Name)! It’s been so long since we’ve gotten to see you!”

She laughed, ruffling their hair. “Yeah, nearly three months. You weren’t able to attend the last few meetings due to Ania’s training, right?”

The two shuddered. “Uh… we’d rather not talk about that.”

(Name) could remember her own training, which would have been way less intense than theirs due to her weaker body. Even so, she collapsed nearly every day from exhaustion, so she could only imagine the horrors they had endured.

“Ah… okay, how about you show me how your training has been coming along then?”

The three sat in an empty room as the two showed her new, complex spells they had learned. Gil was able to summon lightning and use it as a weapon, while Miles was able to harden his body. Both were spells even she couldn’t do.

“Oh wow, you’ve grown so much! Maybe that training was worth it then?”

Gil groaned. “Barely, I didn’t think we were going to survive another day of it.”

“Aww, it wasn’t that b- no, actually it was that bad. But I’m still grateful Ania taught us so well!” Miles replied, giving her a smile.

She gave them both a hug. “I’m proud of you both. You should really come visit me sometime. Spring is here, so you can go play in the forest. There a lake~”

This excited the two, who both enjoyed swimming. “We'll definitely be coming by this summer!”

Before they could speak anymore, they heard a bell chiming. “Oh, we’ll talk later. The meeting is about to start!”

(Name) took her seat near Ania. As her first apprentice, she had to be at Ania’s side for every meeting. That didn’t mean she got Ania’s attention, though. She couldn’t blame her mentor, for she was the leader of this coven.

“Hello, my friends. Our monthly meeting has begun, and I will announce any upcoming events before opening the floor for discussion.”

(Name) looked around the room, unsurprised when she saw multiple witches waiting impatiently for the floor to be open.

It was mostly the same elderly witches that always had some mundane problem… but what was surprising was Ember, one of the fledgling witches that hadn’t yet gotten her familiar, anxiously tapping her well manicured nails against the oak table.

“And with that, the floor is open to discussion.” Ania said after finishing her announcements. Ember was quick to speak up, interrupting an elder.

“Some creature has been lurking in the south, killing my father’s livestock and scaring what it doesn’t eat half to death! It’s some kind of magical beast, I already did the identifying spell and it’s either some type of fae or a…”

She trailed off, her face going pale. Ania raised an eyebrow, folding her arms. “A what, Ember?”

“A… a werewolf.”

The sound of gasps and whispered conversation filled the meeting hall, only silenced when Ania held up her hand to motion for the noise to cease.

“And you’re sure that’s what the spell said?”

Ember nodded, standing up to offer her grimoire. Ania’s eyes scanned it, then she sighed heavily. “I see…”

(Name) frowned deeply, glancing from ember to Ania. She knew that Ember lived only half a day’s walk from her home, meaning if there was a werewolf causing trouble for her, it could potentially move onto (Name).

“As we all know, magical beasts are drawn to witches due to their magical power. This is good when it comes to making friends or getting a familiar, but leads to some… detrimental outcomes when the wrong creature gets attracted. And with the recent uptick in werewolf based attacks, I wouldn’t doubt this has troubled you, Ember.”

Ania stood, walking around the table. “But be that as it may, werewolves are not evil in nature. They are simply beings that are different from us, and can be reasoned with and befriended just like most magical beasts.”

One witch scoffed. “Miss Ania, with all due respect, all witches know werewolves are dangerous beasts that deserve to be put down to keep ourselves safe. I mean, haven’t the last three witch deaths been caused by werewolves?”

Ania scowled. “That’s the kind of attitude that causes entire species to go extinct. A few werewolves have done wrong, yes, but how many humans have killed each other or other creatures? Do we all deserve to die due to the actions of a few individuals?”

The witch who spoke up immediately shrunk into herself, grumbling under her breath. (Name) noticed that several other witches also looked displeased with Ania’s words, but said nothing.

“Ember, I’ll send you home with a spell that will ward off any fae or werewolves. It’s easy, and very effective.”

“Thank you, Ania!”

The woman turned to the rest of the coven. “Now, what else needs to be discussed?”

———————-

“I respect Miss Ania’s opinion, but werewolves are dangerous beasts!”

“I know, right? My friend’s cousin’s aunt’s stepbrother was killed by a werewolf!”

“And I heard that once a werewolf has seen you, it’ll tell its whole pack to come and eat you!”

“Oh that’s not the half of it! I heard-“

(Name) rolled her eyes as she passed by a group of gossiping witches, ushering Gil and Miles away. “Don’t listen to them, I’m sure not a single one of them have ever even seen a werewolf in person.”

“Have you, (Name)?”

(Name) paused when Miles asked her that innocent question, sighing softly. “Yes, once before. It was only for a moment while Ania went to meet with one for a trade. It gave her some of its fur for a potion in exchange for a protection spell.”

“So… it didn’t attack you or Ania?”

“Nope, so don’t listen to those witches. Not one single creature is the exact same as its kin. Some are more peaceful, some are violent, just like with humans. Once people come to accept that, we could possibly form an alliance with the werewolves.”

Gil huffed, digging in her satchel. Once he found what he was looking for, a bag of handmade candy, he swiped it. “Hey, you remembered to bring it!”

“Of course I did, silly. It’s your favorite.”

Gil popped one of the candies into his mouth as they walked, humming in delight. Miles grabbed one too. “Did you get to talk to Ania, (Name)?”

The woman sighed, handing out her jam and syrup to a few witches she traded with. “Not yet, but I hope I’ll be able to catch her before she leaves. You know Ania, she’s always busy.”

“You’re not wrong, but today I have a little bit of time to spare.”

The three jumped when they heard Ania’s voice from behind them. “Ania!”

(Name) jumped into her arms, easily being held up by the seemingly young looking girl. Everyone in the coven knew that Ania was much older than she seemed, but little knew of her immense physical strength.

“Oh, (Name) my dear, you’ve gotten a bit bigger haven't you? It feels like just yesterday I was carrying you home from the orphanage and giving you your first wand.”

“A-Ania! That’s embarrassing…”

The woman laughed, setting (Name) down. “Alright, alright… what is it you wanted to talk about, dear?”

(Name) gave Ania a shy smile, handing her the jams and jellies she brought for her. “I wanted to give you these and ask how the situation with the rogue familiars has been going.”

Ania stiffened, glancing at the two boys before digging. “Come, (Name). Let’s discuss things in private.”

With a wave of her wand, (Name) and Ania were transported to a vacant room. Ania made sure the door was closed before beginning to speak in a hushed voice.

“I didn’t want to scare anyone, so I’ve been keeping some of the information private. But…” she sighed, looking out the window, into the snow. “Every single familiar that attacked their witch was a werewolf.”

(Name)’s blood ran cold at the revelation, her eyes widening as Ania turned to meet her gaze. “Every single one? That’s…”

“Unusual, I know. Werewolves in and of themselves are rare to have as a familiar because they’re reluctant to be bound to a witch… so the fact that each familiar was a werewolf is suspicious.”

“What could be the motive? I find it hard to believe a familiar would just kill its master like that! In all of witch history, I’ve never heard of such a thing.”

Ania opened her own grimoire. “I agree with you, it is hard to believe. But the detection spell pointed to each familiar being a werewolf. We have yet to find and question any of the suspects due to them fleeing the scene once the bond to their master was broken…”

(Name) frowned deeply. “And with what Ember said today, if this news got out, the entire coven will be in hysterics. There will be werewolf hunts and-“

“That’s why they can’t find out. You are the only person outside of my trusted inner circle that knows of this, (Name).”

She looked at Ania, confused. “But why would you tell me, Ania? I’m not as strong or intelligent as others, so why would you give me this information and not someone more qualified?”

Ania smiled at that, chuckling. “That, I cannot say my dear. You are destined for great things, and I just want you to be informed so when it’s time for you to make decisions… you’ll have all the information you need to make the right choice.”

“That’s really cryptic, Ania.”

The older woman only smiled, beckoning her to follow. “Come, I must take my leave. Let’s walk and talk.”

The two continued to chat as they walked towards the entrance of the cabin. “I’ll send you home with a spell, dear. It is quite late in the southerners sector by now, hmm?”

(Name) nodded, grabbing hold of her broom.

“Oh, and (Name)?”

She looked up as Ania raised her wand. “Yes?”

“Kindness and patience is always key.”

With that, she was sent home. She appeared in her cottage, the fire lighting the second she stepped close.

“I wonder what she meant by that…”

———————

(Name) brushed off her dress, staring out into the forest. She really had to go back into the forest to gather supplies… but she was worried she would encounter that wolf again.

With a sigh, she pocketed her wand and carried her broom. They were just there in case she sensed any danger. Unfortunately, she wasn’t great with defensive or attack spells, it was why she took to healing magic and concoctions instead.

But she knew a few illusion spells that may buy her some time to escape… hopefully those would work.

(Name) walked along the work down path, much more alert than usual. She listened for the sounds of the forest, making sure to listen for any branches snapping or leaves rustling.

She was able to make it back to the lake with no problems, sighing in relief. There, she unloaded her jars from her basket and began placing shells, underwater plantlife, and some of the nutrient rich soil to add to her garden.

Unbeknownst to her, she was being watched from a distance, a pair of scarlet eyes following her as she walked along the lake’s edge.

Once she finished, (Name) was surprised to see the wolf with the golden coat standing only a few meters away from her. Although it growled when she moved, it showed no other signs of aggression, only watching her… as if it was curious.

“Hello, again…” (Name) said softly, staying still as it approached. She kept her hand in her pocket on her wand, but began to relax. It only circled her, chuffing when it moved behind her.

She tensed, but relaxed again when it appeared on her left side. It was inspecting her, sniffing her… was that normal behavior for a wild animal?

Its scarlet eyes focused on her, and she noticed it still had that slight limp when it walked. “Are you… injured?”

As if it could understand her, the creature tensed, the fur on its back rising. “Oh, I’m sorry… I didn’t mean to upset you…”

Taking a chance, she slowly reached out her hand to place it on its head. She had a connection with animals, having rehabilitated many woodland creatures. A wolf couldn’t be that different, right?

Well, she was wrong. The beast growled before snapping its jaws at her hand, barely missing her fingers. It then ran away, slower than it usually would be due to its injured paw.

Her heart hurt from the sight. Had it been trying to ask her for help? It was possible the poor thing was someone’s pet that had been let go after learning how hard it was to take care of a wolf. Maybe that’s why it was both comfortable around humans and also weary of them?

(Name) made a decision that day. She would gain that wolf’s trust, and maybe… even make it her familiar.

———————

As the days turned into weeks, (Name) visited the forest every day she could. She saw the wolf often, sometimes from the corner of her eye, and sometimes it came in direct contact with her.

She always sat patiently, letting it come to her. (Name) had learned her lesson, and eventually she was able to sit in silence with the wolf by her side as she did mundane tasks like cleaning out her jars or sewing by the lake.

It had yet to let her touch it, but she didn’t mind. She would get it to trust her… it needed medical attention, more than she thought. It was scrawny, hungry looking, as if it was having trouble hunting by itself.

She started bringing out raw meat from the market and leaving it by the lake for it, and when its condition started to improve slowly, she knew that it was eating.

Once she started feeding it, the wolf began trusting her a great deal more. It now followed her down the pathway when she walked home, a slight sway in its tail.

She was making great progress, and the two seemed to have a mutual trust that neither would hurt the other. Every time she came to the lake, it was waiting there for her. It would eat, then sit nearby as she did what she needed to do, then walked her home. It had become her routine.

That’s why it surprised her when it wasn’t there when she came.

“Pup?”

(Name) called for it, patting her thigh and whistling. Usually it would have come to greet her by now…

The silence in the forest was almost eerie, as if everything was holding its breath. There was no birdsong, no squirrels skittering from tree to tree… just silence.

“Something is wrong…”

It was growing dark, and she was hurrying back as quickly as she could. (Name) had heard from some other forest dwelling witches that when the sounds of the forest stopped, that meant there was a large predator around, something that made the squirrels and birds hide in fear.

Had the wolf gone into hiding too?

She didn’t have to wonder for long. As she neared her cottage, her eyes widened in horror. There were bloodied paw prints leading down the stone path to her front door, and laying on her doorstep was the golden wolf.

It panted loudly, its fur matted with blood. (Name) immediately kneeled at its side, trying to hold back tears. The injured paw was stuck in a bear trap, and it had gashed on its belly and back… as if it had been attacked with a knife…

When it growled at her touch, she simply shushed it. “Shh, shh, I’m here. You came to my home for a reason, right? I can help you…”

Although it still snarled and yelped as she hoisted it into her home with great effort, it made no attempts to sink its teeth into her flesh.

As soon as it was inside, she summoned as many bandages as she could, along with a metal bar to help her pry the bear trap off.

“This is going to hurt, pup. Don’t bite me…”

The wolf laid its head down, as if telling her it trusted her to help. It growled and snarled in pain as she pried open the bear trap. Once its paw was free, she examined the damage.

His paw was barely hanging on… thankfully she focused on healing magic. She was able to reattach his paw and clean the wound, bandaging it before moving onto the gashes on his body.

(Name) collapsed in exhaustion after hours of working on the wolf. Her efforts had paid off, as it was now sleeping peacefully by the fire.

‘At least one of us is able to sleep…’ she thought, rising from the couch to wash the blood from her hands. She exhausted all of her magic saving the wolf’s life, which worried her slightly. That meant if it were to attack for any reason, she wouldn’t be able to defend herself.

After much thought, she realized that even if it wanted to hurt her, it would be unable. The thing couldn’t stand, much less leap out and attack her, so she decided to sleep next to it… just to watch over it, of course… the fact that it was so soft and warm had nothing to do with it…

———————-

(Name) woke up in the early hours of the morning, the sun not even up yet. She could have only been asleep for a few hours, as the fire was still going…

She sat up, yawning and rubbing her eyes… but paused when she took a second look at the fire.

She hasn’t remembered putting that second log in the fireplace… before she slept, she had even cursed herself for not doing so.

(Name) felt a chill run up her spine and immediately turned to see if the wolf was okay… but instead of seeing its beautiful golden fur and large form, she was met with something much smaller hidden under the blanket…

Smaller, but still bigger than her, whatever it was wriggled the second she spoke. “U-um…”

She expected the wolf to perhaps be some kind of magical beast that turned into something smaller when injured to conserve power… and she wasn’t that far off.

When she pulled back the blanket, instead of a furred creature, she came face to face with a handsome… man?

“… hello…”

For finding a man in the place of the injured wolf she saved, (Name) took the situation well. And by well, she screamed and scooted away, wielding her wand.

“W-who are you and what did you do to that wolf!? Are you some kind of poacher? A pervert? A poaching pervert!?”

The person squinted at her, sighing. “No… I’m neither of those… I-“

He winced in pain, whimpering as the blanket fell around him. (Name)’s eyes went wide as she saw the bandages decorating his form, the same ones she had applied to the wolf last night…

The things that finally clued her in were the wolf ears perched atop of his blonde head, and tail limp on his back.

“Y-you’re…”

“A werewolf…” he muttered, his ears flattening against his head. “You… helped me, and… I understand if you no longer want to help now that you know what I am. I simply ask that… you let me recover until I am able to move…”

She swallowed, shaking her head. “It doesn’t matter what you are. You’re hurt, and I won’t let you suffer.”

The man looked on in mild shock as she helped him onto the couch. “This should be more comfortable… I’ll need to redo your bandages soon…”

The man watched her work silently. She redressed his wounds with a skill that was uncommon for women in their era. Once she was done, it was only then that her eyes trailed down his torso to look for anything else that she may have missed when his thick fur was in the way…

“Oh.”

Her face warmed, her eyes going wide.

He was completely and utterly nude, barely covering his groin with the blanket. His wolf ear twitched as she turned away, flustered.

‘I forgot, werewolves lose their clothing when they turn…’

For now, she simply covered him with a blanket, too tired to do anything else. With that, she left him to sleep on the couch and headed to bed.

‘What am I going to do? There’s a werewolf on my couch, right after Ember mentioned one eating her livestock. Is it the same one..? Could it… be connected to the familiars going rogue?’

She sighed, pulling the blanket up to her chin. ‘Well, whatever the case is, it’s my responsibility now. I decided to save its life, and I don’t regret it. Once it’s back to full health, I’ll think of what to do…’

With that decided, she drifted off to sleep, exhausted from her long day.

———————

In the living room, the werewolf stared up at the ceiling, his head filled with the images of the events he had been through.

‘I thought they lost my trail… those damn poachers will do anything to complete their collection…’

His heart ached to think of his pack, their coats skinned from their bodies after they were forced to transform and fight each other for their captors’ amusement. It made his blood boil to think of how scared the pups must have been, how the elders must have died comforting them with their final breaths, just for all of their words to mean nothing in the end.

He hated humans and their endless lust for money and power. For years he had avoided human contact, staying in his wolf form and attacked anyone that came near in fear of being hurt again…

That was until he met her.

Even before they officially met, he had been stalking her through the woods for months. At first, he had planned on killing her and taking over her cabin for himself. In his mind, it was only fair. Humans killed and stole from nature every single day, honestly he thought he was doing the world a favor taking one of them out.

But (Name) wasn’t like other humans. Every day, he watched her take only what she needed, and left behind gifts for the fairies and animals. She tended to the wounded creatures and made sure she never overstayed her welcome.

It would be dishonest to say he liked her, but she was the closest thing to tolerable a human could get in his eyes. So when he met her, he found himself unable to hurt her.

Though at first he kept his distance and attempted to bite her if she strayed too close, he never intended to actually hurt her. If he wanted to, he could have easily tore into her throat and feasted on her flesh… but he didn’t.

This human, this girl had become something akin to a friend to him. Despite his hatred for her kind, he couldn’t help following after her and staying by her side. It felt soothing, safe… almost familiar in a way. It reminded him of when he was just a pup and would follow behind his mother while she hunted or gathered ingredients for dinner.

So when he was attacked by the very poachers that killed his family, he escaped with only one thing in mind.

‘I have to find her!’

He followed her scent, barely dragging his wounded hide to her home and collapsing on the front step. He never would have thought that he would trust a human to help him, not after what he had been put through.

Even now, as he laid there powerless and unable to move, his mind was still conflicted. Was this really okay? Could he truly rely on this human to tend to him when he was utterly defenseless?

‘It doesn’t really look like I have much of a choice…’

Winning his trust would not be easy, but if she could… (Name) would gain a loyal companion.

Only time could tell what would become of these two…

—————————

SFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @peachesdabunny @misswonderfrojustice @i8kaeya @lollboogurl @mssmil3y @spicyspicyliving @namjoons-t1ddies @izarosf1833 @zyettemoon1800 @kassandra-hawthorne @vexillum-moeru @imperfectlyperfectprincess1 @binnieonabike @readeryn68 @danielle143 @omglovelylaila @midromiell @toocollectionchaos-universe-blog @hammerhead96-blog @bubblez-blop @snugglyshoji @wanderlustingcastaway @amberexe2 @swasti8854 @an-ever-angry-bi @nenggie @rainejiang @lostsomewhereinthegarden @idkccdfnfz @xrenka @cavern-creature

[wintfleur]

I am in hungry for a f1 fic….. pls feed me

౨ৎ dramatic mornings are perfect with you

°. — pairings ( lando norris x fem! reader )

°. — summary ( lando will always deal with your dramatics . . . because even so early in the morning he finds you adorable )

°. — details ( g; fluff, humor ig?. w; none really, a little talk of readers boobs. wc; 1.9k )

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I am hungry for some f1 fics too . . I’ve missed writing for f1, I’m sure I’ll be writing more now that the season has started !!! Hope this satisfies your hunger <333 please let me know what you guys think x )

main masterlist f1 masterlist

You let out an annoyed sigh as you laced your fingers across your midsection and on top of your duvet, your thumbs absentmindedly tapping against each other. Your eyes darted to the right to see that he still hasn't moved at all, no reaction from him as he slept peacefully next to you, the sun that shone through your white curtains illuminating his face so beautifully. 

You furrowed your eyebrows and looked away from him and back up at your ceiling, a small huff leaving your lips. You continued to tap your thumbs against each other for a few more moments only to abruptly stop as an even louder sigh left your lips. You quickly turn your head to face him when you hear the familiar sound of the blankets shift, and a grumpy frown comes across your face when you see him snuggle into his pillow, instead of waking up and asking you what's wrong like you expected him to do. 

The more you stared at your oblivious and sleeping boyfriend, the more annoyed you got. His beautiful brown curls were all over the place ⸺ a physical testimony to how he can't stay still even in bed. Those beautiful curls that girl had the nerve to run her hands through. His cheek was squished against your baby pink pillow, soft breaths leaving his slightly parted lips. The same lips that smiled down at the girl and kissed her forehead . . . you couldn't believe it when you saw it. 

Well to clarify  . . . you didn't see it. You dreamt it . . . But that's not the point! 

You looked away from your sleeping boyfriend and to your left where your bedside table was, your pink cloud alarm clock showed that it was 7 in the morning. You and lando both refused to be up so early on days off like today, but while your boyfriend was sleeping peacefully ⸺ you couldn't find yourself being able to go back to sleep after the dream you had. 

You rolled over on your side facing lando and leaned up on your elbow, you still had a grumpy frown on your lips as you stared down at him. You had to stop yourself from bringing your hand down and softly brush his curls out of his face and remind yourself that you were in fact upset with him. How could you not be after what he did? 

You used your free hand and moved it towards him, pulling the blanket down from covering his shoulder before poking him right in the ribs. Your first poke got no reaction since it was too soft, so your second one was much harder and the only reaction you got was a groan leaving his parted lips and him moving to lay fully on his stomach instead of laying on his side. You ignored the awe you wanted to let out when he does that adorable nose scrunch as he snuggles deeper into your pillows. 

“Lando” you hissed his name but the only reaction you got from him was him turning his head away from you, a dramatic and offended gasp leaving your lips at the action. You glare at the back of his hand and fully sit up. You bring your finger up to his shoulder blade and his cotton t-shirt did nothing to protect him from the feeling of your relentless poking. 

“Darling if you poke me again” Lando grumbled groggily as he lifted his head up from the pillow and turned to face you, his eyes were barely open and he had a red hue and a few line marks from your pillow on his face, all signs of having a great sleep ⸺ a great sleep you interrupted, any other morning you would have felt bed . . . but today was not one of them. 

“You're what?. . . going to cheat on me again?” 

“What?” Lando choked on his own spit, his tone filled with confusion and grogginess. He pushed himself up on his elbows, the movement causing the blanket to fully fall off his back and you to feel a cold chill on your bare thighs; your sleep shorts not helping against the morning chill. He rubbed his eyes with the heel of his palms and turned his head to look at you, his eyes narrowed “What on earth are you talking about ⸺ are you feeling sick? Because you are talking mad” 

You slapped his hand away from your forehead that he was trying to feel for a fever and glared at him as you crossed your arms over your chest. “What's sick is what you let her do . . . would you stop staring at my tits!” You trailed off into a shout once you noticed your boyfriend's eyes staring down at your white lace camisole covered chest. 

You gasped dramatically and pulled the pillow out from under his elbows and used it to cover your chest “I bet you couldn't keep your eyes off her tits! Could you?” your tone was accusatory, and your grumpy frown turns into a sad one at the thought, you held the pillow tightly to your chest for some comfort. Lando loved your boobs . . . it hurt to think that he was staring at someone else's. 

“Darling, i have no idea who this she is” Lando said as he moved to sit up, his fingers in air quotes as he says ‘she’. Lando moves closer to you and gently pulls down the pillow you stuffed your face in and continues speaking, your words had chased away any ounce of tiredness in his body “But i can assure you, that your boobs, your wonderful boobs may i add, are the only ones i stare at.”

“You cheated on me, i am not going to fall for your sweet words lando” 

“When did I cheat on you hmm?” Lando questioned you, tilting his head with a hum. He knew for a fact that he has never and will never cheat on you, so he was confused and concerned why you were passionate that he did. You were too upset to notice the concern in your boyfriend's tone and you were quick to answer him “In my dream! You let her run her hands through your hair and down your chest and then you had the nerve to kiss her forehead!” 

“Wait wait wait . . . your dream?” Lando cut your rant off, a look of disbelief on his face from your words. This was all because of your dream? Lando thought. And even though Lando felt the tiniest of annoyance from being woken up so early, he couldn't help but find the situation and the way you were acting . . . adorable. “Yes, my dream, keep up lan!” you rolled your eyes in annoyance and lando let himself relax back in bed, laying back down and pulling you down with him. You reluctantly let yourself lay on your side, facing him. 

“You're annoyed with me?” Lando muttered as he rested his chin in the palm of his hand as he stared at his girlfriend, blinking away the sleep in his eyes. 

“Clearly” 

“For something that I did in your dream?” He had to stop himself from smiling when he asked you, he didn't know why it was so attractive to see you jealous about a dream. You noticed his lips twitching up into a smile for a few seconds before falling into his resting face. A dramatic scoff leaves your lips, and you are quick to turn your back to him, upset that he wasn't taking this seriously. 

Lando smiles and scoots closer behind you, sliding his arm around your waist and resting it under the pillow you were still holding against your chest, using his strength to pull you back snug against him. You wanted to complain and push him off, but you couldn't help but let yourself sink and relax in his warm embrace. Lando who was still leaning up on his elbow looks down at your side profile as he speaks softly “I’m sorry i did that darling, dream me is very stupid it seems.” 

“But that was just a dream because I promise you, you are the only girl I want. The only girl whose tits I want and do look at” Lando leaned down as he trailed off into a whisper, your breath hitching when you felt his warm breath against your neck as he whispers in your ear. Lando slipped his hand under your camisole and softly traced random shapes on your stomach as he continued to whisper “The only forehead i want to kiss is yours.” 

You bit your lip to stop yourself from smiling at your boyfriend's words, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of knowing his sweet talking was in fact working. Lando moves his hand out from under your top and softly places two of his fingers on your jaw, gently using them to tilt your face towards him. Lando has a small pout on his very kissable lips as he looks down at you “Baby please don't be mad at me because dream me is an idiot, you know I’d never do that to you.” 

“You're right . . . you are an idiot” you whispered back with a small nod as you adjusted your body to lay on your back. You lifted your hand to brush back some of Lando's messy curls from his face as he looked down at you. Lando's eyes fluttered closed for a few moments, enjoying the feeling of you playing with his hair before he opened them and looked down at you with a big smile “You mean dream me, right?” 

You shrugged playfully, the corner of your lips tilting up into a cheeky smile. Lando gasped dramatically, faking shock and hurt at your words. You thought he was going to bring his hand to dramatically put over his heart like your dramatic boyfriend has done before, when you saw him move it from your chin, but instead he rests it on the pillow right next to your head; caging you in between his body and the bed. 

You locked eyes with your boyfriend and before you could question why he was smirking down at you like that, he was leaning down and leaving a big smooch on your cheek. He quickly moved to your other cheek, then he littered kisses all over your face. Making sure that he kissed every inch of your beautiful face. “Eww lan morning breath” you whined out as you tried to cover your face with your hands, worried that he would smell your breath. 

“My girl thinks I’d cheat on her with some random girl from the club ⸺ morning breath is the last thing on my mind right now” Lando whispered as he swiped his thumb across your bottom lip before moving it up to tuck some of your hair behind your ear and out of your face. You smile softly as you hear him say ‘my girl’. You whisper with an embarrassed sigh as you think back on the morning you two have shared “I've been pretty dramatic haven't I?” 

“You're so adorable you know that right?” Lando grinned, completely ignoring your question. Yes, you were, but he wouldn't change anything about you at all. He wouldn't change anything about this morning. Because he woke up with you by his side. You smile and bite your lip, absentmindedly fidgeting with the bottom of Lando's shirt “Mind telling me that again?” 

“I promise to tell you that every day for the rest of our lives.” 

˖ ་ 💭 roro’s notes ( I LOVE THIS SM !!! I MISSED WRITING CUTE BF LANDO, please let me know that you guys think, and if you’d like to be added to my lando or my f1 taglist 🫶🏻 )

°. — taglist ( @ophcelia @cixrosie @toasttt11 )

[megamindsecretlair]

Sweet Escape, Part 3

Pairing: Bodyguard!Terry Richmond x Singer!Black!Fem!/ Plus Size reader

Warnings: 18+, Minors DNI, You are in charge of your own reading experience. Intentional use of AAVE. Cursing, trying out some angst, teasing, mentions of loneliness, mental health, power imbalance. Mentions of violence, all consensual. Sorry if I missed some.

Summary: You are on top of the world as one of the world’s most popular R&B singers. But behind the glitz and glam, you were unmoored, lonely, and aching for something you couldn’t put a name to. Finally landing in LA, your boots hit the ground and you’re off in a whirlwind of getting prepared. During rehearsal, your agent shows up causing a ruckus. After you take a break, you wake up to the sound of desperate pounding on your door.

Word Count: 6,676k

AO3 Link | Part 1 | Part 2

A/N: WHEW. Sorry for my absence yall. My brain got hands. And I didn't mean to scare folks away! You can absolutely ask about my fics! Asking for an update just doesn't help. But sharing your love for it motivates me a lot faster! And you can thank @onherereading for gently bullying me to post sumn! LOL, love you. Toss a coin to your blogger by leaving a comment, gif, or unhinged ask.

Male dancers lifted you into the air and you continued singing the hook to your most popular song, “Eat It”. It stayed on the charts, week after week, remaining strong and steady. And it was the song that most got you in trouble for the explicit lyrics. 

You sang, testing the sound as well as the choreography on stage. Coming to LA had been a non-stop shit show of rehearsals and talk shows and radio interviews. God, you were tired. And you wanted to lay down and pig out in front of the TV. But nooooo.

Plus…well….you weren’t feeling particularly sexy at the moment. Terry rejecting you the other night shook you up more than you cared to admit. Why would he reject you? You were beautiful, smart, and funny on a great day. And yet, nothing.

There were just lingering glances and moments where it looked like he wanted to say something but never did. You didn’t like the cold front you suddenly found yourself in so you kept yourself busy, distracted, and left no room for you to be left alone with him for longer than a minute or two. 

But the hit to your confidence bruised. You didn’t feel normal. Like none of this was real. It was a cruel illusion that could be snatched away from one viral tweet, one public meltdown, or one scandal to torpedo your career. The stalker ate away at your life until you couldn’t even get a guy to fuck you stupid. 

It was embarrassing. It was stupid. He was stupid. 

“Stop! Stop! What the fuck is that?” A booming, obnoxious voice echoed in the empty stadium. 

“Down boys,” you said. The male dancers moved safely, bringing you back down to stand on your own two feet. One of their hands lingered a fraction too long, but you didn’t know if you were being paranoid or not. 

Jake, your stupid agent, came huffing down the front area aisle, a skinny tie swinging behind him. “What the fuck is that? What are you doing?” Jake demanded. He stomped onto the stage and approached you.

“Lower your fucking tone, I’m not a child,” you said. You sneered at him and then crossed the stage, taking the three steps down to the backstage area. You refused to be chewed out in front of your team.

Jake stomped angrily behind you. Terry leaned against the wall near the exit but when he saw you approach, he straightened up. You looked away from him quickly, not wanting him to see what must be written all over your face whenever you looked at him. 

“Who do you think you are?” You asked, pulling on that bitchy persona. 

“The man making sure that fat ass stays rolling in money. You are selling a fantasy up there. Every guy needs to feel like he’s fucking you and every woman needs to feel like they want to be you,” he said.

“Really, tell me more about the job I’ve been doing for years,” you said.

“Thanks to me, sweetheart. Don’t you fucking forget that,” Jake spat, pointing his finger in your face. Ugh. You smacked his finger away and crossed your arms. Jake was back on that shit. His neck and face was flushed cherry red, his eyes were glossy, and he sniffed every two seconds like he smelled something bad. 

“You can’t stay sober for two fucking seconds, Jake. Is that what happened at the club?” That would explain the bullshit he pulled.

“Hey. You’re fucking welcome. That free publicity gained you a million more followers and featured on Spotify. Who takes care of you?” Jake asked, spreading his arms wide. 

You were so disgusted, you didn’t know what to do with him. Ugh. You breathed through your nostrils, centering yourself on the feeling of it rather than wanting to wring Jake’s neck. 

You leveled him with a glare and leaned in. “I take care of you, you piece of shit. And if you pull something like that again, I’ll fire you. Stay off the drugs, Jake,” you said. The last thing you needed was to end up on TMZ, because your agent was out on another embarrassing bender. 

Jake pressed his lips together and threw up his hands. “Alright, alright. Look at me. I ain’t on no shit, okay. I heard you the last time. Clean my act up and I can stay, right? I got a suit on and everything,” he said. He spread his arms out and smiled but you weren’t in a smiling mood.

Jake pouted and wrapped his hands around your waist. A waft of cigarette smoke burned your nose and made your eyes tear up. Terry pushed away from the wall but you held up a hand to him. “Remove your hands before I break your fingers,” you said, as calmly as you could muster. 

You didn’t have time for this fucking clown. And where the fuck was Joya or Mirage? They knew better than to let Jake near you while you were in work mode. 

Jake squeezed your hips once before he removed his hands and held them up like he was so innocent. He grinned and looked down his hooked nose at you. “Just remember what’s standing between you and popping your pussy for any producer that wants to sniff after you. Clean this shit up, we have money to make,” he said lowly for your benefit. 

You didn’t know how much Terry could hear but it stung either way. Jake loved throwing that shit in your face. Loved making you think that you were some gutter rat that no one wanted. Grammy Bean wanted you. You were somebody. And no agent was going to make you feel less than. 

“Make them think they’re fucking you while you’re up there. Jesus Christ,” Jake said, needing to have the final word. He took off, disappeared to go yell at somebody about something. 

You rubbed your head, fighting back tears. Got dammit. Once you let the dam fall, the whole thing came crashing down. You didn’t have time to cry right now. Now when everyone was expecting you to lead them. 

“You okay?” Terry asked. 

You tilted your head back and swiped at your eyelids, catching the tears before they had a chance to fall. The one blessing about rehearsals was that there was no make up or restrictive clothing. You sniffled once and then straightened your shoulders, rolling your neck to get the kinks out. 

“I’m fine, Mr. Terry, thank you,” you said.

“So we’re back to Mr. Terry?” He asked softly. 

You risked a glance at him. He squinted at you, his face tilted down. You held each other’s gazes for a second longer than what was polite. You went to open your mouth when Mirage tumbled down the stairs and stopped short of where you were standing.

“Jake’s ready to see it again,” she said quietly. 

You turned away from Terry’s intense eyes, and nodded. “Let’s give him a show then,” you said.

You went back on stage and talked to your dancers, letting them know that you were going full out. You signed to the sound engineer to start from the top. 

The choreography began with the dancers standing in front of you. Once the opening lyrics started, you moved around the stage singing and rapping about men catering to women’s needs for once. That if they can’t eat it right then there was no reason to let them hit. 

The male dancers lifted you during the hook, supporting your weight while you sang and rubbed your hand along your body. You were a master at pretending. At working off the energy in the room. 

You fed off of the song and the lyrics. Embodied what you were saying. Pulled on your inner sex goddess to coo to the invisible audience. Even though you wore your favorite blue joggers and a tank top, you felt like you were scantily clad in your performance outfit. You were selling a fantasy. A fantasy that everyone wanted a ride but no one met the height requirements.

The dancers put you down and then held your hand up while you dropped it low on one of them. From this angle, you faced the side of the stage where Terry stared at you. Stared as you rapped and sang about getting ate out and having a super soaker to make him drown.

He may have turned you down the other night, but the heat of his gaze made your belly flip. Made you move harder, rap faster, and sing better like you were a siren luring men to do your bidding. 

Your eyes almost never left his as you pretended to sing to him and make him think about what he turned down. Let him think on it. Because he couldn’t have you now. You were off the menu. 

He was too far away and you were moving too fast to get a good read on his expression. He stood stiffly, feet shoulder width apart, and his hands clasped in front of him. As the song drew to a close, you winked at him before tilting your head back and belting out the final notes.

When the song ended, you tore your eyes away from the intense static of his stormy eyes to the sound of clapping from somewhere.

“Yes! Yes! That’s what they’re coming to see. Do that! Exactly that!” Jake yelled out to you. 

“Take a thirty everyone,” you said, panting from going full out for rehearsal. You stood on stage with your hands behind your head, panting, trying to catch your breath and cool the desire low in your belly.

Fuck. Singing to Terry like that affected you way more than you realized. It maybe wasn’t the smartest move in hindsight. You just needed a good twenty minutes to get yourself off.

Joya climbed onto the stage to hand you a bottle of water and some orange slices. “I put some more fruit in your dressing room in case you wanted it,” she said. 

“I love you, seriously,” you told her with a smile. 

She clutched her calendar to her chest and beamed at you. “I love you too, miss lady. Though you’re probably going to hate me now. They need you back for another fitting. Francois changed his mind,” Joya said.

You emptied the bottle of water she handed you in one fell swoop and wiped your mouth. “This is bullshit. We made a whole schedule to make sure everyone, including me, was happy about this tour,” you said.

You hated to sound like a whiny brat but fuck. It seemed like more and more things were getting added onto your schedule, things you didn’t approve of. You weren’t a machine. Did they expect you to keep working until you collapsed on stage? 

Joya smiled and rubbed your shoulder. “I’m gonna check with Mirage and see what we can do about sneaking you some off time. We have a week before the LA leg starts. Surely we can move something,” she promised.

You sighed. “I don’t want you to do all that extra work. I need to yell at Jake some more. He can’t keep adding in stuff last minute. I’m so fucking tired, bro,” you told her.

“It’s our job to make sure you’re good. Let us,” she said. She took your empty water bottle and scurried off to tend to her duties. 

The dancers were all standing around talking and laughing. Stage hands moved around the stage, talking into their microphones, and moved prop elements as they did so. As much as you wanted to join the dancers or speak to the choreographer, you also wanted two minutes of peace. 

But that meant…stepping past Terry. You rolled your shoulders. You were a big girl. You could handle rejection. It wasn’t the end of the world. 

You turned and headed off stage, taking three steps down to the main floor. There were boxes and studio equipment spread out back here, each tagged with different colored tape. Terry eyed you as you approached.

“I’m just heading to the dressing room for a few,” you told him. 

He nodded and fell in step behind you as you walked through a set of double doors, then into a plain hallway backstage. Stage hands moved around but they all moved with focus and purpose. Your sneakers squeaked on the shiny floor. Terry was so quiet behind you, you were tempted to look back to make sure he was still there. But you also got the funny sense that if you did, he’d disappear.

When you approached your dressing room, you hesitated one step from it. Logically, you knew that there was nothing in there. Terry had his team triple the security around you and you hadn’t heard from your stalker since that incident.

It’d be so much easier if you knew what they were after. Did they want to be with you? An obsessed fan you could deal with. You just ignored those wackadoodles until they made themselves known somehow. 

Did they want to kill you? Clearly he had a way to get in and out unseen. Was he someone on your team? You didn’t want to turn into a paranoid loon, looking at everyone with suspicion and further isolate yourself. But fuck.

“Would you like me to check?” Terry asked.

You stared at your navy blue door and bit your lip. Yes….no….you wanted to be brave. Wanted to handle this yourself. But you didn’t know if there would be some other disgusting rendition of your dead face staring right back at you. 

You took a deep breath and prepared to tell him no. Terry stepped forward. “There’s no reward for being a martyr,” he said.

You deflated with a sigh. “Can you check please?” You asked.

Terry moved around you and then unsheathed his weapon. He held it down and away from him and then opened your door. He went in first, moving around the space, holding the gun up. You stayed outside of the door, watching him flit through the crack of the door jam. 

The air turned colder now that he wasn’t beside you. The hallway seemed to close in on you, getting smaller and smaller. Your breathing turned choppy, looking down one way and then the other. 

When you simply couldn’t take another second, Terry emerged from your dressing room and holstered his gun. “All clear,” he said.

You nodded and refused to look at him. “Thank you. I just need some alone time,” you said.

You shuffled past him and he held onto your wrist to stop you. You didn’t want to turn around. Didn’t want to face him. 

“You don’t have to be formal around me. If I crossed the line the other day, I can transfer…”

“No!” You practically screeched and turned to him finally. You licked your lips and smiled. “I mean, no, no. If anything, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have made it uncomfortable –”

“I wasn’t uncomfortable.”

“I’m the boss, you’re in my employ. Please, don’t think nothing else about it. Okay?” You asked.

Terry’s jaw flexed but he nodded. You snatched your wrist away and entered your dressing room, rubbing the spot where his fingers had been. It was as if he seared you with his light grip and the burn lingered.

You damn near slammed the door in his face, locking it behind you. You just needed a second. A moment to breathe and not have to be “on” for people. 

You crossed the small room to the black leather couch and sat down. The coolness of the leather did precious little to calm you down. You weren’t in danger. You weren’t immediately in danger. 

Terry checked the room, he came highly recommended by the firm, and so far, he had been nothing but the consummate professional, taking your safety seriously. 

As you sat there, however, it just drudged up all the horrible shit from your past. Breaking away from your user family. On your knees begging producers to give you a chance, only for them to use their position and power to solicit sex. One talk with Jake shook you up so bad that it reminded you that every day you breathed was a gift, thanks to what you had to do to survive. 

But it had been a long, long time since you had to be this on edge. This hyper aware of your safety and mortality. Someone out there wanted to cause you harm. They wanted you mentally, emotionally, and physically cowering.

Even as you knew that, even as the logic of it settled in your bones, the only thing you could think was that someone wanted you dead. Someone deemed your life less than theirs. Someone felt angry enough about your existence to make your life a living hell and ultimately, remove you from this plane of existence. 

It chilled you to the bone. To your absolute core. One wrong move and then this would have all been for nothing. All of the struggles, all of the navigating, all of the ways you had to scrimp and scrape to be somebody. 

In the end, you were the same, lonely teenager who didn’t want to be invisible anymore. 

The sweet scent of fruit reminded you of Joya’s thoughtfulness but you were too sick to eat anymore. Maybe you just needed to lay down. You scooted along the couch until you could recline. 

You shoved a throw pillow behind your head and closed your eyes. You just needed to breathe. Just needed to focus on that and nothing else. Nothing else. Just that.

You breathed in through your nose and out through your mouth. You felt your body sink further into the couch and before long, you were out like a light.

Loud banging disturbed you from your sleep. You woke up in a pool of cold sweat running down your neck and into your tank top. You groaned and blinked into the harsh overhead lighting. 

Your eyes cracked open, heavy with sleep and eye crusties, as your eyes swept through the room. There was a director’s chair in front of the vanity, lit up by giant light bulbs all around the mirror. The countertop was littered with makeup, tissues, and hair products. 

Dressing room. “Fuck,” you sighed, rubbing your eyes. 

The banging continued, sounding louder than normal. “I’m up, I’m up, I’m sorry!” You groaned. Fuck, you felt like you had been drugged.

Your rapid heart beats only sped up as you thought about what you had earlier in the day. Had you been drugged? Was it Joya?

The banging increased and the door shook with the force. It disrupted your thoughts enough to know that Joya would never, ever do something like that to you. Besides, she’s had years to take you out. 

You still made a mental note to give her a pay bump. Mirage too. You keep them happy and they’d keep you happy. 

Three succinct booms hit the door and you jumped up. “Okay, I said I was sorry! Damn! It couldn't have been more than…” You stood up and crossed the room, unlocking the door to discover no one on the other side. “Ten minutes.” 

You stepped out of the room and looked both ways down the empty hallway. Terry was nowhere to be found. 

“Terry?” You stepped further into the hallway but it was as quiet as a tomb. The space felt empty and that freaked you out more than anything else. 

How long had you been sleep? Why did no one wake you? Where was everyone? 

A tremor made your hands shake and your fingers turned numb. Did…no one care? If they couldn’t find you, did they all just pack up and leave? 

“This isn’t funny,” you called out but there was no answer. Not even an echo. Your throat turned dry as you made your way back to the stage. Maybe everyone was having a team meeting. Maybe Joya and Mirage found a way to give you some breathing room.

You pushed open the door to the stage and walked up onto it, only to discover no one in sight. The main stage lights were off, leaving the stage bathed in a swirl of blues, purples, and reds. 

You shielded your eyes. “Hello? What the hell!” You yelled. This was beyond fucking uncool. And your phone was either in your room or with Joya, so you had no clue what time it was.

Panic clawed its way from your belly to your chest, scratching your insides with thick, angry nails. Did everyone just…forget about you? 

You brought your hand to your chest as if that would do anything. All it did was call attention to your thumping heart, beating incessantly. Everyone forgot you. No one needed you. 

“Okay, okay, okay, that’s okay,” you murmured to yourself as you paced around the stage. There had to be a reasonable explanation for all of this. 

If everyone left, that was okay. You were paying them to care, but it didn’t mean that their lives ended just to serve your overinflated ego. You would just…go find your purse in your room. You would grab your phone. Order a car to take you home. Easy. Simple. You had this. 

You told yourself that as you left the empty stage, back down the stairs, and away from backstage. You headed down the hallway, rubbing your sweaty hands on your joggers. You were just stressed, that was it.

You approached your dressing room, it had been left open from when you left it. There didn’t seem to be anyone in there. But…still.

You approached cautiously, wondering what the fuck was going on. How did everyone just leave like that? No matter their personal lives, this was unprofessional as fuck. If they called it early, they should have had the decency to let you know. And why would Terry abandon his post? It was quite literally his job to guard your body.

Highly recommended, yeah right. 

You made it to your dressing room and peered inside, stepping inward to check behind the door. Good. No one there. You stepped further into the room before it dawned on you that if no one was there, if no one was around…who the fuck banged on the door? 

