#box breathing and it’s only 1/4

[chososcamgirl]

visual 1 xx

how imma be gazing into the infinity complex constellation tonight

CELESTIAL - seijoh 4 x reader, separate

wc: 540 || tags/cw: none, fluffy || div creds to @plutism

TOORU OIKAWA is a comet in deep space. ephemeral, almost, in the way that he does things, jumping from task to task, partner to partner. it makes him seem flighty to everyone else, which might be the reason why he can never seem to stay in a relationship for long. but what everyone doesn’t know is that he is like a comet in the way he loves you. a bright burning in both of your hearts, not always there, but never truly gone. quiet moments spent with him are precious in and of themselves - because, just like halley’s comet does to earth, he will come back to you at the end of the day, without fail.

HAJIME IWAIZUMI is the afternoon sun. he looks like the sun, at least - tanned skin from years of training under the hot sun. first it was the blazing heat of summer sendai, then the scorch of sunny california. although he is always there, he is not always steady - everyone has their bad days, don’t they? sometimes he blazes hotter than usual, a little too much, and sometimes his dazzling brilliance is clouded over by the everyday things that weigh him down. but you take his face in your hands, kiss him tenderly, clear his mind. you remind him that he is still him, even if it doesn’t always feel like it. in turn, he reminds you that no matter where in the world you are, you are still living under the same sun. wherever you are, whenever you are - he will always watch over you, care for you.

TAKAHIRO HANAMAKI is a bright star on a summer night. he is clear as day; never minces his words, never tells white lies, never holds back. everything he does he does with all his heart and soul, including loving you. he keeps a polaroid of you in his brown leather wallet, buys you flowers every friday evening, peppers you with kisses whenever he feels like it. sometimes you think he might not just be a singular star because there are so many different sides to him you get to see. you love all of them dearly, just as he loves all of you dearly. gazing into his eyes is like getting lost in foreign galaxies, and if loving takahiro is like gazing into an infinitely complex constellation, you are simply his diligent astronomer.

ISSEI MATSUKAWA is the moon. quiet, calm, serene. his love is quiet, a subtle glow that illuminates everything he comes into contact with. from afar he seems detached - or even cold, at times - but that’s not it, not at all. you are his angel, his muse, his life; he orbits you because you are at the centre of all he exists for. he grew up believing stories that the moon whispers declarations of love to earth, and he is much like these stories. in the way his lips find your ear on nights you cry yourself to sleep, murmuring sweet nothings as he holds you close. issei might not be the most appreciated when among his friends, just as the moon does not produce its own light but reflects the sun’s. but to you, he’s still the brightest thing in the night sky.

haikyuu masterlist || general masterlist © sirhamburrger

[equalperson]

sometimes I believe that My tendency to avoid telling My family when I'm having health issues is just the result of avoidant cognitive distortions, but then I actually do it, get told that it's "normal" and/or a lifestyle issue, and realize the real cognitive distortion was expecting help at all -_-

[ariestrxsh]

sub!virgin!matt x experienced!pervy!reader

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 content warning: smut, innocence corruption, mommy kink, handjob, oral (m!receiving), loss of virginity, unprotected sex, sexualization of religious imagery

𓍊𓋼𓍊𓋼𓍊 summary: matt and his dad get into an argument over dinner when he disagrees with the way you're being spoken to, prompting matt to do something a bit out of character.

Please don't read this series if you're religious because it might really upset you. The whole basis for this story is that Matt is a sweet Christian virgin boy who has his innocence corrupted by his dommy mommy neighbor, so don't read if you're not into the plot !

me & u

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5

(dedicated to the loml Jules aka @submattenthusiast)

me & u part five

You and Matt were sitting side-by-side at his dining room table while his dad was on the other side of the kitchen, cleaning up a few things while the three of you waited for the lasagna to finish baking.