You turned slowly just as a bat came swinging towards your head. You leapt out of the way with a scream, throwing yourself against the vanity. 

A figure dressed head to toe in black lifted the baseball bat to his shoulders. The figure was on the small side, but broad. Had to be a man. 

“What do you want from me?” You yelled. You moved the director’s chair in front of you, to deter the figure. He only kept advancing, holding the bat like you were the game winning ball and he needed a home run. 

You lifted the chair and threw it at him, running from the room. Facing three possible directions, you forgot where the exit was. You also forgot how to read, because there were signs but it didn’t make any sense at the moment.

The figure groaned and it spurned you to run, to flee, to find the exit however you were able to. Thundering footsteps boomed behind you as you ran away. Your lungs felt like they were going to go flying out of your mouth. They burned and ached as you ran and ran.

All of the exercise and training you kept up with did fuck all when faced with an actual attacker. Your brain was mush, operating on some basic instinct to survive. You were supposed to be smarter than this, right? 

You risked a glance behind you just in time to see the bat swinging for your head. You fell to the floor to miss it, landing hard on your thigh, and then scrambled across the floor to avoid another swing for your head.

You pulled nearby crates towards you, dollies, and anything else you could pull. One of the crates managed to trip up your attacker. You rushed to your feet, running through the nearest door.

The door banged open against the wall, echoing in the larger chamber. You made it back to the stage and those same lights blinded you as you ran across the stage. Your body felt stiff, achy, as it wanted nothing more than to stop and evaluate.

Stopping meant death. Stopping meant that your attacker had another chance to get you. 

Stopping meant – you were pushed forward and you fell, sliding across the stage. Your chin bounced against the hard floor and you groaned as your teeth clacked painfully. Pain shot through your jaw and you groaned.

A strong hand gripped you by your ponytail and yanked. You screamed as your head was pulled backwards. This couldn’t be it. This couldn’t be what took you out. This couldn’t, this couldn’t–

You kicked and flailed until your shoe connected with something. There was a harsh, low growl as the grip around your hair lessened enough for you to break free. 

You got to your feet, thigh screaming in pain as you limped back to your dressing room. If nothing else, you could lock the door and call for help. It was your final hope. You weren’t going out like this. You didn’t need anyone.

You limped past the door to the hallway, stopping long enough to bar it momentarily with a cart. It wouldn’t hold the attacker for long, but it’d buy you some time. Fuck. Everything fucking hurt. 

Liquid dripped down your chin. You swiped at it and it came away red. You groaned as you stared at your own blood. Literally at your life leaking from your body. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” you huffed as you limped to your dressing room. 

Metal double doors slammed up against the crate you pushed against the door. You looked back to see an arm flailing through trying to push the crate. Fuck, fuck. Your vision turned blurry as you limped.

It seemed like every step you took only made the dressing room seem further and further back. It looked so far away, like you were never going to find salvation. 

“Someone! Please,” you called out.

You tripped over your shoes and went tumbling forward, landing awkwardly on the same thigh that already cried out with pain. You sniffled as tears ran down your face. You didn’t know what to do. You didn’t know what to fucking do.

The crate crashed against the wall as it finally rolled free. “No!” You yelled out, finding enough strength to get back to your feet. So close, so close, so close, so close –

Your name echoed down the hallway as a thunder of boots ran closer to you. You turned around, expecting to see your attacker and that damn bat, but there was no one behind you. Nothing.

You shook violently and swayed to your right, nearly colliding with the wall. You held out your hand to stop your entire body from crashing against it and then used the wall to hold yourself up. 

The storm of boots turned the corner. Terry lead the charge and checked your room first and then swiveled. He called your name. Fuck, you’d never been more happy to see someone. 

“Terry!” You yelled. 

His head snapped in your direction and he crossed the hallway in long, determined strides. You swiped at your tears and leaned on your good leg, trying to make yourself look less pathetic.

Terry slowed as he approached you, holding up his hands. He stopped short when he got a good look at you. 

“Who the fuck did this?” He asked, his chest heaving with harsh breaths. 

“I don’t know, I don’t know,” you said, your voice pitching higher and higher. You began to slide down the wall, all fight leaving you completely. He was here. He was here. He didn’t forget about you.

Terry caught you around your middle, shouldering most of your weight. He reached out and gently cupped your face, moving it from one side to the next. His jaw flexed as his eyes scanned over you, taking in all of your injuries. 

He was joined a second later by members of his team and the studio security. Questions were lobbed at you in rapid succession but your brain had turned cloudy. 

“You’re in shock. She’s in shock, back up!” Terry yelled. The mass of bodies dispersed as Terry half-carried, half-walked with you to your dressing room. 

“I woke up and there was no one–”

“Shh, shh, not yet,” he said. 

Just this once…this one brief moment, you let yourself lean on someone else. Terry handled everyone with all the command of a general, parting the sea of looky-loo’s, likely taking photos of you at your most vulnerable. 

Fuck, this was going to end up on TMZ. You groaned at the thought. Terry helped you into your dressing room and then sat you down on the couch. He produced a jacket from somewhere and draped it across your shoulders.

You shook so badly. You were freezing, sore, and achy. You wanted to crawl up like a little baby and never see the light of day again. 

What was the reason? What was the fucking reason? Who the fuck went through the trouble of all of this? What the living fuck? 

All you ever wanted to do was sing and now…you didn’t even have that. The last thing you wanted to do was quit. The very last thing. Singing was your passion, your very being. It was the reason you woke up day in and day out. Because for three hours or so on stage, for hours in the studio, for every interview and fan interaction, you never felt more alive than when you were singing. 

And someone hated you enough to take it away from you. Your mind spun with crazy scenarios. This had to be a deranged fan. This had to be one of those crazy moms who blamed you for corrupting their youth. This had to be someone.  

Someone tangible. This was the work of one person. A smart, deranged person, but just a person. Someone who bled. Someone you managed to fight off. 

Distantly, Terry’s deep timbre barked orders but you weren’t paying attention. You wanted to sleep. 

“Let them through!” Terry’s voice boomed. You jumped from the sudden explosion, before Mirage and Joya squeezed past Terry.

He stood as a stop gap to the onslaught of activity outside the dressing room. No one was getting through him if he had anything to say about it. But then why did he abandon you earlier? 

Mirage and Joya hugged you gently, careful of your injuries. They treated you with kid gloves and that pissed you off more than anything else. You weren’t a fragile flower. You fucking survived. 

Joya cried, swiping at her tears. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry. We were told to leave and then we couldn’t find you and then I remembered that I had your phone and we couldn’t even call you–”

You hummed. Even if you made it to your dressing room, there was no phone in here to help you. If Terry hadn’t come when he did, would you be dead right now? 

You hated that you had to rely on others for your safety. You hated that you were a second away from being permanently removed from this earth and it was only by a stroke of dumb luck that the idiot was scared off. 

Joya and Mirage filled you in on their side of things. They were waiting for you to return when one of the guards told everyone to clear out. There was a bomb threat that had been called in and they needed to sweep the building to get everyone out. 

But why didn’t Terry take you with him? 

Your eyes kept glancing over to him as he coordinated with the police and with his team to secure everything back down. His menacing scowl intimidated those around him as he barked orders and commanded everyone. 

Terry glanced at you from time to time. He would give one nod of his head and you returned it. But his whereabouts were more concerning to you. Over the past year, he had been your constant shadow. Nothing fazed him. Nothing tore him up. So where the fuck did he go? 

Terry re-entered the room and stopped short of you. He dropped down into a squat so that he could look you in the eye. “Feel up to talking?” 

You took a deep breath. “Not really. But I know I need to,” you said. The question you most wanted to ask stuck in your throat. You were to afraid of the answer. 

“You don’t have to. We can tell them to meet you somewhere else,” he said. 

You shook your head. “I’m a big girl. I want to get it over with,” you said.

His chin dipped once as his eyes roamed over you. You must look absolutely horrendous. To his credit, he didn’t say anything as he stood and went to the door. He waved to someone and then two men followed behind Terry into your dressing room.

The room grew stuffier, filled with too many bodies. Crowding your space. You dug your nails into the palms of your hands to ground yourself. You were safe. You survived. 

One of the men introduced himself as Henry Bell, a detective with LAPD who was coordinating with the detective in charge of your stalker case. Because you were hopping through multiple cities, it was hard for any one detective to handle it. 

The other man was Patrick Rollins, head of security for the venue. The men asked you to run through what you remembered and what happened. 

You pulled the coat around your shoulders and Mirage and Joya scooted closer to you but you still felt alone. Abandoned. Cold. Like the heat of their bodies couldn’t penetrate the dense fog around you.

You pushed that from your mind as you told them what happened, starting from when you woke up to when Terry found you. You glanced at him as you spoke, wanting to see his reaction yet still afraid of what his excuse was.

He didn’t owe you a damn thing. But you still needed to know why you weren’t important enough to take with. 

They asked more questions, pushed to see if you recognized anything about your attacker. You kept telling them no, getting more agitated the more they asked. How many other ways could you say that you didn’t recognize the loser? 

“Alright, you should have enough,” Terry said. 

“We still have questions–” Rollins started.

“You have enough for now,” Terry reiterated. Rollins sized up Terry but Terry didn’t blink. Didn’t move. He merely kept his open stance and faced the detective and head of security. 

Rollins pushed boyish blond hair out of his face and then nodded. Detective Bill rocked back on his heels and then shoved his notebook into his coat and clicked a pen. “If you think of anything else, let us know, please,” he said. “And I’m sorry this happened to you.” 

You nodded to them and mumbled your thanks. They left with lingering, heated glances with Terry. He saw them out and then he half closed the door. 

“There’s a few things I need to handle and then we can get out of here.” 

You nodded, staring towards your shoes. Everything fucking hurt. You just wanted to turn into a giant baby. But people like you didn’t get to be coddled. You didn’t get to be human. It shattered the illusion and the fantasy.

You picked at the dry blood on your chin. Angie was going to kill you for messing up your face. You sighed and leaned forward.

“Do you have a headache, babe?” Mirage asked. 

You nodded. “I’ll check with a paramedic. They should be here by now.” Mirage stood up and grabbed Joya by the elbow. She protested for half a minute but you didn’t see what Mirage did to make Joya grow quiet. They left the room, leaving you and Terry alone. The last time you had been left alone together didn’t exactly go as planned. 

“Hey,” Terry said. 

You bit the inside of your cheek and then reluctantly looked at him. “How are you really doing?” 

You took a deep breath. “I’m fine,” you said. 

He crossed the room and then dropped into a squat. “There’s no reward for being a martyr,” he said.

You rolled your eyes but you smirked, refusing to smile at his words. “Everything hurts. But I’ll be okay,” you said. 

He nodded. You held each other’s gazes for a moment, just taking him in. His eyes scanned over you, jaw flexing. You didn’t know what he saw. Probably a terrified mess.

“I should apologize–” he started.

“Where were–” you said at the same time. 

He shook his head. “The bomb threat smelled like bullshit so I left a guard to watch you while I checked it out. I was locked in a closet and by the time I burst free, everyone was gone. I went looking, but the guard left his post. Fresh out the military, the bomb was triggering,” he said. His jaw flexed after he said that. 

“You couldn’t know it was triggering,” you said. Well, that explained that. You weren’t sure what you were looking for. An undying apology while he was on his knees? For him to acknowledge that he never would’ve left you voluntarily? He didn’t owe you anything. No one did. 

“He left his post. He’s fired,” Terry said with venom behind his words. 

You smiled ruefully. “That’s a bit harsh,” you said.

Terry blinked at you and you decided to drop it. Apparently, it was important to him and you didn’t know enough about the nuances about this stuff to comment. 

“We’re going to find this motherfucker,” Terry promised.

“Thank you. For coming when you did,” you said quietly. 

“I’m not leaving your side again,” he said. 

Your teeth clicked shut, drawing attention to your bruised chin. You didn’t know how to respond. He wasn’t supposed to leave your side earlier. But he did. You settled on a nod. 

Terry lifted from his squat and then returned to his duties, ordering people around, coordinating with others. 

Everything else moved along in a blur. First, you were checked out by a paramedic while Terry watched him like a hawk. You were treated for the scrape on your chin and your thigh was merely bruised. No sprains, no injuries. The paramedic called you lucky. Yeah, right. 

Terry managed to escort you to a truck that had been brought round back and off to the hotel room. The city nightlife went on without you. Though you did pass by a restaurant in downtown LA that played your latest song with Lord A.K. That sort of made you smile. 

You didn’t remember much about the ride to your hotel room besides one minute you were at the venue and the next you stood inside your hotel doorway while Terry checked around. 

“We’ll switch hotels tomorrow. For now, you can rest.” 

You nodded and went to your room without a word. Though you did stop just outside your bedroom. 

“Terry?” You asked.

“Yes, princess?” He asked.

You huffed with a smirk and then turned to him. “I want to learn how to defend myself. Will you teach me?” You asked. 

It wasn’t enough to survive anymore. It no longer suited you to just wait around for this lunatic to kill you. Clearly, your security wasn’t up to snuff. Clearly, this person could get to you at any point and at any time. The only person who could save you was you.

“If that’s what you want,” Terry said.

“That’s what I want.” 

Thank you, my loves. The Secret Terry Richmond Files | Part 1 | Part 2

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[divinesolas]

Hi, could you do an Aemond one shot where he and Reader (Rhaenyra's bastard daughter) are husband and wife and she and Aemond are married, based on the first episode of season 2 where instead of killing Aegon's son, kill the reader's son and aemond

a.n: hi hi ty for the request 🫶 i had a little too much fun writing this, this probably isnt what you wanted this is not a happy fic but i still hope you enjoy regardless 🫶🫶 slightly inspired by the events of ep two

Despite the halls of the keep being pure chaos everyone swiftly moved out of the way for the one eyed prince who rushed through the halls seeking out the one who he knew needed him.

They had been in his room. They wanted him. But they must have left his room when they knew he was not there and stumbled their way into the nursery which was attached to his room where his son had been. His son. his only child. and he was furious.

The door to the council room slams open and otto swiftly turns to look and stand before him, “where have you been-“ otto is shoved out of his way as he goes to kneel next to his sobbing wife on the floor who was clutching a blanket on the floor.

You look at him with red eyes and choke out his name, he grabs your face in his hands and looks upon you for a moment before you throw yourself into his arms. Shoving your head in his neck to breathe in his scent, to feel his pulse, make sure he’s real.

“they killed our son.” your words come out choked in between your sobs and he strokes up and down your back, “i tried to offer them anything, gold, myself, but they only wanted him aemond only him.” he shushes you and pressed a kiss against your temple, speaking into your ear. “Im sorry my love im sorry.”

He will return the pain they have brought to not only himself but worst of all to his wife and he will pay it tenfold. A lone tear streaks down his face as you say nothing more merely continue to sob into him while the other faces in the room can only merely watch with sorrow.

He picks you up, making sure to keep the blanket firmly in your grasp as he turns to leave the room ignoring the voices calling after him. They must want to discuss what they plan to do now but he wants no part in it, only wanting to comfort his wife.

“they were saying they want to blame my mother.” You had calmed down at some point, still delirious with grief but you had stopped crying, merely staring blankly up at the ceiling as aemond kept you firmly next to him. “she would never do a thing like this. my mother loves me, why would she send someone out for my son.”

Aemond is quiet and his hand on your back falters for a moment, “she wishes to punish me.” you say nothing but he notices how you shift ever so slightly.

With the way you two were right now nobody could tell the two of you have not spoken in those fourteen days since his return when he broke the news to the court. When he broke the news to you. Your own brother murdered in cold blood.

You could never forgive him despite his attempts to talk to you after, you swiftly dismissed him and his words would fall on deaf ears. Your baby brother was everything to you, you remember growing up side by aide and he was teary eyed the day you permanently moved to the keep.

despite your hatred for him and your hatred for your mothers usurpation you cannot go home. The people here watch you like a hawk you cannot even send a letter out to her but alicent is free to beg and plead to her like a pathetic dog. you hate them. Yet you allow him to comfort you because you know you will get no comfort from anyone else here.

“they wish to flaunt me around like a prized lamb. ‘gain sympathy from the houses.’ he says.” You ignore his words and continue to speak. “I will not allow it.” you shrug mindlessly and sit up, he stays laying down. His eye patch off and hair down from its usually prime and perfect state, he had thrown his shirt off at some point too.

You can see it, the hurt that laces his eye and his face, his hand finds yours and you want to rip it away but you cant, the warmth on your skin bringing you a small sense of comfort.

“i had thought we would work. That you would finally move on and forgive grievances of the past. But i hate you just as you hate me aemond,” “i do not hate you. i love you.” you shake your head as he says it, sitting up and gripping your arms tightly, trying to hold your gaze as he says it again.

“i will never forgive you. I will hate you for as long as a breathe.”

“i did not mean to i lost my temper that day.”

“you feeling sorry means nothing to me you know that. how would you feel if the men who murdered our son came in here and said they were sorry., that they didn’t mean to.”

He says your name and his grip tightens on your arms but you continue to merely stare off mindlessly.

“i will repent for the rest of my life. our son will be brought justice.”

he will kill every man in the keep if he has to, slay every man in all of westeros if they cannot figure out who had done it. For you. for his son.

“i love you.” the words come out strained as he begs and pleads to anyone who is willing to listen to him for you to say something else anything to him.

you do. you finally look at him. a look devoid of any love you had once had for him. and it kills him.

“you’re pathetic.”

[blueeyedgirll]

cuddles - emily prentiss x bau!reader

this fic includes: fluff, cuddling, only one bed trope (kind of?), vague descriptions of cm typical violence, no beta or proofread we die like emily’s fake death, penelope garcia being the best person to ever have graced the earth, no use of y/n, f!reader

a/n: guys i’m on season 7 now (^_-) also i don’t know how the fbi works SUE ME

“God, what a mess!” Emily exclaims, setting her bags down in the corner of the hotel room.

Unfortunately, due to the horrendously overcrowded convention going on nearby and your latest unsub’s comfort zone, you, JJ, Penelope, and Emily were forced to share a room.

“I can’t believe they could only give us two rooms. Couldn’t we have just stayed somewhere else?” JJ adds, removing her coat and hanging it in the room’s tiny closet.

“Unfortunately, my friends, our administration seems to love us enough to pay for our hotels, but not enough to move us into a company they don’t have a rapport with,” Penelope explains. She removes her hair accessories and piles them on the bathroom counter, her foot wedged in the bathroom door to stay in the conversation. “But it’s like a sleepover! Us girls get to share a room, and the boys have their own.”

“I haven’t had a sleepover since I was 12,” JJ says.

“Me neither,” you pipe up. “So who’s sleeping where tonight?”

Your eyes scan the room. Four girls, two beds, and eight eyes glancing at each other.

“I’m fine with sharing, but I do need to let you know I tend to steal blankets,” Penelope says, placing her accessories in a small box.

“Yeah, I’m fine with anything.” JJ says.

You and Emily briefly lock eyes. If you said sleeping in the same bed as Emily didn’t sound amazing, you’d be a liar. She’d been distracting you from your work and almost all your thoughts for the last few weeks; something about her demeanor, or her dark, sharp features, or that streak of playfulness she lets show on occasion. Whatever it is, it continues to drive you up a wall.

“Well, if none of you care, I want the bed closer to the AC unit because it is a stupidly warm night here.” Penelope steps over to the bed on the right side of the room, unpacking a fuzzy blanket and an extra pillow — how did she fit that in there? — from her bag.

“True that. If you two don’t mind, I’ll sleep closer to the AC too.” JJ says, looking between the two of you before moving.

“Yeah, go ahead.” You say, just a little bit too happy. You tell Emily to go ahead and get comfortable because you’re going to change. She nods as you shut yourself in the bathroom.

You use the bathroom to take a moment, take a breath. Part of you wonders what it will be like, sleeping in the same bed as Emily. The rest of you wonders how you’re going to keep your cool.

You change into your sleep clothes, a tank top and small shorts. The cool air of the room makes the hair on your body stand up.

You walk back out to a dark, silent room. The only light left on was the one to the left of Emily.

“Ready for bed?” she asks.

“Yeah,” you say, climbing into bed and wrapping the soft covers around you. Emily clicks the light off and slides down in the bed.

Before you can even start relaxing, images of the day flash back into your mind. The things the unsub did to his victims. The distraught loved ones of the deceased. The endless papers, leading you to repeated dead ends.

It only feels like a few minutes, but over the course of time, you grow colder and more restless. You toss and turn, trying to get more comfortable, but to no avail. Sighing, you turn to check the time, trying to find an estimate of how much sleep you would get.

The clock reads 4:24. You start contemplating just waking up extra early, but before you can reach a conclusion, you hear a whisper.

“Hey, you alright?” Emily whispers, turning to face you.

You pause for a moment. How honest should you be?

“Yeah, just… cold,” you say.

Emily takes a moment. You think she’s going to get up to grab a blanket, or lend you a hoodie, or anything else, but she scoots over to where you are and wraps her warm arms around your body. She gives you a firm squeeze. You know she knows you’re not just cold.

She starts to move away like it was just a hug. Before you can make a better decision, your hands stop her.

“Do you want me to stay?” Emily whispers.

You nod. Even though the darkness, Emily understands. She moves back to you, tucking your head into her shoulder. She wraps her arms around your middle and pulls the blanket fully over you.

She smells like lotion and coffee and clean clothes. It’s addictive. You nuzzle your head deeper into her, earning a small laugh and her hand making its way into your hair. She runs her nails over your scalp, brushing the hair off your neck.

“Are you okay?” she asks. You just hum, making her laugh again. “Goodnight. Sleep well for me.”

And with her arms around you, hand in your hair, you drift off into a comforting sleep.

bonus — the next morning, you wake up to giggling, which is quickly hushed. the entire day you and emily are the victims of glances and hushed whispers. on the jet home, you finally decide to ask penelope what was up with it. she doesn’t verbally respond, just shows you a picture of you sleeping like a baby, tucked into emily’s chest. at that moment she comes over, smiles, and walks back to her seat.

[edwinspaynes]

What if Edwin has some kind of mark on him from Hell?

Perhaps a sigil cast by Saal or by one of the demons who he traded him to. Perhaps a literal brand. Perhaps a supernatural marking that just appears on the skin of those bound for Hell.

What if Edwin has no idea about this?

Why would he? He can't see himself in mirrors, and even if he could, he would not be taking his clothes off since he doesn't shower. Or what if it's literally on his back, where he couldn't see without a mirror at all?

Anyway, when Charles and Edwin get together, Charles discovers the mark. It's on his back, and Charles lowkey decides not to ask about it because Edwin doesn't speak of it. Edwin literally just has no idea it's there, but Charles thinks he does. Because, in Charles's mind, why wouldn't he? Charles knows where all of his scars are. He had them when he was alive.

So he says nothing, but whenever they're being intimate or when they're snuggling or whatever, he takes extra care to show love to it. Because he knows that maybe Edwin doesn't want to talk about it, but it's probably not something he enjoys having and it's probably something he's insecure about.

And he wants Edwin to feel loved! All of him! So loved! So Charles kisses the spot, traces it with his fingers. And one day Edwin's like "Charles, why do you continuously show favoritism to my right shoulder blade?"

And Charles is like, "Are you gonna tell me that the left one's jealous? That's brills" as a joke.

But Edwin is like, genuinely confused, and Charles has to tell him about the mark.

Edwin is visibly EXTREMELY unhappy that this mark is there. He is embarrassed that a) he did not know about the mark, and b) Charles saw the mark. He also feels really violated because it like, marks him as Hell's. And he wants to be his own, and of course Charles's, but mostly he wants to be his own. And now he has this reminder of the most traumatic thing that's ever happened to him, and it's stuck as part of him, and there's no way to get it off.

But every day, Charles kisses it. And he traces it over with letters that spell words of love, and he touches it with gentle hands, and he kisses it. And after years, decades, after literally forever, he forgot that the mark was not completely traced over by Charles

I'm going to write this as a fic btw

[magniloquent-raven]

this post has been haunting me. i'm weak for beefy men in pretty underwear and @theweewooshow left an open invitation in the tags that i could not resist 😭 i was gonna say i can't believe this is the first fic i'm posting about these two, but honestly it kind of tracks.

hope yall enjoy!!

**

One of the things Tommy's always liked about Evan is how emotional he is. Expressive, is the word, maybe. Vibrant. It was one of the first things he noticed when they met. Poor kid was radiating nerves. The way his hands fidgeted in his pockets, and he wouldn't stop pacing while Tommy was double-checking their gear.

It's kind of fascinating to Tommy, watching Evan light up when he's happy, wilt when he's tired, always seeming to feel every emotion with his entire body.

All that to say...Tommy notices right away that something's up. There's a tiny, reactive part of him that wants to say wrong, something's wrong, but Evan's not pulling away, he just. Froze up for a second. It could've been a twinge in his bad leg when he climbed into Tommy's lap, or any number of other blips that won't completely derail the nice evening they're having.

But on the off chance...

Tommy carefully rearranges his grip, settling his hands comfortably on the small of Evan's back instead. "Everything okay?" He keeps his tone as light as his touch, and watches Evan's expression closely. Their eyes meet only briefly.

"No, uh, yeah." Evan's gaze skitters down, roaming Tommy's face, then darting away. "I, um." He grimaces, and shifts in place. The warm weight of his thighs is distracting. He's still a solid presence in Tommy's lap, and making no move to change that, despite his sudden singular focus on toying with the drawstring of Tommy's sweater.

The corners of his mouth are pursed into a frown that Tommy thinks about kissing away. That thought gets gently pushed to the side. Talking first, he reminds himself. Especially because... "If you're not in the mood anymore, that's okay."

Those—pink, perfect, God—lips part around a huff, half-curved into a grin. "That's kind of the opposite of the problem," he laughs.

Tommy can't help but mirror the smile, even if it's only a tiny one. "So, what is the problem?" He trails his fingertips up the line of Evan's spine, and down again, retracing the path when he feels Evan lean into the touch.

"It's...well, not hard to explain, exactly, but. I kinda wasn't expecting to explain..." He sighs, loud and exaggerated, and falls forward to plant his face in the crook of Tommy's neck, where he continues, slightly muffled, "How do you feel about lace?"

It's not what he was expecting to hear. Though, he's not sure what he was expecting. "Can't say I've thought much about it, to be honest."

He dated a girl back in the day who liked lingerie. She was always asking him what he thought about various scraps of silk and velvet, and it was all...very awkward. He always told her he'd like her just as much in cheap cotton and a borrowed t-shirt, which. In retrospect, was ironically true. When she broke up with him she accused him of being cold. Withholding. He brushed it off as neediness on her part.

He suppresses a wince at the memory.

Evan wraps Tommy's drawstring around his index finger, slowly curling it around his knuckle. "My ex. Taylor. She liked it. She liked...me. In it."

...Oh?

He can't picture it. Not in a bad way, he's not put off by the idea—very much the opposite—but when he tries, the mental image just...blurs. His brain is trying to mesh Evan with his hazy memories of things he never paid much attention to, and it's coming up frustratingly empty.

Tommy is very proud of how calm and steady he sounds when he says, “And…this was something you liked too?”

Warm air tickles the underside of his jaw. “Yeah.”

“Okay. Why are you telling me this now?” He feels like there’s something he’s missing. Something obvious he should have realized, if only he wasn’t so preoccupied with the way Evan’s thighs are flexing, his hand sneaking under the hem of Tommy’s hoodie, skin-to-skin, palm skimming his side, and the hot, tingling press of mouth-on-neck.

“Wanna find out?”

The second he nods he almost wishes he hadn’t, because all at once Evan is gone, and Tommy’s left sitting on his couch in a horny daze, blinking up at his slyly grinning boyfriend. As nice as the view is, his lap is cold now.

Evan thumbs his waistband. There’s excitement sparkling in his eyes, bright and shining, but he hesitates a moment before taking a deep breath and dropping his shorts around his ankles.

Oh.

So…lace. Tommy’s having feelings about lace. Not much in the way of thoughts yet. But feelings, definitely. The sudden rush of heat that burns through him leaves him a little light-headed, all the blood in his veins fizzing like he’s a can of soda someone just popped the tab on. His fingers itch to reach out, he aches with want, desire pooling low in his gut.

Thing is, they’re not even anything too fancy, as far as Tommy can tell. He has vague memories of his ex—and good God does he suddenly feel like he owes her even more of an apology—in complicated woven ribbons and things that probably looked like a crate of bungee cords in whatever bag they came in. Evan is just wearing…panties. Simple, pale blue, lacy panties. There’s a little bow on the front, and it’s unreasonably cute.

Evan hikes up his t-shirt a little, so Tommy can get a better look, presumably. Which he appreciates. He’s losing his mind a little over the trail of light blond hair under his belly button disappearing into soft blue lace. He wants to follow it with his tongue.

The attention is making Evan hard. Tommy’s not sure what his face is doing exactly, but whatever it is, Evan seems to appreciate it. He’s filling out that pouch in the front so fucking well, it’s making Tommy’s mouth water.

“So, uh. Good?” Christ, he sounds breathless and Tommy hasn’t even touched him yet.

It takes all of Tommy’s willpower to drag his gaze up to Evan’s face, but it’s worth the effort. His cheeks are flushed a happy pink, creased by a grin he’s failing to restrain even with his bottom lip trapped by his teeth. The blue in his eyes is a nearly-invisible ring around his dilated pupils, and shadowed by his heavy-lidded expression.

“Evan,” he says, a little hoarse. It’s all he can say without laughing hysterically at the sheer understatement of good. Without telling Evan, in detail, exactly how badly he needs to suck him off through that fabric. How vividly he’s imagining what it would feel like against his own cock, wondering if he could cum just from rutting against Evan’s lace-clad ass while he squirms and begs to be fucked properly.

And more importantly, it’s all he needs to say.

The rest he can just show him.

[whoskimii]

hello!! rmember that thing u said in the yuuji fic hehe....can u elaborate...more...on that... (a fic about yuu in ur cunnie pls 💔💔💔💔)

lmaooo please the way you phrased it made me laugh :)

⋆౨ৎ˚ notes > yuuji x you. smutty smut! yuuji and you go at it. he just can't keep his hands off of you frfr. nicknames (baby, angel, sweet thing). dirty talk from yuuji??? tell me if i missed anything!! ^^ ౨ৎ warning : you may have butterflies in your belly while reading this!! 𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ𐀔

yuuji had been waiting for one thing all day. going home.

he missed everything about you. your smile, your little giggles, your hair, your eyes, your lips, your warmth— everything. he was just sososo feral whenever it came to you.

he came home quite late. around midnight. he knew that you were asleep at this hour. you weren't a night owl, as much as you'd like to be.

he took a deep breath but— ew, he stank. he just couldn't let his baby smell that, could he ? plus, you already told him that you liked the scent of his shampoo. of course it was a bit late to take a shower but he wouldn't make much noise.

he pushed the bedroom door open, only to notice how comfy his angel looked. you were all snuggled up under the covers. how cute.

he grabbed fresh clothes and disappeared into the bathroom. it only lasted a few minutes before he stepped into the bedroom again, drying his hair with a towel.

his eyes settled on your form again, expecting you to stay all comfortable under the blankets but no. no, you shifted in your sleep.

the sheets were no longer covering you. you were wearing one of his t-shirts, which was a bit oversized on your tinier frame, and a pair of baby pink panties. and your legs were parted just enough for him to get a peek of your cute underwear.

he groaned quietly at the sight. of course you'd have to be this cute and sexy at the same time. he just wanted to devour you whole. you were good enough to eat, anyway.

he set the towel aside and crawled on the bed, settling behind you. he wrapped his arms around your soft body and pulled you close, back resting against his chest. you stirred awake, letting out a little hum. "yuu'..." you breathed. "yeah...? slept well, baby ?" as you hummed for the second time, he sighed softly. "did you really have to wear that cute little outfit to bed ? y'know what you do to me..."

as he began leaving lazy, slow kisses on your neck, his left hand slowly trailed down your warm skin before arriving between your legs. the tip of his middle finger began applying some pressure on your panties, right where your clit was. he smiled as he heard the little whine you let out. "y'like that, huh ? when i caress you like that."

it was only a matter of seconds before he hovered over your tired form. after having circled your little clit over your panties for a minute, enough to get you needy for him, his hand slipped under the elastic band. as his middle and ring fingers caressed your folds, his forehead fell on your shoulder. "aw, angel... you're so wet. just how i like you." he took off your panties and pulled his sweatpants down just enough.

"c'mon, spread those legs, sweet thing," he whispered. "i'm waitin'." as you sleepily obeyed, he let out a shaky breath when his tip brushed against your slippery entrance. "good girl..." he whispered and slowly slid inside you, letting out a groan when he felt your tight heat already sucking him in. "yeah, that's it..." he sighed.

he gave you a minute to get used to the feeling. when you hummed softly, he almost pulled out before pushing back all the way in slowly. "fuuuck..." he breathed. "i swear you get tighter every time we do it. s'funny."

his hips rolled into yours, giving lazy, shallow thrusts. "c'mon, baby... that pussy's suckin' me in, huh ? she doesn't want me to leave." his thumb began circling your throbbing clit slowly as he continued thrusting into you, also leaving open-mouthed, warm kisses in your neck.

the stimulation of everything had you arching your back and mewling softly. "yeah, let the neighbours hear, baby. we'll just get another complaint, nothing bad..." he mumbled.

you felt the familiar bubble in your lower belly tightening dangerously. "m'gonna cum..." yuuji smiled. "already ? aw, you're so cute." as you clenched around his throbbing length, he moaned quietly. "shit, baby... y'keep that up and i'm gonna cum too..."

your bottom lip got caught between your pearly white teeth. his free hand slid under his your t-shirt and he began rolling your nipple between his fingers. "you gonna cum for me, angel ? gonna cream around me ?" as you nodded wordlessly, lookin' all cockdrunk, he chuckled. "c'mon, go ahead... i'm right behind you."

as you finally came around him, sweet little moans escaping your parted lips and soft body convulsing with the force of your orgasm, yuuji let out a soft groan. "fuck, yeah..." he cursed breathlessly. you clenched around him hard, which caused him to spill himself inside you. "awww..."

he sighed and gently pulled out, collapsing beside you. he pulled you closer and kissed your hair. "thank you, angel," he whispered. "i love you. sleep well."

you loved nights like that.

it's not even a want it's a need :(

⋆˚࿔ kimi 𝜗𝜚˚⋆

[daycourtofficial]

I’m Still Stuck in the Moment

Summary: a mistake on a mission causes you to lose your memories from the last five years, including the new mating bond between you and Azriel. Can he help you get your memories back, or will you never remember the past five years?

Pairing: Azriel x reader

Author’s note: this has been a wip since October I really hope you guys like it. It’s also my longest fic to date - so please enjoy! 💕

“Stealth missions are so boring,” Cassian states from behind you.

“Maybe that’s why you usually don’t get assigned on stealth missions, dummy,” you reply while looking through the desk drawers.

“I’m not even sure what I’m supposed to be looking for. Sometimes Azriel talks and I just tune him out.” Cassian mimes with his hands a talking motion and rolls his eyes.

“Cassian, why are you even on this mission if you don’t know what we’re looking for and you don’t like stealth missions?” You ask not looking up at him as you search through the papers on the desk.

“Hmm,” he says, pretending to search through the papers as he drops his voice, “it’s been a while since we’ve hung out the two of us.”

You pause and turn to look at him, a big grin overtaking your face.

“You missed me,” you say, delight coating your voice.

“No, I didn’t say that. You’re twisting my words,” he says, pretending to be annoyed, going to search a different part of the room.

You had been a part of the inner circle for about three years when the mating bond snapped into place. All throughout those three years Cassian did everything he could think of to put you and Azriel together. He’d constantly ask you two to dinner and be ‘sick’ and then magically be okay the next day. He’d force you two to sit next to each other during every dinner, solstice, lunch, breakfast, meeting. Any event where you had to sit down, you had to sit next to each other. Anytime you had to be flown somewhere, Cassian would mysteriously have flown away, leaving Azriel to fly you. The cauldron works hard, but Cassian works harder.

No one else could figure out Cassian’s borderline obsession with the two of you. Whenever Rhys or Feyre or anyone would ask him, he’d simply shrug and say “I have a hunch” or, if he was feeling particularly chatty, “I think they’d have stunning children”.

The truth was Cassian loved the both of you so much that he wanted to see you two happy. He also knew there was something between the two of you, he just didn’t know what. He was there the day you and Azriel were introduced, and he felt something. He wasn’t sure if it was possible to feel someone else’s mating bond, but he could feel the potential between you two.

You laugh as you continue rifling through the desk. “You know Cassian if you want to spend time together all you had to do was ask-“

You’re cut off by a cloud of pink dust coming out of a drawer you opened and covering your face. You start coughing and backing away.

“Shit,” Cassian says, coming over to you. He starts looking you over, assessing for damage.

“I’m fine,” you say, in between coughs, “dusty old drawer.”

Cassian looks skeptical. “Yes, because pink dust is so common.”

You roll your eyes. “We’ve searched the room, there’s nothing here. Let’s go home.”

The mission debrief was short - not much to report. The two of you searched an abandoned outpost, seeing if anything of interest was left behind, finding nothing of value or interest.

You enjoyed stealth missions, but you especially loved coming home to your overly protective mate. You two had a tradition - your own personal debrief, where Azriel would inspect every inch of you for any sign of injury. Wherever you were injured, whether it be bruise, scrap, or cut, he would place long kisses on the spot.

“Better than a healer,” he’d say.

The length of the mission would determine how long the two of you stayed locked up in each other. You two usually spent double the length of the mission together uninterrupted.

Once, after a four day long mission, no one had seen either of you for a week. Rhys had to send a telepathic message to find proof of life from either of you.

That night, Azriel checked your wounds, which you’re not even sure you had any. You considered even “accidentally” cutting your finger, but decided against it.

-

You woke up to a dark room, feeling a heavy presence wrapped around you. Whoever it was was massive, incredibly warm, and had quite the grip on you.

You’re not crazy about casual flings, but it’s not too unheard of, especially considering you spent last night drinking with Cassian and Mor at Rita’s. Mor loved playing matchmaker with you, trying to set you up with the most eligible males she could find.

You look around the room, the realization of being naked hitting you. You spot a pile of clothes on the floor and gently lift the arm off of you and slip out from under the male. You grab the clothes, putting the shirt on first. It seems to be the mystery male’s - it’s incredibly long on you, smelling of pine and mist.

“Going somewhere?” the male asks, rising up from the bed to meet you where you stand.

“Yes, I’m uh I’m so sorry but I don’t remember getting here, so I’m just going to head home.” You say, walking backwards towards the door. As the male comes closer, you recognize him.

“Azriel?” You ask.

“Yes, who else would I be?” Azriel replies, a hint of confusion dancing in his eyes, “come back to bed, you’re probably just confused after a dream.”

“Uh, wow, um I-“ you dart your eyes around the room “I’m so sorry but I don’t remember how I got here, let me go back to my room.”

He stops, all signs of playfulness gone. “You don’t have a room. This is your room. This is our room.”

“What are you talking about?”

“Sweetheart, you moved into my room a few years ago. Your room is just another guest room now.”

You blush at the nickname. Despite your best efforts, he had hardly said much to you in the time you’ve known him. Despite the nickname, the weight of his words starts to settle on you.

“Um, no I have a room here. This isn’t a very good joke, Az.” You say, opening the door to go to your room across the hall. Your feet carry you to your room, your hand resting on the knob as Azriel reaches for you, calling for you. You’re not sure why there’s such confusion in his tone. You open the door to what used to be your room, only to find it devoid of any signs you had lived in it.

The room looked like it had the day you moved in, sans the welcome basket Feyre and Rhys had assembled for you and left on the bed. The blue barren walls stare back at you, the four poster bed neatly made.

No hearth in the fire, no books on the nightstand, no flowers on the desk. Even your beloved stuffed wolf that Cassian teased you about was nowhere to be seen.

“Azriel, where is my stuff?”

Azriel stares at you, in utter shock and disbelief. He grabs your hand, leading you through the house. You’re forced to follow him, due to both his tight but gentle grip on you and your curiosity at where all of your things went. The sounds of his footsteps echo through the hall, a level of noise you’ve never heard from him. Usually he glides through these halls, not a trace of noise made to alert anyone of his presence.

“Azriel, what’s wrong?” You keep asking, and he won’t reply until you’re face to face with Rhys’s bedroom door, where Azriel starts banging fiercely on it.

Cassian is the first to poke his head out, his door down the hall from Rhys’s. Once he sees Azriel is the one causing all the commotion, he comes out into the hall, looking around for any unseen threats.

Rhys opens the door, a pair of sweatpants hastily put on as he allows the three of you entry. You assume Rhys had the same reaction to Cassian, annoyance quickly changing to concern at Azriel’s tone.

You assume that Azriel, Rhys, and Feyre are all communicating telepathically because it is dead silent in the room until Feyre comes up and tells you to have a seat in one of their chairs by the fire.

“Okay, now tell me, what happened?” Rhys asked, putting his hands on your shoulders in reassurance.

“Well I um think I’m missing a few pieces but uh last night I went to Rita’s with Cassian and Mor, I got pretty drunk, and I woke up naked in Azriel’s room. I woke up, I tried to leave, only to find out my room is gone.”

Cassian looks at you, concern etching his face, “we went to Rita’s?” He asks, pointing a finger between you and him.

“Yeah,” you say, “you had been out to see Devlen and when you came back you asked if Mor and I wanted to go out with you. No one else was here.” You look to Feyre and Rhys, becoming even more confused. “Why are you guys all back so early?”

“What do you mean “back early”?”

“Well, Azriel had some mission on the continent, and Feyre and Rhys were visiting the summer court with Amren.”

“Mother help us,” Cassian muttered, as he realized his error, dragging a hand across his face. “On our mission yesterday, she breathed in an unknown powder. It had slipped my mind, she seemed so fine, I didn’t think anything of it.”

You could feel the anger vibrating off of Azriel as he turned to Cassian, spitting “What do you mean you didn’t think anything of it? You didn’t think anything of my mate on your mission?”

Azriel’s words don’t register with you as you were too focused on Cassian’s. “But I didn’t go on any missions yesterday. I spent the day at the library, doing research. Cassian found me, asked me to go to Rita’s, and I told him I’d pay for all of his drinks if he went down to the bottom level of the library.”

“Oh, Mother.” Cassian muttered. “Let’s stop for a moment.” Rhys said, crouching in front of you. His violet eyes shone with kindness and concern as he tells you, “Feyre and I went to the summer court with Amren five years ago.”

“That’s not possible” you scoff, “you guys just left three days ago.”

You look towards Azriel, his usual stoicism a thing of comfort in times like this. Instead you’re met with deep despair as he looks back at you, and somehow you can feel that despair deep in your chest.

Rhys moves away from you as Azriel walks towards you and crouches down in front of you, looking at you like you hold his entire life in the palm of your hands, “Sweetheart,” he starts, “what am I to you?”

Your cheeks flare with heat. You start stammering, his gaze overwhelming. He wants some specific answer, this you know. His gaze is piercing and you can’t look away.

“When we were in the summer court,” Feyre starts musing, “that was… before, right?”

“Before what?” You ask, while Azriel nods his head, confirming Feyre’s question.

The room has grown silent again, before Azriel takes your hands and says “before we became mates.”

Your cheeks are on fire now, wishing you could be having this conversation in private, instead of in front of your family.

“Wait, is that why you came back early? You realized we were mates when you were on the continent?” You whisper the last part as of it’s a secret.

As if Azriel’s face couldn’t show you anymore devastation, he replies, “Sweetheart, we’ve been mated for two years.”

You couldn’t have heard him correctly. “I’m sorry,” you say, “have you been keeping it from me for two years? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

Rhys steps in, sparing Azriel the pain of further explaining this to you, “you two have been mates for two years. The war with Hybern is over.”

You look into everyone’s eyes, trying to find a trace of humor, “this isn’t a funny joke, it’s quite cruel.”

“No one is joking,” Cassian says. You stand up, beginning to pace the room.

“No no no, you have to be, because either Mor thought this would be a funny joke because of my crush on Azriel or I’ve forgotten the last five years of my life, including getting a mate and surviving the war.”

You look around the room, everyone looking at either you or Azriel, not a trace of humor in the room.

“This has to be a joke because how cruel would it be for Azriel to find a mate just for them to forget everything about him. Five years! Five years of my life are gone! Up to this point in time, Azriel has said maybe five words to me!”

You are hyperventilating by this point, pacing the room, shaking.

“Rhys,” Azriel says, “please.”

Rhys envelops you in a hug, and everything goes dark for you as you slump into his arms. He picks you up, gently laying you on their couch, draping a blanket over you.

Everyone in the room is just staring at you, praying for you to just jump up and tell them this was all a joke. Azriel just sits on the floor next to you, holding your hand, tears streaming down his face.

“I-“ he starts saying quietly, “I-uh I always wondered how the Cauldron would make me suffer for making her my mate. I always knew it would take her away from me in the end, but not like this. I never could have dreamt of this outcome. I never.. never could have imagined how painful it’d be to see her forget me.”

No one is dry-eyed. Everyone is devastated for you, but especially for Azriel. Cassian, Feyre, and Rhys leave the bedroom, allowing Azriel to stay with you while Rhys keeps you under. They all head to Rhys’ study.

“There is some good news in this.”

Cassian and Feyre snap their heads to look at him, urging him to continue.

“When I was in her mind to sedate her, I could tell she still had memories of the past five years. Some of them were memories so ingrained to her that she has no idea what they are. Another thing is that I could tell the memories were there, they’re just… locked up.”

“Locked up? Like a prisoner?” Feyre asks.

“Yes,” Rhys replies, “like a prisoner.”

“So this powder is keeping her memories hostage?”

He sighs, looking towards the door, thinking about his brother’s face. “It would appear that way.”

Madja was called to look over you in your unconscious state, and after she found nothing wrong, they decided to wake you back up.

While you were unconscious, they decided that Mor and Cassian would watch over you unless you ask otherwise. Rhys wakes you up gently, asking if you need anything. After you decline, he leaves you alone with Mor and Cassian.

“So, um..” you start, not sure where to begin. “Five years?”

Mor nods.

“The war is over?”

Cassian smiles solemnly and nods.

“And Az and I?”

Cassian’s grin widens as he looks at you, thinking about the love you share with his brother. You play with your thumbs, unsure what to ask.

“What do you guys, uh, think of us? Do we seem happy?”

Cassian snorts while Mor replies, “oh we adore the two of you. Cassian is convinced he knew of your mating bond the day you two met.”

Cassian puffs out his chest in pride. “I most certainly knew, years before they did.”

“What made you know?” You ask, curiosity filling your eyes as you sat up.

“Well,” Cassian says, “the two of you didn’t interact much the first few years. Azriel needs time to warm up to people, and he’s worried he’ll scare people off if he comes on too strong. But I could just tell that he so desperately wanted to be your friend.”

“Hmm,” you muse, looking at Cassian in a confused way, “I always assumed he didn’t like me.”

Cassian looks at you quizzically, “and why is that?”

You sigh. “I always thought he found me… too soft. Too delicate.” You look out the window, and Cassian feels a pang of guilt. He knew Azriel could be a bit icy at times, but he hadn’t remembered what it felt like to not have that friendship.

Cassian studies you, “Why’d you think that?”

“I don’t know, it was just little things, I suppose. He’d never laugh at my jokes or talk to me much. Once you had paired us to be sparring partners and he just told you no and walked away to work with someone else.”

You remember a version of Azriel who hardly knew you. You’ve been placed in time right before Cassian started forcing you two to spend time together. For you, Azriel is practically a stranger.

Tears start rolling down your cheeks, “I don’t know him,” you say, “but it’s like my body knows him. I don’t.. know him.”

You take a deep breath, looking around the room to avoid Cassian’s sad face. “But I want him here. I don’t know why, maybe it’s the bond, but I just… want him here.”

You look down sighing, “I feel so bad that this is happening to him, he doesn’t deserve this. Even if I don’t know him.”

Cassian didn’t think his heart could break anymore, but he was wrong. Watching you cry over Azriel’s predicament but not your own gutted him. He moved to sit next to you on the couch and pulled you into his lap, letting you cry for a while.

After several hours of sitting with Mor and Cassian, Elain had recommended you get some fresh air, take a walk in the gardens. You ask if Azriel can join you, so he is staying near you, keeping an eye on you, but not too close.

You walked slowly, not sure if you wanted Azriel to catch up to you or to stay back. You felt gutted that this would happen to Azriel, despite your next to non-existent relationship with him up to this point.

The male trailed behind you, keeping the same distance in spite of your constantly changing pace. Your thoughts whirled and swirled, much like the shadows that dance around your mate. Your mate. You have a mate. And he’s here. That realization caused you to take some deep breaths, trying to keep yourself from spiraling into a panic.

Your brain can’t recall these things, but your body calls for him, wanting you to reach out and grab his hand. It is telling you that you stand on his left normally, allowing free range of motion for his dominant hand. It is telling you to let him lay on top of you, resting his head on your chest while he dozes off to nap. It is telling you to reach out and cup his jaw, that he will smile as you do so and pull you closer to him.

You don’t have memories of him, you have imprints of him, leaving whispers into your skin of how you were made for him. The yearning becomes too much and you need to hear him, so you turn to him and ask, “who did it snap for first?”

He blinks, a bit taken aback by your talking to him. He hasn’t heard you speak since the realization in Rhys’s office, much less speak to him directly. He takes longer strides, catching up to you quickly. He clears his throat and looks at you, “it snapped for me first, and I got to watch it snap for you.”

A soft smile graces his lips as he recalls the moment, so clearly in his memories he wishes he could send it directly to you. He can, he thinks, deciding that if you don’t have your memories, he’ll provide them for you.

“I bought you a locket for your birthday. A bit presumptuous, I know, but I had Feyre do a tiny portrait of myself to put in the locket. I also had a tiny piece of one of my siphons placed in the center so you could carry a piece of me everywhere.

“Your face lit up, but I was so nervous. I was trembling as I gave it to you. I almost dropped it when you asked me to clasp it around your neck. You hugged me so tightly, the locket pressing to my chest siphon and my siphon glowed.”

He smiles and reaches for your hand out of instinct, and you don’t pull away. When he notices what he’s done, he goes to retract his hand, but you clasp onto him harder.

“You had told me you would carry your loved ones in your pocket if you could and I got you the closest thing I could to that. I also had a shadow stay in the locket, they rotate who gets to be in the locket, but they like being close to you too. And in case of emergency they can slip out and find me.”

He pulls at the collar of his shirt, pulling out his own chain with a heart locket at the end. “You gave me one a week later. No siphon, but you used some of your light magic to embue a tiny stone so that it will glow forever.”

The locket looks so familiar, as if it was in a fairy tale you had read as a child. Your hand twitches, as if it wants to touch the locket. “You gave me the locket and when you saw it on my chest, your eyes lit up and I could feel you in my chest.”

You motion to a bench in the garden, and the two of you sit underneath a beautiful cherry blossom tree, its petals falling in the wind.

He moves his collar to tuck the necklace back in, pats it to his chest, then asks, “I’m guessing this is a lot to take in?”

You nod, “I mean it’s just been what five years? I have a hot mate that up until now he’s had no idea I’m hopelessly in love with him, the war is over, I missed Feyre and Rhys’s mating ceremony. It’s all sunshines and rainbows.”

He looks at you, “if it makes you feel better, they snuck out and did the ceremony in secret.”

He hears you grumble, “bastards” under your breath, making him chuckle.

“As for the hot mate who had no idea you were in love with him,” he pauses, watching your cheeks heat up with embarrassment, “he was the same way.”

You gape at him, hitting him on the shoulder, “don’t tell me things just to try to make me feel better!”

He laughs, “I’m not lying!”

You scoff, “You’ve spoken to me three times! One of those times you had asked me to move.”

He looks down, “okay maybe I wasn’t great at conveying it to you, but I thought about you constantly.”

You scoff again, thumping his chest, “you did not!”

“I did so!” He replies, just as childishly as you, “I spent so much of my energy trying to keep my shadows from harassing you at all hours. They kept pulling me, trying to coerce me into rooms you were in.”

He turns to look at you, your eyes a gateway to the before.

“I thought you were so pretty when you first showed up, I forgot how to breathe.”

Your cheeks heat as you look down at the ground, Azriel’s undivided attention being too much.

You look up at him, “okay, well if you were soooo in love with me, how come you refused to spar with me?”

You cross your arms over your chest, looking at the shadowsinger next to you, unable to believe that he’s your mate.

His wings flare ever so slightly, as he quietly tells you, “because being that close to you was too much.”

You look at him quizically, not quite getting what he’s referencing.

Azriel, for all his credit, is trying to be as coy as possible. The you from the present has an absolutely filthy mouth, the dirty talk between you two could strip paint off of walls. But this version of you? It feels wrong, violating almost. You’re not some innocent doe, far from it, but the way you two speak now was built on years of trust, a foundation that doesn’t exist for the version of you he’s looking at.

He sighs, coughing as he says, “I knew if I were to get that close to you, I’d have a hard time and I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of you.”

You bring your hand up to your mouth, giggling. “Aww the big, scary shadowsinger is afraid he’ll get a hard on while sparring. Do you have these fears with anyone else? Cassian, perhaps?”

He laughs, the first genuine laugh since you woke up yesterday morning. “Can’t say I’ve ever had that concern with him.” He shakes his head, “but also Cassian isn’t a pretty female.”

You smile, “no, I guess not. He’s not pretty, not like you.” You clamp your mouth shut, despite knowing you’ve been seeing him for years. Parts of you know this, but other parts feel the newness, the uncertainty.

He smiles, looking at you through the side of his eye. “You think I’m pretty?” It’s a sentiment you’ve told him before, but this version of you thinking it too is fascinating.

“Oh yeah, prettiest male I’ve ever seen.” You blush, deciding to tell him everything, “I uh- I asked Mor to make sure I can always sit next to you when we go out.”

Your confession causes him to pause, something he never knew about you. “Oh?” He asks, curious about this new information.

“Yeah, once she even pushed Cassian out of a seat so I could make it in time.” You laugh, remembering the shock on his face as he laid on the ground and you quickly grabbed his seat. “I thought if I sat next to you, you’d uh- fall in love with me.” You rush out the last part, your voice going quiet.

“But uh, I actually told her to forget about it, just last night. Or whenever that was….” You trail off, remembering your current predicament.

But Azriel was stuck in the past, stuck on your latest admission. “Wait, why did you tell her to let it go?”

You sigh, picking up a dandelion out of the grass, “well, I’d try really hard to get you to notice me or talk to me, but you never did.” You pick at the petals of the flower. “I figured I was annoying you, or you hated that I was keeping other girls from being able to chat you up. So I told her to let it go.”

Azriel balks at your admission, having no idea the extent of his effect on you. “I had no idea how to talk to you! You were so pretty, especially whenever we were at Rita’s.” He sighs, remembering how he’d overanalyze how to reapond to you, only to never say anything.

“It wasn’t until… Cassian.” He pauses, trailing off. “Cassian what?” You asked, crossing your arms over your chest at the slight breeze.

“Cassian told me he spent a lot of time trying to seat us next to each other, to get me to talk to you. I wonder if he… got the idea after talking to you last night about it.”

You shake your head, “no, I only told Mor that - no way he knows.”

Azriel looks at you, “And how is the biggest gossip and busybody you know?”

Your eyes widen, realization hitting you, “oh my god,” you whine. “He heard me! He heard how pathetic I am!”

Azriel rolls his eyes, but you continue, “I was so drunk! I kept talking about you - and how you smell, and your hands, and your legs, oh my god.”

Your cheeks flare in heat, and your voice drops to a whisper. “I told Mor I had a dirty dream about you the other day - in detail!”

He smirks, “and what were we doing in this dirty dream?”

Your cheeks flame tomato red, as he laughs at you. “I guarantee you, sweetheart, whatever it was, we’ve done dirtier.”

He’s always enjoyed making you flustered, but this is an opportunity to fluster past you, one he will not let go to waste.

“About that,” you start, a sheepish grin adorning the cherry red of your cheeks. “How is our sex life? Is it good?” You ask, your voice lowered.

He laughs, “we make Cassian look like a prude with the amount of sex we have.” You gasp, approval for this future version of yourself. He leans in close to your ear, and whispers, “genuinely the best sex of my life.”

You bite your lip, but he continues. “Our general rule is for every night I’m gone on a mission, when I come back I have to make you finish at least once per day I’m gone.”

He chuckles low, the memory coming to him so easily. “I was once gone for twelve nights.” He pulled back, looking into your eyes. “And yes, all in one night.”

Your eyes widen, and you take a quick glimpse down towards his crotch. He watches you check him out, a smile ghosting on his lips.

You spent several days like that, most of your time spent with Azriel. You asked him about your lives together - where you two lived, what your days looked like together, what your lives with the Inner Circle looked like.

“Have I been able to convince you to take a day off?” You ask, the two of you eating at your favorite cafe in Velaris. Rhys had encouraged you to explore the city, hopeful it’s constant changing is able to jog something in you.

He smiles at you, chewing his croissant. “Actually, yes.” He says after swallowing. “We actually took a vacation to Summer during this past winter.”

You gasp, your eyes widening in excitement. “I’ve always wanted to go to Summer! How was it? Did we see any mermaids?”

He chuckles, “no, much to your disappointment.”

You huff, crossing your arms over your chest. “Can’t believe I didn’t get to see a mermaid.”

He smiles at your childish antics, looking at your pouting face. He still couldn’t process it - this was you, but it wasn’t his mate. You weren’t taking a bite of his croissant for yourself, you weren’t touching his knee with yours, you weren’t making up terrible excuses to hold his hand in yours.

Looking at you was excruciating, questions plagueing his mind as he looked. Will you ever remember him? Your life together? The late nights, the early mornings, the small moments that made up your relationship?

Or were you destined to be this past version of yourself forever? Would you develop new habits? Would you even fall in love with him, this version of himself who knows everything about you?

“Did we have a mating ceremony?”

He’s jolted back to the present, his mind finding itself in the past that your mind resides in. He smiles, warmth flooding his heart at the meer mention of that day. He gazes at you, telling you all about it. How all of Velaris loved you so much the town was covered in flowers, much to Cassian’s annoyance.

“I was so nervous, the whole day my hands kept shaking. The minutes before I saw you it got so bad my wings started shaking.”

“Why were you nervous?”

He breathes in deeply, surprised that tidbit came out of his mouth. He had never told you how nervous he had been - he didn’t want you to misconstrue it as reservations about you or your relationship.

He exhales, looking at his empty plate. “Being so vulnerable so publicly, declaring for everyone to know that I am yours and you are mine, felt so… intimidating.”

He grabs a napkin and starts shredding it, an effort to keep his hands occupied to keep them from shaking like they did that day. The shadowsinger rarely showed such nerves, but he always allowed you to see past the cool exterior he usually wore. “I was so scared. No one has ever loved me as openly as you do. My brothers love me, Feyre, Nesta, Mor - they love me. Elain, the Valkyries. All of them love me, but you wear your love on your sleeve. It’s practically on your face.”

He laughs as your hands reach up to your face, as if there was some physical marking there conveying your deep love.

“I’ve never had that. It made me a little scared.”

Without meaning to your hand reaches out to his, halting his napkin shredding. It’s the first time you’ve touched him since you woke up five days ago, and it lights Azriel’s heart aglow. He hadn’t realized how much he had been needing your soothing touch, the one way to know you were here with him.

He doesn’t move, allowing you to process what you’ve done as you see fit. He expects you to pull your hand back, retreating back into yourself as you used to do in the early stages of your relationship.

Your hand stays on his, your eyes meeting his. Your thumb grazes over the scarred skin, as if you could soothe the injury from centuries ago with a delicate touch.

It is quiet between you two, the sounds of the other patrons filling his ears. The soft clinking of spoons on plates, the murmured chatter, the scraping of chairs against the floor.

You’re looking at him like you know him, like you remember it all. He feels his heart in his throat, hoping to hear those words from you. You open your mouth and tell him, “I’m sure I was nervous too.”

The moment is gone, you pull your hand away to stir your coffee once more. Suddenly the patrons are too loud, their conversations too idiotic, the smell of the coffee is overwhelming.

A few days later you wake up to an empty bed in a room you aren’t familiar with. It takes you a moment to remember that you’re in Azriel’s room.

Your room.

The room around you is proof that this wasn’t a dream, despite almost two weeks having passed since your memory was lost. You get up, your nightgown grazing your thighs as you take in the room. You walk in front of the bookshelves, fingers grazing the titles.

Azriel really likes detective novels, you think. You’re continuing through when you find some unmarked books. Opening them, you find your own handwriting back at you.

Entries dated 2 years into your future, 3 years in your past. You’re skimming through the journal, Cassian having done something to annoy you to write several paragraphs until you find a new paragraph.

“Azriel.

Azriel is my mate. My mate. He gave me a locket. We stood on the balcony, just watching the stars. He told me about how the stars led him through the depths of his childhood, and how he would spend most of his nights gazing at the moon, hoping, praying for better days.

“Did you find better days?” I had asked him, and he told me, “I found you, didn’t I?”

You shut the notebook, Azriel’s words invading your sense.

“I found you, didn’t I?”

You hear his voice and are transported back, back to that rooftop, back to that cool night where he laid everything bare for you. That cool night where he draped his wings over you to keep you warm, to keep you wrapped in his arms.

You two spent all night on that roof, talking, making out like two teenagers, staying until the sun began to rose and the citizens of Velaris began waking.

You can smell the scent of cedar and mist, a smell you recognize as Azriel. You can see the slight pink hue dusting his cheeks as you kissed his face, littering his cheeks with dozens of kisses.

It all comes flooding back to you as you drop your journal, racing out of your room. You take the stairs down, searching, needing to hold him.

Him.

Your precious mate.

The male who holds an infinite amount of patience for you.

You see him as you round the corner of the kitchen, launching yourself into his arms. He catches you with a soft oof as your legs wrap around his waist. He holds you there, breathing you in, and you whisper in his ear, “I found you, didn’t I?”

Azriel grip on you tightens, a soft sob escaping him as clutches you, holding you like the world could be collapsing around him and it wouldn’t matter.

“I would have done everything to make you fall in love with me again,” he tells you, kissing your cheeks, his tears mixing with yours.

“And I would have kept falling in love with you.” You grab his face, and kiss him, pouring everything into it and down the bond. He responds with his own love and adoration down the bond, his lips soft and delicate against yours as he does so.

You two hear a groan from the doorway, but don’t pull apart. “We make food in here!” Cassian groans, stepping past you two, “go somewhere else!” He picks up a piece of a cookie and throws it at you, hitting you in the forehead.

You grumble, turning to face him, your eyebrows knitted together and a scowl on your lips. Cassian gasps, “you remember!”

You jump off of Azriel and start running towards Cassian, throwing bits of cookie at him as he runs away, “I remember you telling my mate you wish it was your memories gone so you wouldn’t have to be reminded how annoying I am!”

You chase him around the house, threatening him as you do so, until Azriel reached an arm out, pulling you into his chest, and just holds you there.

[starboye]

pairing: matt sturniolo x male reader

request: Neeeed a Matt fic where him and reader have a quick fuck in the car where reader rides him in the backseat while his brothers go shopping and they almost get caught/do get caught 😭😭😭😭

warnings: smut, kinda public sex, cursing, unprotected sex, caught after the act

on some of the rare occasions when matt would take you all out around the city you'd usually end up stopping by a store where everyone would get something they want but today it was only nick and chris who wanted to shop for some clothes so when they left it was just you and matt in the car... all alone... with enough time to spare.

"so how's your day been" matt asks turning to you, his hand moving to massage your thigh "pretty good" you say turning to look at him "only pretty good" matt question in a joking manner "you know what i mean" you say nudging his shoulder "well i could make it better" matt says before pulling you into a innocent kiss but it soon gets more heated as matt moves his hand further up your leg "matt no we shouldn't" you lowly whimper through the kiss "c'mon their not gonna be back for another 15 minutes at least" matt tries to convince "and you know i can work fast" matt bites his lower lip.

"true" you say "then come on" matt urges getting in the backseat and soon after you finally get in the back with him, straddling his lap and begging to make out "i swear if we get cau-" you get cut off by his hand slipping past your waistband "what, cat got your tongue" matt smirks against your lips "shut up" you whimper a little "we're not gonna get caught" matt assures sliding your pants and underwear down to reveal your plump ass.

you run your hands across matt's chest as you both continue to make out, steaming up the windows with your combined body heat "fuck me" you lowly say wrapping your arms around his neck lazily "i thought you said that was too risky" matt tease running his slender finger along your hole "i don't care now, you started this so finish it" you say desperately "okay then" matt says pulling his pants and underwear down enough to let his dick out.

you moan at the mere sight of his dick "you want it in you" matt asks stroking it lightly "mhm" you nod "you're so cute when you're desperate matt laughs lifting you up and aligning himself with your entrance and lowering you onto him, he kisses you to silence any moans that may find their way out of the car to the passerby's ears, matt thrust his hips upwards into your ass creating a mess out of you.

"you okay" matt asks "mhm... excellent" you say trying to hold back moans "c'mon don't hold back those pretty moans" matt says caressing your cheek with a grin plastered on his face, this fucker wants you to moan out as if you guys aren't in the most populated part of town fucking in the back of his car, you were thanking the lord himself that the windows were tinted but that still didn't calm your nerves.

"matt... i love you and all but im not gonna moan out your name when i'm nearly having a heart attack right now" you say sternly looking at him with lust and nervous filled eyes "you sure" matt says thrusting his cock into you roughly making you yell out a moan before your eyes dart around to see if anyone heard.

"hey look at me" matt softly say turning you to look at him "no one's gonna see us i promise" he says now fucking into you with soft thrusts, you calm down and take in the experience, now riding matt instead of him fucking you "that's a good boy" he coos resting his head on the seat as you do all he work, your hand planted on his thighs for stability as you lift and lower yourself on him.

"ju... fuck- just like that" matt chokes out feeling his climax rise up, getting closer and closer to cumming and he grabs you by your waist, tightly gripping into your flesh "y/n" matt whimpers leaning in to kiss you "let it out" you whisper, matt hears this and immediately cums in you with a grunt, pushing out all his cum into you as you smile down at him.

"we should fuck like this more often" matt says "no thank you" you laugh "whatever" matt replies before noticing his brother walking out of the strep "shit shit shit" he panics and you turn around and see the problem and rush to get back to the front seat, pulling up your pants messily, barely making it before they open the door "hey guys" matt tries to play it off.

"hey" nick replies suspicious of what was going on "ew matt why the fuck does it smell rancid in here" chris asks pinching his nose "i don't know" matt lies glancing over at you and rolling down the windows "oh my god were you guys having sex while we were in the score" nick asks in disbelief "no what the fuck" matt says getting defensive "you guys totally were" chris adds "just get in the car" matt says "i'm not getting in this sex filled car, ill take an uber" nick say and chris nodded his head in agreement.

"fine then" matt says before pulling off after chris and nick shut their doors "you handled that well" you joke "whatever" matt chuckles, nick and chris may not have drove home with you and matt but that meant once you get home you have about 20 minutes till chris and nick arrive, i wonder what you'll do with that time?

taglist: @mailmango @spermeboy @ghostking4m @gayaristocrat

[steviewashere]

Thinking about a fic idea right now where Steve comes out (maybe with a little Steddie...maybe; might be best to start them pre-relationship in this). Walk with me here.

Steve Harrington who has always been a huge Wham! fan. And then eventually a huge George Michael fan. He's got all their albums. Collects magazines with interviews in them (y'know, if there's a U.S. release). So, he's pretty much up to date with all news, music info; that kind of thing. He's always on the money about when interviews are.

George Michael who comes out publicly in 1998 after his arrest. Which, you can watch the clip from the interview here. He's thirty-four at the time, had been private about his sexuality and romantic life up until then.

Steve who's freshly in his thirties.

He's thirty-one. He's had some thoughts in regards to his sexuality for years now. Since Robin came out to him in 1985, he's thought about little things. The way certain guys walked that caught his attention, maybe the plushness of their lips, how they styled their hair. She's introduced him to queer culture at the time—pride parades & protests, some lingo, the handkerchief code, etc. So, he's well aware of a lot of things before the CNN interview airs. He hasn't made any hard connections between his sexuality and the thoughts in his head; maybe he's had a few, soft, questioning moments like: Am I gay? Am I bisexual? Is this what I really think or am I searching for something I don't actually want? Am I just being too observant?

(Okay, thinking about pre-Steddie now. And a lot of platonic soulmates Stobin. Also, I totally (accidentally) half-wrote a fic. Stay with me here.)

Eddie's been a part of Steve's life since 1986. Somehow he survives (don't ask me the fine details, I don't know). And Steve tries his hand at being Eddie's friend because he kind of—no, really—wants a guy friend who's around his age. Cue their shenanigans: the chaos they cause together, the pranks they pull on their other friends, the shit Eddie makes Steve get into (drag racing (cars), stealing scrap from the junkyard, throwing rocks over the quarry to guess the impact they made, other little town shit). Eddie who learns that Steve's a true ally to Robin, so he comes out to Steve, too. They all form a very great, deep bond of solidarity. Become roommates outside of Hawkins, somewhere a little more progressive. They protect each other. Listen to each other.

Cue the day in 1998 when the CNN interview is being aired live, unseen up until then. Steve's already ready to watch, having taken up the middle cushion on the couch. Robin's on his left, criss-cross and making a set of beaded bracelets for the three of them. Eddie's on Steve's right, uncapping a couple bottles of beer to pass over. And they're watching with Steve because Steve likes George Michael and, well, they like Steve and his interests. So they're all there when George Michael comes out. They're all there when the words are said live.

Robin and Eddie are wide-eyed, then laughing something a bit triumphant, high-fiving over Steve's head, maybe chanting something: "One of us! One of us!" Maybe becoming huge George Michael fans as they speak. But, Steve's silent. He's sitting on the edge of his cushion, palms down on his thighs, staring off into nothing. All the celebration stops as the interview continues, words being missed. And Robin and Eddie share an odd glance, a questioning one. Until, finally, Robin asks, "Steve-O? You OD over there?"

Steve blinks back into existence. Mutters, "Did George Michael just come out on live TV?" Eddie answers him truthfully, voice a bit soft and concerned. Steve licks his lips, doesn't move his eyes from his socked feet. "...He knew for a little while," he comments. "Right? He knew for a while."

"Sure, Steve," Eddie answers again. "He probably knew about himself for a long time. Probably...Honestly, probably while he was still in Wham."

Maybe Steve nods at that. Maybe he just stays kind of stoic, thinking too hard. "He's thirty-four," Steve points out.

"That he is," Robin answers this time. "Thirty-four and proudly out."

Steve hums some sort of acknowledgement and then goes back to watching the TV, moment drifting away. He sort of watches in a daze. Up until he turns in for the night. Well after Robin has slumped over on the couch and Eddie's gone to bed earlier—because he has work, or so Eddie's said. And Steve maybe sits in his bedroom, up at his headboard, looking down at his albums. At his Wham! and George Michael albums. Turning the tapes over in his hands, reading the track lists, maybe tracing the edges of the cases with his thumbs. Thinking about how George had said he was telling his life story, even through some of his earlier solo work. He's thinking about how successful George Michael has been. And then he thinks about how George Michael came out later in his life. In his thirties, not in his twenties, not in his teens. Sure, yes, it was definitely more negatively criticized to do so, but it means something to Steve. To be thirty-four and freshly out. And he thinks, too, about being thirty-one and things clicking into shiny clarity—he's into guys, too. He's into women, but he's into guys. That word, "bisexual" looking like the final jigsaw piece. To be thirty-one and proudly out, too.

And he's comforted in that thought, as he drifts off to sleep.

And when he wakes up in the morning, he bustles around Eddie and Robin in the kitchen. They make a shared breakfast of scrambled eggs and sausage and toast with jam. They sit at the dining table, forks against plates, shooting the shit back and forth.

Steve cuts a slice of sausage, puts it in his mouth, eats as usual. And just as the conversation is beginning to drift again, he finally speaks what's on his mind. "I'm bisexual," he's able to proudly state.

Maybe Eddie and Robin cheer, too for that. They ask him for his taste in guys. Maybe they tease him a little. Maybe Eddie realizes he fits the bill a little; maybe he waits a little bit before taking a shot, but he still does eventually.

And right before they head off for their respective, regular lives outside of the comfortable space of their apartment, Robin knocks their shoulders together. "Proud of you," she states. "Thirty-one and proudly out. How does it feel?"

They're in the kitchen, washing and drying the dishes because Eddie left for work already with a promise to bring home pizza for dinner. They're in the kitchen, the lights a little fluorescent like the Starcourt bathroom. They're in the kitchen, in each other's orbits, two friends who've seen it all and will continue to see the world together.

"It feels...I feel good. Excited."

Robin smiles at him, something soft and understanding. And as his focus goes back to the plate he's about to hand off, she snorts. "So, Eddie, huh?" And he scoffs, rolling his eyes. She just laughs to herself. Then, when she's calmed a little bit, she states, "He kind of looks like Rowlf. You and I have a thing for Muppets, Stevie. Muppets."

And after their laughter dies down and they live out the rest of the day, Steve thinks about how he can send a letter of thanks to George Michael. And maybe he cherishes those albums a little closer. And he is confident in himself for the first time in a while, all because the representation he didn't know he was seeking, is finally right in his face.

Sorry that got long. But I'm just thinking about Steve who comes out later in his life. Maybe he couldn't make those connections because he didn't have the safe atmosphere to do so; feared the worst if his parents ever realized he didn't care too much about women sometimes, if his eyes drifted to men a little too much, fearing that they'd catch his contemplation. Maybe he found his safe space through Robin and Eddie, but needed a little more of a push and he just didn't find it yet. Up until now.

[prentissluvr]

forget-me-nots — sam winchester

pairing : sam winchester x gn!reader ➖⟢ genre : soulmate!au, fluff, very light angst ➖⟢ cw : light mentions of canon typical death, violence, and monsters, shirtless sam aaaaa, light descriptions of injuries and blood, reader believes in ghosts before knowing about the supernatural, drinking/alcohol mentions, silly criminal minds reference to my gf elle, kissing, poor editing ➖⟢ wc : 5.6K summary : in a world where flowers grow on your skin in the exact places your soulmate is injured, you’re constantly covered in forget-me-nots.

MOVED BLOGS TO @sammyluvr !! no longer active on this blog! all fics can be found there!

heartache is one thing. heartache for someone you don’t know, someone whose face you’ve never seen or who you’ve never met, is another, stranger thing. it’s common for many to feel this heartache before they know their soulmate, but sometimes you feel as though you have to worry much more than most.

you try not to let thoughts of your mystery soulmate consume you, but you seem to have constant reminders of them litered on your skin in the form of tiny blue flowers. admittedly, you find it romantic that forget-me-nots are your soulmate flower, with their symbolism of true love, respect, and fidelity. the flowers themself feel like a good omen, a sweet promise of a steady love waiting for you. but, the frequency with which they appear on your skin feels far less lucky and always feeds you so much worry for this person you’ve yet to meet.

this morning, you wake with new blooms snaking along your left collarbone, peeking out from the seam of your sleep shirt. and when you change into new clothes, you find a few more growing on your bicep and the side of your ribs.

sighing, you stand at the mirror lightly brushing your fingers over the small flowers and wonder what sort of trouble your soulmate got into last night. as always, worry floods your chest, but you do your best to tamp it down considering the fact that you only bear a few new blooms. the more severe the injury, the more flowers appear on your skin. today, your soulmate must only be dealing with small surface cuts.

sometimes, you’re covered in so many forget-me-nots that you’re too worried to do much of anything at all. more than once, you’ve wondered how your soulmate could still be alive, and the continuous flowers on your skin serve as your only proof that they're still around. there were a few years where you barely had any blooms, just the usual flower on a fingertip to signify a papercut or the occasional few because of a small accident. but one night the flowers came in bunches and never stopped.

you imagine what you might say or do when you meet them. maybe you’ll want to check on whatever wounds they have, be sure it’s not too bad, or maybe you’ll scold them for making you worry so much. you’ll certainly ask what they do in their life that gets them so injured so often. maybe you’ll do it all.

but for now, you’ll have to move on and get ready for the day. the flowers always linger, though.

⟢⟢⟢

it’s been a rather strange week. the flowers from last thursday have completely faded, and you’ve gone a day or two without any new forget-me-nots appearing on your skin. the strange part has been at work. on monday night, one of your coworkers died in the building, but you still had to come in to work the next day. one of the rooms was taped off, but that was the only evidence of the misfortune. the same thing happened last night, thursday, and you’re ready to do everything you can to get at least the next several days off of work. you don't want to risk anything.

and now, it seems the goddamn fbi is interested in whatever has happened. you’re not a huge fan of the federal government, but you have to admit that the bureau has sent two of its most attractive agents. normally, you’d keep your head down, but you feel inexplicably drawn to one of them. he’s the taller of the two, which is impressive because the other is already tall, and he has pretty brown hair and dimples that you catch a glimpse of as he talks to one of your coworkers.

he looks away from her as he moves away, seemingly done with the interview. he catches your eye, and your breath gets caught in your throat for a moment. he’s a beautiful man; pretty and sweet looking at the same time as he’s traditionally handsome and slightly imposing. you’ve never loved a stranger’s eyes so much.

he approaches you and you can’t help but watch as he grows closer.

“hi,” he greets with a small smile, “i’m agent greenaway with the fbi. can i ask you a few questions about the deaths from this week?”

“i’m not sure i’ll be much help, but sure,” you nod, folding your arms over your stomach. agent greenaway doesn’t make you uncomfortable, but the topic at hand certainly does.

“that’s alright. sometimes the smallest things can really be helpful,” he reassures, keeping the kind look on his face. “have you noticed anything strange about either of the deceased or the building this past week or so?”

you shake your head. “not really. i mean i didn’t work closely with macy, and i never noticed anything off about lex.”

“and the building? any strange cold spots or flickering lights?”

you find the question sort of odd coming from an fbi agent, but you instintually feel like you should take it seriously. “um, yeah, actually. it was really cold by the bathrooms last night when i left. at first i thought the ac finally got fixed, but it was still sort of warm over here. in this area”

“okay. thank you for your help,” he smiles at you again and for a reason you can't quite place, you don’t want the unusual conversation to end. you have to hide a hint of delight from your expression when he hands you his card. “call me if you think of anything else.” you accept the card with a nod. he looks like he’s about to walk away, but he pauses. “and, uh– be careful. you should go home early tonight.”

“oh. okay, i will.” without knowing why, you trust him. you want to see him again.

⟢⟢⟢

saturday night is the second busiest night at the bar, but you’re glad it’s not as crowded fridays normally are. you walk straight to the bar to order your go-to drink. as you wait for the bartender to make it, you stare at yourself in the mirror behind the counter out of the corner of your eye. today, there’s two little forget-me-nots right on your left cheek. they look sort of cute there, and you guess you should be grateful that it’s such a small wound. there’s no other flowers on your body yet, which feels like a good run for your soulmate. that’s a little over a whole week in between different injuries, even small ones.

the bartender slides you your drink and you thank them. there’s a small red carnation on their thumb, and you wonder if they’ve met their own soulmate yet. you suppose that at the end of the day, you’re scared of what just about everyone else is. without trying, you worry about not meeting your soulmate until you're old and left without much time together. you want to meet them, and you think the sooner the better. the idea’s been particularly stuck in your mind since last night.

agent greenaway’s words echo in your head. “be careful. you should go home early tonight.” he seemed so sweet, so genuine and caring, and all you’ve been able to think about since then is meeting someone like him. finding someone kind with a little red mark on their cheek and a forget-me-not on their right pointer finger to match the papercut you got earlier this afternoon.

and simply, you’ve been feeling a little lonely these days. how nice would it be to have your literal soulmate by your side?

you sip slowly at your drink, and when the cup’s empty, you pay the tab. the bar isn’t quite serving as the distraction you hoped it would. as you head for the door, your gaze snags on a mop of brown hair that wouldn’t be considered familiar for the fact that you’ve only seen it once, but feels that way regardless. quickly, you scan the rest of the bar, and sure enough you catch sight of agent greenaway’s partner, across the way and very obviously flirting with a pretty brunette.

for a moment you pause, wondering if it would be weird or too out-of-the-blue to approach agent greenaway, but the pull you feel towards him overrides all else, taking your hand and guiding it to throw all caution to the wind.

he’s facing away from you, and with a friendly smile, you slide into the seat across from him.

“hi,” you greet over the noise of music and talking, “d’you mind if i sit here?” it takes him a moment to answer, like he’s lagging a little bit.

“uh– no, no i don’t mind,” he flashes a quick smile back at you, but his gaze and attention are clearly stuck somewhere on your face. for just a split-second, you’re confused by what he could be staring at, but it clicks not a moment later. you don’t know how you missed it: the red mark on his left cheek, so small that your eyes glossed over it when you sat down. eagerly, you drop your gaze to his hands, one casually wrapped around his beer bottle and the other resting on the table. and sure enough, so tiny and pretty against his big hand is a single forget-me-not on his right pointer finger, exactly where you have a bandaid wrapped around your own.

you suck in a sharp breath, eyes caught on the delicate flower and unable to drag themselves away to look back at his face. just like everyone else, you’ve thought about it a million times over, what it would feel like to meet your soulmate, what you would do, how you would act. in this moment, you feel frozen, but you feel right and you feel a million questions and urges rise up in your heart and mind. you desperately want to reach out to him, to touch his hand and the little flower and make sure that they’re both real.

but you absolutely cannot keep your gaze away from his face for long at all and when you meet his eyes, an irresistible smile stretches across your face. you look at him with nothing short of wonderment. he’s just stunning and you can’t believe that he’s supposed to be… well, yours. 

just staring at each other, you feel a little flustered and awkward, unsure what to say to him. then you realize he should probably know your name, and all you know is his last. so you stick your right hand out and tell him your name. he takes your hand with a smile and repeats it back, saying it carefully and savoring the sound and feel of it on his tongue.

when you touch him for the first time, your breath gets caught in your throat and it feels so right that you never want to let go.

“i’m sam,” he says, only letting his hand fall away from yours after a few moments. even then, your fingertips are merely inches apart now.

“sam greenaway,” you echo, easily remembering how he introduced himself yesterday. then you puzzle at his reaction and the way that the name doesn’t feel quite right as you look at him. he cringes slightly, like he’s done something to be guilty of. “or… not?” for a minute, things were starting to add up to you. the way you felt drawn to him yesterday and his job as an fbi agent finally explaining all of his many injuries. you figured he must be in fights often.

“i– i’m sorry, this is so– i mean if we’re really,” he takes a deep breath, trying to reset and figure out how to say things right. “if we’re really, you know, soulmates… well, there’s just a lot– a lot for me to explain. i’m not an fbi agent and my real name is sam winchester. but i swear, there’s a reason for me lying and i promise that i’ll explain it to you if you’re willing to hear it. which i understand if you don’t–”

“i do,” you say in earnest, finally cutting him off. it took you a second because, for a moment, you were too stuck on him saying the word soulmate aloud in reference to the two of you. it felt special and you were only half paying attention to the things he said after because of that. then all you were thinking about was how endearing he seems when he’s flustered and worried. “it’s okay,” you reassure him, “i want to hear it. i– i mean, sure, it’s sort of strange that you lied about, you know, all that, but… i’m not– i’m not gonna just meet my… my soulmate and not give you a chance.” he still looks a little tense, but his shoulders have dropped a bit in relief and there’s the hint of a grateful smile on his features.

“thank you,” he says, glad for your reassurance but still worried about how you might take the rest of the far weirder explanations that he has left to tell you. “can i maybe get you a drink?”

you smile at the offer, but shake your head a bit. “i was actually just heading out when i saw you. would you maybe wanna get out of here? my apartment’s less than a ten minute walk away.” for a moment, you wonder if that’s too much for just having met, but sam visibly relaxes just a little bit more.

“that would be nice,” he smiles. he’s getting ready to stand when he glances across the bar, seemingly remembering about his partner. or not partner. you’re not quite sure. “my brother, dean,” he explains simply when he catches your gaze on the other man. “i should tell him where i’m going.”

“okay,” you nod, filing the new information away in your mind and watching him weave between tables and flirting couples to reach his brother. the exchange is a bit funny to watch. at first dean looks annoyed at being interrupted by sam. then he glances at you with a sly smirk and makes some comment that is probably less than appropriate judging from his expression. and then his face morphs into one of surprise before it’s taken over by a smile. he claps sam on the shoulder and sends him off. you almost miss the look that dean gives you as sam heads back towards you because you’re so focused on the sweet smile that sam’s now wearing. you only catch dean’s look for a second before sam is back at your side. it’s easy to assume dean as the older brother, with his eyes on you being protective, proud, careful, and happy all at once. and they’re close enough that sam told him about you right away.

walking home with sam at your side is both completely strange and familiar all at once. it’s strange for a number of reasons, the main being that you’d never invite any other unknown man to your apartment, especially not one with a cryptic identity and such an imposing build. and yet, you’re not afraid or worried because of how familiar and safe it feels. it feels familiar because it feels right, it feels like exactly what you should be doing.

on the way over, he asks about you a little bit, trying not to overwhelm you with questions or seem overbearing with how eager he is to hear what you have to say. his kindness and carefulness are clear to you, and you love it. you answer happily, despite knowing he’s partially asking to avoid talking about himself until you settle down.

once inside, sam follows you right to the couch in the living room, sitting when you motion towards it and plop down into a chair across from him. he takes in the space, eyes roaming over your furniture, decor, and every little detail. he wants to know about you, just like you do him.

“it’s really nice in here,” he compliments, sounding so sincere that it’s just sweet.

“thank you,” you respond softly, wondering exactly what parts of the room he likes. you let him look around a second or two more before speaking again. “so… can i ask? you know, about it all, i guess? about you?”

he doesn’t say it aloud, but he thinks the way that you ask is so lovely. half of him wants to make up some silly, somewhat believable explanation to spare you the truth, but he knows that would never work out well. not if you choose to stay together in some way or another. already, that’s what he wants. he doesn’t doubt that you’re indeed his soulmate, the one who he’s been sharing wounds and flowers with for as long as he can remember. sam has both yearned for and dreaded this moment. he tries not to be obvious about it or over do it, but he’s sort of a total romantic. he’s had doubts about how this whole idea of soulmates could really be real or make much sense, but those thoughts are eased with each moment he spends with you. he still wants to get to know you before he does anything with you, but the way that he wants to get to know you is something he’s never felt before. it’s undeniably special.

the dread is because he’s known ever since he got back into hunting that he’d never be able to hide the truth of his world from you. he has no idea how he’s going to get to you to believe him or convince you that he’s not completely insane, but he’s going to tell you the truth anyway. even if you do believe him, he wants to give you a choice. you shouldn’t have to get involved with this life in any way at all if you don’t want to. he’d never force you to try things with him if it’s too strange or too scary or hard or anything. and already, he knows that he’ll never stop thinking about you if you do choose to stay away, but he also knows that he’d never try to change your mind or force you to do anything else other than exactly what you want.

“of course you can ask,” he responds, matching the softness of your own voice. “i, um– i’m honestly not quite sure how to say all of this without sounding totally crazy, and i completely understand that, but just– try to bear with me, i guess. and if you need proof, which i also understand, i’ll do my best to get it for you, it’s just– sort of hard.”

honestly, you’re wildly confused as to what the hell he could possibly say that would make him this anxious. it worries you a little bit too. you don’t want him to feel afraid to tell you anything at all. so, you nod at him in encouragement, trying not to seem nervous yourself.

“my brother and i, we– we hunt monsters. real ones. ghosts, vampires, demons, the works. they’re all real. your coworkers who died, they were– they were killed by an angry spirit. we got rid of it last night,” he says those words like they’re a ten ton weight off of his chest, but he’s still got another ten sitting there as he awaits your response. he looks at you so carefully, trying to gauge any sort of reaction.

you raise your eyebrows in surprise, and probably disbelief and a million other things. “angry spirit? like a ghost?” you’re not sure why that’s the first question that slips out, but you suppose it’s an easier one than are you insane? or what the hell are you talking about?

he nods his head carefully, like he’s waiting for you to freak out or call him crazy and tell him to go. “yeah. the ghost, she had died there, near the bathrooms where you felt the cold spot, in the 90s. she was triggered to kill when the man suspected of her murder was granted parole.”

“okay,” you breathe out, sort of nervously. the craziest thing is that you don’t disbelieve him. you’re not convinced by any stretch, but when you look him in the eye and listen close to his voice, there’s nothing but sincerity there. “i mean… that is sort of a kinda crazy thing to say,” you begin, “but i’ve always sort of believed in ghosts, so i don’t think you’re completely, you know, insane.” you laugh a bit, trying to lighten the mood a little. you don’t want him to stress, however unbelievable his words are. “the rest is a bit… shaky, i guess. it’s a hard thing to believe, i mean… vampires. and– and demons. it’s a lot. and honestly, i’m not sure how much i’ll really, truly believe until i see, i don’t know, something, i guess,” you admit, “but… but i don’t think you’re lying to me either.”

“thank you for that,” he says, voice as sincere as ever, “and i completely understand. honestly, part of me didn’t want to tell you at all, but… it’s sort of my whole entire life at this point and it wouldn’t be fair to hide from you. or– or to not give you a choice right off the bat of whether or not you wanted to be involved. it’s– it’s a lot and it’s dangerous. and if it’s what you want, i promise i’ll try to find a way to prove it to you, it’s just… hard to do that without putting you in danger. and i really don’t want to put you in danger.”

“that’s sweet, sam,” you say, not really bothering to hide the way you feel. “i’m not, you know, eager to meet any monsters anytime soon, but whenever it’s… the least dangerous, i guess, you can show me. until then… i’ll just trust you. and in the meantime maybe we can sort of just get to know each other?” you suggest, surprising yourself with how ready you are to trust him on this.

sam smiles at you sweetly. “that sounds perfect to me. i just– i don’t want to force you into something you don’t want for yourself. i live out of crappy motels and my brother’s car while hunting monsters that shouldn’t be real. i’m just… i’m sorry i’m not someone easier.”

you smile at him sort of sadly. “that’s not your fault, sam. i never asked for someone ‘easy’ anyway. just someone kind and respectful and you seem to be just that so far. besides, there’s gotta be a reason, right? that… we’re soulmates. honestly, if you were anyone else i wouldn’t trust you like this. an–and it’s not like i’m trusting you blindly because of something that we’re supposed to be. we just met. i’m only trusting you because it feels right to. and this whole soulmate thing never made too much sense to me until i met you. now it sort of does, because this feels right so far. at least, it does to me.”

“it feels right to me too,” he quickly assures, not wanting for you to misunderstand that for a second.