The mouth-watering scent of garlic and oregano drifted through the air accompanied by the smell of the apple cinnamon candle burning a few feet from you. It had been less than a week since they'd moved in, but their house finally looked lived-in, and almost everything that was previously packed away in boxes was now given a place.

"You guys want anything to drink?" His dad asked as he peeked over at the two of you. "You got any beer?" You wondered aloud. "She's kidding, dad!" Matt blurted out, looking at you wide-eyed and gently nudging you with his leg under the table.

His dad let out a laugh. "Sorry, kid. I've only got soda, water, and milk," he relayed, swinging open the door of the fridge as he listed off the options. "I'll have a coke," Matt requested. "I'll have the same," you responded, smiling.

His dad brought over two cans of coke and placed them in front of each of you. "Lasagna's got about ten more minutes, so sit tight," his dad told you. You peered over at the blue-eyed boy next to you, your gaze lingering on his pink, pouty lips.

"What? Do I have something on my face?" Matt innocently asked, reaching up to brush away whatever you were gawking at. "No. You're just so pretty. I can't stop looking at you," you whispered in a sultry voice. Your compliment colored his cheeks a shade of rosey pink.

"This shirt looks really good on you, too. It brings out your eyes," you commented, playing with the hem of the blue fabric. His breath hitched as your hand wandered south, slowly caressing his bulge over his pajama pants. His gaze darted over at you with his mouth hung open in shock and his eyebrows pinched together in a concerned expression.

"Please. Not in front of my dad. He'd be so mad if he found out," Matt softly whined. "Don't worry, baby. I'm not gonna let him find out. Just let me make you feel good," you purred into his ear, squeezing his erection through the cotton material.

Your eyes flickered over to Matt's dad, who was still in the kitchen with his back turned to the two of you as he loaded the dishwasher. You smirked back over at Matt as your fingers slithered into his waistband until you wrapped them firmly around his throbbing cock, setting it free from the restrictive fabric.

"Yes, mommy," he submitted to you, the words rolling off his tongue in a breathy moan. "Shhh," you held your finger up to your upturned lips. He nodded, relaxing into the chair and letting his stare drop to the movement of the red table cloth that was concealing your little secret.

"You're a naughty boy, aren't you? Letting me touch you under the table," you cooed, looking into his dreamy, blue eyes and his blissed out expression. He caught his bottom lip between his pearly-white teeth as he bit back a whimper, staring back at you. He weakly nodded, sinking into his pleasure.

His heart raced, worried the two of you would he caught, but a part of him liked the adrenaline rush. He could already feel the knot in his stomach taking form. "Naughty, naughty boy," you repeated softly in his ear as you brought him to the edge, knowing how much he loved being called that.

Just when it looked like he couldn't take much more, you slowed your movements to a stop. His dick throbbed in your grasp, silently begging you to keep going. "Please. So close," he whispered.

"Not yet. I wanna take my time," you cruelly responded, denying him relief. He shot you a desperate look that said, right now? You want to take your time right now? In this situation? But the only words that drifted from his pouty lips was a quiet, "You're crazy." He meant it as a compliment, of course, and you took it as such.

The sound of plates, coffee mugs, and silverware clanking around drowned out the sweet sounds he made. You flashed him a mischevious grin as you circled the sensitive tip with your thumb, intensifying his pleasure. His head gently fell back, and he emitted another soft whine.

"Dinner's ready," Matt's dad's voice broke through the sexual tension as he headed in your direction with two plates. Matt sat up in his chair, straightening his back and clearing his throat. He slowed his breathing, trying to be inconspicuous about what was being done to him under the table.

"Thanks, dad," he managed to squeak out. "Would you like to say the prayer before we dig in?" Matt's dad asked you as he sat across from you two with his own plate. "You know, I'll be honest, I don't pray much," you admitted to his dad.

"Can you show me how to, Matt? I know how hard you pray every night," you smirked over at the sweet, shy boy to your right as the images of him getting down on his knees flickered through your mind. He glanced over at you, wide-eyed while you continued slowly stroking his length beneath the table, every now and again brushing your thumb over his swollen head.