⟢⟢⟢

as two people who aren’t quite ready to jump into such a committed relationship with completely different lives, it’s a little bit strange to be soulmates. and yet, nothing about it is anything but honey-sweet to you. the night you met as soulmates for the first time, you ended up talking for hours. all you had to do was sort of ignore the huge and slightly unbelievable bomb he dropped on you within the first hour of talking. oddly enough, that was sort of easy. you learned that sam’s appetite for knowledge is just about insatiable, including when it comes to knowing about you.

he had words rolling off of your tongue, asking the best, most interesting questions and providing such sincere and in-depth responses. that night, he was just lovely, and that’s pretty much all he’s been since. he’s this adorable mix of confident and shy, awkward and knowing just the right thing to say. and he’s incredibly smart, an almost stanford pre-law graduate who was headed for bigger things before he was pulled back into hunting a little over two years ago. this explains the difference in all his injuries from the past two years versus the three beforehand. secretly, you mourn for the life that he, and subsequently you, might have had, but only because he gets a little wistful every time he talks about stanford.

mostly, you talk on the phone, only stopping late in the night when one of you catches the other yawning. he seems to sleep so little, yet he lives such a tiring life. you almost always seem to be the one who gets too tired first. one night, you fell asleep to his voice, and since then, you feel like it’s the single best way to drift into dreams.

sam tries to avoid the topic of the supernatural, but you ask him about it anyway. as you get used to the idea of monsters being real, you find yourself wanting to understand it all better. you want to understand him better. and you don’t want him to feel like he has to hide the biggest parts of his life from you or for him to have trouble fitting you into his world.

he always answers your questions, omitting any extreme gore or death, but it doesn’t take long for you to realize how many people he really saves. that’s his life; saving people.

it takes three weeks for you to see him again since the first night, and three more plus a whole lot of convincing on your end for him to bring you on a hunt with him. he tries to hide it, but he’s so worried for you, despite all the reassurances he’s made that this particular ghost isn’t really all that violent or dangerous. by now, you’ve already come to mostly believe all that he's told you, but to see it in real life is still the final confirmation that you need to be fully convinced.

sam keeps you by his side the whole time, one hand on you every moment that he can afford it. the second the ghost appears, he blasts it with a salt round from his shotgun, and he thinks he could cry when you flinch at the loud noise. yet, he feels comforted that you don’t seem all too scared. and strangely, you really aren’t. sam easily makes you feel safe. luckily, the next time the ghost appears, it bursts into flames moments later thanks to dean burning the bones.

the moment it’s gone, sam drops the gun to the ground and turns to you, accidentally ruining the now unnecessary salt line around you in his rush to check on you.

“are you okay?” he asks gently, a hand on your shoulder and the other cupping your cheek as he looks you up and down.

“i’m alright, sam,” you reassure. it’s true that you’re a little shaky, and just the tiniest bit scared, but to have your confirmation and sam by your side is much more important to you.

“i’m sorry,” he apologizes anyway, pulling you into a hug that’s more for his peace of mind than yours. of course, you don’t complain, easily finding his arms to be your new favorite place in the world.

oddly enough, taking it almost slow works well. he kisses you the next time he sees you, a week and a half later, and you’ve never wanted anything more than to have him keep kissing you, over and over again. he just feels like yours and you feel like his and you’ve barely known him for long, but when he kisses you it’s like there’s stars hung from the ceiling and flowers made from nothing but love and healing growing all over you. when he kisses you it’s sunlight and moonglow bottled up and mixed with sweet, pure maple syrup. his lips on yours feel like lucky four leaf clovers, like it’s possible to taste heaven on someone else’s tongue.

and though it mostly works for him to just visit as often as he can, which sometimes isn’t often at all, and to call him at every moment you can, the yearning only grows. you swear that you’re addicted to his lips, to his big hands cupping your jaw all gentle and sweet or his bulky arms boxing you in as he kisses you so hard that you melt right into the sheets.

and some nights, though he tries to hide it, you can hear him struggling with what seems to be the weight of the world on his shoulders. his job is anything but easy or fruitful. before, you thought that you might worry less when you found out exactly why your soulmate was getting injured so often, but now every time new blooms appear on your skin, you spend all day fretting until you can get him on the phone to make sure he’s alright.

you suppose he gets just as worried as you, despite the fact that you’re never in nearly as much danger as he is. a week ago, a jagged edge on a metal wire fence snagged at your skin, drawing a very shallow, but long line of blood down your forearm. seconds later, you had a frantic sam on the phone, so worried about all the little blue flowers on his arm. 

it’s not as hard as he thinks for you to tell how much fear and worry he lives in. you know that he doesn’t tell you the half of it sometimes, even when you ask. all you want is to have him a little closer, to be there for him and provide the sort of comfort that you’re sure he’s never really had before. and though he’s told you that having you to talk to, so receptive and encouraging for him, has been a complete blessing, you still wish for more. you want his arms enveloping you and his lips on yours and his warm body in your bed. really, you just miss him. all the time.

⟢⟢⟢

tonight is one of the glorious nights that you get to have him with you. his broad frame takes up so much space in your bed, and you love it more than just about anything. he props himself up on one elbow and you mirror his pose as you let your eyes roam over each other’s features and take turns rambling about every little thing from this past week. unable to resist, sam kisses you often. he just leans over, swiftly closing the small space between you and pressing his lips to yours. he looks so beautiful like this; at peace, his shirtless body and protective tattoo framed all prettily by clean white sheets.

eventually, comforting words turn into a comforting silence, and you drop your head to your pillow. your eyes droop a little as you play with the idea letting a few more words slip from your tongue. you want to say something to him, but you can’t tell if it’s the right time.

sam settles on his pillow, just like you. “what is it?” he whispers, inviting and respectful. his voice tells you that you’re welcome to say whatever you’re thinking about, but that it’s okay if you don’t want to quite yet.

you smile a little at how well he’s able to read you. since he asked so sweetly, you say it. “i can’t be away from you, sam. i love you, i really do.” this isn’t the first time you’ve said the three special words to each other, but his eyes grow infinitely softer than they were before each time you do.

this time, his eyes do soften, but he cringes a little too, because he feels sorry and because he feels the same exact way. “i can’t make you live like i do. i love you, too, so much. and i hate being away from you, but this? this life, it– it’s sort of awful, and it’s dangerous and hard and–”

you swiftly cut him off with a kiss that he more than willingly melts into. “i know,” you whisper against his lips, barely moving from him to speak. “but– but what if we tried something else? you still go on your hunts and all that, but you and dean can stay here in between. there’s this cabin in the woods i’ve been eyeing, it’s sort of small but it’s isolated and we could ward it. i’ve been looking into protection and warding spells, and i think we could make it work… only, you know, if you wa–”

this time he’s the one to cut you off with a kiss, passionate and sweet all at once. when your lips part, he keeps his forehead pressed against yours like he can’t bear to be any further from you.

“i want to,” he says, voice so sure and sturdy. “i really want to… but how’re we gonna get the house? it’s not like me or dean can buy property, and i can’t make you–”

“i want to,” you echo his words, just as sincerely. “please, sam, let me do this. i’ve been saving money for a long time and it’s a little run down so it’s not too expensive. and i’m getting sick of this apartment.”

“you’re gonna live there?” he asks, not bothering to hide his hope and sparkling joy at that idea.

you grin. “of course. there’s three bedrooms and it’s so pretty and i can’t, you know, pay for that and the apartment at the same time. and i– i wanna be there every time you get home.”

that word gets to him. sam doesn’t really have a solid or normal concept of home—the closest thing he has is the impala. but it sounds so right when it comes out of your mouth. “and– and you’re okay with that?” he asks, still needing to be reassured, “you said it was isolated, and–”

“i’m sure, sam,” you emphasize, “it’s only 20 minutes from town and the roads to and from are never busy. i’ve always wanted to live in the woods, i swear. and if it meant i could be with you more, i’d never ever say no to this. please… can we talk to dean about it?”

“yes,” he gushes. “yes, of course, i– you’re amazing.” he seals the deal with a firm, giddy kiss. “and if dean says he doesn’t like the idea, i don’t care. i’m gonna do this with you.” another kiss and your heart softens infinitely. “besides, he loves the pie from the bakery on morrison street, which means he can’t say no.” he gives you another kiss and pulls away again, and you know that he’s bound to keep rambling if you let him, so you wrap an arm around his neck and thread your fingers through his soft, pretty hair. then you kiss him hard until he can’t breathe. he returns the favor by tenfold, whispering through labored breath how much he loves you and wants you and thinks that you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to him.

[buckymorelikefuckme]

what a wicked thing to do

vampire wanda maximoff x fem reader

words: 4.2k

warnings & tags: **18+ ONLY** lesbian vampires yes GAWD, fantasy au, inaccurate historical au, smut, fingering, implied soulmates (?? kinda i guess), biting 👀, mention of blood, does this count as hurt/comfort? we shall see!! and uhhh it's kinda spooky ooky vibes but it's not really dark? i think. pls let me know if i missed anything!

a/n: listen..... i've already got spooky season in the brain and i really wanted to reshare this fic. i've edited it a little but i've also left the link to where i orphaned it on ao3 in the title if you prefer reading there~ any and all mistakes are my own! feedback is greatly appreciated and heavily encouraged pls and thank ♡ xoxo

wanda maximoff masterlist || main masterlist

It’s that time of year in between autumn and winter where it’s only getting colder and colder, no reprieve even during the sun’s highest point of the day. Part of you worries it’s a mistake to wander through the woods like this, especially so close to sunset.

But then you remember the briefest moment when you saw her, when your eyes met hers; it happened so quickly, but also felt as if time stopped. Something flashed in her gaze before she looked away and disappeared in the busy crowds of the village.

That moment, as brief as it was, leads you here. You hug your arms tighter to your torso, cursing the bitter wind whipping around you. Your dress had been a bright idea when you’d first thought of it. Now, you’re wondering why you thought such a plunging neckline would be smart, considering the seasonable chill in the air.

Although, you think with a flutter in your stomach, that’s not exactly true. You know exactly why you chose this dress.

There’s hardly any light left in the sky by now. You’re kicking yourself for getting lost in the woods, wondering if anyone would notice, or care, whether or not you return to the village. You have no family, no money, nothing tying you to anyone or anything. You work odd jobs to be able to make ends meet. The people knew of you, but you are sure they hardly concerned themselves with your well-being.

But then, when your gaze had met her own, you’d felt seen for the first time in ages. It was like she could see everything inside your mind, every ounce of longing and every bit of loneliness, even in the split second she held your stare. You haven’t been able to stop thinking about her since then. Nearly two weeks have passed, and you’d finally decided to find out if the stories that follow her hold any truth. They are quite colorful, full of fantasy and myth, surely decorated to sound more elaborate as the years go on. Fantasy and myth, perhaps, but one particular piece of information continues to remain the same.

She hasn’t seemed to age in the fifteen years she’s spent living near your village. Not one line or wrinkle to be seen on her pale skin. Not one gray hair on her head. Some of the elders even swear they'd seen her when they were children.

Her home is a mystery, one that stays that way out of fear. There is something about her eyes, some say, something off, not quite right. Because of this, no one has felt compelled enough to try finding her home.

At least, not until you.

You’re beginning to think you are truly lost, feeling hopeless, when you finally spot something in the distance. But just as relief washes through you, the rain starts. Each drop feels like sharp, stabbing pieces of ice landing on your exposed flesh, soaking into the thin fabric of your dress. It takes mere minutes for you to become drenched. Your dress is now clinging to your body uncomfortably, the cold even more biting than it already had been.

It comes into view, what you’d spotted several meters back, easier to make out. A looming castle breaks through the trees, windows lit with candles.

Your arms and feet are going numb, but you push through, stumbling your way to a cobblestone path that leads to tall, wooden doors. With a trembling hand, you raise the door knocker and bang it against the door as loud as you can manage, praying whoever is inside will hear.

Your wait is short lived, thankfully. The door creaks open loudly to reveal the very woman you’d been searching for. If she’s shocked to see you, she hides it well. She looks as regal as ever. A black dress hugs her lithe body, her hair perfectly brushed and styled. This close to her, you can see what the people mean. She looks ageless.

“E-excuse me, madam,” you begin, trying your best to keep your teeth from chattering. “I-I’m terribly lost and I d-don’t think I can find my w-way back to the village.”

The woman lets her eyes roam your shivering frame, lingering on your glistening chest for a second, then meets your pleading gaze.

“Of course. Please, do come in. I’m sure you’re cold.”

“Th-thank you,” you reply earnestly.

She steps aside, leaving just enough space for you to squeeze by.

“Think nothing of it,” she assures you. “You’re welcome to stay as long as you need, at least until the storm passes.”

As the door closes behind her, you take in as much of the space as possible. With it being nighttime, the candles can only do so much. For a castle, it is rather large, but it’s not quite as foreboding as you would have imagined. Though, you surmise, you hadn’t really known what to expect at all.

“Would you like something dry to change into?”

You whirl around, almost tripping over your feet as her voice registers, so close to your ear.

She smiles, amusement tickling the corners of her mouth. “Perhaps a cup of tea?”

Swallowing roughly, you nod, offering a smile of thanks in return.

“Very good. You should go sit by the fire to warm up while I get everything sorted.”

She points toward a room where you can see flickering light dancing off the walls. You nod again, letting your tired feet follow the promise of warmth. The closer you get to the large fireplace, the harder you shiver, goosebumps rising along your skin. You stand as close as you deem safe, hands held out to thaw them. For the second time, she sneaks up behind you.

“This is all I could manage to find.”

You gasp as you turn to face her. She’s still smiling as she holds up the proffered item of dry clothing.

“You frightened me,” you state dumbly, huffing a quiet laugh.

“I did not mean to,” she replies.

“It’s okay.” You glance at the clothes in her hand, a frown forming on your face. “A… dressing gown?”

She makes a sympathetic face. “It was all I could find,” she repeats.

Her eyes dip down to your chest again. They flash, just like in the village, but you’re sure it could have just been the fire reflecting in them. You look down to see what she’s staring at and heat rushes up your neck. Your nipples are clearly outlined against the wet fabric of your dress.

“Oh,” you murmur as you lift your arms to cover yourself.

She clears her throat delicately. “Take this. You’ll get sick if you keep your wet clothes on.” She pointedly holds the dressing gown out to you again until you gingerly take it. “I’ll go get the kettle started while you change.”

“Thank you,” you return quietly.

When you’re sure she’s gone, you undress as quickly as you can, more shivers wracking your frame as you stand naked in her drawing room for a few seconds before pulling on the silk dressing gown, tying it securely around your waist.

While you wait you decide to get a better look of the room. A few paintings hang on the dark walls, but mostly they’re covered with floor to ceiling shelves and stuffed to the brim with books. You take notice of a few spots where the dust hasn’t seemed to settle in front of them, figuring those must be her favorites. A plush chaise sits in the center of the room with two chairs on either side, atop an ornate rug that rests on most of the floor. There are a couple small tables between the chaise and chairs with candelabras on them, and a wide, lower table in front of them. You spot a desk by the only window in the room.

There’s nothing particularly personal about the space. It almost feels as if she’s newly moved in. But you know that can’t be true, especially since so many people in the village have seen her visit town for years now.

A piece of parchment on the desk catches your eye. You debate over whether or not you should let your curiosity get the better of you, your feet slowly carrying you over to where the paper lay. There’s writing on the top piece, and you get as far as the addressed “Brother,” but then hear her round the corner and quickly back away.

“I wasn’t sure if you took cream and sugar, so I brought them just in case,” she tells you, setting a silver tray on the low-lying table that held the teapot and teacups.

You walk over as she pours the tea into both cups. You pick one up and carefully drop two lumps of sugar into yours, stirring it with your teaspoon until you’re satisfied it’s melted. A careful sip as you sit down and you hum happily.

“Better?” she asks, smiling and taking a sip of her own tea, sitting beside you.

It occurs to you suddenly that you hadn’t asked for introductions. You scold yourself internally, knowing you had better etiquette than that.

“I must apologize, I seem to have forgotten my manners. I never introduced myself,” you say, then offer your name. “And what is yours, madam?”

“You may call me Wanda,” she replies.

“Well, I owe you a great deal for helping me, Wanda. I cannot thank you enough.”

She waves a dismissive hand. “Please, there is no need. I’m glad I was here and that you aren’t in danger of freezing to death.”

“As am I,” you respond, laughing lightly.

Silence settles between you. Your mind whirls with hundreds of questions, but you don’t know where to begin. Your plan to find her only consisted of just that— finding her. Now that you’re here, you aren’t quite sure what to do. Or say, for that matter.

You can feel her eyes observing you like a caress. You struggle not to squirm or shiver, though you are no longer cold. No, there is no chill clinging to your bones anymore. Her stare alone provides enough heat. You chance a glimpse of her from the corner of your eye, but she catches it. She purses her lips to keep from smiling in amusement.

“So,” you blurt, cheeks pinking, “have you lived here long?”

You bite the inside of your cheek as soon as the words leave your mouth. Stupid, stupid girl.

Thankfully, Wanda laughs.

“Quite,” she says teasingly, like she’s letting you in on a joke.

You nod. “I see. Is it a family home?”

She tilts her head consideringly. “Of a sort.”

What is that supposed to mean? Miraculously, you don’t ask that question aloud.

“Do you… Do you live alone?”

You’re not sure why you ask. Perhaps it’s that you haven’t heard any other movement throughout the castle that indicated a waiting staff of some sort. Afterall, she was the one to fetch the tea.

“I do,” she says.

You don’t want to examine it too closely, but you’re positive you note a hint of longing in her tone.

“S’a lot of space for one person,” you muse in acknowledgment.

She nods. “Indeed. However, I’m sure I’ll find the right companion soon.”

You take another sip of your tea to avoid replying, but are not able to avoid meeting her gaze. The look in her eyes is something you’ve never seen directed at you. You’re hesitant to think it could be want, open desire. Not from a woman like her.

—

Wanda still cannot believe that you’d shown up at her door.

She’s spent months watching you from a distance, never allowing herself to be seen by you—not until she felt it was time. From the very first moment she caught sight of you, she knew. You are hers. Her mouth watered when the wind brought your scent to her. There was not a doubt in her mind about whether she would have you; she simply would.

She had waited, ever so patiently, watching you as you roamed the streets of the village. You didn’t seem to have very many acquaintances, if any at all, and you were always alone. Wanda quickly figured out that you were without a family as well.

Selfishly, she’d been happy about these facts.

Finally, Wanda allowed herself to meet your gaze. It was quick, but she knew her eyes flashed, knew that she piqued your curiosity. It would only be a matter of time.

After nearly two weeks had gone by, however, she had started to think it hadn’t worked. She’d planned on returning to town to purposefully cross your path again, but as luck would have it, you came to her. As soon as she heard the knock on her door, she smiled.

Now, as she sits next to you on the chaise, your skin glowing in the firelight, she finds it harder to maintain her control. This close, your scent is even more intoxicating. Wanda can tell that you’re curious about her. The questions you want to ask are swirling behind your eyes. And now that you’re here, she decides she’ll answer whatever you ask, give you anything you want.

You’ve gone quiet, though, so she does some prodding of her own.

“What were you doing out in the woods?” Dressed like that, blessedly, goes unsaid.

You shyly glance down at your lap. “I, uh, I like to take walks,” you mutter into your teacup as you go to take another sip.

Wanda hums. A plausible excuse, indeed. You carefully lean forward to set your cup and saucer on the table and when you sit back you move your hair over to one shoulder. Wanda’s eyes zero in on the pulsepoint of your neck. If she focuses hard enough, she can see your heartbeat throbbing beneath your skin. It makes her teeth itch, makes her control waver even more.

When she drags her gaze away from your neck, she finds you already observing her. Her desire is clearly reflected in your eyes and the feeling is heady.

—

“Are you warm now?” she wonders.

“Yes,” you whisper, your breathing picking up, making your breasts heave alluringly.

You’d go as far as saying you are overheating. The dressing gown, where you’d been unsure and embarrassed of being nude underneath it before, is now a blessing. Your body feels alight with an unseen, growing fire. Shifting on the chaise, you don’t notice the sleeve slip down your shoulder, only registering the air skimming across your collarbones. You let out a surprised gasp when you feel something cold on your bare arm.

Peering down reveals it to be Wanda’s hand carefully sliding the sleeve back up into place. Your brows pull together in a frown.

“Your hand…” you mumble, trailing off.

She lets it linger on your shoulder for a moment, then slowly traces down your arm, her thumb grazing the side of your breast. Your nipples tighten, thighs clenching together as you watch her fingers stop at your wrist. Though her touch is cold, it feels like a relief against the searing heat of your flesh. You peek at her through your lashes and find her expression to be one of complete hunger.

Feeling emboldened, you hold her stare as you shift to pull the sleeve down again.

Her lips lift on one side, her teeth glinting dangerously. “Are you sure of what you’re doing?” she asks.

You blink, faux innocence shifting behind your eyes. “I’m not sure I know what you mean.”

Wanda takes a deep, steadying breath, though it only helps in inhaling your scent more. She says your name. “Why do you think you are here?” The question catches you off guard. Wanda shifts even closer to you, watching your throat bob as you swallow. “We both know it isn’t because you accidentally got lost in the woods. You were out there with a purpose. What was it?”

You lick your lips, noticing her gaze immediately drop to them. It makes your heart pound in your chest.

“I don’t know,” you reply, unsure.

She leans in, her nose nearly touching yours. “You do,” she whispers, without doubt. “Why are you here?”

Your eyes flutter closed, head tilting back without you being aware of it, exposing your neck. You feel her presence mere centimeters away from you, her breath puffing out along the column of your throat.

“I… I felt drawn here. It feels like I was meant to be here,” you say, quiet, almost hoping she doesn’t hear you.

It feels ridiculous to say it out loud. It’s one thing to have that thought sit in the back of your mind where you could pretend it didn’t exist, but to admit it aloud is entirely different.

“With me?”

You shiver at her words, her lips having softly dragged across your skin. Helplessly, you nod.

“Are you afraid?”

That makes you frown, but you adamantly reply, “No.”

“Open your eyes,” she pleads.

You follow her instruction, wary, but gasp at what you see. Sharp fangs peek out from Wanda’s lips, her eyes so pale they’re almost white now. Though your heart continues to race, it’s not out of fear. It should scare you, it should send you running, but you find your hand slowly rising to carefully trace a finger down one of her fangs, amazed that she even lets you.

“You’re…” You start, meeting her patient gaze once more. “Beautiful,” you finish in a whisper, because she is. You go to reach for her face to stroke her cheek, but she lurches backward. In a blink, Wanda’s on the other side of the chaise. Disbelief paints her features.

“You think I’m… beautiful?”

“Of course,” you state plainly, brows furrowing. Wanda continues staring at you in wonder. “You said I was here for a reason.” Ironically, she’s now wary of you as you shuffle closer to her. “I know what that reason is now.”

“Which is?” she asks apprehensively.

“You,” you murmur, cupping her cheek. “I’m here for you.”

Wanda looks as if she’s scared to accept this, to hope for it to be real. You steal away those worries by leaning in to place a soft kiss to her lips. She inhales sharply, eyes squeezing shut, her cold hands gripping your wrist almost painfully. You give her a moment, kissing her forehead as she gathers her emotions, keeping her gaze down.

“Are you sure?”

Her voice cracks softly, but her grip on your wrist loosens as you move it. You lift her chin so she’s looking at you.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.”

She stares at your lips for a few seconds, and then, as your words sink in, they seem to send her into action. She surges forward and captures your lips, more sure, more eager than before. You respond in kind, pulling her as close as possible, sighing into her mouth.

You quickly find yourself on your back on the chaise, Wanda above you, bodies slotting perfectly into each other like lost puzzle pieces. You feel her hand slide down from where it was in your hair to graze along your sternum. Then her hand cups your breast, thumb swiping across your nipple, and you gasp. It’s the perfect opportunity to deepen the kiss and Wanda takes it.

Her tongue slides against yours and you whine, clutching at her like she’s the only thing tethering you to this earth. It becomes so easy to let her settle between your thighs, to arch into her touch and slide your tongue in her mouth, delicately tracing over her fangs. Wanda shudders, grunting inelegantly before wrenching herself away, panting heavily into the space between you. You blindly chase after her, opening your eyes in confusion.

Wanda’s gaze is intent on your neck, full of desire. The weight of the moment hits you, then. What exactly it would mean if you give in to her. So, with full faith in your decision, you tilt your head ever so slightly and she goes perfectly still.

“Go ahead,” you encourage.

She shakes her head. “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

You huff. “I do. I want you to do this.” You know she won’t look at you just yet, so you lace both your and her fingers together and squeeze hers as you continue. “I need you to do this.”

“If I do,” she starts, swallowing thickly, “I won’t be able to stop. You’ll end up like me.”

You duck your head to catch her stare. “And what’s wrong with that?”

She closes her eyes and falls silent for a moment. The weight of your words fall over the two of you like a winter blanket.

“I’ve waited so long,” she confesses, voice quiet, shaking and timid.

“For me?” you ask. She nods. “I’ve been looking for something, or someone, to make me feel whole all my life.” You use your free hand to stroke her cheek. Even with her eyes closed, she leans into you. “I’ve waited for you, too.”

When she finally looks at you, you know there’s no going back for either of you.

“It’s going to hurt,” she warns.

“That’s okay. It will only be temporary.”

She smiles then, slow and teasing. “I can ease the pain, you know.”

Her free hand tugs lightly on the ties holding your dressing gown closed, raising her eyebrows in silent question. You bite your lip and nod, shivering in anticipation. She undoes the careful bow you’d tied, easing it open and exposing your body to her hungry gaze.

If you felt heated before, you’re an inferno now. Her hands reverently map out every curve of your body. She leans down and plants a kiss above your belly button. It makes your stomach clench in want, but you make yourself lie there and take whatever she plans on giving you. Her kisses lead up your torso, until she’s eye level with your breasts, and before you can comprehend her movement, she’s taking one of your nipples into her mouth.

“God,” you whimper, head thrown back as you push your chest into her face.

“No,” Wanda giggles, “just me.”

You try to laugh, but it turns into a gasping moan when she pinches your other nipple between cold fingers. Your thighs attempt to close around her, yet it’s futile. Her free hand begins its descent down to the warm heat between your legs. Your hips buck into her touch, crying out when her fingers make contact with your clit.

“I’m going to do everything I can to make this feel good, okay? Let me take care of you.”

You nod quickly, your mouth going dry. When a single finger enters you, you forget how to breathe for a second, but then she’s sliding it out and back in, setting a steady rhythm, and you’re back to panting and whining. Only a few minutes later, though, you’re wriggling around, begging for more. She adds another finger and picks up the pace.

“Oh,” you gasp, your legs falling open wider.

Wanda buries her face in your neck, inhaling loudly, groaning. She licks across the skin there, nipping at you.

“Wanda,” you whimper.

“I know, my love,” she rasps. “You’re so close.”

Your hands have drifted above you, clutching at the pillows on the chaise, your hips moving in tandem with her fingers. Her thumb meets your clit, adding to the building warmth in your belly. It swells and swells, until finally, it has nowhere else to go and explodes within you.

You feel her teeth sink into your neck at the very same moment, and you can only yell brokenly into the air. Pain and pleasure war inside you, both white hot and searing, marrying themselves into a delicious and lethal combination. You can feel blood trickle down your throat, the same way you can still feel her fingers thrusting into you. It seems to never end and you grow limp beneath her, unable to handle the sensations flowing through you.

She finally slows, removing her teeth and licking over the wound. As her fingers slide free, she brushes your sweaty hair off your forehead with her clean hand.

“Sleep now,” she instructs, kissing you softly.

You can’t even attempt to argue, your body listening to her and promptly sending you into a deep slumber.

—

When you wake, before you even open your eyes, you’re aware of a few things.

To start, you’re no longer on the chaise. You’re on a luxurious bed, which is presumably Wanda’s. Your hearing is significantly better, as is your sense of smell. There’s a low thrum of energy coursing through your veins, like you’re on edge but don’t know why. But the more important thing you’re aware of is the feeling of eyes on you.

“I know you’re awake now.”

You crack open one eye and see Wanda smirking at you from the other end of the bed. You smile and sigh happily.

“How do you feel?” she asks.

You carefully sit up and stretch. You notice her ogling your still naked body and give her a smirk of your own. Shifting onto your knees, you crawl over the bed until you reach her and straddle her lap.

“Hungry,” you answer before grasping her face in your hands and attaching your mouth to hers.

With a force she hadn’t used before, she tosses you backward and is on top of you in a flash, a devilish smile on her tragically beautiful face.

“Good.”

[monzamash]

itch — charles leclerc

charles leclerc x you (femreader) | 2.9k summary – spotting charles' weight session in your home gym. that's it. warnings – 18+ (sex, course language) a//n – had to re-upload because the tags glitched out but here's the second fic in the #monzamash special x

The soft, distant thrum of music playing was the only sound travelling through your otherwise peaceful home. You had set yourself up for a quiet afternoon with a glass of iced tea, catching up on work that you’d missed while travelling to a couple of races, watching your boyfriend do his thing. Charles always gave you the VIP treatment, making sure your time away from your life was worth it and of course it was. But nothing could beat the summer break at home in Monaco, with him by your side for a change.

Just as you settled into the couch, an almost finished lemon popsicle in hand and your laptop steadied on your lap, you heard your name being called from the other end of the house. The voice echoing through the hallway belonged to Charles and there was a part of you that wanted to pretend like you hadn't heard him, feeling way too comfy and in the zone to get up again if it wasn’t important.

That was until you heard your name again, a little louder this time and you knew that you couldn’t ignore him. Your man was persistent and even though you loved your time with him during the break and over the off-season, it did become apparent that when he was home, he always wanted you close by to talk to. Like he was trying to make up for lost time but he forgot that even though he had time off, your work life continued much to your dismay.

But you were both working on finding the right balance.

"Where are you?" You shouted back and pulled yourself out of your spot on the couch, on a mission to track down your needy but ridiculously cute boyfriend.

You followed the music, figuring that he must’ve been in the home gym he’d set up a couple of winters ago. The new Coldplay album was playing on the sound system, echoing off the mirrors that lined the otherwise blank walls. It was a messy sight as you walked in – yoga mats that you’d left behind sprawled out on the ground while Charles sat hunched over, scrolling on his phone with his legs hanging over each side of the bench press that was sitting in the middle of the naturally lit room.

He was quick to notice your presence in the door way and chucked his phone onto one of the many towels neatly folded up on the shelf behind him, "Could you spot me, please? Because I nearly killed myself with this weight."

You swear you were listening but you couldn’t help but take a second to drink in his appearance, suddenly feeling a hot flush wash over your chest. He was sans shirt and glistening with sweat, which would’ve been enough to fuel your desires but the tight short shorts and the hair sticking to his forehead was what really got the endorphins running. And as much as you could’ve stared at him for the rest of your days, the last thing you wanted was for Charles to notice how flustered you were by his appearance.

"If that thing is going to fall on your face, there's no way my twig arms are going to stop it," You scoffed, eyeing at the weights behind his head with concern.

"You just have to push it off me so it doesn't crush my chest," He shrugged with a small smirk tugging at the corners of his lips, far too nonchalantly for your liking.

"Oh right – just casually save my boyfriend from being crushed to death. Cool…" You sarcastically retorted while Charles wiped his hands on his shorts and scooted underneath the bar, back squeaking as it stuck to the faux leather.

"Just come and stand behind my head, baby," He sweetly directed and you sighed softly, knowing that he was going to keep lifting the stupid thing anyway and you would much rather be there if anything did happen.

So you shuffled around to where he’d settled himself on the bench, feet and shoulders with the part, ready to save the day if you needed to. Well, kind of ready because the view from where you were standing was not only magnificent but wildly distracting.

“Atta girl.”

Charles’ strong hands gripped the bar and lifted it carefully off the stand, flickering his eyes to each side and making sure they were securely off before bringing it down towards his tensed chest. The grunts that left his throat as the muscles and veins in his arms bulged under his taut skin sounded exactly like the noises he was breathing in your ear last night as he fucked you into the next dimension, the sound immediately transporting you back to the way his hands felt on your supple skin.

His tight chest puffed out in time with his sharp hips that bucked off the bench with each rep and the groans leaving his lips were making it difficult to keep an eye on the job, even though a part of you wondered whether this was all a ploy to get you in here and see this glorified soft core in session. Knowing Charles, it was almost definitely the latter.

"Okay two more," He huffed out, lifting the bar up and down a couple more times, concentration stitched into his sticky forehead.

The grunts got louder the closer he was to finishing the set, again casting your mind back to your night between the sheets, before he slowly pushed it up towards the stand and let your fingers hook around the bar, just in case it slipped out of his slick hands. Because every part of his body was perspiring – his biceps, thighs, neck, chest, the bridge of his nose that was achingly close to your core was glistening and so were you, from doing absolutely nothing. Dripping.

Charles sat up with a groan and took a couple of deep breaths, blood pumping through his veins as you watched the muscles on his rippling back contract, “You’re soaked – let me grab you a towel.”

This was your chance to try and shake the daze you were in. It was pathetic the way he wound you up without even knowing, hypnotising you with something as innocent as a workout. Maybe it was because you had been blissfully enjoying each other’s touch the second he dropped his luggage in the doorway, jumping into bed and hardly leaving it ever since.

Or because he was the sexiest creature you’d ever seen and seeing him gleaming with sweat and groaning like an animal was a massive turn on for you. Either way you were soaking after his performance, desperate to have those sounds breathing down your neck as soon as humanely possible.

He graciously took the towel you were offering with a wicked smile, wiping his flushed face and roughly drying his hair before spinning around 90 degrees on the bench, gazing up at you with the same smile but now with that devious sparkle in his eye that always had you hook, line and sinker.

"Merci."

It rolled off his tongue too perfectly and you couldn’t control the eye roll, knowing how much he loved teasing you in French. He also loved how quickly he could get you naked when he spoke in his native tongue, the mischievous smirk and his Monegasque charm leaving you spellbound. 

"Any time," You sang in reply, attempting to leave the room before you combusted on sight but you were stopped by a fistful of fingers grasping the hem of your black cotton shorts.

Charles gently pulled you back, a hole already burnt into the material from his eyes zeroing in on your curves. He loved every inch of you, worshipped the air you breathed and pinched himself daily that you’d stuck around with his crazy stupid schedule and maniacal whims. God, he adored you and ached at how effortlessly beautiful you looked in your matching crop top and shorts, waltzing around the home you had built together.

And he couldn’t hide the way he felt when you looked around, bottom lip clamped loosely between his front teeth, chewing the inside of his cheek and admiring how fucking lucky he was to have such a beautiful creature in his grasp. Heaven sent.

"You look very cute today."

He was smitten; holding your hips in place as you slung your arms around his shoulders. His hands subconsciously trailed down to the back of your thighs and teased the thin hem on your shorts, fingertips melting into the skin like butter as he watched your gorgeously bright eyes narrow.

"I'm not wearing a bra just for you," You flirted, nudging closer to his chest and needing more than just the heat from his hands on your skin.

"I can see that," He hummed matter-of-factly as he gazed over the sheer top that had been driving him crazy all day, adoring the way your nipples hardened at his stare before pressing a peck to the bottom of your sternum.

Charles continued trailing soft kisses across your stomach as you brought your hands to his tousled brown hair, trawling your fingertips through the damp locks and massaging his scalp. A soft, barely audible whimper slipped from his lips as he tilted his head back and caught your eyes, succumbing to the drowsiness and closing them for a quiet moment.

"That feels so nice." 

He practically whispered before opening his eyes and pulling you closer with his hands that were now hidden under your loose top, fingertips following the arch of your spine as you leaned down and captured his soft lips. He tasted salty, tongue deliciously warm as you explored his mouth with your own. You loved the way he inhaled you and swallowed the moans he was causing. The intimacy you shared with him never seized to make you weak in the knees, putty in his hands.

"I wanna watch you fuck me in this mirror." 

Your words were muttered against his pursed lips and Charles’ eyes were wider than a flying saucer when you pulled back ever so slightly, noses bumping together from how close you still were. He huffed out a soft laugh as you nodded towards the mirrors lining the walls around you both, eyeing your reflection beside him.

"Really?" He asked incredulously, a humorous expression ascending onto his blushing cheeks as you returned the raised brow, confused by his question.

"Do I look like I'm joking?" You scoffed, the deadpan look never faltering from your face and causing his goofy smile to fall; finally realising you were being serious.

"Well... no you don't but... Do you want me to do you against the mirror or on here?" Charles asked frowning down at the bench before bouncing up and down on it to make sure it was sturdy enough for your spontaneous demand.

"I don't really care," You almost moaned, smoothing your hands across his strong chest and over his tense shoulders, leaning down and pressing your lips to his damp neck again.

"I don't wanna risk breaking this because it was the last one at the shop so I guess we could do it against the mirrors…”

The hesitation in his voice caused your brows to furrow in disappointment and your hands to drop from his shoulders as you stood up straight, looking down at your boyfriend with a frown.

"Jeez, don't get too excited about it."

The sarcasm was dripping from your tone as Charles shook his head fervently, quickly reaching out to pull you back. All he could think about daily was making love to you in different places in the house and shockingly, the home gym hadn’t been ticked off the list but god, did he want to. He was already twitching thinking about it, the tightness of his shorts already cutting off circulation to his legs.

"No, no. Baby, look at you – I am so excited but you caught me off guard and I was just trying to think… what’s the word? Logically… Logistically…”

"It’s logistically but honey – you called me in here and made me watch you gyrating and make sex noises, and then you told me I look cute and now you're caught off guard that I want to have sex with you?... Are you okay?" You joked, pressing the back of your hand against Charles’ sticky forehead, pretending to check if he had a temperature or if he even had a pulse at all.

He laughed, borderline giggled and shook his head, "Well, when you say it like that, it makes sense. I just didn't think you'd get turned on over that."

You couldn't help but laugh in his face at his assumption, "You're shirtless and sweaty and wearing shorts that are so tight that I can see your dick... There's no way you didn't think this would get me going."

You wagged your finger up and down his body and Charles simply shrugged, hardening by the second, "It didn't even cross my mind but if it's getting your going then let's fucking go!"

Charles slapped his hands down on his lap and immediately reached for the drawstring on your shorts. “These are definitely coming off…” He murmured, eyes narrowed in concentration as he slid them down your legs.

"I promise if we break the bench, I will personally call every single shop in Monaco and replace it.”

You stepped out of the cotton material around your ankles, grasping Charles’ shoulders for balance as he tugged on his own shorts; finally liberating himself of the constriction caused by his own unadulterated arousal. He had no control when it came to you.

"Jeez, you are horny," Charles teased as you climbed on top of him; his tactile hands guiding your knees to each side of his thighs with a devilish grin.

He was in his element with you on top of him; he had the perfect view of his girl and he could feel how ready you were for him when you rested on his thigh, your slickness cool against his soft skin. He loved how dialled in you were to his touch, every little wince or mumble making his heart pound harder in his chest – blood rushing to his dick every time you whispered in his ear.

But he knew that you knew how much he craved having you like this so of course he teased you in spirited retaliation, like any man desperately in love does to the one he adores the most.

“You know that if you ever need to get some inspiration, you can always come in and watch me work out, baby. You like it a lot, huh?”

"I do and I intend to enjoy this so shut up."

Now he was really hard, worked up beyond his limits.

As a distraction from his edge, he went back to what he did best – kissing you. You were both as pent up as each other, embarrassingly desperate for two people who had been going at it hammer and tong all weekend but you couldn’t get enough. It wasn’t until the firm grip on your hips tightened even more that you finally felt how enthusiastic he was about fucking you in his gym.

"You taste like lemons," Charles mumbled as your tongues collided.

You couldn’t mask the smirk on your lips as he kissed you again, reaching down and massaging him over his boxer briefs. You pulled away slightly from the kiss, ghosting his swollen lips as you softly stroked him in your hand.

"I bet if you'd seen me eating that popsicle, you would've felt the same way as I did watching you lift those stupid weights," and Charles chuckled at your annoyingly accurate theory, his warm breath fanning over my face before seizing your lips again, wiping that smirk on your sweet lips.

"I probably wouldn’t have lasted, let's be absolutely honest, ma belle," He whispered back with a knowing smile, completely unashamed to be enamoured by the woman slowly stoking him, eyes fluttering shut from the pleasure surging through his body.

“Maybe next time, sweetheart.”

Charles simply smiled, eyes barely open as he watched your bodies connecting in the most intimate way, tongue quickly swiping across his bottom lip in preparation for your kiss. As you gripped him tight in your hand and bottomed out on his achingly hard cock, you pressed your lips to his, forced to swallow the loud moan falling from your lips.

l' attente, you whimpered before a sharp inhale caused Charles’ eyes to shoot up to your closed ones, searching your face for any pain.

"You good?" He asked softly but swiftly with his hands firmly placed on the outside of your thighs, gently holding you in place until you have him the okay to move his hips.

"So good," You breathed, tilting your neck back and arching your spine to change the angle a little, feeling that sweet spot deep inside you being brushed ever so gently, “You feel amazing right there.”

Once you both hit that toe curling, achingly good rhythm that you had perfected together, Charles rested his chin on your shoulder and watched how mind-numbingly hot you looked riding him in the mirror, his hands firmly grabbing your ass and spreading you out like a meal he was desperate to devour.

"My god..." He growled as you looked down and followed his eye line, biting your puffy bottom lip when you realised he was watching himself disappear inside you, every inch taken care of. And you too, were groaning at the sight.

“You look gorgeous riding my dick, baby.”

"We look sexy," You were quick to correct, breathless from both the sight of Charles’ large, veiny hands leaving prints on your backside and his relentlessness to have you losing your goddamned mind on his dick.

Both had you twisted in knots, the pit in your stomach tightening with every thrust and all you could do was thank whoever had invented weight training because boy, were you reaping the benefits now. Sex in your home gym – tick.

+ + +

parlez-vous français? (the sequel to itch)

masterlist | askbox

[blog-o-meter]

Room On Fire - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: With a few extra days left for holiday break before having to return to set, Nicholas holds up his end of the deal and decides to visit (Y/N) before the new year to get to know her family. (Y/N) is excited but nervous to have him over, and of course, things don’t go as planned.

warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, fingering, blowjob, shower sex, recording, public sex

required listening: Rooms On Fire by Stevie Nicks

word count: 42,987

a/n: oh my god guys 42k words CRYING EMOJI!! ok so since this one is so long, I might take a short break from the room series until I can figure out where the story might be going next and maybe focus my efforts on shorter, isolated fics. pls pls PLEASE let me know what you liked/didn't like, as it'll help me with improving my writing!! and if you'd like, send requests/ideas to my ask!! I'll definitely need the help to get out of the 'room' box I put myself in. Again, you don’t need to read the other parts, each part could be enjoyed individually!

Room 5 (Part 1) | Making Room (Part 2) | Room To Breathe (Part 4)

reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated and let me know if you’d like to see more!

It arrived — the day that I had been both anticipating and dreading since Nicholas had first mentioned it in passing; it was the day he would visit me and meet my family for the first time. I had imagined the moment a hundred different ways, rehearsing possible conversations and preparing myself for every conceivable reaction. Still, nothing could quiet the tiny knot of anxiety in my chest as I cleaned the house, preparing for his arrival.

Desperate to keep my family away from him, I first tried to subtly hint to him that a hotel would be the best place for him to stay, as it would give us more privacy, and for a moment, I had him convinced. I told him we could be as loud as we wanted, neither of us had to be on edge the entire time, and there was room service! However, my mom came into my room without knocking, like always, her feather duster in hand.

I immediately tensed up at her presence, turning my laptop screen slightly away from her and leaning over the camera. “Mom, I’m on call with Nic,” I whispered to her.

She swatted her hand lightly, dismissing my hint for privacy, “It’s ok, honey. You continue; I’m just dusting,” she smiled politely, though I knew it was anything but polite. Mischievous, more like.

I didn’t want to hang up on Nicholas, knowing he only had just a few minutes before he had to get back to work and I wouldn’t have another chance to talk to him until the day after, so reluctantly, I continued our FaceTime call with my mom in the room. Though, perhaps, I should’ve known better.

“What day would your flight be?” I asked him, bringing my leg up onto the seat of the chair and resting my chin on my knee, keeping an eye on my mother as she shifted the stuff on top of my dresser around.

I watched as he pulled the camera goofily close to his face as he tapped away on his phone to read the airline webpage, earning a soft giggle out of me. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips as he realized his camera was on his forehead, “There’s one on a Sunday,” he spoke as he pulled his phone away so I could admire his entire face, leaning back into the couch in his trailer.

He had an endearing grin, an amusing contrast from the pristine business suit and fake blood splattered all over his face for the new American Psycho movie he starred in. He looked absolutely hot.

His grin lingered for a moment, but I couldn’t help noticing how it didn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually did. His boyish excitement for the role, which had been contagious at the start of filming, seemed to have dimmed. The twinkle that used to light up his face whenever he talked about his craft — the way he’d gush about his favorite scenes or the complexities of the character — was missing.

“You’ll have a few days off after, right?” I asked softly, studying him.

Nicholas nodded, brushing a hand through his messy hair, smearing some of the fake blood onto his temple without noticing. “Yeah, Luca’s giving us a break before we hit the really heavy scenes after the holidays.”

“How’s that going?” I asked, keeping my voice light, though I could feel the weight behind the question. “Are you… still excited about it?”

For a moment, his expression softened, the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, of course. It’s just…” He paused, looking down at his hands as if he were trying to find the right words. “I mean, I knew Patrick Bateman was dark, but really stepping into his world…” He trailed off, his brows knitting together.

I leaned forward slightly. “Are you taking care of yourself?” I asked gently.

He looked up at the camera, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "You sound like my therapist," he teased, but the humor dian't fully land. He shifted on the couch, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm fine. Really. It's just... Patrick gets under your skin, you know? He's not the kind of guy you can just shake off at the end of the day."