"I-I don't know. Maybe you could say the prayer, dad," Matt stammered, tightly gripping the seat of his chair. "Why don't you wanna say the prayer, Matt?" His father asked, furrowing his brow. "Yeah, what is it, Matt? You feel guilty about something?" You quietly mumbled beside him, only loud enough for him to hear.

"O-okay. I'll say the prayer," Matt agreed, swallowing the lump in his throat, interlocking his fingers, and lowering his gaze to the movement happening underneath the tablecloth. Matt's father lowered his head and closed his eyes, and you followed his lead, periodically peeling open an eye to peek over at Matt and the way he reacted to your touch.

"Lord," Matt said, wetting his lips. "Thank you, Lord, for providing for us," Matt started to pray, but quickly needed to bite back a whine. You watched as his dick print showed through the cloth, precum trickling from his tip and leaving a wet stain on the red fabric.

The sensation of your hand pumping his shaft while his cockhead rubbed against the silky material sent him into a blissful state that nearly made him forget what he was doing, but he quickly directed himself back to his train of thought.

"Thank you for blessing this food. May it s-strengthen and nourish our b-bodies," he managed to get through his sentence without sounding any more nervous than usual. "Thank you. In Jesus' name, amen," he hurried to finish the prayer. "Amen," you and Matt's dad said in unison.

Right as Matt's father was about to start eating, his phone started to ring. "I gotta take this. Excuse me," he apologetically pardoned himself as he picked up. "Hello?" His voice drifted off as he made his way to the other room.

"You almost let me get you off during the prayer, didn't you, naughty boy?" You purred, yanking on Matt's hair with your free hand and burying his face into your chest, his strangled moans dampened by your breasts. "Come on, Matt. You gotta hurry up. Cum for mommy," you whispered, raking through his hair with your fingers.

He wrapped his arms around your waist, looked up at you with his big, blue eyes and nodded, giving himself over to the desire that overtook him. His cock twitched in your grasp as you fervently pumped away, a sticky white fluid erupting from it and dousing your hand.

His whole body shivered, and he buried his face into your bosom like an embarrassed little boy. "That was amazing," you murmured, rustling his brown locks and kissing him on the forehead. "That felt so good," he told you, taking a napkin off the table to wipe himself off with.

"I need to go wash my hands," you chuckled, getting up from your seat and darting off over to the sink to clean off the evidence. You took Matt's dirty napkin with you and chucked it into the trash.

Humiliation tinted his pink cheeks as he called his breath back to him, his chest rising and falling with every labored inhale and exhale. "You're crazy, you know that?" Matt smirked at you, quickly tucking his dick back into his pants. "I know," you flashed him a cheeky smile and washed your hands.

As soon as you sat back down, Matt's dad came back in through the door. "Sorry about that. You guys didn't have to wait for me to start eating," he said, motioning towards your untouched plates. "Oh, we didn't mind," you replied, holding back a giggle, concealing the real reason why you hadn't started digging into your lasagna yet. Matt blushed, biting back a grin as he peered over at you, still trying to catch his breath.

"So, Matt tells me you like classic rock," Matt's dad started off, opening up conversation before taking a bite of his lasagna. "I do. Blue Öyster Cult, Led Zeppelin, The Doors, AC/DC, stuff like that," you responded.

"Is that the stuff your parents listen to?" He asked. "Oh, no. They hate it. That's why I started listening to it," you laughed. Matt's dad cleared his throat, glanced over at Matt, and turned his attention back to you.

"So, do you go to church?" Matt's dad asked, changing the subject and hoping you'd say something he liked. "God no. I don't really believe in that kind of thing, but you know, I'll always go if Matt invites me," you replied, reaching over and giving Matt's hand a comforting squeeze.

"Are you open to converting?" His father casually asked, shrugging his shoulders. "Honestly, I couldn't see myself converting, you know? My lifestyle and Christianity don't really agree," you replied with a mouth full of food. "Well, Matt here has always discussed wanting his future wife to be a woman of God," his dad casually mentioned. "Dad," Matt sharply interjected.

"What?" Matt's dad defensively asked. "That's not necessarily what I want. That's w-what y-you want," Matt stuttered, avoiding eye contact with his dad as he stabbed his lasagna with the prongs of his fork. "Where's this coming from, Matt?" His dad asked.

"J-just don't grill her about religion, dad. I like her despite that. D-don't put that kind of pressure on her," Matt said with a shaky voice. Matt's dad was taken aback. Matt wasn't usually the type to dissent from his dad, but he wasn't given much of a reason to until now.

"What's gotten into you, Matt?" His father asked, giving him a disappointed look and crossing his arms over his chest. "N-nothing," Matt replied, shaking his head.

"I think this girl is a bad influence on you," his dad replied, talking about you as if you weren't in the room. Your heart sank. "Ever since the two of you have been hanging out, there's something off about you, Matt. Something different. I don't know if I like it," Matt's dad said. Matt sat in silence, picking at his food but not eating any of it.

"What are your intentions with my son?" His dad asked, peering at you from across the table, setting down his silverware and interlocking his fingers to show you how serious he was.

The truth was, the first day you'd laid eyes on Matt, your intentions were simply to sleep with him, and your thought process didn't go much further than that. However, after getting to know him and spending time with him, the way you felt about him became more convoluted.

"I just want to make him happy," you shrugged, peering over at Matt who smiled back. You weren't sure what answer either of them were looking for, and to be honest, you hadn't pondered that question much yourself, so you were somewhat surprised at your own answer when it fell from your lips. Matt's dad remained unconvinced.

"If you wanna make him happy, maybe you should leave him alone and let him find a good Christian girl," his dad blurted out. You clenched your jaw. You felt a mix of anguish and rage as the words left his mouth.

"Are you serious, dad? You can't just say that to my girlfriend," Matt shot back, getting up from his chair and grabbing your hand. You and Matt hadn't discussed labels or anything, but the way he was standing up for you and referring to you as his girlfriend turned you on a bit.

"C'mon. You don't have to listen to this," Matt said to you as you both started to head towards his front door. "Where do you think you're going?" His dad called out after the two of you. "Out," Matt huffed without looking back, slamming the door shut behind him.

You and Matt stepped outside, feeling the cool air as it rushed over your hot skin. It was a testament to the ever-changing seasons, summer hanging on by a thread as autumn began to take its place. In the same way, the day was fading, the sun sinking low into the evening sky.

"Holy shit," you said in disbelief, completely stunned by the way Matt had spoken to his father. "I've never talked to him like that before," Matt whispered, glancing at you with a dazed look on his face.

"Did it feel good?" You wondered, your lips curling into a smile. "It did," Matt nodded after a long exhale. "C'mon. Let's go hide in my treehouse until he cools down," you suggested, grabbing Matt by the collar of his shirt and pulling him into your backyard.

"I'm really sorry he said all of that," Matt apologized to you once the two of you were perched side-by-side in your treehouse as you sprinkled weed into your rolling paper.

"Listen. You don't have to try to make me feel better. I wouldn't want my good little Christian son hanging out with a girl like me either," you snorted, flicking your lighter and feeling the warmth of the fire as you held it up to the end of your joint.

Matt watched as the flame engulfed the paper and lit up your facial features. The scent of marijuana filled the air. You blew out a plume of smoke and watched it dissipate against the pink and orange sky as the sun started to fade out of view.

"I'm scared to go home," Matt whispered, flashing you a look of vulnerability. "We can stay here as long as you want," you assured him, handing him the joint. He leaned his head against your shoulder as he took a puff and slowly exhaled, feeling the anxiety and worry float away with the smoke he blew out into the atmosphere.