I nodded, understanding but not fully convinced. Nicholas had always been dedicated to his craft, immersing himself completely in every role he took on. But this time felt different. The intensity of Patrick Bateman — the violence, the obsession with perfection, the darkness – seemed to be seeping into him in ways he couldn't quite articulate, at least to me.

"It's okay to take a step back," I said softly. "Even if it's just for a few days. You don't have to carry him around with you all the time."

He let out a soft laugh, but it was strained, almost hollow. "Easier said than done. This role is... it's everything l've ever wanted. It's iconic. But sometimes I wonder..." He stopped himself, shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought. "Never mind. It's fine."

I frowned, my heart aching for him. "Nic," I said firmly, catching his attention. "You can talk to me. Whatever you're feeling, it's okay. You don't have to carry it alone."

His gaze softened, the vulnerability in his eyes clear even through the screen. "I know," he murmured. "And that's why I can't wait to see you. You... you're my anchor, you know that?“

My chest tightened at his words, a mixture of love and concern washing over me. "I'll be here," I promised. “The flight’s on a Sunday, you said?”

I watched as he nodded his head. I clapped my hand once, hoping to lighten the mood a bit, “That’s perfect. I’ll be able to pick you up then,” I said, trying to focus on him and not the fact that my mom was still pretending to dust the same spot on my dresser our entire conversation.

“Pick him up from where?” she chimed in, her tone light, but her interest was anything but. She tried to keep her voice low enough so Nicholas wouldn’t be able to hear, but of course, he did.

“The airport,” I replied curtly. “I told you he might visit.”

“Oh, you did!” She rounded my bed and made her way over to my desk, hugging my shoulders as she bent down to look at my screen, “Are you staying at that new hotel downtown, Nicholas? It’s very nice.” She flashed a too-bright smile at the camera, making no effort to hide her eavesdropping.

Nicholas straightened himself out the moment my mom came into frame, sitting straight on the couch, pulling the camera away from his face even further, and politely smiling at the camera, “I hadn’t booked anything yet. We were still figuring that out.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” she swatted her hand, smiling, “You can come stay with us!” She exclaimed, tightening her grip around my shoulders. I stiffened under hold. Her nails were basically digging into my skin like talons. She was the hawk, and I was the frail little mouse trapped in her hold.

“Nicholas and I were thinking about staying in a hotel,” I interjected, hoping she’d take the hint and not insist. But then my mom leaned closer to the camera, her voice taking on that sickly sweet tone she always used when she wanted something.

“Nonsense. Nicholas, we might have a full house, but you’re more than welcome to stay with (Y/N) in her room. Plus, it’ll give us a chance to get to know you better,” she smiled.

I could see the conflict flash across Nicholas's face, his instinct to be polite overriding any chance of him declining. He gave me a small, apologetic smile before saying, “That’s incredibly nice, Mrs. (Y/L/N). I’d be happy to stay with you.”

My stomach sank as my mom beamed with triumph, practically patting herself on the back for winning him over. She gave him one last beaming smile before finally releasing me and strolling out of the room and shutting the door behind her, as if she hadn’t undermined my entire plan to keep Nicholas as far away from the family as possible.

As soon as she was out of earshot, I turned back to Nicholas, my face twisted into a grimace. “I am so sorry.”

His laugh was soft and warm, putting me at ease despite my embarrassment. “It’s fine, really. She’s just looking out for you. Like how you look out for me.”

His optimism was endearing, but he didn’t understand the half of it. What he didn’t know was that there was an unspoken tension between my mom and I ever since I came back from visiting him in Los Angeles. I had hoped it would simmer down over time, like it always does, but this time… it felt much different. The tension with my mom had always followed a predictable pattern: her attempts to assert control, my efforts to maintain some semblance of independence, and eventually a cooling-off period where we both pretended nothing had ever happened.

This time, though, the friction felt more invasive, more calculated. It wasn’t just her usual meddling or harmless nagging; she was weaving herself into something that mattered to me more than anything else, something I was still learning how to protect. Having Nicholas  in my life had introduced a complication she couldn’t fully control, and so her presence was doubling — hovering over me in my own room, inserting herself into conversations. The more I tried to pull myself away, the more she pressed, as if refusing to let me slip away into any world that did not revolve around her approval.

Nicholas’s voice brought me out of my thoughts, “Plus, don’t you think it’ll be hot to have me tangled between your pink bed sheets?”

I gasped at his comment, rushing to lower the volume a bit, afraid my mom might be lingering outside my door. “Nicholas,” I whispered, widening my eyes, proceeding to bring my finger up to my lips to shush him. We had never talked dirty so openly on a FaceTime call during the day, and not right after my mom had been inside my room.

His head fell back in a fit of laughter, “C’mon, don’t tell me otherwise.”

I tried to fight the smile curling at the end of my lips, glancing over to my bed. I imagined Nicholas lying there, his long frame sprawled across the pink sheets I’d grown up with — the ones my mom had refused to let me replace because they still had a few good years left, even though they were already close to 12 years old.

I pictured the way his hands would skim the edges of my cream-colored quilt, the slight smirk that would curl on his lips as he teased me about my room — probably something about the dolls I’d never outgrown or the fairy lights I’d strung around my window. And then he’d pull me close, his teasing forgotten, his voice low and rough as he whispered something that would send a shiver down my spine.

“Doesn’t your break end in a bit?” I asked, ignoring his question purposefully.

A satisfied grin splayed across his face, knowing he was right about my fantasy. “Okay, I’ll book the flight and send you the details,” he sighed, sad to hang up. “I’ll call you tomorrow, babe,” he brought his phone up to his lips and kissed the camera.

“Bye, Nic,” I blew him a kiss before waving goodbye and hanging up, letting out a sigh and letting myself fall back into my chair.

Fuck, he’s visiting.

I tried to hide Nicholas’s existence from my family when we first started talking, particularly my mom, for as long as I could, knowing that the moment they’d find out, I’d be relentlessly teased about him or they would just anticipate the moment it was over between us. It was months and months of late night phone calls and trying to bite back the smile on my face as I texted him during family outings. There were times my family, mainly my mom, pointed out my constant habit of stepping out for a bit or excusing myself while we hung out or going to bed “early,” but they never really pressed after I gave them a plausible excuse.

However,  when I came back from Los Angeles and my mom had noticed my new necklace — the one he had given me with his initial engraved on the back — the suspicious look on her face was enough for me to give in, reluctantly telling her the truth about my trip to Los Angeles.

“What do you mean you met up with some guy?!” She angrily asked me, squeezing her temples with her fingers and closing her eyes in irritation, her hallmark sign of disappointment. It was like she had just been disillusioned with the “perfect” daughter she had raised all these years. In a way, however, I understood her anger. The idea of your child flying cross-country to meet up with a guy she hadn’t told you about was scary. But I was 23-years-old — not a child.

She paced back and forth in the living room while I sat anxious on the couch, my carry-on still at my feet, trying my best to calm her down, though I knew she wouldn’t. “He’s not just some guy, Mom,” I had said, my voice cracking under the weight of her judgment. “Nicholas is… different. He loves me,” I said, grazing my finger over my heart charm, wishing Nicholas was with me in this moment. In a way, he was. He always was.

My mom stopped mid-stride, narrowing her eyes at me as if I had just uttered the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. Her gaze then softened, sitting down next to me and running her fingers delicately through my hair, sympathetically smiling at me, as if I was a little baby, too new to the world. “Loves you?” She asked softly, resting her finger under my chin, “Honey, do you even know what love is?“

Her words stung more than I expected. “I do, Mom,” My voice was soft but firm, though it was clear she wasn’t convinced. “He showed me what love is supposed to be like, and it’s not…” I spoke, glancing over to her hands on my face before my gaze faltered downwards, afraid to look her in the eye.

She sighed heavily, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” The undertone of condescension still lingered in her voice, like I was too naive to understand the risks of putting my heart in someone else’s hands. And I did understand the risks, completely. After that weekend, I had decided that Nicholas was worth all the heartbreak that might come with loving him. I loved him that much.

I flinched, my fingers curling into fists in my lap. “You don’t even know him,” I retorted, my voice sharper than I intended. Quick to de-escalate, I sighed and softened my tone, “He’s not like that, Mom. He cares about me.”

She sat quiet for a moment, petting my hair one last time before retracting and crossing her arms. She eyed me like I was some sort of puzzle she desperately wanted to crack, but then, she broke the silence, “Do you at least have any pictures of your trip with him?”

I sniffled, a little apprehensive at her sudden curiosity. She never resigned so easily. Reluctantly, I pulled out my phone from my pocket, scrolling to the folder I’d created on the plane over, just for the two of us. My thumb hovered over the screen for a second, debating whether showing her these pictures would make things better or worse. But then I thought of Nicholas — his genuine smile, the way he laughed, the way he made me feel seen — and thought maybe showing her the pictures would ease her mind a bit.

I handed her the phone, bracing myself for her reaction. She tapped through the photos slowly, her brows furrowing at first, but gradually her expression softened. There was a selfie of us in his car after he had picked me up from the airport, the bouquet he had gotten me between us. Another of him making a silly face while we ate dinner at his place together. Another of us at the park while he lay reading his book on the picnic blanket. Another of us at the party we had gone to. And then there was my favorite — a candid shot he’d taken of me laughing, completely unaware he even had his phone out, the morning after he had given me the necklace.

Her lips twitched into a small smile as she swiped. “He’s… handsome,” she admitted grudgingly, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “And you look happy.”

I nodded, the lump in my throat easing slightly as I looked at the picture of myself laughing. “Yeah,” I spoke softly, clutching at my necklace.

So now, there I was, anxiously pacing around the house trying to fix anything that was out of place and tidying up before I had to go pick Nicholas up at the airport.

I started in the kitchen, preparing a sheet of cookies and throwing them into the oven while I started the chores. The sunlight streaking past the tree branches and through the window at the end of the kitchen highlighted every crumb and speck of dust that I hadn’t noticed before. I could recognize almost every meal each crumb and stain belonged to. Ew, is this really how we had been eating this entire week?

I grabbed a sponge and went to work, scrubbing in tight circles until the faint stains disappeared and swiped the crumbs off every surface. The floors were next. Armed with a broom, I swept every inch of the tile, then mopped it until it gleamed. I emptied the sink of dishes, meticulously washed and dried each one, and arranged them neatly in the cabinets.

Next was the living room. I fluffed every pillow on the couch and straightened the throws draped over the armrests. The coffee table bore the marks of messy nieces and nephews that loved to snack in front of the TV, so I wiped it down, replacing the haphazardly stacked magazines with a single glossy issue arranged just so. The family photos lining the media console caught my eye, and I quickly dusted them, making sure none looked out of place.

Then, I headed to my room, the place he’d be staying. The faded pastel walls, which I once adored, now felt too juvenile. The colorful glow-in-the-dark stickers I’d haphazardly plastered on my ceiling years ago seemed to mock me. It made my ceiling look like a cake topped with delicious sprinkles, which usually I liked, but now, maybe it was a little too much. The tiny collection of Hello Kitty and Bratz dolls that adorned the top of my desk stared back at me with judgment. Even the lace-trimmed curtains, which cast a soft, romantic glow during sunset, felt too frilly and immature. The only things that brought a semblance of maturity to my room were my bookshelves and the collection of CDs, DVDs and books that adorned them.

I sighed, scanning the room critically. It was as if my life was on display, my personality in every corner, and I wasn’t sure I wanted Nicholas to see every phase of it, at least not so in-his-face. I started with the easiest fix: the toys. Carefully, I gathered my Hello Kitty and Bratz dolls, wrapping them in a spare sheet of fabric and tucked them into the top of my closet. Out of sight, out of mind. I would be sure to put them back out once Nicholas flew back to New York.

I stood back, chewing on my lip, trying to decide if the stickers on the ceiling would be a dealbreaker. Eventually, I climbed onto my bed and stood on my tiptoes, peeling  most of them off, though a few stubborn ones refused to budge. I decided those could stay. Maybe I could make some romantic comment about them as Nicholas and I lay in bed together. He’d absolutely love my attempt at corniness.

I took down the lace curtains and replaced them with some old, sheer ones that used to be in the guest room before my mom redecorated. My bedside table was decluttered, leaving only a small lamp, my alarm clock, and the novel I was currently reading — American Psycho. The pink walls, however, were a lost cause. Suddenly, I kicked myself for choosing the princess pink color instead of the porcelain white like my mom had suggested all those years ago. She was right. How was she always right?

Lastly, I stared at the simple, floral cream quilt that adorned my bed. It looked so romantic, possibly my favorite piece of decor in my entire room. It made me feel like I was in some house in the southern countryside. And after fantasizing how Nicholas might look tangled up between the quilt and the sheets, I wasn’t particularly in any rush to switch them out. Those could stay, too.

I stepped back to survey my work. The changes weren’t much, but it eased my mind a little. It was minimalist compared to its usual state, looking the tiniest bit less like a dollhouse, but it didn't feel entirely foreign. It still looked like me, just... a more put-together version of me. It felt wrong, hiding a part of myself. It’s not like he hadn’t seen my room before in the background of all our FaceTime calls, but I wanted him to see me as an adult — someone confident, someone who could match his level of  independence. 

The smell of warm cookies wafted into my room, prompting me to walk out to the kitchen. As the hot air enveloped me when I pulled the treats out of the oven, my mom made her way over. I whipped my head up at the sound of her footsteps, smiling at her.

“I’m just gonna let these cookies rest while I finish getting ready, then I’ll head over to the airport to pick up Nicholas. Is everybody gonna be here by the time we’re back?” I asked, setting the tray of cookies down on top of the stove and fanning the heat away with the oven mitt.

My mom leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her face flashing a closed-mouth smile. “Your brothers are already on their way, and you know your dad always gets home right before dinner is served.” Sensing my nervousness, she inched her way over, cupping my face in her hands. “Are you sure you’re ready to have Nicholas stay with us for an entire weekend?”

It was the way she asked the question that irritated me beyond words. It was like she was purposely trying to psych me out. But… was I? Of course, I wanted Nicholas to be here. I hadn’t seen him in so long, since Los Angeles, but the thought of him navigating my family… The thought alone was enough to second guess my excitement. And what if truly seeing me in my natural element made him second guess visiting? What if we overwhelmed him? Would they scare him away?

I pulled her hands away from my face, walking away from her to make my way toward my room, “Why do you always do that?” I didn’t mean to sound irritated, but I did.

My mom followed after me, her footsteps deliberate but not rushed. “Do what?” she asked, feigning innocence, though the knowing tone in her voice betrayed her.

I turned to face her in the hallway, trying to keep my voice level. “Make me doubt myself. You always ask questions like you’re trying to plant some little seed of doubt in my head. You’re the one that insisted Nicholas stay here while he visited. Why is it suddenly a problem?”

Her breath caught in her throat, out of surprise…? She subtly shrugged her shoulders, looking down at her feet, “It’s not a problem; I’m just saying,” she spoke softly.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe of my room. “Just saying what, Mom? That you don’t think he’s going to stick around? That I shouldn’t let myself get too comfortable? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

She straightened, her expression hardening for just a moment before softening again. “Honey,” she began, her voice gentler this time. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. You’re young, and he’s… well, he’s in demand. It’s not that I don’t want this to work for you. I just—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’ve seen how these things can go.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Mom, I know his life is different, but we’ve made it work so far, haven’t we? Hell, you didn’t even know I was dating him for months! I know what I’m doing — what we’re doing — Mom. I’m not a little girl.”

That’s when she took a peek inside my bedroom, noting the irony in my words. There was a long pause before she nodded, her hand reaching out to gently cup my cheek. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “If you say so,” she said finally. Does she hear herself? She must. “Now, get ready. I’ll start dinner,” she gently squeezed my shoulder and walked away.

I retreated to my bedroom, shutting the door and leaning against it, letting out a shaky breath. I slid down to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, taking a moment to collect myself. My heart was pounding in my chest. Why did every conversation with my mom feel like a battle, one she always had the upperhand in? It wasn’t that I didn’t value her opinion, I did, but her doubts, her subtle jabs, they clung to me like stubborn cobwebs, clouding my thoughts.

I tilted my head back, staring at the few stubborn star stickers on the ceiling. Nicholas. He always had this uncanny way of making me feel like I could handle anything, like I was more than enough just as I was. That was one of the biggest things I had learned the last time I saw him, and it was something I’d carry close to my heart. I could already hear his voice in my head, telling me to breathe, to let it go. He was my calm, my calm that was about to land in an hour.

I pushed myself up, determined to shake off the unease. There wasn’t time to dwell on this. I needed to finish getting ready. I rummaged through my closet, deciding on a simple blouse and pants paired with some fur-lined boots to brace my feet for the unseasonably cold weather. Yes, it was technically winter and there would be some cool breezes here and there, but it would never get this cold until late January. 

As I checked myself in the mirror, I caught a glimpse of the necklace he’d given me, glinting against my skin. I ran my fingers over the charm, taking a steadying breath. Whatever my mom thought, whatever doubts she had, they didn’t matter. Nicholas and I were building something real, something that felt solid in a way I couldn’t explain to her, and I don’t think anybody besides us could understand that. But was it so wrong of me to still want her support?

Grabbing my keys, I headed out, my mom giving me a knowing look as I passed through the kitchen. Silently, I grabbed some warm cookies and packed them into a paper bag so Nicholas could have something to snack on during our drive back.

“Drive safe,” my mom spoke, her voice softer this time, almost apologetic. I gave her a nod, not trusting myself to say more, and stepped outside into the cold evening air.

The drive to the airport was quieter than I expected. The town lights began to grow scarce the more I drove as I navigated the backroads, my mind drifting between thoughts of Nicholas and my mom’s parting words. I rolled the windows down slightly, allowing the cool air to rush in and mix with the warm scent of cookies. The radio played softly in the background, but my mind wasn’t on the music. I was thinking about Nicholas — how I’d be able to bury my face in his chest again and absorb his scent. I missed being in his arms more than anything in the world. He was the only one that truly understood me, my wants and needs.

The soft hum of the tires against the asphalt seemed to lull me into a sense of calm, though my thoughts raced on. The further I drove, the more I could imagine Nicholas’s smile when he finally saw me, when I could wrap my arms around him after months apart and our busy schedules — his movie, my new project at work. It almost felt surreal. My hands tightened around the wheel, not from nervousness, but from the surge of excitement that made my heart race in my chest. I couldn’t wait for the second that I could kiss him again, devour him. As the airport slowly came into view, I felt the first real pang of reality. The distance between us, the time apart, seemed to fade into the background with each passing minute.

Our town’s airport was tiny and only a couple of gates, so there were barely any cars parked on the curb at Arrivals. I pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, the glow from the overhead lights casting long shadows across the pavement. I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of excitement and anticipation coursing through me. As I parked the car, I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart. This was it. In just a few moments, Nicholas would be standing right in front of me.

I grabbed the bag of cookies and quickly made my way toward the entrance. The chill in the air nipped at my skin, but it didn’t matter. I could feel the warmth of the moment building with each step.

As I entered the terminal, the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the echoing chatter of the few travelers filled the air. I scanned the area, hoping to spot Nicholas right away. And then, I saw him riding the escalator downward toward the ground floor, tapping away at his phone..

Just then, my phone rang loudly, echoing through the borderline empty airport. Nicholas whipped his head up at the sound, the biggest grin growing on his face the moment his eyes landed on me.

I felt my breath hitch as I watched him. He was dressed casually but effortlessly — a black sweater layered under a dark blue blouson, paired with dark jeans that clung perfectly to his long legs. A duffel bag hung over one shoulder, his other hand tucked into his pocket as he rode the escalator with an easy confidence.

But it wasn’t just his clothes that caught my attention. It was him — all of him. His perfectly trimmed hair was slightly tousled, like he’d been running his hands through it during the flight, and the faintest shadow of two days worth of stubble dusted his jaw. His eyes, those impossibly deep, brown eyes, were locked on me, warm and full of emotion. It was a stark contrast to the last time I’d seen him on FaceTime, his gaze weighed down by the intensity of his role. Now, that familiar sparkle was back, and it was all for me.

Nicholas didn’t hesitate, not for a second. Immediately, he trotted as quickly as he could down the moving escalator. The moment his feet hit the floor, the distance between us closed in an instant. My heart thumped in my chest, a mix of nerves and longing that had been building for the last 6 months. He reached me in what felt like a breath, his arms wrapping around me, lifting me off the ground as if the weight of time apart hadn’t existed at all.

I laughed, a sound of pure relief and joy, burying my face in the crook of his neck as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. His scent was all-encompassing — that intoxicating cedarwood and vanilla. I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of him against me, a sensation I had craved for far too long.

He set me down on the floor gently, his forehead resting gently against mine, as though absorbing the closeness before something more. The world around us seemed to blur and slow, the soft hum of the airport fading into the background as I lost myself in him. Slowly, he leaned closer, and I felt his lips hover just above mine, teasing. The tension was palpable, the space between us charged with everything that had been building since we’d last seen each other. Then, with a quiet sigh, he kissed me.

It wasn’t rushed or frantic, though every second felt like it held a lifetime’s worth of longing. His lips were soft, tender, as if asking for permission even though we both knew the answer. My hands found their way to his neck, pulling him closer, needing him just a little more. The kiss deepened, slow and perfect, as if the universe had arranged this exact moment just for us. The world, the noise, the doubts — all of it faded away. All that existed was the undeniable bond between us and us alone.

A quiet groan escaped from the depths of his chest. The sound sent a ripple of warmth through me, igniting a deep flame in me. His hands cupped my face, his thumbs gently brushing along my jawline, as if he couldn't get enough of me, of this moment. It was as though we were trying to make up for every moment we had spent apart, pouring every unspoken word, every feeling, into that kiss. His lips were insistent now, but still patient — a perfect balance of hunger and tenderness. My fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him even closer, if that was even possible. His breath mingled with mine, warm and inviting, and I was lost in the taste of him — the familiar, comforting yet electrifying taste of someone who felt like home.

The heat between us was undeniable, growing stronger with each press of his lips, each soft sigh that escaped his mouth. His hands trailed down my back, pulling me flush against him, and I felt the solid press of his chest against mine, the weight of his presence grounding me. He was here. Finally, here.

When we finally pulled away, our lips swollen and tingling from the intensity, neither of us could speak right away. We were both breathing heavily, our foreheads resting together, as if unwilling to separate for even a moment. The airport had faded completely, the hum of the air conditioning and distant footsteps drowned out by the pounding of our hearts. His eyes, darkened with emotion, searched mine as though he was memorizing every detail, every little thing that had been waiting for this reunion.

"God, I needed that more than you know," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, a trace of longing that faltered into a soft chuckle.

I smiled, my hands still wrapped behind his head. “I think we both did,” I murmured, my voice thick with the same longing he’d just expressed.

Nicholas furrowed his eyebrows, confused at the warm feeling behind his neck and reached for the hand cradling the back of his head, feeling the warm paper bag. “What’s this?” He asked.

I chuckled softly, realizing I still had the bag of cookies clutched in my hand. “Oh, right,” I said, pulling back just enough to glance down at the bag. “I made you something. Thought you might like a little something sweet after your flight.”

His grin widened as he pulled the bag from my hand, his fingers brushing mine in the process. “Cookies, huh?” He raised an eyebrow playfully, his voice filled with affection. “You really know the way to my heart, don’t you?”

I laughed, feeling a warmth spread through me at the simple exchange. “I know you have a thing for sweet things,” I teased.

Nicholas gave me a mock-serious look, tearing open the top of the bag and pulling out a cookie. He took a bite, his eyes closing for a moment. He took his time, savoring the soft texture of the cookie. His lips parted slightly as he chewed, his gaze momentarily shifting to the ceiling as though he were lost in the moment. The way he closed his eyes, lost in the indulgence of something so simple sent a shiver down my spine.

As he swallowed, his eyes slowly met mine again, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Mmm," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the hint of satisfaction curling around each moan.

The corner of my mouth quirked up, unable to tear my eyes away from the way he continued to enjoy the cookie, each bite slow and deliberate. He leaned in slightly, taking another bite. The way his lips wrapped around the cookie, taking in the sweetness with such intent, made my pulse quicken. He didn't break eye contact, holding me captive with the intensity of his gaze.

As Nicholas finished the cookie, he dusted the crumbs off his hands and pulled me in by the hips, planting a kiss near my ear, whispering, “They taste amazing.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine at his whisper, the heat of his breath sending a jolt through me. My heart raced, my skin tingling from the closeness of his body, the warmth of his kiss still lingering on my skin. But as much as my body yearned for more, I knew I had to keep it together. We were still in public, still in an airport, and I had my family waiting for us back at the house.

But Nicholas, ever the tease, seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He pulled back just enough to look at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know," he said, his voice low and teasing, "I think these cookies might be my new favorite thing."

I chuckled, trying to maintain my composure, but his gaze never left mine, that knowing smile never leaving his lips. He stepped closer, his body nearly flush against mine, and the heat between us intensified. I could feel the quiet electricity that buzzed through the air, every inch of my body aching to close the distance, but I couldn't. Not here. Not now.

Nicholas, as if sensing my struggle, leaned in again, but this time, he just hovered near my lips, not kissing me, but close enough to make my breath hitch. His eyes flicked to my lips for a moment, then back up to my eyes, and he let out a soft, breathy laugh. "You look like you want more," he teased, his lips brushing lightly against mine but never fully committing.

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, and I knew I was flushed from the inside out. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath, but I couldn't fight the urge to lean into him, just a little bit more. My fingers curled into his shirt, but I stopped myself before I could pull him closer.

I let out a breath I didn't realize l'd been holding, trying to regain my composure. "You're cruel," I murmured, though I couldn't hide the smile tugging at my lips.

Nicholas grinned, leaning in one last time to place a soft kiss on my forehead. "You love it," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and affection.

I let out a soft laugh, feeling a sense of relief wash over me, despite the fire still simmering beneath the surface. As much as I wanted more — as much as I needed more — I knew we would have our time. But for now, the teasing, the gentle push and pull between us, would have to be enough, even if it wasn’t. I had to take him home to the firing squad waiting for him. Without another word, I took his hand and led us away from the terminal, leaving the heat between us simmering just beneath the surface.

As we stepped outside into the cool night air, the excitement of our reunion still buzzing between us, I slid into the driver's seat, giving Nicholas a quick glance before starting the engine as he climbed in and tossed his singular duffel bag to the backseat. I started the car, effortlessly driving us out of the parking lot, paying the fee, and leaving the airport behind.

The town was pitch black as we drove, especially the outskirts, where the few lampposts scattered along the main roads barely illuminated the way. Their weak, flickering lights cast long, eerie shadows across the pavement, creating fleeting impressions of movement that disappeared as quickly as they appeared. The resaca, with its still, dark waters and overgrown banks, stretched alongside the endless roads. The occasional glint of moonlight reflected off the surface, giving the area an almost ethereal, otherworldly quality.

Large properties lined the water, their sprawling lawns disappearing into the inky shadows of towering mesquite trees. Most of the houses were set far back from the road, their silhouettes barely visible through the dense foliage. A few of the homes had faint lights glowing from their windows, but not enough to make them seem particularly inviting. Creepy, more like.

During the drive, Nicholas and I participated in a conversation that was as if we had never been separated by distance or schedules. He refrained from telling me the entertaining details of his holidays at his dad’s over the phone, anticipating the moment he could tell me all about it in person. I had asked him how filming in the New York slush had been going, to which he would alternate between speaking somberly about how the filming had been tiring at times but also giving into his enthusiasm for having the privilege of playing such an iconic character and working under an equally iconic director.

He kept up a steady stream of anecdotes from his time away, his voice carrying a sense of nostalgia, as if sharing his experiences with me made them all the more real. I listened intently, laughing at his recreations of certain moments, watching him snack on the entire bag of cookies, and enjoying how effortlessly he seemed to slip back into the comfortable cadence of our conversations. Though, I could tell he was a little sleepy.

As we drove through the outskirts of town, the moonlight casting soft shadows over the winding road, I found myself stealing glances at him every few seconds. Truthfully, the more he talked, the more I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, off his lips. I was so excited to be near him again that I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, finding every excuse to run my fingers through his hair, hold my hand in his, or rest my hand on his knee. I just needed to feel him under my fingertips every second.

Nicholas responded in kind. He’d brush his fingers through the back of my head, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the hair near my ear. He’d grab my hand and leave gentle kisses on my knuckles and my wrist. But what drove me insane was when he rested his hand on my thigh, tracing lazy circles slowly. The touch was slow, deliberate, and it sent a jolt of desire straight through me. I couldn't focus on the road, not with his hand so close, so dangerously close. I sucked in a sharp breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

I felt Nicholas's gaze on me the moment I shifted in my seat, and I could feel his eyes tracing my every movement, the weight of his attention making my skin tingle. “How far are we from your house?” He asked, breaking the silence with a voice full of intrigue, as his hand inched ever so slightly upward, lightly squeezing my thigh.

I turned my head to look at him briefly before focusing back on the road. "10 minutes," I replied, too busy focusing on keeping my tone casual to notice the mischief in his voice.

Nicholas leaned closer, his hand moving inward and curling into the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Instinctively, I covered his hand with mine, gripping at his fingers. 

He chuckled, the sound rich and deep, and his hand didn't move away. Instead, he gently pressed his fingers against the warm curve of my thigh, sending a ripple of heat through me. His thumb brushed against my pants, slow and teasing, making it almost impossible to concentrate on the road. He didn't say anything right away, just let the silence settle, allowing the heat from his touch to fill the space.

My pulse quickened, and I found myself fighting the urge to pull him closer, to give in to the pull between us. But Nicholas was persistent. With my hand still hovering over his, he led his hand further in, his fingers trailing over the seam of my crotch. I dug my fingers into his, sharply inhaling.

“Am I distracting you?” He finally cooed.

I couldn’t answer right away. The words were lodged in my throat, lost somewhere between desire and restraint. The warmth of his touch seemed to burn through my clothes, and the teasing, slow pace of his movements only heightened the ache building inside me. My grip tightened around his fingers as I fought to steady my breath.

“Am I?” he pressed, his voice so low and soft, it was almost a whisper.

His fingers were still there, hovering so close to where I wanted them, but not quite touching exactly where I needed them. His hand shifted slightly, fingers pressing ever so gently into the warmth of my inner thigh, teasingly slow. I couldn't help the soft shudder that ran through me as the pressure built, each touch of his fingertips sending ripples of anticipation through my body. My breath came in shallow bursts, my pulse racing under the weight of his touch. I could feel the heat radiating from him, feel the weight of his gaze on me, daring me to answer, daring me to make the next move.

Not wanting to let him forget the fact we were on the way home to meet my family with just a few minutes left in the drive, I shook my head no.

Nicholas's lips curved into a smile, “No?” He unbuckled himself from his seat, turning his body toward me. As one hand braced the back of my neck, the other inching its way toward the zipper of my pants, slowly undoing it.

His fingers grazed the edge of my pants, and a breath caught in my throat. "Nic..." I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of the engine.

He didn't reply right away. Instead, he simply undid the button and slipped his hand under my jeans. I bit back a moan, jerking the wheel slightly. Nicholas glanced up at the road, chuckling, leaning toward me and letting his lips hover over my ear, “You should pull over,” he murmured, his voice husky.

I swallowed, trying to calm my racing pulse. "I can't," I whispered, my voice trembling with both desire and restraint.

Nicholas's hand was still between my legs, his fingers teasing and gently caressing, slowly but deliberately. I could feel the heat building in my core with every passing second, the line between what I wanted and what I could control blurring.

The warmth of his touch, the pressure of his fingers pressing gently against me, made every ounce of rational thought evaporate. I didn't know how much longer I could hold on. His thumb brushed against me again, and I let out a breathless gasp, my grip on the wheel faltering for a second. His hand didn't stop, his fingers moving with purpose, and I found myself gripping his wrist, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. He continued, though, his lips curling into a satisfied smile against my neck as he kissed the soft skin there.

"Do you want me to stop?" His voice was low, teasing, but there was something deeper in it now, a hunger that mirrored my own.

I didn't trust myself to speak, my mind spinning with conflicting desires. I shook my head again, unable to hold back the desperate need flooding my senses.

"Then you know what to do," he murmured, his lips brushing over my jawline before he kissed me again, this time deeper, more demanding.

My heart hammered in my chest as I reached for the blinker and slowly turned into somebody’s long dirt driveway. As we drove down the narrow, unlit dirt road, the car's headlights illuminated the trees on either side, casting long shadows across the path. My pulse raced, the anticipation of what was about to happen coursing through my veins. Nicholas's fingers never left their place, moving ever so slowly, deliberately, driving me insane with every touch.

I pulled the car to a stop about halfway through the driveway, not wanting to invade the person’s property too much. The engine hummed softly as I shifted into park, but the moment I turned the key, it felt as though the entire world had stopped with us.

Before I could even turn toward him, he was already reaching for me, his hand slipping into my hair, tugging me toward him. His kiss was urgent now, more forceful, as if we both needed to make up for lost time. My heart hammered in my chest, my hands immediately going to his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

His hand slid from my neck to my shoulder, gently pushing me back into the seat as he leaned over me, his body pressing against mine. The weight of his presence, the feeling of him so close, made my skin burn with need. My hands roamed to his chest, tugging at the hem of his shirt, desperate for more contact, more of him.

But just as his hand grazed the waistband of my jeans again, preparing to slip further down, the sound of an approaching car in the distance broke through the haze of our moment. Its headlights shone through my car windows, as it turned into the driveway, slowly making its way down. I froze, pulling away from him, my heart skipping a beat as I glanced quickly out the windshield. When the approaching car honked its horn, we realized we were blocking its path.

Nicholas let out a frustrated sigh, his body stiffening. He didn't pull away completely but rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed in silent frustration. We were both breathing heavily, our faces flushed from the heat of our kiss. He stifled a chuckle, brushing my hair with his hand, “Not our time, I guess.”

The sudden interruption felt like cold water on a heated moment. The car's headlights grew brighter, its engine revving slightly as it came closer. The car honked again, impatient now. Nicholas let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing over mine one more time before pulling back completely. He watched me with a playful grin as I maneuvered the car, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the back of my hand. He was teasing, his eyes twinkling with the kind of mischief that made me want to forget about everything — to simply lose myself in him. God, it was a little scary how he could make me do anything he wanted, but I loved the thought.

As we exited the driveway and turned into the backroad, a different kind of nerves settled in my stomach — the kind I didn’t like. I had no idea how Nicholas would react to meeting my family, given how chaotic my home life was, especially lately. And I didn’t know if my family would like him, though I knew he could charm the pants off them.

The knot in my stomach grew larger the closer we got home. The town lights started to grow in numbers, a sign we were close to arriving at my house. I looked to Nicholas then.

He intertwined his fingers with mine and brought our hands up to his lips for him to kiss.

With a deep breath, I nodded and continued driving, turning into my neighborhood. As we pulled up to the house, the lights inside were visible through the windows, casting a soft glow that made the house look even more inviting. I parked the car and turned off the engine, sitting still for a moment. My gaze shifted toward the house, where I could see the faint silhouettes of my family moving around inside.

In a way, I wanted my family to meet him, so they could see that I was happy and that I hit the jackpot meeting the most kind and loving man I could’ve ever hoped for. And I wanted my mom to see for herself that I was doing fine without all her interjecting and opinions about the way I was choosing to live my life. But I also so desperately wanted to maneuver the car out of the neighborhood and drive away with Nicholas. My mom would tear him apart — not to his face, she cares too much about people’s impressions about her to do that. But I knew that once he was out of earshot and I made myself available that she would pull me aside and begin making snide comments about his character or his life.

Nicholas sat quietly beside me for a moment, his hand still holding mine. Finally, he broke the silence. “Hey, hey, hey,” he spoke quietly, shifting closer toward my side of the car and delicately caressing my cheek, “it’s gonna be ok. I’m not going anywhere, ok?” he smiled softly and kissed the back of my hand. “I’m here for you.”

I leaned into his touch, nodding my head and kissing the ball of his thumb before stepping out of the car, the cold seemingly dropping temperature the more I lingered outside the house. I watched Nicholas as he reached into the backseat for his duffel bag and closed the door behind him, slinging his luggage around his shoulder and rounding the car, reaching his hand out for me to grab. He had that confident grin again, as if he were about to take on the world, and all I had to do was walk through the door with him.

My heart raced as I looked into his eyes, trying to gather the courage to face what lay ahead. Nicholas’s calm confidence, the steady way he held me, made it feel like everything might be okay. His reassurance was all I needed, and it was the push that led me to the door and opened it with a quiet confidence, stepping inside with Nicholas right behind me. The moment the door clicked shut, the familiar, tense atmosphere hit me like a wall, but I pushed through it. Having Nicholas by my side was all I really needed to get through anything.

My mom, who was in the kitchen clanging pots around, quickly scampered toward the entrance, a huge smile on her face, though I knew it was a farce. “Welcome home!” she exclaimed, her voice slightly too high-pitched to sound natural. Her eyes darted to Nicholas, scanning him quickly as if she were appraising him like some antique at a flea market. “You must be Nicholas. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you in person.”

Nicholas extended his hand with that disarming, movie-star smile of his. “It’s great to meet you, Mrs. (Y/L/N). Thank you for letting me stay here, and with (Y/N) in her room.”

She playfully swatted her hand, “It’s the least I can do.  Plus, It’s not like we have a guest room anyway,” she raised her voice during the last few words, sure to have my brothers — who were lounging in the living room — overhear her comment.

My eldest brother's scoff from the couch was audible enough to cut through the tension. He didn't even bother turning around, just called out lazily, "It’s not my fault my ex-wi—“

My mom quickly whipped her head and shushed him, before turning her head back toward us and flashing us a saccharine smile. “Well, dinner’s almost ready, honey. Why don’t you go say hi to your brothers then show Nicholas to your room so he could settle in? I hope you like cordon bleu, Nicholas?”

Nicholas chuckled, entirely unruffled. "Cordon bleu sounds perfect.”

Before I could glance back at her to gauge her emotion, she had already turned and was bustling back into the kitchen. Nicholas moved to remove his blouson and proceeded to help me take off my coat, hanging both on the hooks near the entrance. As Nicholas wrapped his arm around my waist, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding, leaning into him slightly. He kissed the top of my head before subtly leading me by the small of my back, encouraging me to walk us further into the house.

As we moved into the living room, the sound of the TV playing some sports highlights filled the air. My older brothers were sprawled on the couch, but they both looked up as we walked in. The eldest was the first to stand, brushing the invisible crumbs off his shirt. His expression softened into a genuine smile as he approached us. My older brother, the middle child, stood up next, towering over Nicholas by just a few inches, a little more relaxed but equally warm. I watched as they all introduced themselves to each other, Nicholas laughing, as he shook his hand, his smile beaming. I could already tell they were going to get along, which, thankfully, is one less thing to worry about.

“You guys settle in. We’ll save all the smalltalk for dinner,” my eldest brother smiled.

I shot him a look that said ‘thank you’ before pulling Nicholas away to my bedroom, feeling a little lighter. My brothers’ warmth had softened some of the anxiety that had been gnawing at me all day. Nicholas seemed completely at ease, which made me feel even better. Though, I wasn’t sure how he’d hold up against my mom’s subtle interrogation at dinner.

I hesitantly pushed open my bedroom door and stepped inside, flipping on the light. I glanced over to Nicholas, anxious for a reaction to my pink paradise bedroom, but he walked in with a complete look of wonder and a twinkle in his eye.

“Did you change some stuff?” He asked, dropping his duffel bag at the foot of the bed and approaching my dresser, running his finger over the table runner adorning it.

I scoffed, impressed, “How’d you know?”

He smiled, reaching for a picture frame on the dresser, admiring it for a moment before setting it back down and stepping closer to me, resting his hands on my hips, “(Y/N), we’ve been FaceTiming and sending each other photos for the last 10 months. I know your bedroom like the back of my hand. Example, I know you got rid of the dolls on your desk, and switched out your curtains.

With a little smile, I rested my arms on his shoulders, running my fingers through his hair, “I just didn’t want my room to seem too childish. Your apartment is just… so grown up.”

Nicholas chuckled softly, his hands sliding down to rest on my lower back, pulling me a little closer as he backed up into the bed and let us softly fall onto it, landing with a little bounce, “Your room is you, and I love that about it. Don’t change a thing just because of me.”

I swatted his chest lightly, and he laughed again, his smile so genuine it melted away the lingering tension in my chest. Being with Nicholas always felt like a safe harbor in the chaos of my life. He had a way of grounding me, reminding me that everything could be okay, even if it wasn’t perfect.

“Fine,” I sighed, “I’ll put the Hello Kitty back tomorrow.”

Just as Nicholas was about to lean forward to kiss me, a knock sounded through the door. My mom’s voice floated through, saccharine-sweet, but with an edge I knew all too well. “Dinner’s ready!“

I sighed, “We just can’t catch a break, can we?” I asked, referring to tonight’s missed opportunity to truly welcome Nicholas.

Nicholas smiled, planting a quick kiss on my lips before lifting us up off the bed and reaching for the door knob.

We made our way to the dining room, where the table was set far more elaborate than usual — the fancy plates and silverware that only came out for holidays or, in this case, the arrival of a special guest, which was never, until today. My mom was bustling around, setting down the final dishes of the spread with the practiced flair of someone who wanted everything to appear effortless.

Just then, my dad walked through the front door. He smiled over to Nicholas and I, enveloping me in the warmest hug, even though he had just walked in from the cold. “Hey, sweetie,” he smiled. His gaze fell on Nicholas and his face lit up. “This must be Nicholas! We’re excited to have you over,” he brought Nicholas in for a big hug.

It was so nice to see my dad give Nicholas the warm welcome my mom didn’t. Though he never really learned how to be as outward with his emotions like I had, my dad always knew when to choose the perfect moment to do so, like right now.

“Thank you, sir,” Nicholas said warmly, patting my dad’s back before pulling away. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“None of that ‘sir’ business,” my dad said, waving it off with a chuckle. “ And don’t be shy about seconds, we have plenty of food.”

My dad’s hearty laughter and easygoing demeanor were a stark contrast to my mom’s tightly wound facade. While she always seemed preoccupied with appearances and the opinions of others, my dad was grounded, warm, and genuine. He always tried to make people feel at ease around him.

“Trust me, I won’t be shy at all,” Nicholas softly chuckled, “I have to keep up my macros.”

Everyone circled around the table, choosing their seats. My mom sat at the head with my father on the opposite end, Nicholas and I sat on one side with me sitting closest to my mom, and my brothers on the opposite side. Nicholas, ever the gentleman, pulled out my chair for me and waited to sit down until I had settled in. I glanced over to my mom, who was eyeing us, studying us. He, however, didn’t notice, continuing to converse with my dad.

“How much do you weigh? 200?” My dad asked him, already serving himself a hearty portion of sides.

Nicholas nodded his head, “Yeah, 205. Do you lift?”

That’s when my dad flashed the biggest smile. By then, Nicholas, my dad, and my older brother had all started passionately talking about their gym routines — what protein powders and amino acid supplements they take, and what their current bench press is at. Their little huddle of gym talk left me, my mom, and my eldest brother to converse about anything but. We weren’t into that sort of thing.

All the while, everybody was serving themselves the hopefully delicious dinner my mom had prepared, as she had never cooked cordon bleu before until tonight. In fact, she hadn’t cooked any of this before, not the apple fritters, not the pasta salad, and certainly not the homemade tea. We were only ever a family of plain ol’ seasoned chicken and vegetables — steamed, grilled, in a soup, or in pasta. The homemade tea and the apple fritters were certainly new. A part of me wondered if under all the subtle criticism of Nicholas, maybe my mom had also simultaneously wanted to impress him.

I leaned over to Nicholas and opened my mouth to ask him if I could fix him a plate, but he interrupted me, his voice low and warm as he leaned in. “What do you want from the spread? I’ll fix you a plate,” he spoke quietly, squeezing my knee.

The gesture was so casual yet intimate that it sent a rush of warmth through me. I smirked at him, “I was gonna fix you one.”

Nicholas tilted his head, his smile playful yet tender. “How about I take care of you first, deal?” He asked quietly, brushing his hand over my knee and lightly squeezing it.

I rolled my eyes with a smile, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Fine. But don’t skimp on the pasta salad, okay?”

He chuckled, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “Got it.”

As he reached for the serving dishes, my mom’s gaze flickered to us, her expression carefully neutral. I could tell she was observing every detail — how Nicholas moved, how he spoke, how we interacted. She hadn’t said much since we sat down, but I knew her mind was racing. Nicholas, completely unbothered, assembled a plate for me with meticulous care. He even placed the apple fritter on the side so it wouldn’t touch the other food.

When he set the plate in front of me, he added a quiet, “There you go, beautiful,” as if it were just the two of us in the room.

I heard one of my brothers cough to hide a laugh, and the other smirked into his drink. Though, that was to be expected. They had never seen me bring anybody home before. Growing up, I had always been the spectator when it came to relationships. My brothers were seasoned pros at bringing girlfriends home, confidently showcasing their charm while I watched from the sidelines. One had his parade of high school sweethearts, always introducing them to the family with ease, before settling down with his now ex-wife. The other, though quieter, had his fair share of relationships too, and ended up moving to the city with his current girlfriend. And, of course, my entire life I had been a spectator to my parents’ relationship. 

It was something I had grown used to — watching my family be romantic with their significant others, sharing soft touches and stolen glances with the girls they brought into our lives, secretly pining for the moment that I may bring someone home for them to meet, too. But me? I had never been in their shoes. Never had anyone to bring home, let alone someone like Nicholas. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in love — it just never happened for me. Whether it was shyness, pickiness, or just bad timing, I’d never had a real boyfriend before him. And while I knew my brothers weren’t entirely comfortable seeing this new side of me, there was a small part of me that relished it.