"Can I ask you something?" You wondered, only realizing after you'd asked how redundant it was to ask if you could ask a question. "Sure," Matt timidly responded, passing the joint back to you.

"Did you mean it back there when you called me your girlfriend?" You asked, aimlessly ashing the joint off to the side. "I'm sorry. I know we haven't talked about it-" Matt started to say, but you cut him off. "I wanna be your girlfriend," you inserted.

"Y-you do?" Matt stammered, his pretty blue eyes raising to meet yours as a swarm of butterflies fluttered around in his stomach. You nodded and smiled. The two of you sat quietly for a few minutes, passing the joint back and forth until you felt the tension from earlier in the night leave your body.

"I just want to do something that'll make him mad," Matt told you, shaking his head as he replayed the way his father had spoken so brazenly to you. "How mad?" You asked, raising an eyebrow and handing the joint over again. He took it from you and took a long drag, the chery end crackling as he pulled from it.

"Something that'll really piss him off," Matt confessed to you. He'd never had this urge before, to purposefully do something his dad didn't want him to do out of pure spite. You took the joint back from Matt as your lips shifted into a smug grin.

"I bet it would piss him off if I got his innocent son high and fucked him in my treehouse, wouldn't it?" You cooed, your voice thick with lust. You held intense eye contact as you took one final drag from the joint and put it out.

"Oh, he'd be so mad if I knew I gave it up to a slut like you," he whispered, knowing how much you loved being called that. A flash of desire seeped into his expression. Your panties started to cling to your wet folds as you imagined corrupting the sweet boy beside you.

"Well, then let's make him livid," you seductively whispered, letting your fingertips crawl up his chest. He slowly nodded, his shaky breath growing shallow. You snaked your hand around his neck, firmly grasping it, not enough to choke him - just enough to excite him and test the waters.

You pressed your lips up against his, eliciting a soft moan from Matt as your tongue slipped into his mouth. You grew more aggressive in your touch, slightly squeezing your fingers around the boy's neck in a gesture of dominance as you bit down on his plump lips, leaving them tender and bruised once you were done. He was left with a warm, excited feeling as blood rushed to his cock.

"You know. The way you stood up for me back there? It was super hot. I wanted to knock everything off your kitchen table and fuck you on it," you whispered against his mouth, guiding him to lay back as you pinned him to the floor of your treehouse.

"Yeah? You liked that?" He asked, looking up at you wide-eyed, his chest heaving with every breath as he anticipated your next move. "I fucking loved it," you purred into his ear before you pulled back.

You started tugging down his pajama pants and his boxers, and his cock eagerly sprung out as you set him free. You could see precum was already drooling from his slit, and the cool breeze blowing over his tip made him shudder in delight. You grabbed ahold of it, firmly holding it in your grip, just barely unable to close your fist around its girth. Matt bit his lip as you did this.

"So big," you whispered, licking your lips and staring at it in the glow of the stringed lights that hugged the branches of your treehouse. "Really?" Matt asked, propping himself up on his elbows and peering down at the way your fingers were wrapped around it.

"Yeah, trust me. I've seen a lot. This one is big," you smirked up at him. "I didn't know," Matt replied, trying to hold back a grin, liking the idea that he had a big dick. You started gently working your hand up and down on Matt's length, coaxing a few moans from his lips.

You loved the idea of being the first person to ever touch Matt's most intimate places and to be the first to ever make him sound like that. You lowered your mouth and wrapped your lips around his sensitive head, saltiness filling your taste buds.

"Oh!" Matt softly moaned. His cock jerked at the unexpected sensation of your warm, soft tongue grazing the underside of his tip. You started lightly suckling on it, which drove Matt crazy. "Wow," Matt whispered, completely blown away by the feeling. You went slow and gentle, learning every vein and every ridge with your tongue.

"Your mouth.." Matt started to say, but his voice trailed off. "What is it, baby? Say it," you purred. "It feels sooo good," he whimpered, holding a strand of your hair out of the way. You hummed against his cock, slowly moving your mouth up and down on his length as you circled his tip your tongue.

"Mommy," he squealed, gripping the fabric of the back of your shirt until his fingers started to cramp up. You bobbed your head and up down faster, listening closely to the pretty sounds he made as he discovered for the first time how much he liked getting head.

He laid back and sank into the floorboards beneath him, giving himself over to your soft, velvety mouth. He entangled his fingers into your hair and gently pulled you further down onto his twitching cock. His tip tickled the back of your throat, and he started subtly bucking his hips up to get as much as he could out of the sensation of having his dick buried between your lips.

He curled his toes until they started going numb. A slew of needy moans and soft cries unfurled from his pink lips as he tossed his head back and screwed his eyes shut. You slowly slid back up his shaft, slipping him out of your mouth before he could finish.

"I knew you'd love that," you whispered, smiling up at him as you started undoing the button on your jeans. "I did, but you always stop when I'm so close," he replied, propping himself up on his arms again. That's when he noticed you slipping out of your pants. Then your panties. You took the lace garment and slingshot it in his direction.

"That's because I'm about to make you feel even better than I did with my mouth," you seductively responded, straddling him and hovering right over his pink tip. Matt peered down as you lined him up with your entrance and made his length disappear inside you. His jaw dropped, and his facial expression softened as you lowered yourself onto him.

"You're so wet," he whimpered as he felt you stretch around him. "It's all your fault," you replied, pulling your top off over your head and revealing your perfect tits to him before you grabbed both of his wrists and pinned them above his head. "So pretty," he whispered, staring at your breasts in the glow of the fairy lights strewn around the room.

Matt loved the way you took charge. He loved that you knew exactly what you wanted and that you unapologetically took it from him. The sensation of your cunt clenching around his cock as you started bouncing up and down on it had him seeing stars.

He knitted his eyebrows together, pleasure wrinkling his expression as he let his head fall back against the floor with a soft thump. A loud, satisfied "fuuuck," poured from his lips.

"Naughty boy. I've never heard you say that word before," you said in a breathy moan as you smirked. "Can't help it, mommy. Your pussy feels so fucking good," Matt whispered, watching the way your tits jiggled as you picked up speed.

You were shocked but turned on by the foul language he was using as you continued rolling your hips forward, finding your rhythm. "I wonder what your dad would think of you right now. I bet he'd be so mad that you're swearing," you maliciously smiled down at him, knowing that would probably be the least of his concerns.

He struggled against the way you restrained his wrists just to see what would happen, and his cock throbbed inside of you as you tightened your hold on them. "You like that?" You asked, feeling the way the sweet boy squirmed around beneath you. "Yes, mommy," a strangled moan fell from his lips.

"You're such a naughty boy, aren't you?" You asked, arching your back and angling his cock deep inside of you in a way that felt incredible for both of you. You released his wrists, and your hand flew to your clit, rubbing it in fast, tight circles.

You threw your head back as you approached your orgasm. Matt watched in awe as you fell apart on his cock, your whole body trembling as dopamine and oxytocin flooded your system. Your thighs were burning, and your knees ached from the hard wood beneath you, but you powered through.

You finished yourself off, your walls rhythmically throbbing around Matt's dick and sending him over the edge shortly after. "Oh fuck," he whimpered, feeling his cock tighten and twitch as you rode him wildly. His eyes rolled back into his head and his jaw fell open as he pumped you full of his cum.

He submitted to the earth-shattering pleasure that rippled through him and overpowered him, like being swallowed by a series of cascading waves, each one topping the last. You slowed the movement of your hips and came to a stop once you were sure you'd both finished.

The two of you gazed longingly into each other's eyes under the blanket of stars as your breaths slowly returned to both of you. Four days. Four days was all it took for him to fall in love with you. He'd known you for four days, and he had just crossed a line with you that he hadn't even crossed in his three-year-long relationship with May.