My mom, on the other hand, didn’t seem as amused as they did, keeping her grins polite while she tightly chewed on her food. Finally, she cleared her throat, her tone light but pointed. "So, Nicholas," she began, "(Y/N) tells us you’re an actor.”

My older brother interjected excitedly, “Is it true you’re in the new American Psycho movie?”

Nicholas grinned at his enthusiasm, his charm on full display as he nodded. “Yeah, it’s true.”

“Patrick Bateman?” My dad questioned, smiling. Nicholas nodded his head as he took a bite of his food. “Is playing the character tough?” My dad asked, wanting to know more. It was his first time meeting an actor of any kind.

Nicholas sighed, letting himself be vulnerable for a moment, “Yeah, it is. I tend to be an obsessive person, so I dedicate myself completely to every role I play; I completely immerse myself into the mindset of the character, and sometimes it can get to me.”

I watched Nicholas with absolute heart eyes as he spoke so candidly with my brothers and dad, his hand leaving my thigh occasionally whenever he began to talk passionately, using both his hands to really drive his point. They  were listening so intently, almost mesmerized. I realized then that I wished my mom gave Nicholas the same chance my dad and brothers did.

I glanced over to her as Nicholas spoke, watching her actively fight the urge to be as engaging in conversation as the rest of the family were. She was always like this — never truly engaged with anybody new she met, as if she was just a step above them to truly listen to whatever they had to say. Her behavior wasn’t new. I had watched her do this with every friend I brought home. She’d be polite — cordial even — but there was always this air of detachment, like she was humoring them instead of genuinely welcoming them. Once the door closed behind them, the comments would start.

“You shouldn’t trust her, you know,” she would say, cutting into my excitement after a fun hangout. “Girls like that always have ulterior motives.” Or, “She seems nice, but I get the feeling she talks about you behind your back.”

Over time, those remarks wore on me. I had stopped bringing friends home altogether by the time I hit high school. It wasn’t worth the scrutiny or the inevitable debrief where my mom dissected every perceived flaw in my friends, subtly planting doubts in my mind until I wasn’t even sure I wanted to hang out with them anymore. And the worst part was that sometimes, my mom ended up being right.

“(Y/N)’s been keeping the details of your relationship secret; For what? I don’t know, so forgive me for asking so many questions, but how did you two meet?” My mom asked, slicing a piece of chicken.

The food caught in both our throats at the question. Our meeting wasn’t exactly PG. I reached under the table to rest my hand on his knee, feeling  my face flush as I glanced over to Nicholas, who took the fabric napkin up to his mouth to brush away the nonexistent crumbs, giving himself some time to compose himself before responding, clearing his throat

 “Well, actually, we met at the beach,” he said smoothly, keeping things vague but not dishonest. I let out a small sigh of relief. He was so good at handling situations like this, keeping things light without giving away too much. Thank you, PR training.

 His words hung in the air for a moment, and I could feel my mom’s eyes on us, her scrutiny never wavering. She wasn’t satisfied yet. “Here?” She asked, stifling a chuckle. “Wait,” her eyes landed on me, “did you meet him when you booked that room at the beach by yourself that one weekend?”

I reached for my glass of tea and gulped, hoping it might soothe the blood rushing to my cheeks, “Um, yeah,” I answered curtly. “Yeah, we met that weekend.” Memories of that weekend started to replay in my head, the heat starting to pool low in my belly at the memory of Nicholas and I getting to know each other carnally.

“What was a famous actor doing at the island here of all places?” My dad asked, amused at the thought.

Nicholas, however, remained unfazed. He leaned back in his chair, his calm demeanor never faltering. “Well, I live in Los Angeles, so I’m at the beach there all the time,” he replied smoothly, shooting me a reassuring glance. “I guess I just wanted to get to know a new beach on the opposite coast and booked a flight here, and well… the rest is history.”

His words felt like a shield, soft but strong, deflecting my mom’s questions without making it seem like he was hiding anything. I couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly he handled it. He was a natural at navigating tense moments, and I felt a weight lift off my chest.

But my mom wasn’t quite done. “So, just the two of you at the beach? No one else?” she asked, almost too casually, like she was trying to catch him in a lie.

I glanced at Nicholas, my stomach doing a little flip. My mom’s persistence was unsettling, but I knew Nicholas could handle it. He was calm, composed, like he’d been in situations like this before. He smiled, giving my mom a look that was both warm and measured.

“Well, if you don’t count the other guests at the hotel, sure,” he said, nodding slowly. “I guess it was fate.”

I could feel my mom’s eyes narrowing slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line as she studied him, but she didn’t push further. Her gaze flickered to me for a second, and I braced myself for the inevitable, the comments that would follow once this dinner was over.

My eldest brother, sensing the tension, leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Sounds like it was a fun weekend,” he teased, earning a chuckle from our brother and Dad. The change in atmosphere was almost palpable, the air lightening a little as the conversation shifted.

I cleared my throat and buried my mouth in a napkin, hoping to hide the look of embarrassment but eventually stifling a laugh. I was grateful for my brothers’ habit of joking about everything, no matter the situation. Nicholas shot them a grateful look, his smile never faltering as he continued to engage in the conversation with them. I felt a small tug of guilt for the way my mom was acting, but I knew there was nothing more I could do to change her attitude.

Dinner continued, with my mom carefully watching the exchange, but she had settled into a more neutral silence, only offering the occasional remark when necessary. The more Nicholas interacted with my dad and brothers, the more comfortable I grew. He was so good at keeping everything light, charming everyone around him, even pulling the rare chuckle from my mom. I could feel my heart swell with affection for him in those moments, despite everything. He wasn’t fazed by my mom’s coldness, nor did he seem discouraged by her questions. He was exactly who he said he was, and I couldn’t have been prouder.

When dinner finally ended, my mom offered a strained, “Thank you for coming, Nicholas,” but it was clear that the evening hadn’t gone exactly as she’d hoped. The forced politeness in her voice was unmistakable. I didn’t know what she expected from this dinner, but I could guess it wasn’t what had transpired.

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. (Y/L/N),” Nicholas said smoothly, standing and shaking her hand. “And again, thank you for letting me stay here for a few days. Here, let me help you clear the table.”

My mom’s eyes flickered with surprise at the offer. “Oh, no need—”

But Nicholas was already standing, brushing past her with a confident smile. “It’s no trouble at all. I insist,” he said, his voice warm, and before I could protest, he was gathering plates from the table with a casual ease that made it clear this wasn’t the first time he’d done this. He moved with such a kind, unassuming confidence, not letting the awkwardness of my mom’s tension affect him.

As he began to clear the table, I followed him with my gaze, feeling a swell of admiration for him. He didn’t just talk the talk — he walked the walk. Even when my mom was at her most guarded, Nicholas was calm, generous, and helpful.

He moved around the kitchen with an easy confidence, as though he was a regular part of this family. I could feel my chest tighten with an unexpected sense of relief that this dinner definitely could've gone left quickly, and it miraculously didn’t. This was everything I’d hoped for: bringing him home, seeing him interact with my family, and watching him blend seamlessly into my world.

After a few moments, I joined my brothers and dad in the living room, collapsing onto the couch beside them. My eldest brother glanced over to me, giving me a little side-eye. “So, Nicholas, huh? He’s… cool, man,” he said, his tone a mix of sincerity and teasing.

I sighed, leaning back, trying to relax. “Yeah, he is.“ I looked over to our dad, “Dad, what did you think when mom told you she had offered the house to Nicholas?”

My dad paused, looking over at me with a thoughtful expression before his lips curled into a knowing grin. “Honestly? I thought it was a bit sudden, but if he’s a good guy, then that’s all that matters to me.” He shrugged, settling back into the couch. “I trust you to make the right call, sweetie. You’ve never been one to do something without feeling ready for it. And from what I saw tonight, he’s got his head on straight. You did good,” he smiled, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, letting me rest my head on him.

I smiled softly at my dad’s words, my heart swelling with appreciation for his support. My dad wasn’t good with vocalizing his emotions most of the time, but when he did… man, it was monumental. It was moments like these that I cherished the most — when he didn’t just offer a general statement but spoke with such certainty in my choices. His words held weight, the kind I always wished my mom would say.

My dad always knew how to make me feel seen, understood, and accepted — whether it was a quiet compliment or just a simple, knowing nod when my mom would have the complete opposite reaction. Her love was always wrapped in layers of criticism and expectation. She never seemed to be satisfied with the person I was. I knew she cared, but it often felt conditional, like there was always something more I needed to be, something else I needed to achieve to earn her approval.

I nodded slowly, grateful for the simple, grounding truth in his words. “Thanks, Dad. I needed to hear that.”

When Nicholas finally came into the living room, his movements fluid and easy, he gave me a smile. “All done in there,” he said, his voice soft and easy. He didn’t try to make a big deal out of it, but I could tell he felt good about having helped.

“Kitchen’s clean,” my mom entered the space, slinging a dish towel over her shoulder and plopping herself down into the loveseat, “Everybody’s free to do whatever now.”

My brothers excitedly stood up from the couch, shoving each other over furniture as they made their way to their rooms, shouting something about controllers. My dad stood up from the couch, “Good night, son.” He clapped Nicholas on the back, giving him a friendly nod before walking over to my mom. “Have a beer with me in the backyard?” He asked, reaching his hand out to her.

She sighed, her face growing into a reluctant smile as she took his hand in hers and stood up from the loveseat, “Goodnight, kids,” she softly smiled before following my dad out to the backyard.

Nicholas and I lingered for a moment, both of us standing in the middle of the living room. I slowly stepped toward him, resting my hands on his hips. “You…” I said, planting a slow kiss on his lips, “were amazing tonight.”

Nicholas grinned against my lips, his hands gently cupping my face as he deepened the kiss. “Like I said,” he murmured, pulling away just enough to look into my eyes. “We got this.”

After a quiet moment, we both turned toward my room. The house was quieter now, the only sounds coming from the distant hum of the refrigerator and the faint chatter of my parents outside, the occasional angry profanity from one of my brothers. 

I took his hand in mine, leading him, “Now that we got that out of the way… we can relax,” I sighed in relief.

As we entered my room, I closed the door behind us, the soft click of the latch filling the quiet space. I made sure to lock the door, ensuring our privacy, and turned on the air purifier I had by the door to drown out our voices.

The room felt warmer now, the tension from dinner dissipating in the calming intimacy of the moment. Nicholas took a few steps forward, stopping near the bed as he reached for his duffel bag, zipping it open and pulling out his toiletries and a clean pair of boxers. I watched as his arms flexed with every movement as he reached for his things, zipping up his bag and throwing it back down onto the floor.

I had caught his eye, flashing me a knowing smile as he stepped closer, resting my hands on my waist and pulling me flush against him. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a mixture of desire and affection. I felt my heart race as my fingertips grazed the fabric of his shirt, the heat from his body drawing me in.

“Is it our time now?” I asked quietly, leaning in to graze my lips over his.

He glanced over to the bedroom door, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, his hands moving down to grip my waist, “Your entire family’s still in the house,” he spoke, his voice low and husky.

Arching into his hold, I rested my hands on his chest, feeling his chest rise and fall under me. “Then we would just have to be very quiet now, wouldn’t we?” I asked teasingly, smiling into his lips before devouring him in a kiss.

Nicholas responded immediately, his hands sliding up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer, as if he couldn't get enough of the feeling of my lips on his. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, as if the weight of everything that had happened tonight was coming to a head in this one perfect moment. His lips moved against mine, warm and eager, but still tender, as though savoring every second of this quiet intimacy.

I let out a soft sigh, pressing closer into him, feeling the heat of his body against mine. He pulled away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against mine. "I’m serious, your family’s on the other side of that wall right there. You don’t care?" he murmured, his voice raspy with desire.

I smiled softly, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble against my skin. "Do you?" I teased, my voice a breathless whisper.

He was quiet for a beat, panting heavily, “A little.”

I pulled him into another quick kiss, pulling away to pout, “I’ll just have to play with myself then.”

Nicholas's eyes darkened with a mix of surprise and desire, his breath catching at my words. His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me even closer as if he was trying to make sure there was no space left between us. "You know I can’t let that happen," he murmured, his voice rough and urgent.

He leaned in again to kiss me, but I had the inspired idea of denying Nicholas my body, turning my cheek to him and releasing myself from his hold, slowly making my way to my bed and crawling toward the pillows, slowly turning around to lie down on my back.

He stood still for a moment, watching me with a mix of amusement and growing desire. His lips curved into a sly smile as he slowly stepped forward, his gaze never leaving mine. He reached out to me, but I moved his hand away.

I smiled slyly, shifting into a comfortable position over the pillows, “Uh-uh, you didn’t want to play,” I whispered. “You’ll have to watch first.”

His mouth twitched into a smirk, and he slowly lowered himself onto the edge of the bed beside me, his gaze never leaving mine. The room seemed to pulse with the tension between us as he watched me intently. "Don’t tease," he murmured, his voice low and velvety, almost a warning.

I couldn't help but smile, my pulse quickening under his gaze. "You started it," I cooed, my fingers trailing down my body slowly, deliberately, as I maintained eye contact.

Slowly, I started to unbutton my blouse, taking my time. Nicholas's eyes followed my every movement, the intensity in his gaze growing with each slow, deliberate action. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn't say a word; he just watched, a mix of desire and anticipation clearly written on his face. His lips parted slightly, as if he were waiting for something to break, but I kept my pace steady, savoring the power I felt in this moment.

I glanced up at him once I'd unbuttoned the blouse halfway, catching the way his chest rose and fell, the muscles of his jaw working as he clenched his teeth. I smiled at the sight of his struggle, my fingers now sliding down to the waistband of my jeans. His breath was coming faster now, and I could tell he was about to reach for me. But I stopped him with a glance, shaking my head slowly. "Wait your turn," I whispered.

Nicholas clenched his fists, but his restraint only made me bolder. I finally pulled my blouse off, tossing it carelessly to the floor beside the bed. The cold air brushed my skin, perking my breasts awake. I watched his eyes darken with desire as I slowly ran my hands over my chest, feeling the warmth of the room and the growing heat between us.

He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. "Don’t punish me," he murmured, the words thick with frustration.

But I just smiled, enjoying every second of it. I slowly eased my pants down, tossing them aside and brushing my hand over my wet underwear, the other hand still kneading my breast. I let out a shaky breath, mindful to keep the noise down, as I touched myself. Nicholas shifted, his breathing now erratic, but he stayed seated on the edge of the bed. His body was tense, a mixture of yearning and restraint. He didn't reach for me, though his gaze never wavered.

My legs writhed up and down as I rubbed myself through my underwear, biting back quiet moans until I decided to spread my legs slowly as I pulled my underwear down, letting it wrap around my ankles. He clenched his jaw the moment he saw me completely bare in front of him, knitting his eyebrows together slightly and licking his lips. He let out a quiet growl as he watched me intently, his eyes tracing my fingers.

I guided my hand up to my mouth, gently sucking on my middle and ring fingers for a moment, wetting them mindfully and keeping eye contact with Nicholas all the while. I smiled up at him as I trailed my slickened fingers down my abdomen and had them land on my throbbing bud, slowly beginning to rub circles into myself.

"(Y/N)," he rasped, voice low and thick with desire, his eyes following my center.

I let out a small, satisfied laugh, inserting my fingers into my soaking hole, sharply inhaling at the sensation. I slowly started to pump my fingers, the quiet, rhythmic wet sound of my pleasure sending Nicholas into a quiet frenzy. A high-pitched moan escaped my lips, prompting me to stop squeezing my breast and instead move that hand up to my mouth to muffle my own moans.

The room seemed to grow hotter with each passing second, the air thick with anticipation. I could feel Nicholas's eyes on me, his gaze heavy and unwavering, filled with a mix of need and control. The weight of his attention was intoxicating, and I savored the dynamic between us, pushing myself to the edge of what I knew I could handle. The tension in me began to coil tighter and tighter the more I thrusted my fingers in and out, my breath hitching as I tried to stay quiet.

I started to writhe under my own hand, fluttering my eyes shut and breathing in heavy gasps. When I let my fingers traverse deeper, I opened my eyes to find Nicholas starting to reach out for me, his hand tracing the outline of my leg. The warmth of his hand against my skin sent a shiver through me, heightening the sensations that already had my body trembling, but I was dedicated to playing the game. I reached for his hand, guiding it to his throbbing member before pulling my hand away and continuing to push myself toward ecstasy.

As I picked up the pace of my fingers, I rolled over onto my stomach, spreading my thighs apart and lifting my hips into the air as I bucked my hips into my hand. “Fuck,” I whimpered into the pillow, breathing shakily.

The air in the room grew impossibly thick, the heat between us palpable as I let myself sink further into the sensation. My body trembled under the weight of my own touch, and I could feel Nicholas's eyes devouring me from where he sat. His restraint was unraveling; I could sense it in the way his breathing grew uneven, the way his fingers dug into the mattress as if trying to anchor himself. I glanced back over my shoulder, catching the wild hunger in his eyes as he watched my every movement. The tension in his jaw was evident, his body coiled as though ready to pounce, yet he remained rooted to the spot, his control hanging by a thread.

Every sound that escaped me seemed to pull him closer to the edge. I could feel the power I held in this moment, and it made my pulse race even faster. I slowed my movements deliberately, teasing myself as much as I was him, dragging out the moment until the ache inside me became unbearable.

l arched my back further, offering him an even more tantalizing view as my fingers continued their work. My body was alive with sensation, every nerve humming as I gave in to my own pleasure. The wet sounds of my fingers against my slick heat filled the room, mixing with the quiet gasps and muffled moans I tried to contain. Nicholas finally moved then, his resolve cracking as he reached out for me, his hand gripping the curve of my hip. His touch was firm but trembling, a testament to the war he was waging within himself. "You're driving me insane," he growled, his voice low and hoarse.

I smiled through my haze, turning my head just enough to meet his gaze. "That’s the point," I whispered breathlessly, my lips curving into a wicked grin.

He clenched his jaw again, his eyes narrowing as he pulled his hand away abruptly. The loss of his touch sent a shiver of anticipation through me, but before I could say anything, he shifted closer, hovering above my shoulder, his presence dominating the space around me.

He was so close now that I could feel the heat radiating from him, his breath hot against my skin as he leaned over me. "You wanna play?" he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper against my ear. "I can play, too."

Without another word, his hand replaced mine, his fingers delving into my wetness with a confidence and precision that made my whole body jolt. His other hand gripped my waist, holding me steady as he took control, the tension between us exploding into something raw and uncontrollable. A sharp cry escaped my lips before I could stop it, muffled quickly as I bit into the pillow. 

"Careful," he teased, his voice thick with desire. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear, now would we?"

I whimpered against the pillow, my body trembling as his fingers worked with relentless precision. The shift in control was dizzying, and I could feel my resolve melting away with each skilled movement of his hand. My breaths came in ragged gasps, the muffled sounds of my pleasure filling the small space around us.

Nicholas's lips brushed against the back of my neck, featherlight but enough to make my skin prickle with sensation. "You were so confident a minute ago," he murmured, his voice a dark, teasing rumble. "What happened?"

I tried to respond, but the words died in my throat as his thumb found my sensitive bud, circling it with deliberate, maddening slowness. A choked cry escaped me, and I pressed my face deeper into the pillow, desperate to muffle the sounds that threatened to betray me.

His low chuckle sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through me. "That's what I thought," he whispered, his fingers delving deeper, setting a rhythm that left me helpless against him.

I wasn’t sure what had gotten into Nicholas. He had never been so unapologetically in control. This was different. He was different. Patrick Bateman had indeed rubbed off on him, but not in the way I’d feared. Nicholas was channeling that sharp-edged confidence, the undercurrent of danger that made his portrayal of the character so magnetic. He wasn’t the blood-soaked psychopath, but he was the embodiment of control, of someone who knew exactly how much power they held and exactly how to use it.

And God, did I love it.

“Nic,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the low hum of the air purifier.

The name came out as both a plea and an acknowledgment — I saw what he was doing, and I wanted more. This new side of him, nurtured by the darker edge of his role, left me breathless. He wasn’t losing himself in that persona; he was borrowing some of it and using it to show me parts of himself he’d kept hidden before, or at least, never fully shown.

Every shift in his posture, every subtle tilt of his head, felt like part of a script he had written in his mind — a performance just for me. His role had shown him how seductive control could truly be. And he was applying that lesson now, each gesture crafted to keep me on edge.

“You thought you could tease me and get away with it?” he murmured, his tone darkly amused. 

The words sent a shiver through me, my skin prickling with anticipation. The mixture of his teasing words and skillful hands left me teetering on the edge, my body writhing beneath him as he took complete control.I arched my back further with a muffled whimper, unable to stop myself from pressing into his touch. His thumb pressed down against my sensitive bud, slow and deliberate. 

 He smiled against my neck, the curve of his lips unmistakable as he continued his torturous pace. He shifted closer, his chest now pressed against my back as he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice softening for a moment. "I could watch you like this forever." The tenderness in his tone sent a shiver through me, cutting through the haze of desire with an ache that went deeper than physical. “Look at me,” he said softly.

I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze as best I could, and the intensity in his eyes stole what little breath I had left. It was startling and irresistible. It was as if he was letting me see that beneath the playfulness and the quiet assertions, he was just as caught up in this as I was. The character he channeled was powerful and controlling, yes, but he’d never use that for anything but making this moment electric for both of us.

"Nic," I whispered, his name a plea on my lips.

He groaned softly, his movements faltering for just a second before he kissed the curve of my shoulder, his lips warm and lingering. "I've got you," he murmured against my skin, his voice a promise that sent my heart racing.

Nicholas's words resonated deep within me, grounding me in the moment as his hands continued their relentless, intoxicating rhythm. His presence was overwhelming, yet comforting — a perfect storm of passion and tenderness that had my body trembling with need. I couldn't hold back the quiet moans that escaped me, muffled as they were by the pillow beneath me. Every touch, every stroke, felt like it was pushing me closer to the edge, a precipice I both feared and craved. My hands gripped the sheets tightly, my knuckles white as I fought to keep my composure.

"Nicholas," I whimpered again, his name slipping from my lips like a prayer

 I turned my head just enough to catch another glimpse of him, his expression a mixture of concentration and raw desire. His jaw was tight, his brows drawn together in that way that made my heart clench. He was completely focused on me, his gaze flickering between my face and the movements of his hand. "You're perfect," he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the haze of the moment. His free hand moved to my hip, steadying me as I writhed under his touch. "I could never get enough of you."

The vulnerability in his words, combined with the sheer intensity of his touch, pushed me closer to the breaking point. My breath hitched, my body arching into his hand as a wave of pleasure began to crest, threatening to consume me entirely.

"Please," I gasped, the words tumbling from my lips in a desperate plea. I didn't even know what I was asking for — more of him, less of him. I just needed something to tether me as the world spun out of control around me. His fingers stilled for a moment, and I almost cried out in frustration, but then he leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear.

"Say it," he murmured, his voice a low, teasing growl that sent shivers down my spine. "Tell me what you need."

I turned my head to meet his gaze, my eyes heavy with desire and frustration. "You," I whispered, the word carrying all the weight of my longing.

Just then, the sound of footsteps passing down the hall broke through the haze, and both of us froze, the sudden intrusion grounding us in the reality of where we were. My pulse thundered in my ears as we waited, breathless. The tension in the room was electrifying as we held perfectly still, our breaths synchronized and shallow, ears straining for the faintest sound from the hallway.

Nicholas’s fingers slowed but continued their calculated movements. My body trembled under his touch, every nerve on edge, the thrill of being caught mingling with the raw intensity of the moment. I bit down on the pillow again, stifling the soft moans that escaped my lips as his fingers continued pumping inside me. There was a devilish smile across his face as he shushed me, his ears still perked toward the door. I caught a hint of amusement on his lips.

Underneath the surface, I recognized him — the Nicholas who was kind and thoughtful, who adored me. But now that adoration had grown claws, a sensual confidence that skimmed the line between teasing and challenging me. This was a Nicholas who wanted me to squirm under his careful attention, who wanted to see just how far I’d let him push before I begged him to go further.

The silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. Finally, the footsteps resumed, retreating back down the hallway and fading into the distance. My body sagged with relief, but Nicholas wasted no time, his fingers resuming their maddening rhythm almost immediately.

"You like the risk, don't you?" he teased, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. His voice was low and gravelly, a dangerous edge to his words that made my skin prickle with anticipation. "You want them to hear, just a little."

I shook my head, my muffled protest lost against the pillow. But the truth was written all over my body — the way I pushed back against his hand, the way my breaths came faster, louder, despite my efforts to remain quiet.

"You can't lie to me," he murmured, his voice darkly amused. "Your body tells me everything."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through me, and I felt my control slipping away entirely. The tension inside me coiled tighter, every nerve in my body alight with sensation. I was so close, teetering on the edge, and Nicholas knew it. His fingers moved faster now, his movements precise and relentless as he drove me closer and closer to the breaking point. I reached my hand behind me, clutching at his hair and pushing his head closer against me.

“You were so bold before, so sure of yourself, hmm? I want to hear you beg,” he said, his voice soft but commanding.

My breath hitched, my mind scrambling for words, but all that escaped was a shaky whimper. He chuckled, the sound low and wicked, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through me.

“Come on. Use your words,” he teased, his fingers resuming their maddening rhythm.

“Nic—” I gasped, his name spilling from my lips. “Please.”

“Please, what?” he asked, his tone infuriatingly calm, as if we weren’t teetering on the edge of something electric and uncontrollable. His other hand gripped my hip, steadying me as I writhed beneath him. “Say it. I want to hear exactly what you need.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my body trembling as his fingers pushed me closer to the precipice. “I need you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I need you, Nic. Please.”

He hummed, as though considering my words, his fingers never faltering. “Better,” he said, his voice like molten honey. “But not quite good enough.”

He pulled his hand away suddenly, leaving me gasping and trembling, my body aching with need. I turned my head to look at him, my eyes wide with disbelief and frustration. His expression was infuriatingly smug, a crooked smile playing at his lips as he sat back, his gaze roaming over me like he was savoring the sight of my unraveling.

“You wanted to play games earlier, didn’t you?“ he said, his voice a low purr.

I let out a soft, frustrated sound, my hands gripping the sheets as I tried to regain some semblance of control. But Nicholas wasn’t having it. He leaned down, his breath hot against my skin as he pressed a featherlight kiss to my shoulder, then the nape of my neck, then the space just below my ear. His hand moved again, skimming down my side, his touch light enough to send shivers through me. My body arched instinctively, desperate for more, but he took his time, his fingers tracing maddeningly slow patterns over my skin.

“Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands off you tonight?” he asked, his tone conversational, as if he weren’t driving me to the brink of madness. “Sitting next to you at the table with your family, watching you look so damn perfect, knowing I’d get to do this.”

He punctuated the last word by sliding his hand between my thighs, his touch deliberate and unrelenting. I let out a muffled cry, biting down on the pillow to stifle the sound. He smiled at my reaction, his eyes darkening with satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm.

The words sent a thrill through me, my body responding to the possessiveness in his tone. I didn’t care that we were playing a dangerous game, that my family was just down the hall. In this moment, nothing else mattered but the way he made me feel — completely claimed, completely consumed.

Nicholas leaned down, capturing my lips in a kiss that was both tender and searing, a promise of everything he intended to do to me. As his fingers resumed their relentless rhythm, I gave in to him entirely, letting him pull me under, letting him show me just how far he was willing to go to prove his dominance.

And as the tension inside me coiled tighter and tighter, I realized something: this new Nicholas, this teasing, commanding, utterly intoxicating version of him, was exactly what I’d been waiting for.

"Let go," he urged, his voice soft yet insistent.

The words were my undoing. With a sharp cry muffled against the pillow, the tension inside me snapped, and I was lost to the waves of pleasure that crashed over me. My body trembled violently under his touch, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as l clung to the sheets for dear life. Nicholas's movements slowed, his touch gentle now as he guided me through the aftershocks. His free hand moved to my back, his touch soothing as he pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder.

"That's my girl," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of pride and tenderness.

I lay there, trembling and breathless, as the intensity of the moment began to subside. Nicholas didn't move away; instead, he stayed close, his hand tracing soothing circles over my back as his lips brushed against my shoulder. His presence was grounding, yet I could feel the lingering heat between us, the tension far from gone.

I rolled onto my side to face him, my fingers reaching out to trace the sharp line of his jaw. His expression softened as he looked at me, his gaze still dark with desire but tempered by something deeper — something achingly tender. I let my hand wander down his chest, the muscles beneath his shirt taut and warm under my touch.

"You," I murmured, my voice a little breathless. "I want you to feel as good as I do."

A small smile tugged at his lips, but he shook his head, his hand capturing mine and holding it gently. "Tonight was about you," he said softly, his voice steady despite the lingering rasp of arousal. "You seemed a little on edge since we got home; I just wanted to take care of you."

“But I—“ I started to protest, but he silenced me with a quick kiss, his lips firm but gentle, cutting off my words as his other hand came up to cradle the side of my face.

"You don't have to," he whispered against my lips, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Seeing you, hearing you, knowing I could make you feel that way. That's enough for me."

His words left me speechless, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around me like a warm embrace. I could still feel the evidence of his restraint, the tension in his body as he held himself back, but his focus remained entirely on me. It wasn't just about control — it was about care, about putting me first in a way that made my heart ache with gratitude.

“But you’re visiting me this time,” I pouted, resting my hands over his chest, “I should be the one making you feel this way.”

Nicholas smiled softly, his hand covering mine as it rested against his chest. The heat of his skin radiated through his shirt, steady and grounding.

I moved my hand to cup his face, my thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek, “You give so much of yourself — to me, to your work. You deserve to let yourself receive, too.”

Nicholas closed his eyes briefly, his jaw tightening as if my words had struck a chord. When he opened them again, there was a softness in his gaze that made my chest ache. His hand covered mine, pressing it gently against his cheek. "I know," he murmured, his voice low and steady. His voice was barely audible when he spoke, a rasp that hinted at the emotions simmering beneath his carefully maintained facade. “It’s… hard to turn it off sometimes,” he admitted, his forehead still resting against mine.

I leaned closer, letting my forehead rest against his, my voice barely above a whisper. "Let me take some of that stress away.” My fingers traced the edge of his jaw, the sharp line softening as his expression wavered.

Nicholas’s lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping as he held my gaze. His hand came up to cover mine, still pressed to his cheek, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. His gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us. He shifted closer, his hand trailing from mine to cup the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss that was slow, tender, and all-encompassing. His lips moved against mine with a deliberate gentleness, as if savoring the moment, as if thanking me for the sentiment without needing to say a word. He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw working as though he was debating with himself.

It wasn’t that Nicholas wasn’t used to being vulnerable with me — he always was, since we first met. But after months of embodying a character like Patrick, a role that demanded emotional detachment and absolute control, letting go had become something almost foreign to him. He had coiled himself tightly, and I had to work to undo that tightness again.

When Nicholas opened his eyes again, there was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze, but also trust. “Ok,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But only because it’s you.”

I smiled, leaning up to kiss him gently, pouring everything I felt into the soft press of my lips against his. “Always me,” I murmured, letting my words linger in the air as I began to slowly pull him down on top of me.

Nicholas allowed himself to be guided, his body hesitating only briefly before yielding to the pull of my hands. His weight settled against me, warm and grounding, and I could feel the tension still coiled tightly in his muscles. His breathing was uneven, his forehead resting against mine as though he was bracing himself for something he couldn't quite define.

I ran my fingers through his hair, my touch slow and deliberate, trying to ease some of the strain I could feel radiating from him. He tried to hide it as best he could, but filming had taken a toll on him. He had poured himself completely into the role. I could only imagine how tough it must be to have yourself become emotionally detached for your work. Then, to go home to holiday parties and then visit your girlfriend’s family for the first time. It must’ve been stressful for him, even though he tried so hard to make it seem like nothing about him had changed.

His eyes fluttered shut, the vulnerability in that small movement breaking my heart. I threaded my fingers down the nape of his neck, tracing the tension there. His jaw tightened for a moment, but then he nodded, the tension in his shoulders softening just slightly. I leaned up to kiss him again, slow and tender, pouring every ounce of reassurance I could into the press of my lips against his. My hands moved down his body, tracing the lines of his chest and stomach, feeling the tension start to unravel beneath my touch.

Nicholas let out a shaky exhale, his hands finding their way to my waist, holding on as though I was his anchor. I pressed my lips to his jaw, trailing soft kisses down his neck and over his collarbone as my hands worked to remove his hoodie. As each layer of fabric fell away, I kissed the newly exposed skin, savoring the way his breathing deepened, the way his hands began to relax their grip. When the sweater underneath was finally discarded, I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.

"Feel that?" I murmured, meeting his gaze. "You're still here."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his hands sliding up to cradle my face. "God, I’ve missed you so fucking much," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

I smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "I’m so in love with you," I said simply. "Every part of you, inside and out.”

That seemed to break something in him, and he kissed me again, this time with a raw, unguarded intensity that left me breathless. His hands roamed my body, but there was no urgency, no need to control or give, only a quiet acceptance as he let himself feel.

I rolled us over in bed, straddling Nicholas as he lay under me. I kissed him deeply, pouring every ounce of my love and understanding into the soft press of my lips. His hands, though trembling slightly, rested on my hips, but he didn't try to guide or take control. He was letting himself simply be — letting me take the lead, and it warmed my heart to know he trusted me that much.

I let my hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing the taut muscles of his stomach. His skin was warm under my touch, and I could feel the tension slowly ebbing from his body as I took my time exploring every inch of him. I leaned down, pressing soft kisses to his chest, my lips lingering over his heartbeat. I smiled against his skin, my hands sliding lower until I reached the waistband of his jeans. I glanced up at him for permission, and he gave me a small nod, his lips parting as his breathing quickened. Slowly, I undid the button and zipper, my movements deliberate and unhurried. I wanted him to feel every moment, to know this was for him and him alone.

As I eased his jeans down, I pressed kisses to the newly exposed skin, savoring the way his muscles tensed and relaxed under my touch. When he was finally bare before me, I let my gaze linger on him, taking in every detail. He was beautiful, vulnerable in a way that made my heart ache with love and admiration. God, I missed him so much.

"You're perfect," I whispered, my eyes meeting his. The raw emotion in his gaze made my chest tighten, but I didn't let it distract me from my goal — to bring him peace, even if just for tonight, even though he still had to step back into character again right after this trip.

I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his hip before trailing my lips lower. Nicholas's breath hitched, his hands gripping the sheets, but he didn't try to stop me. He let out a low, shuddering moan as I took him into my mouth, my lips and tongue explored him. I kept my movements slow and deliberate, designed to drive away every lingering trace of stress and tension.

He covered his mouth with his inner elbow, mindful of where we were. His sounds of pleasure were quiet, restrained, but I could feel the way his body responded to every touch, every kiss. He was letting go, piece by piece, and it filled me with a sense of purpose I couldn't put into words.

I let my lips and hands work in tandem, slowly unraveling every knot of tension that Nicholas had been carrying. His breathing grew heavier, his quiet groans muffled as he pressed his arm to his mouth. I watched him struggle to keep himself restrained, to stay mindful of the thin walls separating us from my family, but I didn't want him to hold back — not with me.

"Let it out, Nic," I whispered against his skin, my voice soft but commanding. "No one else matters right now.”

His arm fell away, reaching for the pillow under his head and burying himself under it as a deep, desperate sound escaped him. It wasn't just a moan — it was a release, raw and unfiltered, as though he'd been holding it in for far too long. His head fell back against the mattress, his eyes fluttering shut as his body surrendered completely to my touch.

"(Y/N)," he rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "I-I can't..." His hands gripped the sheets tightly, his knuckles white as he tried to ground himself. He pulled the pillow away slightly, "You're gonna ruin me," he groaned quietly, his tone a mix of exasperation and awe.

I smiled softly, trailing my lips back up his body. "Good," I whispered against his skin.

His hands moved instinctively to my hips as I straddled him, his touch trembling but firm. He looked up at me with wide, glassy eyes, his vulnerability laid bare in a way that made my chest tighten. He wasn't just undone — he was mine, and he was letting himself be seen in a way that few ever had.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered as I grabbed him by the base of his shaft and lowered myself on top of him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted as he panted softly beneath me. "Do you know how much I love you? How much you mean to me?"

He nodded his head, his hands gripping my thighs as he entered me. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he choked out, his voice rough.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, leaning down to press my forehead against his, slowly starting to ride him "You'll never have to find out," I whispered. "I’m here."

Nicholas's hands trembled against my skin, his voice breaking as he whispered, "I need you. So much."

As I moved against him, his control unraveled further, his voice rising as he called out my name in a broken, desperate tone that sent a shiver down my spine. I guided him through every wave of pleasure, my hands and body coaxing him toward release as he gave himself over entirely to the moment.

When his body tensed under me, he buried his face into the pillow again, letting out a muffled groan as he clutched at the pillow like it was a lifesaver. I felt the evidence of his climax fill me completely, continuing to slowly ride him out as he came, his hands digging into my hips as his body violently shuddered under me. 

He laid beneath me, utterly spent and trembling. I dismounted him, lying beside him and pulling the blankets over us, curling up against his side as he buried his face in my hair. His arms wrapped around me tightly, his breathing uneven as he struggled to come back to himself.

“Thank you,” he whispered, eyes closed.

I brushed my fingers through his damp hair, letting the strands slip softly between my fingertips. His body was still trembling slightly as he held me close, his breath warm against my temple. “I know sometimes all I do is take,” I murmured, my voice soft and filled with affection, “but you’ve taught me it feels just as good to give.”

Nicholas pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his arms tightening around me as though he couldn’t bear to let me go. For a moment, we lay in comfortable silence, the world outside fading away until it was just the two of us. His chest rose and fell beneath me, steadying as the aftershocks of the moment began to subside. As we lay there, tangled together under the blankets, I felt a profound sense of peace settle over me, letting our breaths lull me to sleep.

I awoke in Nicholas’s grasp, his head under my chin as his head rested on my chest, the position different from the one we had drifted to sleep in. The room was bathed in soft, muted light, the faint glow of the early morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains I had swapped out the day before. The air purifier hummed softly in the background, a gentle white noise that blended seamlessly with the sound of Nicholas’s deep, even breaths. His body was warm against mine, his arms still wrapped tightly around my waist as though he’d been holding onto me even in his sleep.

I glanced down at him, my fingers lightly brushing through his tousled hair. He looked peaceful, his features softened in a way I hadn’t seen in weeks. His lashes rested against his cheeks, and his lips, slightly parted, moved faintly with each exhale. I smiled to myself, unable to resist tracing the curve of his jawline with my fingers. As I watched him sleep, I had the urge of wanting to greet him with breakfast in bed, the first way I would spoil him today.

The thought of surprising Nicholas with breakfast in bed made me smile. He had spent so much of last night making sure I felt loved and cared for, and now it was my turn to do the same for him. Slowly, I began to slip out from under his arms, careful not to wake him. He stirred slightly, his grip on my waist loosening, but his eyes remained closed, and his breathing evened out again. I tiptoed across the room, pulling on the pajamas I had left draped over the chair the day before that I never had the chance to put on.

The house was quiet as I crept down the hallway toward the kitchen, the early morning light casting a warm glow across the walls. My mom was always an early riser, so I half-expected to find her there, but to my relief, the kitchen was empty. I couldn’t imagine the teasing I’d endure if she caught me sneaking around this early for Nicholas.

I set to work quickly, gathering ingredients for pancakes and eggs, knowing they were his favorite. As I cracked the eggs into a bowl and whisked them, I couldn’t help but feel a warmth in my chest, a deep contentment that came from doing something simple yet meaningful for him. Every step, from pouring the batter onto the hot griddle to flipping the pancakes, felt like an act of love, a way to show him how much he meant to me.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm maple syrup began to fill the kitchen, and I plated everything carefully, arranging the pancakes, eggs, and fruit just so. I grabbed a tray from the cabinet, setting the plate and mug on it. It was simple, but I hoped it would make him feel special.

As I carried the tray back down the hall, I couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Nicholas was used to grand gestures and lavish displays in his world, and while this was far more humble, it came straight from my heart. I just hoped it would mean as much to him as it did to me.

When I pushed the bedroom door open and closed it back with my foot, balancing the tray carefully, I found him still curled up on the bed, his head nestled against the pillow where I’d been. The sight of him, so peaceful and unguarded, made my heart swell.

“Nicholas,” I called softly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. I brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering against his warm skin. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

He stirred at my touch, his eyes fluttering open slowly. A sleepy, lopsided smile spread across his face as he blinked up at me. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick and raspy.

“Good morning,” I replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I made you breakfast.”

His eyes flicked to the tray, and his smile widened, lighting up his face. “You’re spoiling me already?” he teased, rubbing his eyes open and propping himself up on one elbow.

“You deserve it,” I said simply, leaning down to kiss him softly before reaching for the tray. I placed it on his lap as he sat up in bed, watching as he took in the neatly arranged plate and the little touches I’d added.

“This is perfect,” he said, his voice soft with genuine appreciation. He picked up the fork, taking a bite of the pancakes, and let out a low hum of approval. He grinned, taking another bite before setting the fork down and pulling me closer. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “For everything. Last night, this morning… for just being you.”

I smiled, resting my forehead against his, kissing the corner of his eye, “Always,” I whispered, feeling a sense of peace settle over me again as we shared this quiet, intimate moment together. It wasn’t grand or extravagant, but it was us — and that was more than enough.

I made my way over to my closet, starting to plan out today’s outfit. Thankfully, it wasn’t as cold as the day before, a nice and sunny 57 degrees Fahrenheit, so I made sure to choose a light sweater.

“Hey, come here,” I heard Nicholas softly call out to me.

I turned around to see Nicholas cutting up a piece of pancake, stabbing it into the fork before holding it out lightly as if it might fall off. I smiled at the sight, crossing the room toward him and taking a seat next to him on the bed. Nicholas’s lips curled into a playful smirk, his eyes glinting with warmth.

“I don’t want to enjoy these alone,” he said, holding the fork steady.

I leaned in, opening my mouth slightly as he guided the fork to my lips. The warmth of the pancake, combined with the sweet syrup and buttery richness, made me hum in delight.

“It tastes sweeter having you feed it to me,” I said after swallowing.

Nicholas laughed softly, setting the fork down for a moment and reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You have no idea how much I love this,” he murmured, his voice lower now, carrying a hint of emotion.

“This?” I asked, tilting my head slightly, feeling the warmth of his gaze settle over me.

“This,” he repeated, gesturing vaguely between us, the tray, and the bed. “Being here with you. It’s everything. It’s so normal and perfect and… exactly what I needed.”

His words made my chest tighten with affection. I reached out to take his hand, squeezing it gently, “As long as you’re here, I want to make every moment count.”

Nicholas’s smile softened, his fingers curling around mine as he brought my hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to my knuckles. For a moment, we just sat there, the morning light streaming through the window and bathing us in its soft glow.

“So,” I began, breaking the quiet. “I have a pretty busy day planned for us, so why don’t I get ahead and hop in the shower while you finish eating up?” I asked, running my fingers through his hair before returning to my closet to finish planning my outfit.

I pulled out ol’ reliable, a plain shirt and jeans, setting it down on my desk chair, before making my way to my en suite bathroom. The morning air in the room was cool against my skin as I stepped inside, shut the door behind me, and switched on the vent fan to filter out the steam I knew I’d cause with my warm shower.

The bathroom was cozy, with soft white tiles and a single recessed shelf in the shower that was perfect for propping up my phone. I turned on the water, adjusting it until it was just the right temperature — hot enough to warm myself up from the night’s cold A/C air but not too hot to where I might boil myself alive.

As steam began to fill the room, I quickly set up my phone on the shelf, opening Hulu to catch up on the latest episode of the irreverent comedy show I was watching. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I watched tv in the shower because I truly loved watching it or just because I had grown accustomed to having the constant chatter in the background while I worked through my hair, like I was in some sort of personal hair salon.

The water cascaded over me as I pulled back the curtain slightly and stepped into the full shower, the heat soaking into my skin and relaxing my muscles. I tilted my head back, letting the water run through my hair as the show played quietly in the background. The sound of the dialogue mixed with the steady rhythm of the water and the constant hum of the vent, creating a soothing atmosphere.

Just as I reached for the shampoo, I heard the bathroom door creak open. I knew it was Nicholas, so I didn’t mind at all, continuing to lather my hands up with shampoo and starting to work at my hair. In my head, I thought maybe he’d use the toilet or brush his teeth after finishing up his breakfast, so when I felt the curtain pull back slightly, I opened my eyes.

Nicholas stood there, leaning casually against the edge of the shower, his smirk both playful and mischievous. Steam swirled around him, softening the lines of his face as he met my gaze.

"You have your phone in here?" he asked, his tone teasing as his eyes flicked to the shelf where my show was still playing.

“I like the noise,” a laugh escaped me as I rinsed the shampoo from my hair.

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly before stepping closer. His hands reached for the hem of his t-shirt, and I watched as he pulled it off in one smooth motion. He stepped out of his jeans and boxers, pulling the curtain back more to join me. He stepped in, letting the hot water hit his skin. I tried to feign indignation, but the sight of him standing there, drops of water trickling down his chest, made it impossible to focus. His eyes flicked to my phone again, knitting his eyebrows at the show for a bit. It was almost like he was feigning interest, hiding his true intentions.

I worked the conditioner through my hair then proceeded to reach for the body wash. Nicholas stopped me, reaching for the bottle and the exfoliating glove on the wall, slipping it on. “You made breakfast for me. Can I return the favor?” He asked with a smirk.