You leaned down while he was still inside of you, grabbed his jaw, and gave him a long, passionate kiss. Matt couldn't get enough of you. He loved your soft lips, your smooth skin, and the way you always tasted a bit like weed. You filled his senses, leaving him feeling almost delirious.

He chuckled against your mouth mid-kiss. "What is it?" You asked, caressing his flushed, pink face that was coated in a light layer of sweat. "I can't believe we just did that. That was the best orgasm I've ever had," Matt admitted.

"Me too," you said, nibbling on your bottom lip. "I thought you said you've had sex with a lot of people before," Matt gave you a skeptical look. "I have, but I don't know. This was just better for some reason," you confessed, shrugging a shoulder. You knew it was because this was the first time such deep feelings were involved, but you didn't want to say it out loud and risk sounding stupid.

You didn't have to say it. Matt understood. He bit back a smile. You peppered his face in light kisses, whispering praises to him about how good he felt and how much you loved him. He stared back at you with his glossy, bedroom eyes and his fucked out expression.

"If I ever have to move away again, I'm taking you with me."

Matt walked home late that night, the thirty feet from your treehouse to his front door, his mind flooded with thoughts of you, hoping he could just sneak in without alerting his dad. He quietly turned the knob, stepped inside, and shut it, making sure not to trigger the sound of the latch.

When Matt spun around, his dad was sitting at the kitchen table in the soft glow of the candle that was burning down to the wick. It was like he hadn't moved since Matt had left, as if he had been waiting for him to come home and scold him.

Matt swallowed the knot in his throat, his palms beginning to sweat. He was certain if his dad turned on a main light, he'd see his bloodshot eyes and his dilated pupils. Thankfully, he didn't. He kept it short and sweet. He let out a defeated sigh before he spoke.

"Son. I'm sorry. I had no right to talk to your friend that way," he started off. "Girlfriend," Matt corrected him. "I didn't even know you guys had made anything official yet. I feel like you don't tell me things anymore," his dad said in response.

"We just decided tonight," Matt muttered, avoiding direct eye contact with his dad. "Well, either way. I'm sorry. I understand if you're upset with me. Your girlfriend is welcome over whenever, and I'll apologize to her, too the next time I see her."

Matt narrowed his eyes and glanced over at his dad, wondering where the sudden change of heart had come from. "Just promise me, son, that you'll keep God at the forefront of your relationship and that you won't give into temptation," his dad asked of him.

Matt half-heartedly shrugged and hesitantly nodded. Matt's dad could see the resistance in his response, but he didn't want to pry. "Goodnight, dad," Matt replied before carrying his heavy feet across the kitchen and trudging up the stairs.

He didn't have the heart to tell his dad that he had been questioning things.

taglist: @gabri3la-sturns @lowkeyobsessedwthesturniolos @starzinasblog @mattsturns09 @sluttt4matt @heartsforsturniolo567 @nomusic-nodreams @bilssturns @valkatriee @lyla-rose05 @savannah00 @shadowthesim @clara-sangster @slimshiesty @mattybearskitten @chrissturns-wife @sturnl0ve @poolover123 @sturnarry @secretfangirly @chrattlover123 @sturnslutz @strniloslvts @yourmother29 @sturniqlo @thepubeburgler @saturns0rb1t @gregs-child @hoeformatt @purelydove @sturniolos-manslut19 @robins-scoop @bsturnzmtts @sturniolo-girl @theyluvme-2315 @jassturn @brookiecookie-18 @maggot3647 @slut4chriztopher @strnlslvr @sleepysturniolo @lvrsturniolo @sofieeeeex @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @matts-myloverboy @witchofthehour @jaysturniolo @whoahoahoahoahoa @ilovechrissturniolosposts

[ittybittyfanblog]

Error 404: (Self-Aware!AU, Sylus Edition) – Pt. 7

Summary: A LADS self-aware!AU featuring Sylus and a player. That’s it, that’s the plot. Tags: player!reader x sylus, fem!reader x sylus, reader x lads, self-aware!au, strong language, suggestive themes!, there’s some slight smut…  but nothing too graphic (ion rly write smut haha), angst and comfort, this chapter’s brought to you by: a bunch of sad songs on repeat! A/N: 7k+ words what the fuck!!  (this might actually be one of my favorite chapters. :’))

Pt. 1 - Pt. 2 - Pt. 3 - Pt. 4 - Pt. 5 - Pt. 6 - Pt. 7 - Pt. 8 - Pt. 9

“You don’t have a favorite color.”