I didn’t want to protest. The first time he washed my body during our weekend in Los Angeles, his touch was so tender. I didn’t want to deny myself that feeling again. Though, he had the teeniest glint of mischief in his eyes this time around, one that sent the heat through my cheeks.

I nodded my head, swallowing as I felt my pulse quicken watching him squeeze some of the body wash onto the glove. The rich, floral scent mixed with the steam, filling the small space. I stepped back slightly to give him room, though the shower was small enough that we were still pressed close. He motioned for me to turn around. I obliged, anticipating the moment I’d feel the glove against my skin.

Nicholas started at my shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he worked the glove in slow, deliberate circles over my skin. The sensation was a mix of soothing and electrifying, his movements almost hypnotic. The exfoliating texture heightened every stroke, sending tingles racing across my body as he worked his way down my back.

"You've got tension here," he murmured, his voice low and close to my ear as he lingered at the curve where my neck met my shoulders. "When was the last time someone took care of you like this?"

"Hmm," I hummed, my breath hitching slightly. "Can't say I remember. Maybe six months ago,” I spoke, a tinge of teasing behind my words, knowing that was the last time he had seen me in the shower.

His lips ghosted over the damp skin just below my ear, not quite a kiss, but enough to make my breath catch. "I’m sorry, baby," he murmured. "Guess I'll just have to make up for it."

I bit my lip, my heart pounding in my chest as his hands moved lower, the glove brushing along the dip of my spine, down to the small of my back. His free hand moved up to my shoulder, pushing them forward into the tiled wall while my hips stuck out behind me. Nicholas's touch lingered as his hand guided me, my palms pressing flat against the cool tiles. The contrast between the hot water cascading over me and the rough yet gentle movement of the glove sent a shiver down my spine.

His free hand lingered around my neck, pulling on the necklace he had given me all those months ago, the one with his initial on the back of it. His fingertips toyed with the chain, tangling themselves in it. The slight tug of the necklace sent a ripple of sensation through me, a reminder of the connection it symbolized. His fingers teased along the chain, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin at the base of my neck. The cool metal against my damp skin was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body and the steam swirling around us.

"You still wear this every day," Nicholas murmured, his voice rough, filled with something deeper than desire. It was possessive, reverent.

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Always."

“Good." The single word was laced with satisfaction, his grip on the chain firming slightly as he leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

His words sent a shiver down my spine, my breath hitching as I pressed my forehead against the tiles. My fingers curled against the tiles, desperate for something to hold onto as he pressed closer, his erection pressing against the small of my back. I could feel the heat of him behind me, his body a solid, grounding presence that made the rest of the world fall away.

"Do you feel that?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through my entire body. "How much I want you?"

I nodded again, my voice caught in my throat. The glove was forgotten as it fell to the floor with a soft thud, his now-bare hand slipping around my waist to rest on my stomach, holding me in place as he leaned in further, his chest pressing against my back. His lips trailed down the side of my neck, alternating between feather-light kisses and gentle nips that made my breath catch.

"Six months without you," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, cutting through the sound of the water. His movements slowed, deliberate, as though savoring every second. "I don’t know how I survived."

The weight of his words made my breath hitch, my body responding instinctively as his touch continued its maddening rhythm. The hand on my stomach moved lover, brushing over my sensitive spot.

I let out an audible moan, not afraid of holding myself back with the water drowning out our noises now. He trailed kisses along my neck, his touch becoming more insistent as his hand continued to rub me. His lips grazed my shoulder as he pressed closer against me. I could feel the firmness of him against my back as his hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of skin as though memorizing it all over again.

The steam in the shower only added to the haze between us, the air thick with heat and unspoken promises. The hand that rested against my hip came up to tilt my head back toward him. His lips found mine in a kiss that was both demanding and tender, leaving me breathless as I pressed back into him. Without breaking the kiss, Nicholas reached for my phone on the shelf, his movements confident and deliberate.

I pulled away slightly, my brows furrowing as I realized what he was doing. “Nic... what are you-"

“It’s okay; it’s only us," he murmured, his voice soft but commanding. His eyes met mine, dark with a mix of desire and sincerity. "Just something to tide me over for when I leave back to New York."

He paused the show and exited the app, his thumb hovering over the camera icon waiting for my nod. My pulse raced as I hesitated, but the vulnerability and care in his gaze melted any resistance. Slowly, I gave a small nod, my heart pounding as he tapped the screen and hit record, angling the phone to capture the two of us.

The atmosphere thickened as Nicholas positioned the phone carefully, the steam curling around us. The soft glow from the shower light reflected off the droplets clinging to our skin. His hand returned to my hip, steadying me as he pressed closer. I could feel the weight of his gaze even without looking at him, the knowledge that he was capturing every detail sending a shiver through me. The only other times I’ve had a camera pointed at me during moments like this was when Nicholas and I would have our private FaceTime calls in the dead of night, but never recording.

He shifted slightly, positioning himself, the anticipation making every second stretch. When he finally pushed into me, the sensation was overwhelming — a mix of fullness, heat, and undeniable connection that made my breath catch. My hands pressed against the cool tiles for balance, the contrast only heightening the sensations coursing through me.

The rhythm he set was deliberate and unhurried, his movements slow and deep as though savoring every second. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling through me, the steam and heat making it impossible to tell where my body ended and his began. The weight of the camera, the idea of being seen through his eyes, added an edge to the experience, amplifying every sensation and emotion.

One of Nicholas’s hands slid up my stomach, his fingers brushing over my necklace before continuing upward to cradle my throat lightly. The pressure was gentle, his thumb grazing the pulse that beat wildly beneath his touch, a silent acknowledgment of the trust between us. His other hand steadied me at the waist, guiding me with a firm but loving grip that left no doubt of his control.

Nicholas leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as his pace quickened slightly, the tension between us building with every movement. His breath was warm and uneven, his low groans vibrating against my skin and sending jolts of pleasure through me. I could feel his restraint, the way he held himself back, letting the moment stretch into something unforgettable.

The camera was still, its presence both grounding and exhilarating as I let myself be seen through its lens. The vulnerability of it, the rawness, made every touch and movement feel magnified, every emotion laid bare. Time seemed to stand still, the outside world fading away as we lost ourselves in each other.

Eventually, Nicholas reached for the phone, holding it in one hand as he pushed me further into the wall with the other, focusing the lens on his rhythm as he thrusted in and out of me. The lens captured the curve of my back, the way his hips met mine with each deliberate thrust, the beads of water gliding down our skin. His hand tightened on my waist, grounding me as l arched instinctively, pressing closer to him. The camera wasn't just documenting — it felt like an extension of his gaze, amplifying the way he took in every detail of our connection.

My breaths quickened, the intensity of his movements building with each second. His hand trailed up my back, tracing the ridges of my spine, before settling on my shoulder and pulling me back toward him, my head falling back on his shoulder. He shifted the phone around in front of us, switching to selfie mode as he recorded our faces, his groans mingling with the sound of my ragged breathing.

Suddenly, my phone started to ring, cutting our video short and displaying my mom’s name across the screen brightly. The vibration of my phone startled me, its muffled ringtone cutting through the steamy haze. My body tensed instinctively, but Nicholas didn't falter, his thrusts deep and deliberate as he tightened the grip on my phone.

He glanced at the screen, his lips curling into a wicked smirk. "Answer it," his voice rasped, low and commanding.

My eyes widened, my heart racing for a different reason now. "Nicholas, no-"

His hand tightened on my hip, his movements slowing but not stopping as he held the phone up to me, the name on the screen glaring back at me. “Answer,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I hesitated, my body trembling under his hold. I’m not sure what had changed within Nicholas, becoming even more maddeningly bold than he already was and increasingly more reckless with each of our hookups. I knew that filming had shifted something inside him, forcing him to explore a new side of himself that he held back. Maybe he just wanted to get back at my mom for her subtle snide comments all through dinner last night. Truthfully, I didn’t care for either reason — I was completely at the mercy of this new side of him, no matter the cause. Like I said, he could get me to do anything.

Nicholas’s thrusts deepened, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that made it impossible to deny him. With trembling fingers, I accepted the call, bringing the phone to my ear. “Hello?” My voice was shaky, breathless, but I tried to steady it as much as possible. I was praying that the sound of the water running would be loud enough to mask my shakiness.

“Hey, sweetie,” my mom’s voice muffled through my ear. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, not at all,” I managed, forcing a lightness into my tone despite the heat rushing through me. Nicholas didn’t stop. If anything, the pace of his movements remained maddeningly steady, his hand on my waist firm, holding me in place as he thrust deeply, deliberately. “I’m just in the shower.”

I clung to the edge of the shower tile with one hand, the other holding onto Nicholas’s arm wrapped around my stomach as though it were the only lifeline keeping me grounded in reality. My mom’s voice filtered through, her casual warmth starkly contrasting the chaos Nicholas was wreaking on my body.

“I just wanted to tell you that I think maybe we should hold a small cookout today so the rest of the family can meet Nicholas before the New Year’s party tomorrow,” she said, oblivious to the tremor in my voice. “I know you might’ve made plans with him already, but how does that sound? I don't think he’ll mind. Is he awake?”

The mention of his name triggered Nicholas to lean in, his breath hot against my temple as he wickedly grinned into my skin. I opened my mouth to reply, but a sharp thrust from Nicholas stole my breath, forcing me to press my lips tightly together to stifle the sound threatening to escape. His free hand slid up my stomach, grazing my ribs as his movements grew more deliberate, testing my resolve.

“Answer her,” he murmured, his voice so quiet only I could hear it. His words sent a shiver down my spine, my body tightening under his touch.

I mustered every ounce of control in me to reply to her question, “I don’t know. He was still in bed by the time I came in to shower,” which wasn’t a total lie. It was the truth, before he decided to join me in the shower.

“Well, just let him know when you’re done,” my mom replied, her voice cheerful and completely unaware of my predicament.

Nicholas’s hand slid lower, his fingers grazing dangerously close to the spot where I was already struggling to hold myself together. My breath hitched audibly, and I had to cover it with a cough, turning my face slightly to avoid letting any sound betray me. He chuckled softly against my ear, his amusement sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through me.

“Yeah, okay,” I managed, gripping the phone tightly as Nicholas shifted his angle, driving me closer to the edge. I wasn’t even aware of what I had just agreed to. “Bye, Mom.”

Nicholas didn’t even wait for my mom to say it back before ending the call and setting the phone back down on the shelf. As soon as he placed the phone down, his movements became unrelenting, his pace quickening and his grip on my waist tightening. He pressed his chest firmly against my back, and turned my head back to face him.

“Good girl,” he murmured against my lips, his voice dripping with a mix of pride and desire. His hands moved possessively over my body, as if he needed to feel every inch of me to confirm that I was his.

The heat in the shower was nothing compared to the fire coursing through my veins. Every movement of his hips against mine sent waves of pleasure rippling through me, leaving me breathless and trembling. Nicholas’s grip on my waist tightened, his pace becoming deliberate and insistent, as though he wanted to draw out every last ounce of sensation from this moment. The intensity of his touch was almost too much, yet not enough, and I arched into him, needing more.

“Nicholas,” I gasped, his name a plea on my lips. My hands reached back, clutching at his hair as I turned my head further, capturing his mouth in a desperate, heated kiss. He groaned into my mouth, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he regained control, his movements growing rougher, more desperate.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against my lips, his tone a promise, a vow. “Just let go.”

His words unraveled me. The tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside me snapped, and I was lost, the waves of pleasure crashing over me in a blinding crescendo. My body trembled violently in his arms, and Nicholas held me tightly, his own breathing ragged as he followed me over the edge moments later.

The world seemed to tilt as we clung to each other, the sound of the water cascading around us grounding us in the aftermath. Nicholas’s hands were gentle now, smoothing over my sides and back as he pressed soft kisses to my shoulder and neck. My head lolled back against his chest, my breaths coming in shallow, uneven bursts as I tried to steady myself.

“What was that?” I managed to ask through my panting, referring to his sudden emboldened and risky behavior.

Nicholas chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble that vibrated against my back. He kissed the curve of my shoulder, his lips lingering as if savoring the moment before finally speaking. “What was what?” he teased, his voice smug yet tender.

I turned my head slightly to give him a pointed look, though the effort was half-hearted at best. My body was still trembling from the intensity of it all, and his arms around me felt too comforting to fully protest.

“You know what I’m talking about,” I said, my tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Just last night, you hesitated hooking up because my family was still in the house and now you had me answer the phone while you were still inside me,” I spoke, not able to bite back the smile on my lips.

Nicholas grinned, his smug expression tempered by the playful glint in his eyes. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his arms tightening around me slightly. "I don't know what came over me," he said, though his tone betrayed no remorse. “I guess I was just sick of people interrupting us. Or maybe I just wanted to see if you’d do it.”

I watched as he reached for my phone again, unlocking it with my face and wrapping his arms around me, settling the base of my phone on my stomach as he rested his chin on my shoulder, swiping through to the Photos app.

I raised an eyebrow, twisting slightly in his arms to look at him. “What are you doing now?” I asked, my voice tinged with playful suspicion.

“Just making sure I have a copy,” Nicholas said smoothly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. His fingers worked deftly, and within seconds, the video was sent to his phone. “For safekeeping.” His grin widened as he set my phone down on the shelf and tightened his arms around me. “Don’t worry; it’s safe with me. No one else will ever see it.”

I let out a soft laugh, leaning back against him as the water continued to cascade over us. “I hope not. I’d hate for your manager to have to deal with that kind of PR disaster.”

Nicholas chuckled, pressing a kiss to the damp skin of my shoulder. “Trust me, baby, no one’s getting their hands on this. It’s just something to keep me sane while I’m stuck filming without you.”

His words were teasing, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity in his tone that made my heart ache just a little. I turned in his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck and studying his face. “You know I’d visit you every day if I could,” I said softly.

“I know,” he murmured, his hands settling on my hips. His expression softened, the mischief in his eyes giving way to something deeper, more tender. “But you’ve got your own life… work, family. I wouldn’t want to pull you away from that.”

For a moment, I wanted to open my mouth and tell him he could, but fantasy aside, was I ready to leave home, Nicholas or no Nicholas? The question lingered in my mind as Nicholas’s arms tightened slightly around me, his warmth grounding me against the stream of water. The idea of moving out had been an ever-present thought, especially ever since I moved back in with my family after college. Even though it was perfectly normal for other graduates to be in my situation, I still couldn’t help but feel… behind.

I wanted to leave, but every time I brought up the idea, my mom always managed to convince me otherwise. She wasn’t overtly cruel; that wasn’t her style, but she had this way of making me feel like I couldn’t function without her, like I was incomplete, ill-equipped, fragile.

“So, what did you end up roping us into with your mom today?” Nicholas’s question pulled me out of my thoughts.

I shook the thoughts away, sort-of remembering the conversation with my mom on the phone.

Nicholas and I finished our shower and got ready — styling our hair, picking our outfits, brushing our teeth, doing any finishing touches. Seeing Nicholas maneuver through the pastel-pink chaos of my room and bathroom was unexpectedly… hot. There he was, all broad shoulders and defined muscles, looking every bit like he belonged on a movie set or gracing a magazine cover, surrounded by a room that looked like a cupcake had thrown up in it. It was like he was my own personal Ken doll. He leaned down to tie his boots at the foot of my bed, his shirt stretching tight across his back, the quilt beneath him almost ridiculous in comparison. It was like watching a warrior prince step into a fairy tale cottage — out of place, yet somehow fitting in a way that shouldn’t make sense.

We emerged from my bedroom and made our way over to the living room, my mom, already ready for the day, and my eldest brother, still in his pjs, lounging around watching the tv.

My mom whipped her head, smiling, “There you guys are.”

I smiled, greeting my mom with a kiss on the cheek, while Nicholas gave her a polite hug, shooting me a knowing look over her shoulder. Blushing, I looked down at my feet. “By what time do you want us to be back for the cookout?” I asked.

My mom looked at her watch, “4-ish? Your dad will turn the grill on by then.”

“Okay,” I nodded my head, purposefully keeping our conversation short so she wouldn’t feel compelled to make any snide remarks. “We’ll be back by then.” I took Nicholas by the hand and smacked the back of my brother’s head on our way out, our usual form of greeting each other.

Nicholas followed me out to the car, his hand casually resting on the small of my back as we walked. The sun was shining, the air crisp and cool, a perfect day to explore. I had a plan that was simple yet meaningful: take Nicholas to the only bookstore in town, then my favorite coffee shop. Originally, I had also wanted to take him back to the island and show him one of my favorite spots near the dunes, but since we had that cookout now… I guess I wouldn’t be able to show him.

I figured the bookstore, to start, would perfectly ease us into the day. Nicholas and I loved our books; maybe I could spoil him and buy him a couple for him to take back with him to New York. The bookstore itself wasn’t flashy; it had just opened last year, our town’s first bookstore in 10 years, and I had been going almost every week since. In a way, it held a particularly special place in my heart because it’s where I had bought my used copy of White Oleander, the book Nicholas had asked me about at the beach when we first met.

“I thought we’d start at this cute little bookstore,” I said as we got in the car, glancing at him with a small smile. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s got character.“

Nicholas’s eyes lit up with interest as he fastened his seatbelt.

The drive wasn’t long, but Nicholas spent most of it looking out the window, pointing out little details that caught his attention: the ridiculous amount of palm trees like he was back in Los Angeles, the colorful murals on the sides of buildings, and the fact our town only had one two-lane highway compared to the countless ones in LA or New York. His enthusiasm for the small-town scenery made me smile.

When we pulled into downtown, I scanned the one-way streets for parking. Luckily, there was a spot just a few shops down the road from the bookstore, an absolute win. I quickly parallel parked, switching the car off and exiting. I reached for Nicholas’s hand as he rounded the car, quickly tugging him toward the bookstore.

The store was warm and inviting, with wooden shelves packed tightly with books, their spines creating a patchwork of colors. The faint scent of aged paper and cedar hung in the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh coffee from the tiny café tucked in the corner.

Nicholas stopped just a few steps inside, taking it all in with wide eyes. “This place is adorable,” he said, pulling out his phone. He snapped a photo of the entrance, then another of the cozy seating area near the front. 

I chuckled, nudging his arm. “Wait until you see the rare books section in the back. It’s my favorite spot.”

As we made our way through the store, Nicholas couldn’t stop snapping pictures. He took close-ups of quirky book covers, candid shots of the well-worn wooden floors, and even a selfie with one of the whimsical murals painted on the wall near the children’s section. I couldn’t help but grin at his enthusiasm. It was endearing to see him so excited over something so simple.

We wandered down aisle after aisle, pausing every so often to thumb through books that caught our attention. Nicholas picked up a collection of photography essays and flipped through it, occasionally showing me a particularly striking image. I, in turn, found a few old poetry collections and shared snippets of my favorite lines with him.

When we reached the rare books section, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. The shelves were filled with leather-bound tomes and first editions, each one encased in glass or displayed with care. Nicholas lingered over a signed copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, his fingers hovering just above the glass.

“No fucking way,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s signed,” he looked at it with awe, bending down a bit to get a better look. “I was Atticus in my high school’s production of To Kill A Mockingbird, y’know?”

“You were?” I asked with a smile, carefully leaning against a nearby bookshelf, enthused to hear another anecdote about his life.

Nicholas nodded, his eyes still glued to the book. “Yeah. I was a junior. It was my first big role. I was so nervous during the auditions, but my teacher said I had the gravitas for it.” He chuckled, standing up straight and glancing over at me.

I smiled, watching the way his face softened as he spoke about it. 

Nicholas continued, his voice warm with nostalgia. “That role changed everything for me. I didn’t think I had the guts to be on stage, let alone speak in front of a crowd, but playing Atticus… it was like stepping into someone else’s skin, someone who was brave and moral in a way I admired.” His gaze returned to the book, and his expression grew more tender. “He’s stuck with me since.”

The sincerity in his voice hit me square in the chest, and I found myself wanting to do something to show him how much I appreciated him sharing this piece of himself with me. While he wandered further down the aisle, his attention drawn to a collection of leather-bound classics, I glanced back at the signed copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Without hesitation, I approached the store clerk, keeping an eye on Nicholas to make sure he didn’t notice. “I’d like to buy that,” I whispered, pointing to the book.

The clerk smiled sneakily, catching my drift. Without alerting Nicholas, the clerk retrieved the book and carefully packaged it in a protective sleeve before slipping it into a discreet bag for me. I paid quickly, my heart racing slightly at the price. If I thought $13 smoothies were expensive, how about a $400 signed book? But I didn’t care. It was worth every penny if it meant seeing Nicholas’s reaction. The clerk tucked the bag behind the counter, telling me he’d stick into a bag with whatever else we decided to buy.

I smiled and walked to the shelf of used books to pull out a random book, making my way over to the sofa and reading a few pages as Nicholas continued to peruse to his heart’s content. Some minutes later, Nicholas joined me at the couch, setting down a small stack of books on the table in front of us and wrapping his arm around my shoulder, kissing my head.

“What are you reading?” He asked quietly, rubbing the side of my arm.

I flipped back to the cover, “The Rise of Rome.”

He pulled me closer, resting his chin on my head, “Thank you for bringing me here. I can tell it means a lot to you.”

I smiled, leaning into him and closing the book on my lap. “It does,” I admitted softly. “This place is kind of a miracle for our town.”

Nicholas tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

I gestured around the cozy bookstore, the warm lighting and creaky wooden floors giving it a charm that felt like home. “It’s the first bookstore we’ve had in ten years. The last one closed down when I was in high school because there just wasn’t enough business to keep it afloat. For years, people had to drive to the next town over or order online for books, and it made me so sad to see something so important just… gone.”

Nicholas’s gaze softened as he listened, his thumb brushing absently against my arm.

I continued, my voice filling with a quiet passion. “This place only exists because the community came together to fund it. There were fundraisers, bake sales, even an auction to get the money together. A few local businesses pitched in too, and when it finally opened last year, it felt like a huge victory for everyone.”

Nicholas let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Wow. That’s amazing.”

“It is,” I said, glancing around. “But it’s still tough. Places like this don’t make a lot of money, even when people love them. I just hope it sticks around.”

Nicholas was quiet for a moment, his brows furrowing in thought as he glanced around the store. Then, a small smile crept onto his face, and he reached for his phone. “Do you think they’d mind if I posted about this place?”

I blinked, taken aback by his question. “Like on social media?”

He nodded, already opening his camera app. “Yeah. A little shoutout might bring some attention to it, maybe even some new customers.“

My heart swelled at the thought, and I couldn’t help but smile. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “This place deserves to be seen. Plus, I wouldn’t mind doing a little something to help keep it open for you,” he kissed my shoulder.

Nicholas stood up, his phone already poised to snap a picture of one of the store’s charming shelves filled with colorful spines and little handwritten recommendation cards. He even approached the clerk, striking up a conversation about the bookstore and asking his permission if he could post about it. Of course, the clerk was enthusiastic, excitedly posing for a few photos with Nicholas.

After a few clicks, he turned to me, a playful grin on his face. “Come here. I need you in the shot.”

I raised an eyebrow, shaking my head. “You don’t need me in it.”

“I absolutely do,” he argued, reaching out to pull me up from the couch. “You’re the whole reason we’re here.

Reluctantly, I let him guide me over to one of the shelves near the front of the store. Nicholas adjusted his phone, pulling me close so we fit into the frame. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, and he gave the camera his signature charming grin, while I opted for a softer smile, knowing he’d post this photo for everybody to see.

Satisfied, he turned the phone back to himself, quickly typing out a caption as I peeked over his shoulder.

Stopped by the coziest little bookstore today—it’s a real community effort, and the first one this town has had in ten years! Places like this deserve all the love they can get. If you’re in the area, check it out, or order something online to support! Keeping spaces like this alive is so important. 🖤

He added a few relevant hashtags and tagged the bookstore’s account before hitting post. Then he turned to me with a satisfied smile. “Done.”

I stared at him, touched by his thoughtfulness. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Nicholas leaned in, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Anything for you,” he murmured. “And for a good cause.”

The rest of the visit felt even more special, knowing he’d done something to help. As we made our way to the register to check out, I handed over a couple of books we’d  picked out. The clerk gave me a knowing smile, expertly ringing everything up without giving anything away.

Nicholas glanced at me as I paid, raising an eyebrow. “You’re sure you don’t want me to cover this?”

“Nope,” I said, giving him a cheeky grin. “My treat.”

He didn’t argue further, and once we were back in the car, I handed him the bag with his gift. “Here,” I said, my voice warm with anticipation. “This is for you.”

Nicholas blinked, surprised. “What? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to,” I said simply. “Open it.”

He pulled out the wrapped book, his expression shifting from curiosity to awe as he realized what it was. “No way,” he whispered, carefully turning it over in his hands. “The signed copy?”

I nodded, biting my lip to keep from grinning too widely. “I saw how much it meant to you, and I couldn’t resist.”

Nicholas stared at the book for a long moment before looking up at me, his eyes shining with gratitude and a tear or two pricking at the corners. “(Y/N), this is…” his voice faltered. He took a deep breath, his thumb brushing over the edge of the book’s cover as though it were the most fragile, precious thing he’d ever held. “This is incredible,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t even know what to say.”

I smiled, feeling my chest tighten at his reaction. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I know how much this story and that role meant to you. I wanted you to have something that could remind you of where it all started, no matter where you are.” I reached out, placing a hand over his. “You deserve everything, Nicholas.”

He looked up at me then, his eyes glassy but full of warmth, and set the book gently on his lap before pulling me into his arms. “I love you,” he murmured, his lips pressing softly to my temple. “I love you so much. I’m so in love with you, (Y/N).”

My breath caught in my throat at the words, my heart swelling as I wrapped my arms around him. “I love you too,” I whispered back, feeling the sincerity in every syllable.

We stayed like that for a moment, the car silent except for the faint hum of the world outside. It was one of those rare moments that felt timeless, like nothing else mattered but the two of us.

As I turned the car back on and we headed toward the coffee shop, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was still carefully cradling the book in his lap, his fingers tracing the edges of the cover as if grounding himself in its significance. His quiet joy made the short drive to the coffee shop feel serene, a shared moment of contentment that didn’t need words.

The coffee shop was as cozy as the bookstore, with mismatched chairs, soft lighting, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with hints of cinnamon and vanilla. Nicholas insisted on paying this time, shooting me a playful glare when I tried to argue.

We ordered our drinks and found a small table near the window. The afternoon sunlight spilled in, painting the space in a golden hue. Nicholas leaned back in his chair, taking in the charm of the shop as he sipped his drink. We lingered there for a while, talking about everything and nothing, the way we always did. Nicholas told me about a script he was considering, his excitement lighting up his features, while I shared stories about growing up in the town, painting a picture of my life before him.

When the clock crept closer to four, I reluctantly glanced at my phone. “I had more planned, but we should probably head back for the cookout,” I said, not wanting the day to end.

Nicholas sighed dramatically but stood, gathering our empty cups and tossing them into the bin before taking my hand again. “Lead the way, my charming tour guide.”

The drive back was filled with easy conversation and laughter, the anticipation of the cookout settling over us like a soft blanket. As we pulled into the driveway, the scent of grilling meat and the sound of chatter greeted us, signaling the start of what promised to be a lively evening.

Nicholas squeezed my hand before we stepped out of the car, his expression soft as he looked at me. He didn’t need to say anything more; his eyes gave me that exact comforting look that could calm every nerve in my body.

As we walked toward the backyard, the sight of my extended family bustling about brought a wave of emotions I hadn’t fully prepared for. My parents had set up the yard beautifully — twinkling string lights crisscrossed above the patio, and the grill was already sending plumes of savory smoke into the air. Folding tables were covered in colorful tablecloths, laden with bowls of chips, salads, and other sides my mom had been prepping all day. The scene was cozy and familiar, yet now it held a new significance.

I wasn’t nervous about Nicholas meeting my extended family at all. He had so expertly navigated dinner with my nuclear family yesterday, that I was confident that he could hold his own with the great aunts and cousins. I didn’t care as much about their opinions.

As we stepped into the yard, I couldn’t help but glance at him. He looked completely at ease, holding the signed To Kill a Mockingbird in one hand and my hand in the other. The family erupted in cheers and greetings as we entered the space. I felt overwhelmed at the loud greeting, having never been the center of attention at functions like these before.

The self-consciousness hit me like a tidal wave, even as I forced a smile and waved at everyone. My extended family’s enthusiasm felt overwhelming, almost exaggerated, and I couldn’t tell if it was genuine excitement or a spectacle made out of the fact that I, the one who had always flown under the radar, was finally here with someone.

Nicholas, of course, took it all in stride. His easygoing charm radiated as he greeted everyone, answering questions with a warm smile, shaking hands, and laughing at jokes I couldn’t hear from where I stood. For a moment, I envied his confidence — how effortless it was for him to win people over. Meanwhile, I couldn’t shake the weight of the attention on me.

Why now? I wondered. Why all this fuss? My older siblings had brought home significant others before, and while there’d been interest, there had never been this. No cookouts, no fanfare. It was like my family had been holding their breath for years, waiting for me to prove I wasn’t going to end up alone, and Nicholas’s presence had finally given them the opportunity to exhale. Is this why my mom wanted to throw a cookout? To embarrass me? I wouldn’t put it past her.

I found myself retreating a little, busying myself with setting up the side dishes or refilling drinks to avoid lingering too long in conversations. Nicholas noticed, of course, and his hand found mine whenever he was close, his touch grounding me in a way I desperately needed.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly at one point, his eyes searching mine as we stood off to the side.

I nodded quickly, offering a smile that I hoped was convincing. “Yeah, just… I feel like everybody’s watching me,” I glanced around the room to find some of the aunts whispering to each other and looking over. God, why are aunts so gossip-y?

He tilted his head slightly, studying me, but didn’t push. “Well, you’re handling it beautifully,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from my face, kissing my forehead.

I wanted to believe him, but I knew I was being awkward. However, my demeanor wasn’t for naught. My suspicions about this whole event were confirmed when my mom lowered the music and clapped her hands to gain everybody’s attention. Oh, boy.

As the music quieted and the hum of conversation faded, all eyes turned to my mom, who stood near the grill with a self-satisfied smile. She raised her can of Coke Zero, a signature move she always employed to command a room. My stomach dropped. I could sense what was coming before she even opened her mouth.

“I just wanted to take a moment to welcome everyone and thank you all for coming today,” she began, her tone dripping with charm. Her gaze swept over the crowd, lingering on Nicholas and me. “It’s so wonderful to see this backyard filled with laughter and love. And of course, a very special thank you to Nicholas for being here with us.”

The crowd murmured their agreement, a few raising their drinks in his direction. Nicholas gave a modest smile, nodding in appreciation. I squeezed his hand tightly, hoping that would be the end of it, but I should’ve known better.

“You know,” my mom continued, her voice taking on that overly sweet, theatrical quality that made my skin crawl, “this is such a monumental occasion for us because, believe it or not, this is the first time our lovely (Y/N) has ever brought someone home to meet the family. We were starting to get a little worried!” She joked, her humor landing with everybody except me and Nicholas.

I wanted to sink into the ground, to disappear entirely. My cheeks burned as I forced a tight smile, trying to pretend her comment hadn’t gutted me.

Nicholas turned to me, his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. “You didn’t mention that,” he said softly, his tone more curious than accusatory.

I avoided his gaze, my mind racing for a way to recover. “I didn’t?” I mumbled under my breath, though my trembling hands betrayed me.

“Oh, don’t be shy!” my mom chimed in, clearly reveling in the attention she’d garnered. “We all thought this day might never come. I mean, after all these years…” She trailed off, laughing lightly as if it were all harmless fun.

The laughter around me felt suffocating. I glanced at Nicholas, his expression unreadable as he took in the scene. Was he embarrassed for me? Judging me? I couldn’t tell. The anxiety clawed at my chest, and I felt like I might explode.

“Mom,” I said quietly, my voice tight, but she either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me.

“And isn’t he just the most charming young man?” she continued, gesturing toward Nicholas like he was some prized possession I’d finally managed to acquire. “(Y/N), you’ve outdone yourself. It’s about time, don’t you all think?”

The crowd chuckled, and I could feel their eyes boring into me, their judgment and curiosity palpable. I was a grown adult being paraded like a child who’d finally mastered tying their shoes. The humiliation was overwhelming.

“How’d you even get an actor as your first boyfriend?” A younger cousin asked. I didn’t fault her for her bluntness; she was 11. Kids are always blunt.

“Yeah, did you stalk him?” Another older cousin asked amusedly.

My throat tightened as the room erupted in laughter, my cousins’ teasing only adding to my growing humiliation. The questions stung, not because they were malicious, but because they reinforced the narrative my mom had so gleefully laid out: that Nicholas was someone I didn’t deserve, someone I had to trick into loving me.

I opened my mouth to reply, to defend myself, but my mom beat me to it.

“Oh, please, don’t be silly,” she said, her voice dripping with faux amusement. “(Y/N)’s not the type to chase after anyone. She’s always been so focused on her books and work.”

The words hit me like a slap, veiled as they were in a thin layer of praise. The crowd chuckled again, but the undertone of my mom’s statement hung in the air, heavy and cutting. I felt Nicholas shift beside me, his hand tightening around mine as he clenched his jaw.

“Actually,” Nicholas said, his voice calm but laced with a subtle edge that silenced the laughter immediately. He glanced around the room, his expression composed but firm. “I’d appreciate it if we could keep this lighthearted. (Y/N) doesn’t need to prove herself to anyone here.” His words cut through the tension, a quiet command that made my mom blink in surprise. She opened her mouth to respond, but Nicholas wasn’t finished.

“And just for the record,” he added, his tone softening as he looked at me, “(Y/N) didn’t stalk me,” he shot a glare to my cousins as he spoke, his tone stern yet sassy, “She didn’t even know who I was when we met. And I was the one that made the first move, not that that’s anybody’s business.”

The air seemed to thicken with Nicholas’s words, his voice carrying a quiet power that left the room frozen. My cousins exchanged wide-eyed glances, their earlier smirks fading into sheepish expressions. My mom, for once, was speechless, her usual charm faltering under Nicholas’s unwavering gaze.

“Honestly,” he continued, his tone sharpening ever so slightly as he turned his attention to my mom, “(Y/N) is incredible. She doesn’t need anyone’s validation, least of all mine, to prove that.”

The silence that followed was deafening. My mom’s cheeks flushed faintly, and she opened her mouth, likely to recover her dominance over the situation, but Nicholas still wasn’t done.

“I’m here because I wanted to meet the people who are important to her,” he said, his voice softening now, but his intensity unwavering. “So maybe we can just focus on enjoying the day.”

His words were measured but deliberate, leaving no room for rebuttal. It was like watching him in his element, his performance masterful and commanding, but there was no pretense in his words. He meant every syllable, and it hit me as deeply as it seemed to hit the rest of the room.

My mom looked like she was struggling to find a response, her lips pressing together in a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course,” she finally said, her voice a little too high-pitched. “I was just having a bit of fun.”

Nicholas nodded curtly, but his expression made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. He turned back to me, his eyes softening immediately as he reached for my hand again. “You okay?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing against my knuckles.

I swallowed hard, my throat thick with emotion. It was like I was seeing him in a completely new light — one that was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. There was something undeniably magnetic about his protectiveness, the way he’d stepped in and taken control of a situation that had left me feeling so small.

At the same time, there was an edge to him I hadn’t fully seen before. His confidence, the calculated precision of his words, the subtle yet sharp glint in his eyes — it was almost unnerving how easily he’d dominated the room. It was as though, for just a moment, the meticulous precision and simmering danger of Patrick Bateman had seeped into the real Nicholas. The polished charm that usually radiated from him had slipped, revealing something darker, more primal. It was intoxicating.

I knew he wouldn’t be able to shed the layers of playing Patrick Bateman in his new movie so quickly, especially during a two-week break when he had to return to filming afterwards. The sharp edge to his voice, the way his jaw tightened when my mom made her snide remarks, the deliberate pause before he spoke as if calculating the exact impact his words would have — it was all so… deliberate. Controlled. Powerful. The kind of presence that commanded attention without needing to raise his voice.

And then there was the way he looked at me. When he asked if I was okay, his eyes softened, his protective warmth flooding through me, but there was still a glint there — something unreadable. It wasn’t anger. No, this was something deeper, more complex. It was like he had momentarily stepped into Bateman’s shoes, harnessing the ruthlessness of the character, but redirected it into something strangely noble. For my sake. I was touched.

As the rest of the family awkwardly resumed their conversations, I tugged Nicholas’s hand lightly and led him to a quieter corner of the backyard. His body language shifted instantly, his shoulders relaxing as he turned to face me, his expression softening further.

“Thank you, Nic,” I murmured, my voice barely audible above the hum of conversation.

He tilted his head, studying me for a moment before his lips quirked into a faint smile. “For what? Stating the obvious?”

I huffed out a breath of laughter, shaking my head. “You know what I mean.”

His smile grew, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wasn’t going to stand there and let them treat you like that. Especially your mom. I could take it at dinner last night, but seeing her do it to you so easily….” He trailed off. “She should be building you up, not tearing you down.”

Not that I was ungrateful for him stepping in, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you okay?” tilting my head to meet his gaze.

His expression flickered, surprise flashing briefly before he nodded. “Of course,” he said, his tone gentle now. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I hesitated, unsure if I should bring it up. “There’s an edge to you lately. Not that I don’t like it, because I do,” I stifled a chuckle, “I just wanna make sure you’re not overworking yourself too much for this movie,” I said as I cupped his face in my hands.

He let out a breath, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s just hard to shake, you know? Especially when everything about Patrick feels so effortless. And his controlling nature is so…”

I searched his face, trying to find the right words to ease the tension I could see building in him. “You’re an incredible actor,” I said softly. “And part of what makes you so good is that you give everything to your characters. But that doesn’t mean they define you. Patrick is just a role, Nic. A role you’re crushing, by the way,” I added with a small smirk. “And, believe me, I know that you like the control,” I teased, referring to our earlier tryst.

Nicholas let out a low chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as his hands slid to my waist. “You’re not wrong,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar blend of mischief and warmth. “But trust me, any control I want is strictly consensual. And I’m pretty sure you don’t mind it.”

I felt my cheeks heat at his words, though I refused to back down. “I don’t,” I admitted with a grin, tilting my head to look up at him. “But just promise me you’ll keep Patrick on set.”

His expression softened, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve got nothing to worry about; I promise you.” He paused, his thumb brushing gently against my cheek. “But thank you for keeping me grounded. I wish you could keep me in check while I filmed.”

My chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around me like a warm embrace. “Always,” I said softly, standing on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

Nicholas returned the kiss, his hand cupping the back of my head as if to hold me there just a little longer. When we finally pulled apart, his eyes were lighter, the edge I’d noticed earlier softened by the moment.

“Come on,” he said, his voice taking on a playful tone as he laced his fingers with mine. “Let’s survive this cookout together. Then we can sneak away,” he whispered the last part in my ear, triggering a tickle in me.

As we rejoined the gathering, the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses enveloped us once again. But this time, I felt different. With Nicholas at my side, his hand in mine, the weight of the attention felt a little lighter, the lingering sting of my mom’s words a little less sharp. No one dared to tease me the rest of the night, even about things that had nothing to do with Nicholas. I was grateful for his protection. Though, I could feel my mom staring daggers at me, not quite amused that Nicholas had managed to turn something around on her.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of polite conversation, laughter, and the usual family dynamics. Nicholas, ever the charmer, easily integrated himself into the flow, helping with the grill, chatting with my cousins, and winning my dad over more with his knowledge of football. If he noticed my mom’s thinly veiled irritation, he didn’t show it, handling her with the same calm poise that had disarmed her earlier.

Later that night, after the guests had trickled out and the dishes had been cleaned up, Nicholas and I lingered outside staring up at the stars. That’s when I thought maybe I should bring out my phone from charging so Nicholas and I could take a few photos of each other. Going inside and passing by my parents’ room, I heard their voices, low but unmistakably tense.

“I still think he was out of line,” my mom said, her tone clipped. “It’s one thing to defend her, but he didn’t need to make a spectacle of it in front of everyone.”

My dad’s response was immediate, his voice firm but calm. “He didn’t make a spectacle. He stood up for her because you pushed her too far. What were you thinking, making those comments?”

I froze outside the door, my heart pounding as I strained to hear.

“It was harmless teasing. You know how my family and I are,” my mom insisted. “It’s not my fault if she’s too sensitive.”

“It wasn’t harmless,” my dad countered, his tone sharpening. “You embarrassed her in front of the whole family. Nicholas was right to call you out. And even if (Y/N) was too sensitive, you taught her to be that way.”

I knocked on the door lightly before pushing the door open. “What are you guys talking about?” I asked, crossing my arms. “Because it sounds like you’re debating whether Nicholas was wrong to stand up for me.”

My mom sighed, clearly exasperated. “(Y/N), no one’s saying he shouldn’t have defended you,” she spoke as she lathered her legs up with her lotion, “but he could have done it more… tactfully. Calling attention to it just made it worse.”

“Worse for you, you mean,” I snapped, stepping further into the room. “The fact that you made me feel like some awkward charity case in front of everyone? Or that you couldn’t resist making my relationship with Nicholas the punchline of your little jokes?”

Her expression faltered for a moment before she straightened, her voice adopting that overly calm tone she always used when she felt cornered. “I was just trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t meant to hurt you.“

“Well, it did,” I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “And you didn’t even apologize. Nicholas was the only one who had my back tonight, and now you’re mad at him for it?”

“I’m not mad,” she insisted, though her tone betrayed her. “I just think he could have handled it better. It’s not his place to—”

“Not his place?” My dad interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “That young man cares about our daughter. He didn’t raise his voice or make a scene. He handled it exactly as he should have — better than I would have, to be honest.” I looked at my dad, surprised by the fire in his voice. He turned to me, his expression softening. “Nicholas did the right thing, sweetheart. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad he did. I should’ve stepped in; I didn’t know your mom would do that in front of everybody.”

Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked them away quickly. “Thanks, Dad.”

He nodded, his gaze steady as he turned back to my mom. “You owe her an apology. And you need to think about how your words come across. You’ve done this before.”

“I—” My mom started to protest but stopped herself. She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine. I’m sorry, (Y/N). If I hurt you, it wasn’t intentional.”

The apology felt half-hearted, but it was something. I nodded, not trusting myself to say much more without breaking down. “Goodnight,” I said finally, turning to leave.

As I walked out, I heard my dad’s voice again, low but firm. “You need to let her grow up. She’s not a child.”

I didn’t stick around to hear her response. Instead, I headed back outside to join Nicholas under the lit pergola. He was leaning against the wooden post of the pergola, his head tilted back as he gazed up at the stars. The soft glow of the string lights gave him a golden halo, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the relaxed curve of his lips. He looked so peaceful, completely unaware of the tension that had just played out inside.

I stepped forward, my footsteps crunching on the gravel, and his eyes shifted to meet mine. His smile was immediate, warm and inviting, but it faltered slightly as he studied my face. “Hey,” he said softly, straightening. “You okay?”

I nodded as I reached him, but the words were caught in my throat. His expression tightened with concern, and he took my hand, pulling me closer.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his voice steady but filled with worry.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the jumble of emotions swirling inside me. “I overheard my parents talking,” I admitted, glancing at the ground. “About you. About tonight.” Nicholas’s grip on my hand tightened slightly, but he stayed silent, waiting for me to continue. “My mom thinks you were out of line for standing up for me,” I said, my voice small. 

His brow furrowed, a flash of frustration crossing his features. “I didn’t mean to—”

I cut him off, shaking my head. “No, Nic. That’s not… I don’t think you were out of line,” I clarified, my voice firm. “In fact, I think you handled it perfectly.”

His gaze softened, but he still looked uncertain. “Then what’s bothering you?”

I hesitated, my eyes darting back to the house before returning to him. “It’s not just about tonight,” I confessed. “Things with my mom have been tense for a while. She has this way of… I don’t know, making me feel small. Like I’m not good enough, or like I need to justify every decision I make.” I paused, my throat tightening. “And now, with you here, it feels like everything’s about to boil over. Like it’s all going to explode at any minute.”

Nicholas frowned, his hand reaching up to cup my cheek. “Hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against my skin. “None of this is your fault. Your mom’s behavior isn’t okay, but it doesn’t reflect on you, and it sure as hell doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

I blinked back tears, leaning into his touch. “I just don’t want you to think you’re the reason for any of this tension,” I murmured. “It’s been building for a long time. You standing up for me tonight… it meant more than you know. Really.”

Nicholas exhaled slowly, his other hand coming to rest on my waist. “I’ll admit, I don’t like seeing anyone treat you the way she did tonight. But this isn’t about me, (Y/N). It’s about you. You deserve to feel safe and supported, especially with your family. And if I made things worse by speaking up—”

“You didn’t,” I interrupted firmly, placing a hand over his chest. “If anything, you reminded me that I don’t have to take it. That it’s okay to expect better.”

He tilted his head, studying me intently. “You’ve always deserved better,” he said quietly. “You’re incredible, (Y/N). Anyone who doesn’t see that is blind.”

His words hit me square in the chest, and I felt my defenses crumble. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his shoulder as a tear slid down my cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “For being here. For standing up for me.”

Nicholas wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a warm, protective embrace. “Always,” he murmured against my hair. He was quiet for a moment, but then spoke up again, “Hey, I have an idea.” I pulled away from him, curious. “I know this cookout interrupted some of the plans you had for us today, but that’s over now and we still have some time left. Why don’t we continue our day together?”

I smiled at him, appreciating his effort to shift the mood. “Yeah,” I said softly, “I’d like that.”

Nicholas stepped back slightly, his hands resting on my hips as he looked at me expectantly. “Where to next?”

There was only one place I could think of — a spot I hadn’t shared with anyone else before. A place that was mine, where I’d always gone to feel at peace. “How do you feel about going for a drive? There’s somewhere I’d like to take you.”

His eyes lit up with curiosity. “I’m intrigued. But why don’t I drive us this time? Give you a break?”

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I appreciate it, but this is one of those drives you just have to feel. Trust me; I’ll explain along the way.” Nicholas studied me for a moment, then nodded, his curiosity only growing.

We got into the car, and as soon as I turned the engine on, I felt a sense of relief. I’m glad Nicholas suggested we continue our day together, allowing me to forget what happened earlier.

The first few minutes of the drive were quiet, the only sounds coming from the hum of the car and the faint echoes of cicadas in the distance. The air was warm, the faint scent of barbecue still lingering as we left the neighborhood. I rolled down the windows slightly, letting the cool breeze sweep through the car.

“The beach?” Nicholas asked after a while, his gaze flicking to the road signs as we approached the causeway over the bay.

I’m sure he remembered the drive to the island from when he first visited those 10 months ago. I always wondered what went through his head when he first arrived here for that weekend.

“Yeah,” I said, glancing at him briefly before returning my focus to the road. “There’s a spot at the end of the island I think you’ll love. It’s… peaceful. Feels like the edge of the world sometimes.”

Nicholas leaned back in his seat, his eyes drifting out the window. “Sounds perfect.”

The drive over the causeway was always my favorite part. The bridge rose high over the bay, the water stretching endlessly on either side, shimmering under the moonlight. It felt like entering another world, a quiet escape from the noise and chaos of reality.

“The beach means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” he asked softly, breaking the silence.

I nodded. “It does. My family used to come out here all the time. Over time, the trips became more sporadic until we stopped visiting completely. When I first started driving, I promised myself to visit as often as I could, even if it was just for a couple of hours. It’s like the ocean… resets me, I guess.”

Nicholas turned to me, his expression thoughtful. He reached out to squeeze my thigh, “It means a lot to me, too.”

I glanced over to him, knowing what he had meant. The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten, and I couldn’t help but smile.

We drove in comfortable silence for a while longer. At some point, we had driven past the hotel where we first met, the both of us squeezing each other’s hands as we passed by it. The streets grew quieter as we left the main part of the island behind. The road narrowed, the buildings thinning out until there was nothing but dunes on either side of us.

The headlights cut through the darkness as the road turned into a hauntingly quiet path bordered by dunes on either side, high and low. The sand on the road danced around like snakes in grass, side to side gracefully with a rhythmic pattern.  The air was crisp with the salty tang of the ocean, growing stronger with each passing mile. The farther we drove, the more the world seemed to fall away, leaving nothing but the sound of the engine and the rhythmic crash of waves faintly echoing in the distance.

Nicholas rolled down his window further, letting the cool air sweep into the car. “The ocean sounds so close,” he murmured, his voice quiet, as if not to disturb the tranquility outside.

I smiled, focusing on the road ahead as it started to blend with the sand. “That’s when you know you’re almost there.”

The headlights illuminated patches of sea oats swaying gently on the dunes, their slender stalks casting long, delicate shadows. In the distance, to our right, the moonlight shimmered on the surface of the water, breaking through the gaps in the dunes. The scene was hauntingly beautiful, the kind of place that felt untouched by time.

Eventually, the pavement started to blend into the sand, a yellow sign on the side reading ‘Road Ends Here’ to warn drivers. I slowed the car to a stop, pulling over right at the end of the road and switching off the car. The car settled into the stillness, the sound of the engine fading into the background as the night took over. The stars above were brilliant, like shiny, little fish in a dark ocean.

I turned to Nicholas, a slight smirk on my face, “Wanna guess what they call this place?”

Nicholas turned his head to me, a curious smile playing on his lips. “Hmm,” he murmured, glancing out at the scene before us. The moonlight painted the sand dunes in soft silver, the ocean beyond dark and infinite, stretching into the horizon. “Something dramatic. Maybe… The Edge of the World?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Close, but not quite. They call it The End of the Road.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting the words sink in as his gaze drifted back to the landscape. “Fitting,” he said softly.

I nodded, the wind catching my hair as I reached for the door handle. “Come on, you’ve gotta experience it outside the car.”

Nicholas followed my lead, stepping out into the cool night air. The sand shifted beneath my bare feet as I walked toward the crest of a nearby dune, the sound of the waves growing louder with each step. Nicholas trailed behind me, his shoes crunching softly against the sand until he paused to kick them off.

The sound of the ocean was a constant rhythm, steady and soothing, as if the world itself was breathing. The vast openness of it all made me feel small in the best way, like every worry and frustration from earlier had been swept away with the tide.

“This is unreal,” Nicholas said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He stopped beside me, his hands resting on his hips as he took it all in. The wind tousled his hair, and for a moment, he looked like he belonged here, like he was part of the landscape.

I turned to him, watching his expression soften as he gazed out at the ocean. “It’s my favorite place,” I admitted, my voice carrying an edge of vulnerability. “Whenever I need to clear my head, this is where I come. There’s just something about being here that makes everything else feel… smaller.”

We stood there for a while, letting the stillness envelop us. The only sounds were the gentle crash of waves and the faint rustle of the dunes in the wind. I felt a sense of peace settle over me, the weight of the day finally lifting.

“This might be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been,” Nicholas said after a long silence, his voice tinged with awe.

His sincerity made my heart tighten, and I smiled, reaching out to take his hand. Nicholas squeezed my hand, pulling me closer until our shoulders touched. The silence between us felt comfortable as we walked further toward the shoreline, the soft crunch of sand beneath our feet blending with the rhythmic crash of the waves. Nicholas slowed his pace, his gaze fixed on the waves that lapped at the sand with a steady, soothing cadence. I glanced at him, the corners of my lips tugging into a soft smile at the awe in his expression. He looked completely at peace, his usual confidence tempered by a quiet wonder. It wasn’t a side of him I got to see often, and I found myself savoring it.

When we reached a spot where the sand felt cooler and damp underfoot, I stopped and motioned for us to sit. Without a word, we sank onto the ground, the soft grains shifting beneath us. I stretched my legs out, my fingers absently trailing through the sand, while Nicholas propped his elbows on his knees, leaning slightly forward as he watched the waves roll in and out.

Neither of us spoke, and we didn’t need to. The ocean filled the silence between us, its endless rhythm steady and grounding. The stars above seemed brighter here, unspoiled by the town lights.

After a while, Nicholas turned his head to look at me. His brown eyes softened, his lips curving into a faint smile. I smiled back, my heart swelling. He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine in the sand before he intertwined them gently. The warmth of his touch was grounding, even as my pulse quickened at the simple gesture. For a while, we just sat there, our hands loosely clasped, the ocean stretching endlessly before us.

Then, slowly, he turned to me fully, his free hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from my face. His gaze lingered, intense but tender, as if he were memorizing every detail. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

The sincerity in his words left me momentarily speechless. All I could do was smile and nod, my throat too tight to trust my voice. He didn’t look away, his eyes searching mine for something unspoken.

And then he leaned in.

It was slow, deliberate, like he was giving me every chance to close the space between us. I met him halfway, our lips brushing softly at first, tentative and sweet, before deepening into something more. His hand slid to the back of my neck, anchoring me to him as the kiss grew more passionate, the world around us fading into the background. The taste of salt lingered on his lips, a perfect complement to the cool breeze that swirled around us. My fingers found their way into his hair, tangling there as I lost myself in him, in the moment, in the feeling of being completely and utterly seen.

When we finally pulled apart, the only sounds were the waves and the rapid thrum of my heart. Nicholas rested his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with mine. My chest tightened, a mix of overwhelming affection. Nicholas shifted slightly, his hand still resting against my cheek as he pulled me closer. His touch was no longer tentative; it was insistent, a magnetic pull that I couldn’t resist. His lips found mine again, this time with a passion that made my head spin. The world around us dissolved, leaving only the heat between us and the cool sand beneath. I leaned into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders as the kiss deepened. His fingers slid into my hair, tilting my head back as his lips trailed down to my jaw, then to the sensitive skin of my neck. A soft gasp escaped me, and I felt his grip tighten, his need mirroring my own.

The cool breeze from the ocean contrasted sharply with the warmth radiating between us, heightening every sensation. Nicholas’s lips continued their descent, lingering on my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. His hand skimmed my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. His voice was low, almost reverent, filled with equal parts desire and restraint.

I shook my head, my hands tightening on his shoulders. “Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice trembling but certain.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Nicholas shifted, laying me back gently onto the sand. His weight pressed against me in the most intoxicating way, grounding me even as my senses seemed to scatter. The stars above us felt impossibly close, their light mingling with the moon’s glow and the shadows of our movements.

His hand slid under the hem of my shirt, his fingers grazing my skin with a lightness that left me breathless. I arched into his touch, my hands sliding under his own shirt, exploring the planes of his back, the warmth of his skin beneath my palms. He groaned softly at the contact, his lips returning to mine with a renewed urgency.

The waves crashed in the background, their rhythm a steady pulse that matched the quickening beat of my heart. Nicholas’s hands were everywhere — tracing, exploring, learning every inch of me as if he couldn’t get enough. Each touch, each kiss, was deliberate, as though he was trying to memorize the moment, the way we fit together.

His fingers found the button of my jeans, hesitating for a heartbeat as his eyes sought mine. I met his gaze, nodding, my breath hitching as I helped him slide the fabric away. The cool air kissed my exposed skin, but the warmth of his touch quickly chased away any chill.

The sand beneath us was soft, molding to our shapes as we moved together, the lines between where he ended and I began blurring with every shared breath. His name fell from my lips in a soft gasp as his hands traveled lower, his touch setting me alight in ways I didn’t know were possible.

The tension between us thickened, the air charged with the electricity of anticipation. Nicholas moved with deliberate care, his every touch igniting a fire beneath my skin. His lips found mine again, their urgency undeniable as his hands pulled down at my underwear. He pulled away from my lips, looking down at me as he undid the zipper and button of his pants, pulling his pants and briefs down just enough to free himself.

He settled between my legs, looking down at me with such commitment that my breath hitched, and for a second, I grew timid under him. His hands moved to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing along my jaw as though grounding himself in the moment.

The sand shifted beneath us as he adjusted his position, his body lowering slightly to meet mine. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear as his hands guided my legs around his hips. His touch was steady but unhurried, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, sending waves of anticipation coursing through me. The weight of him against me, coupled with the cool sand beneath, grounded me in ways I hadn’t expected.

He exhaled deeply, his hands tightening on my hips as he inserted himself, his movements slow and deliberate. I gasped softly, my hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders as he stilled for a moment, his forehead pressing against mine. His breath came in shallow, uneven waves, matching the fluttering of my pulse. For a fleeting second, everything felt suspended — the stars above, the restless ocean, even time itself — until he moved again, his motions slow and purposeful.

Every sensation was amplified—the way his hands gripped my hips, firm yet tender; the way his lips brushed against my temple, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He was careful, attentive, his movements speaking of restraint and reverence. It was a complete 180 from this morning, and I loved both versions of him.

Nicholas whispered my name, his voice low and thick, the sound vibrating through me like a prayer. I tilted my head back, my eyes closing as the waves in the distance seemed to echo the rhythm of our bodies. His movements quickened, the controlled precision of his thrusting giving way to something rawer, more urgent.

My fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as I felt the tension within him build, his control slipping. The vulnerability in his gaze as he looked down at me, his brows furrowed in concentration, made my chest tighten.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice trembling, as though the words were the only thing grounding him.

The words struck me like a lightning bolt, sending a ripple of warmth coursing through me. Nicholas shifted slightly, his grip on my hips firm but gentle as he pulled me closer, deepening the connection between us. His forehead pressed against mine again, his breath warm and uneven. I could feel the tremble in his hands, the tension in his body as though he was holding something back, trying to pace himself. He whispered my name again, his voice barely audible, and it sent another shiver through me.

The crescendo between us built, a perfect harmony of movement and emotion, until it finally crested like a wave, leaving us both trembling in its wake. Nicholas collapsed against me, his weight grounding me as his breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. My fingers traced idle patterns along his back, grounding myself in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.

We stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in the stillness, the sounds of the ocean surrounding us. Nicholas lifted his head slightly, his hand brushing gently against my cheek. His eyes were soft, a mix of love and hesitation lingering in their depths.

Nicholas had driven us home that night, letting me nap in the car as he held me by my thigh the entire way. When we finally arrived home, the hum of the car’s engine quieted as Nicholas turned it off. He squeezed my thigh gently, a silent reassurance as I blinked myself awake, the world around me still tinged with the haze of exhaustion and contentment.

“We’re here,” he said softly, his voice low and warm. I nodded, my body heavy with the aftereffects of the evening. The beach, the intimacy, the weight of emotions — it all lingered like a soft buzz beneath my skin, the tension between my mom and I long forgotten.

Nicholas helped me out of the car, steadying me with his arm around my waist. The night air was cool against my flushed cheeks, and I leaned into him instinctively, letting his strength guide me inside. The house was quiet, my parents presumably asleep or silently fuming over the events of the day. Either way, I was grateful for the stillness.

As we stepped into my room, the door clicking softly shut behind us, Nicholas paused. He turned to face me, his hands resting lightly on my hips as his eyes searched mine. “You okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, a tired but genuine smile tugging at my lips. “I’m better now,” I said, resting my forehead against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, and I let out a content sigh, the tension in my body finally beginning to dissipate.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I nodded again, too drained to argue, as he gently led me toward the bed. I kicked off my shoes, and he helped me out of my clothes, his hands careful and unhurried.

Nicholas pulled back the covers, and I slid beneath them, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warmth of the room. He moved to the other side, quickly shedding his own shirt and jeans before slipping in beside me. The bed dipped under his weight, and he pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me like a cocoon as I drifted to sleep. And if I had known that the day after would be a disaster, I wouldn’t have woken up.

The morning came far too quickly, the soft light filtering through the curtains stirring me awake. Nicholas’s arm was draped over my waist, his steady breathing warm against the back of my neck. But as my mind sharpened, the memory of yesterday crept back in, and with it, the weight of the inevitable confrontation with my mom. My stomach twisted at the thought, the familiar anxiety bubbling to the surface. Today was New Year’s Eve, and while the party preparations would serve as a distraction, I knew it was only a matter of time before the tension boiled over. It’s the only thing that ever happens during holiday parties.

Nicholas stirred behind me, his arm tightening slightly as he pressed a sleepy kiss to my shoulder. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” I replied softly, turning to face him. His eyes were still half-closed, his hair adorably tousled. Even in the midst of my unease, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied my expression.

“I mean, I slept, but it doesn’t feel like I did,” I stifled a chuckle. “I still feel… tense.”

Nicholas’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. “Remember, I’ve got you,” he said firmly. “And you’ve got me.”

His words were a balm to my nerves, and I leaned in to kiss him, letting the simple gesture convey my gratitude. “Thank you,” I whispered against his lips.

We stayed like that for a few more minutes, not wanting to move, but the promise of today’s plans had coaxed Nicholas out of bed. “Okay,” he slid out from under the covers, clapping his hands, his muscles flexing with every movement, “Double-time. It’s New Year’s Eve,” he smiled.

That morning, my dad announced his plan to take Nicholas and my brothers out to pick up fireworks for the party.

“Are you guys up for an adventure?” my dad said as he walked into the kitchen, a playful grin spreading across his face. He leaned against the counter, eyeing Nicholas and my brothers. “We’re going to pick up fireworks for tonight. Biggest haul we can find, best show we can put on. You in, Nicholas?”

Nicholas’s face lit up like a kid being handed the keys to a candy store. “Absolutely. Count me in,” he spoke, his voice brimming with excitement.

I couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, especially when he turned to me with an almost boyish grin, as if asking for permission. “Go,” I said, nudging him playfully.

My dad clapped Nicholas on the shoulder, clearly pleased. The men all exchanged grins as they grabbed their coats and prepared to leave. Nicholas bent down to kiss me on the cheek before heading out the door. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised, his hand lingering on mine for a moment before he followed my dad and brothers out.

As the door closed behind them, the house felt strangely quiet. I sighed, turning to the pile of decorations still waiting to be hung. Being left alone with my mom wasn’t ideal, but I appreciated that my dad had gone out of his way to include Nicholas. It wasn’t just about fireworks; it was about making Nicholas feel like part of the family.

And I’m sure it was his way of apologizing for what happened last night, for ever letting my mom go as far as she did with her comments without stopping her, and forcing Nicholas to interject. I’m sure watching what happened had hurt my dad, as well, knowing how he had never liked it when my mom shifted her scrutiny onto someone else, especially me.

I could see the guilt etched on his face as Nicholas stepped in to defend me. He had stood by, likely unsure of how to intervene without escalating the situation, and I couldn’t entirely blame him. My mom was a force of nature — headstrong and relentless in her need to control the narrative of every family gathering. But my dad had always been the quiet counterbalance to her sharp edges. Where my mom used her voice to dominate a room, my dad used his to steady it. He’d always been the one to pull me aside after a heated moment with her, offering a hug or a reassuring word when I felt small. Last night, though, he hadn’t had a chance to step in before Nicholas did, and I could tell it weighed on him.

Including Nicholas in their “guys’ trip” today was his way of making things right — not just with me but with Nicholas, too. My dad was old-fashioned in the best way; he believed that shared experiences were what built trust. And nothing screamed bonding more than taking a group of men out to buy enough fireworks to light up the entire neighborhood. Nicholas fit in so effortlessly, and his excitement about today’s plans only made me love him more. I could picture him now, standing with my dad and brothers in front of some over-the-top fireworks display, probably offering to carry the heaviest boxes or cracking a joke to ease any awkwardness.

I appreciated how Nicholas didn’t just see me — he saw my family, even the complicated parts of it, and he was willing to embrace it all. My dad clearly appreciated it, too. As much as I knew he loved me, my dad had always been reserved when it came to my relationships, carefully observing from a distance. But with Nicholas, I could sense a shift. There was a warmth in the way he talked to him, a respect that had been given wholeheartedly.

The sound of the front door shutting jolted me from my thoughts, and I looked up to see my mom stepping into the living room with a box of decorations in hand. “Ready to spruce the house up?” She asked with a smile, almost genuine this time.

I nodded, brushing my hands against my jeans as I stood. “Yeah. Let’s get started.”

For a while, we worked in relative silence. The house was already half-transformed, twinkling lights strung along the walls and a table in the dining room piled high with party supplies. I busied myself with hanging garlands and arranging centerpieces, determined to keep the peace. But my mom, of course, couldn't resist making her usual remarks.

“So, Nicholas seems... intense," she said casually, handing me a string of lights. Her tone was light, but the pointed edge was impossible to miss.

I paused, glancing at her before continuing to wrap the lights around the column. "He's passionate," I replied evenly, refusing to take the bait.

“Passionate," she echoed with a faint smirk. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

I bit back a sigh, focusing on the task at hand. "He's a good person, Mom. He cares about me. That's what matters."

She hummed in response, her eyes narrowing slightly as she adjusted a vase on the mantle. "I'm sure he does. But don't you think it's a little... much?”

I turned to face her, my patience wearing thin. "He stood up for me because you put me in a position where I needed someone to stand up for me," I said quietly but firmly.

Her expression hardened, the faint smile vanishing from her lips. "I was joking, (Y/N). You're too sensitive."

"Maybe you're too cruel," I shot back before I could stop myself.

The silence that followed was deafening, tension crackling in the air like static electricity. My mom straightened, her posture stiff as she fixed me with a cold stare. "I'm only trying to help you," she said tightly. "You don't see it now, but you will.“

There it was. Those few calculated words that could disarm me at a moment’s notice. I took a deep breath, feeling the familiar weight of her words settle on my shoulders. My mom had perfected the art of spinning everything to make herself the victim while simultaneously positioning her actions as some twisted version of “help.”

I swallowed the rising lump in my throat, deciding once again to bite back the sharp retort I could feel forming on my tongue. “Let’s just focus on finishing this,” I muttered, turning back to the decorations and forcing my hands to steady as I worked.

The rest of the setup passed in a strained silence, the unspoken tension between us lingering like a storm cloud. The house transformed gradually as the day unfolded, taking on the appearance of a holiday wonderland with every light, garland, and carefully placed decoration. Twinkling string lights were draped across every available surface, casting a warm, golden glow that softened the sharp edges of the tension simmering beneath the surface. The dining table became a centerpiece of abundance, laden with platters of hors d’oeuvres, bowls of brightly colored dips, and towers of flaky pastries waiting to be devoured. Candles flickered on every available surface, their flames dancing in time with the faint hum of music playing in the background. The scent of pine, cinnamon, and something sweet — cookies, perhaps — filled the air.

The backyard was similarly transformed, fairy lights strung between the trees and along the fence, creating an almost magical atmosphere. Tables and chairs were set up on the lawn, each adorned with crisp white tablecloths and small centerpieces of fresh flowers and sprigs of eucalyptus. A small fire pit had been prepared in the far corner, surrounded by cozy chairs and blankets for those who might venture outside when the evening chill set in. The focal point of the yard was the stage my dad had insisted on setting up for the fireworks. It was a modest affair — a few raised wooden planks decorated with strings of red, white, and silver bunting — but it was enough to hold the stockpile of fireworks he and the guys would inevitably bring back. Nearby, a cooler brimmed with drinks, its contents glittering with condensation.

It was beautiful, objectively perfect even, the kind of setting that would make for a stunning photo or a magazine spread. But beneath the glitter and glow, the cracks in the foundation remained, and I desperately wanted Nicholas back home.

As the afternoon turned into evening, I retreated to my room to get ready. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, carefully applying makeup to cover the exhaustion I felt creeping into my features. A soft blush, a swipe of mascara, and a bold lip color — it was enough to present a polished exterior, even if my nerves were unraveling underneath.

The sound of the first guests arriving reached me before I stepped out of my room, their laughter and chatter mingling with the faint strains of music that floated through the halls. Upon leaving my room, I was struck by how effortlessly the house had shifted into party mode. Every detail created the perfect atmosphere of warmth and celebration, to which I was hoping I could participate in without the nerves gnawing at my stomach.

Guests mingled in the living room, their voices overlapping in a pleasant hum. Some had already taken to the backyard, where the fire pit flickered against the darkening sky. The clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter punctuated the air as people toasted to the end of the year. The energy was contagious, a current of excitement that made it easier to push aside my earlier unease.

By then, Nicholas, my dad, and brothers returned from buying fireworks. Nicholas had quickly found me amongst the guests, embracing me in a quick, warm hug, “Let me get dressed, and I’ll come find you again.”

I nodded, smiling as Nicholas disappeared toward my room, the soft tread of his footsteps a grounding reminder that he was here, with me.

As the minutes ticked by, the party atmosphere grew more vibrant. The house pulsed with life, a blend of festive energy and the rhythmic hum of voices overlapping one another. The entire neighborhood was basically all packed in here. The living room had become a hub of activity. Groups of guests lingered near the fireplace, where stockings from Christmas still hung, adding a nostalgic touch to the evening. The table of hors d’oeuvres in the dining room was a constant draw, the platters slowly depleting as guests indulged in bite-sized treats and toasted with champagne flutes that sparkled in the soft glow of the overhead chandelier.

Through the living room window, I could see that the backyard had turned into its own gathering space. The fire pit crackled merrily, surrounded by guests wrapped in light blankets. Children darted around the lawn, their laughter carrying through the air like the chiming of tiny bells. The fairy lights strung along the fences cast a golden glow over everything, making the scene look like something out of a holiday postcard.

Nicholas reappeared shortly after, dressed in a sharp navy blazer over a white shirt, his hair neatly combed but still carrying its usual slightly tousled charm. His presence immediately put me at ease, the tension from earlier melting away as he made his way through the crowd to my side.

“You look beautiful,” he relaxed into a sigh as his hands found my waist.

“How was hanging out with my dad and brothers?” I asked, resting my hands on the lapels of his blazer.

Nicholas’s lips quirked into a grin as he pulled me closer, his thumbs brushing lightly against my waist. “Honestly? It was great. Your dad’s got this calm, no-nonsense energy, and your brothers… well, let’s just say they made sure to warn me about what might happen if I ever hurt you.” He chuckled softly, a hint of affection in his tone. “But they were kidding. I think.”

I rolled my eyes, though a smile tugged at my lips. “Maybe,” I shrugged my shoulders, letting out a soft laugh. “I don’t know. They’ve never really had a chance to tell that to anybody else before.”

Nicholas laughed with me, his fingers tightening slightly as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping. “Well, I’m honored. I think?” He kissed my forehead, his gesture grounding me amid the swirl of the party.

The moment felt safe, a brief pocket of calm in the chaos around us. I leaned into him, letting myself enjoy the quiet reassurance of his presence. But the peace was short-lived, as it always seemed to be when my mom was nearby.

I caught sight of her moving through the crowd, her sharp eyes scanning the room like she was mentally cataloging everything out of place. The sight of her was enough to set my nerves buzzing again, and I reluctantly pulled away from Nicholas, smoothing my dress as I did.

“Come on,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s make the rounds.”

We wove through the crowd together, exchanging pleasantries with family friends and neighbors. Nicholas was effortlessly charming, his laugh infectious as he listened to stories and humored even the most insistent questions about his career. For a while, it felt easy — normal, even. I almost forgot about the inevitable tension that had been building all day.

Almost.

The moment came during a lull in the party when most of the guests had either drifted outside to the fire pit or gathered in the backyard to admire the fireworks my dad started to light about an hour before midnight. There was a slow, rhythmic boom every few minutes. Obviously, he was saving the bulk for midnight.

I was in the kitchen, refilling a tray of snacks, when my mom appeared behind me, her presence as sharp and cutting as a blade. She seemed meek at first, acting as if she didn’t know what to say when she knew exactly what she was going to say. "I just want what's best for you, honey," she said softly. "I wish you could see that.”

I turned to face her, my jaw tightening at her feigned sweetness. “What’s best for me?” I repeated, my voice low but sharp. “You mean what you think is best for me, right? Because let’s be honest, Mom, you’ve never actually cared about what I want.”

Her expression hardened in an instant, the veneer of concern slipping to reveal the cold edge beneath. “You’re too young to understand,” she said evenly, crossing her arms. “Nicholas is… exciting now, sure. But men like him don’t settle down. They don’t build lives with girls like you. They don’t stick around; they never do.”

I felt the anger rising in my chest like a tidal wave. The party sounds in the background seemed distant, muted against the roaring in my ears. “Enough,” I snapped, my voice sharper than intended.

My mom blinked, her smile freezing in place as the room seemed to hold its breath.

"Excuse me?" she said, her tone clipped.

"You've made your point," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. "We all get it. Nicholas is amazing, and somehow, you're surprised I could end up with someone like him. But you don't have to keep pointing it out."

“I just don’t think Nicholas is right for you,” she cupped my face.

I swatted away her hand, turning my cheek, "That's not your decision to make," I said, my chest tightening with anger. "I'm an adult, Mom. Even if it doesn’t end up working with Nicholas, I’m allowed to make my own mistakes.”

My mom’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, I thought she might back down. But then she squared her shoulders, her voice cold and cutting as she spoke. "Maybe it's time you proved that," she said. "If you think you're so grown up, then act like it. Move out. You’re 23 years old, for god’s sake.“

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I stared at her in disbelief. "You're kicking me out?" I asked, my voice trembling.

My mom didn’t flinch. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her gaze unwavering. “It’s the only way you’ll see that I’ve only ever tried to protect you.”

My breath caught in my throat as the reality of her words settled over me like a suffocating weight. I clenched my fists, trying to keep my composure, but the anger and hurt bubbling inside me were impossible to suppress. “You think this is protection?” I said, my voice shaking. “You think controlling every part of my life and tearing down the people I love is protecting me?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step closer, her voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “You’re not ready for the real world.”

The roar of blood in my ears drowned out the hum of the party beyond the kitchen. But no matter how angry I was, the sadness in me broke through first, turning me into a bubble of tears as I continued to speak, my voice cracking all the while, “You don’t get to live your life through me and then punish me when I want to make my own decisions.”

I heard the faint creak of the sliding door behind us from across the living room, and before I could process it, Nicholas’s calm but firm voice broke through the tension. “What’s going on?” He asked as he slowly crossed over to the kitchen.

Both my mom and I turned, her face twisting into a mask of forced civility, while mine burned with humiliation and fury. Nicholas’s gaze flicked between the two of us, his jaw tightening as he stepped closer.

“This is between me and my daughter,” my mom said quickly, her voice strained with a brittle kind of authority. “It doesn’t concern you.”

Nicholas’s brow furrowed as he looked at me, his hand finding the small of my back. “If you’re talking about me and our relationship, it does concern me,” he said, his tone steady but edged with warning.

I interjected, not wanting this to escalate between my mom and Nicholas. Even with our arguing, I didn’t want my mom to hate him. A cruel wish, wasn’t it? “Nic…” I sniffled quietly, squeezing his hand to let him know this wasn’t his fight. It was mine and mine alone. I had to see this through. I turned to my mom, tears in my eyes, “Why can’t you just support me — us? You never controlled my brothers the way you control me,” I spoke, my voice calm. My mom opened her mouth to continue her arguing, but I interrupted her. “We’re not talking about this anymore if we’re just gonna keep arguing about the same thing over and over.”

By then, people started to trickle back into the house to grab their champagne glasses for the New Year’s countdown, giving my mom no opportunity to argue back. Instead, she flickered her gaze between Nicholas and I, watching him pull me closer to him before she rejoined the party.

As the living room filled with laughter and chatter once more, I clung to Nicholas’s side, grateful for his steady presence. He placed a protective hand on the small of my back, guiding me gently through the crowd. I could feel the weight of my mom’s glare on us, but I forced myself not to look back. The tension from the kitchen hung over me like a storm cloud, but I was determined not to let it ruin the rest of the night.

The countdown was already playing on the television, the screen flashing with the glittering ball in Times Square. While some guests gathered around inside, glasses of champagne in hand, Nicholas led me outside to the front of the house, away from the party happening at our house..

“You okay?” he asked softly, his breath warm against my ear.

I nodded, but the lump in my throat betrayed me. I leaned into him, letting his presence steady me. The cool night air hit my cheeks, a refreshing contrast to the stifling tension I’d just escaped. The street outside was alive with the quiet chaos of New Year’s Eve. Cars lined both sides, muffled music spilled from neighboring houses, and the occasional laughter of partygoers drifted through the air.

Nicholas tugged me gently toward the sidewalk, away from the trees that were blocking the sky. “You sure?” he pressed, his tone low and concerned. His hand found mine, his thumb tracing soft circles against my skin.

I exhaled, my breath visible in the crisp air. “It’s just a lot,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Just then, I could hear the faint chant of everybody counting down inside and in the backyard. Nicholas pressed a quick kiss to my temple, his touch grounding me as the crowd began chanting. “Ten… nine… eight…”

Nicholas tightened his arm around me, and I felt a rush of warmth. I looked up at him, his profile illuminated by the glow of a nearby street lamp, and my heart swelled.

“Three… two… one… Happy New Year!”

Just then the entire street erupted into a cacophony of fireworks for miles, the sky bursting with fiery colors that painted the darkness in brilliant hues of red, gold, and blue. The vibrant blooms of light sparkled and faded, giving way to more, as though the universe itself was celebrating.

I was unable to tear my gaze away from the sight above. The explosions seemed endless, each one more vibrant and dazzling than the last. Trails of glittering sparks cascaded down like falling stars, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world had stopped to watch with me.

Nicholas turned to me, a soft smile on his lips as he cupped my face in his hands. “Happy New Year, baby,” he said, his voice low and intimate, meant only for me.

Before I could reply, he leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that was both tender and full of promise. The chaos of what had gone on inside melted away, leaving just the two of us in that moment. When we pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, and I could see the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.

“Come with me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the noise of the thunderous fireworks going off.

I blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Nicholas pulled back slightly, his hands still cradling my face. “Come back to New York with me,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “At least for a little while. There’s only a few weeks left of filming. I don’t want to leave you here; I want you to be with me, there.”

The words hit me like a wave, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. My mind raced, caught between the pull of his offer and the ties that still held me to this place. “Nicholas…” I started, my voice hesitant.

He shook his head, his thumbs brushing gently against my cheeks. “I know it’s sudden, with your job and everything,” he said quickly. “ I want you there with me, grounding me while I finish filming. And you deserve a fresh start, even if it’s just temporary. We can both get what we want.”

The sincerity in his eyes made my breath catch. I searched his face, my mind racing with a hundred conflicting thoughts. “I—”

He smiled, “You don’t have to decide right now,” he interrupted gently. His voice was soft, reassuring. “Just think about it.”

I nodded, feeling the lump in my throat return. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the fireworks. “I’ll think about it.”

Nicholas kissed my forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment. “That’s all I need,” he said softly, his arms wrapping around me as the sky continued to light up above us.

We stayed outside a little longer, the distant echo of cheers and music from neighboring houses blending with the vibrant bursts of color. We watched as the fireworks continued to burn until they stopped an hour or two later. Slowly but surely, people started to walk to their cars and leave to their own homes, the street growing lonelier and lonelier the more the night stretched on.

Later that night, as we lay in bed, the house finally quiet, I couldn’t sleep. Nicholas was next to me, his breathing deep and steady as his arm rested lightly across my waist. My thoughts churned as I stared at the ceiling, replaying the evening’s events. My mom’s words, her dismissal of my feelings, and then Nicholas’s offer — so simple, yet so monumental.

I turned to face him, the faint moonlight from the window casting soft shadows across his face. “Nic,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.

His eyes opened slowly, a small smile playing on his lips as he focused on me. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, fluttering his eyes closed again, “You okay?”

I nodded, biting my lip. I took a deep breath, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I’ll go with you,” I said finally, my words soft.

Nicholas’s eyes fluttered open again, his brow furrowing slightly as if he was processing my words through the haze of sleep. Slowly, a soft smile curved his lips, and he pulled me closer, his arm tightening around my waist. He didn’t speak, but the way he buried his face against my shoulder, holding me like I was the only thing grounding him, said enough. I let my eyes close, exhaustion finally tugging me into sleep with the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling me.

The next day came. As if nothing had happened the day before, my mom announced she was going to the stores for a few hours to take advantage of any last minute New Year’s sales, which had given me the perfect opportunity to explain to my dad Nicholas’s and I’s plans.

My dad was in the garage when I found him, organizing empty boxes of holiday decorations to anticipate the day he and my mom would be taking everything down, which would come soon. He turned when he heard me step inside, his face lighting up with a small, warm smile. For a moment, I hesitated, not sure how to begin. My dad had always been my quiet confidant, the one person I could count on to listen without judgment. But this felt different.

I cleared my throat, stepping closer. He set down a plastic box of old Christmas lights he’d been holding and gave me his full attention, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. He didn’t speak, waiting patiently for me to find the words.

“Dad, I’m leaving with Nicholas. Not long, just some weeks,” I said finally, my voice quieter than I’d intended. The words felt heavy, hanging in the air between us.

My dad’s face softened, his expression unreadable for a moment. He glanced down at his hands, rubbing his palms together as if considering what to say. When he looked back at me, his eyes were filled with a mix of emotions — sadness, pride, and something else I couldn’t quite place. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. He reached out, pulling me into a tight hug, the kind that made me feel like a little kid again. His arms were strong, steady, and reassuring, and for a moment, I let myself sink into the comfort of it.

When he pulled back, his hands rested on my shoulders, his eyes searching mine. There was a quiet acceptance there, a recognition that this was something I needed to do. He didn’t argue or try to convince me to stay. Instead, he gave me a small, almost bittersweet smile.

My dad had always been supportive in his own quiet way, and this moment was no different. I could see the sadness in his expression, the heartbreak of watching his daughter leave the home she’d grown up in. But there was pride, too, and an unspoken understanding that I was ready to take this step.

He walked with me back into the house, where Nicholas was waiting in the living room, flipping through the pages of a book he’d pulled from the shelf. My dad paused in the doorway, his gaze lingering on Nicholas for a moment before he stepped forward, extending a hand.

Nicholas stood quickly, setting the book aside as he shook my dad’s hand. There was a moment of silence between them, a subtle exchange that felt heavy with meaning. My dad gave Nicholas a nod, his grip firm, before letting go. There was no hostility, no doubt, just a quiet expectation that Nicholas would protect and cherish me in the way he knew I deserved. Nicholas seemed to understand, his own expression serious as he met my dad’s gaze. There was a promise in the way he nodded back, a silent vow that he would do right by me.

As my dad stepped back, giving us space, I felt a rush of gratitude for him. He had always been a steady presence in my life, quietly supporting me through every challenge. And now, as I prepared to leave, he was still that same unwavering pillar of strength.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of packing for the bitter chill of a January in New York. As I pulled out my suitcase from the back of my closet, a strange mix of emotions settled over me. The weight of what I was doing hit me fully as I began folding sweaters and tucking them neatly into the bag. Excitement and dread warred in my chest, a constant push and pull that made every movement feel heavier than it should have.

The thought of leaving home, even temporarily, filled me with an ache I hadn’t anticipated. This house had seen every version of me — the child who scraped her knees in the backyard, the teenager who hid away in her room to escape the chaos, and now, the adult preparing to walk out the door with no clear plan for what came next. I could feel the walls watching, as if they knew this moment carried more weight than I was ready to admit.

I was angry at my mom, yes, but leaving felt like I was giving up something I couldn’t quite name. Was it the hope that things could change? That she might finally see me, accept me for who I was instead of the version she wanted me to be? The thought made my chest tighten.

The sound of the front door opening jolted me from my thoughts. My mom was home. I froze, my hands hovering over the half-packed suitcase. For a moment, I considered closing the closet door and pretending I wasn’t doing this, but the heavy footfalls of her heels against the tile told me it was too late.

“(Y/N)?” she called out, her voice carrying through the house. “Where are you? Look at all the stuff I bought!”

“In here,” I called back, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

Her footsteps grew louder until she appeared in the doorway of my room, shopping bags dangling from her arms. Her gaze landed on the suitcase instantly, and the shift in her expression was immediate. Confusion, then realization, and finally something that looked almost like regret.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tight.

“Packing,” I said simply, refusing to look away.

“For what?” she pressed, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not actually leaving.”

“You told me to move out,” I reminded her, my tone calm but firm. “So I’m going.”

Her laugh was sharp, almost incredulous. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t mean it.”

I straightened, the weight of her dismissal settling heavily on my chest. “You meant it in the moment, Mom. I won’t be gone long, but I’m choosing to leave either way.”

She stepped into the room, dropping the shopping bags onto the floor. “(Y/N),” she started, her tone softer now, almost pleading. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I was upset. It was the heat of the moment. You’re my daughter. Of course, I don’t want you to leave.”

For a second, I hesitated, her words tugging at the part of me that had always wanted her approval. But then I remembered the way she’d dismissed my feelings, the way she’d belittled me in front of everyone, and the sharp sting of her words the night before.

“You say you’ve done everything to protect me,” I replied quietly, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’m telling you right now that I don’t need it anymore. I’m ready for whatever the world has to offer — good and bad.”

Her face faltered, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a flash of guilt. Her lips parted as if to respond, but she hesitated, the words caught somewhere between her pride and regret. Finally, she sighed, the sound heavy and unfamiliar coming from her. “You’re serious about this,” she said, more to herself than to me.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I am.”

She stepped closer, her gaze softening in a way I hadn’t seen in years. For a moment, it was as if the weight of our complicated relationship melted away, leaving behind only the raw, unfiltered emotion of a mother seeing her child take a step she wasn’t ready for. “You’ve always been stubborn,” she said quietly, her voice trembling just slightly.

I didn’t reply, afraid that any words might shatter the fragile moment between us.

“I just…” she started, her voice breaking slightly before she composed herself. “I just don’t want you to make a mistake you can’t come back from.”

“I know,” I said softly, taking a step closer. “But that’s part of growing up, Mom. It’s part of learning who I am, outside of who you think I should be.”

She closed her eyes briefly, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her own emotions. When she opened them again, there was a flicker of something I couldn’t quite name — acceptance, maybe, or at least a step in that direction. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?” she asked, her voice softer now.

I smiled faintly, a small sense of relief blooming in my chest. “Of course.”

She nodded once, stepping back toward the doorway. Her hand lingered on the frame as she glanced back at me. “I’ll… I’ll help you finish packing,” she offered hesitantly.

The words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I couldn’t respond. Then, slowly, I nodded. “I’d like that.”

She nodded again, her lips pressing into a thin line before she disappeared down the hall, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I exhaled shakily, the tension in my chest easing just slightly. It wasn’t a perfect resolution, and it wouldn’t fix everything between us, but it was a start. When she returned, she carried a small stack of my favorite sweaters and a carefully folded blanket from the living room. She set them gently on the bed beside my suitcase, her movements deliberate and quiet. We worked side by side in silence, the unspoken understanding between us saying more than words ever could.

As I zipped up the suitcase and clicked the latches into place, I felt a strange mix of emotions — relief, sadness, hope. This wasn’t the ending I’d envisioned, but maybe it didn’t have to be an ending at all. Maybe it was just a new chapter. A chance for both of us to grow.

The airport was quieter than I expected for a New Year’s Day. Nicholas and I stood at the curb, my suitcase already unloaded and waiting beside us. The cold January wind nipped at my cheeks, but I barely felt it. The weight of the moment pressed against my chest, each passing second stretching into eternity.

My dad was the one who drove us, his calm presence offering an unspoken reassurance during the ride. He stood a few paces away now, giving us space but still close enough to send a quiet message: You’re not alone. My mom hadn’t come. It was too much, too soon, for either of us, and I was grateful she didn’t push.

Nicholas adjusted the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder, his free hand finding mine. His fingers intertwined with mine, warm and grounding, as his gaze searched mine. “Are you sure about this?” he asked softly, his voice steady but tinged with uncertainty.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure.”

He gave a small, relieved smile, his thumb brushing against the back of my hand. “Good,” he said simply, his tone carrying more weight than the single word implied.

We stood in silence for a moment, the world around us bustling with the sounds of car engines, rolling suitcases, and distant announcements over the airport speakers. But it all felt far away, like background noise to the gravity of this moment.

“I meant what I said last night,” Nicholas said, his voice breaking the silence. His eyes held mine, unwavering. “I don’t want you to feel like this is something you have to do for me. I want you to come because it’s what you want.”

I squeezed his hand, my heart swelling with both gratitude and affection. “I’m doing this for us,” I said firmly, my voice steadier now. “Because I want to be with you, Nicholas. Wherever that takes me.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with wonder. “You know that, right?”

I huffed out a quiet laugh, my cheeks warming despite the cold. “You tell me enough.”

“Not nearly enough,” he said, his tone serious. He cupped my face with one hand, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek.

Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked them away quickly, not wanting to cry here, in the middle of the airport curb. 

Nicholas leaned in, his forehead resting gently against mine. For a moment, the world around us seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us standing together, on the cusp of something new.

“Let’s go make a life together,” he said softly, his words a promise as much as an invitation.

I nodded, a small smile breaking through the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “Let’s do it.”

He kissed me then, a soft, lingering kiss that felt like a vow, sealing the moment between us. When we pulled apart, he grabbed my suitcase with one hand and reached for my dad with the other, shaking his hand firmly.

“Thank you,” Nicholas said, his voice steady but filled with meaning. My dad nodded, his grip firm as he clapped Nicholas on the shoulder.

“Take care of her,” my dad said quietly, his voice low but carrying the weight of a father’s love and trust.

“I will,” Nicholas replied, his voice unwavering.

As we turned toward the airport doors, I glanced back one last time. My dad stood there, his hands in his pockets, watching us with a faint but proud smile. I gave him a small wave, and he nodded, his expression a mixture of sadness and pride.

I knew my relationship with Nicholas was passionate, fiery. What I didn’t anticipate was how it would ignite a revolution within me — one that would burn away the old version of myself. That version of me was timid, too caught up in her own head, second-guessing her worth, constantly wondering if she was enough. She lived under the shadow of others’ expectations, her mother’s most of all, like a flame too afraid to burn brightly. But with Nicholas, that flame wasn’t snuffed out; it was set free.

It wasn’t just his presence or his love that changed me — it was the way he saw me. He didn’t just love the version of me that I tried to present to the world. He loved the flawed, messy, confused parts of me that I tried so hard to hide. And in doing so, he showed me that I didn’t need to keep hiding. That I could let go of the suffocating need to measure myself by other people’s standards, to live up to expectations that were never truly mine.

The fire between us wasn’t always gentle. It challenged me, forced me to confront parts of myself I had buried for so long. At times, it felt overwhelming, like the heat might consume me. But through that fire, I found strength I didn’t know I had. I learned how to stand tall, how to take up space in my own life instead of folding myself smaller to accommodate others. With Nicholas’s support, I began making room for myself — not just in his world, but in my own.

It still feels surreal sometimes, to think that it all began with something as random and mundane as a hotel room assignment. Two strangers, their lives running parallel for a fleeting moment, brought together by sheer coincidence. If either of us had arrived a day earlier or later, if our rooms had been just a floor apart, none of this might have happened. And yet, it did.

The simplicity of that beginning only makes what came after feel more profound. That brief collision of our worlds wasn’t just chance; it was the spark that lit the fire. It was as if the universe had nudged us together, knowing that we were exactly what the other needed — even if we didn’t know it at the time.

And now, as I stand on the other side of that fire, I feel renewed, like I’ve shed a skin I no longer need. The woman I am now is no longer shackled by fear or self-doubt. She’s bold, unafraid to claim her happiness, her future. And while I’ve built this version of myself with my own hands, I know it was Nicholas who first handed me the match.

Continue the story with Room To Breathe (Part 4)