“I… don’t, no.”

“But you’re quite partial to green.”

“I guess so—?”

“You’ve worn the same green shirt to bed thrice this week,” he notes lightly, pertaining to your Loki: Master of Mischief tee. The corners of his mouth pull into a faint, knowing smile. “It suits you, by the way.”

Your fingers hover over the keyboard as you glance at him, narrowing your eyes in slight embarrassment. “It’s a perfectly comfy shirt,” you reply, a defensive edge to your tone. “Nothing wrong with that.”

“Nothing at all,” he agrees reassuringly. “Just making an observation.”

“What, are you keeping a dossier on me now?”

Sylus gives a noncommittal hum, but offers nothing more in response. He keeps watch on you from his usual spot in the corner between the monitor and the CPU box, chin resting on an open palm. His gaze betrays hints of smugness to it.

You eye him weirdly. With a huff, you turn back to your typing.

–

You’re cooking dinner—with Sylus supervising the entire thing like your very own personal sous chef. Something that has now been the norm for you two, since your–banging!–success with the tofu dish. 

And for tonight’s menu: Butter noodles. Simple, foolproof, straightforward. 

"Simple" is… well, it’s not entirely inaccurate. But the way that the boiling water hisses angrily through the small lid hole wavers the already shaky foundation of your developing culinary confidence. 

(Just a little bit! You’re sure you’ve got nothing to worry about.) 

A faint burning scent clings to the air; you forgot to stir the garlic early on, and now it looks dangerously close to a char. You rescue it just in time, cursing under your breath. Your sous chef, of course, catches everything. Even your nervousness.

“You know,” Sylus chimes in, watching the wooden spatula tremble in your hand. “This is quite the step up from your usual instant noodle packets. You should be proud of yourself, sweetie.”

“Gee, thanks. Really complex work for an extra half-hour of cooking time,” Your words are snide, but he doesn’t miss the way your grip on the spatula tightens ever-so-slightly. Steadies. 

The smell stabilizes. You add half a stick of butter, squashing it to a melt, and he lets the subject drop—for now.

“Do you have siblings?”

“I have an older sister,” you answer distractedly, stirring the sauce and trying to scrape the edges of the sauté pan without having it splatter from the inside.

“How much older?”

“Uh—six years,” you reply, reaching for a pinch of salt. “She's got a family. Two kids. Another on the way.”

“Hm. You two are close?”

You pause, the question landing softly in the haze of rising steam. “I mean. S’ alright, I guess. We catch up over the phone sometimes.”

“Ah. Good.”

“... Yeah.” 

You catch a glance of his expression in your peripheral, looking thoughtful. 

_

It’s a recent development, his curiosity. Sporadic at first, like light rain on a windshield—little questions scattered here and there, easy to brush off. But over the past week, it’s grown into something more unrelenting. It’s almost as if you two were playing a round of twenty questions, only it’s just you in the hot seat being interrogated. 

There’s also that habit of his to take it one step further. Hedging his questions strategically, acting like he already knows the little factoid he wanted to ask and just needs you to confirm it. 

You don’t really get the logic behind it, but hey, who are you to judge? Everybody has their quirks. Even someone of his caliber, apparently.

… God forbid he gets blindsided by something he’s genuinely surprised to know about you, though. 

“You know how to play the violin.”

You pause the video you’re watching on your laptop at its five minute mark to stare at Sylus through your phone screen. He sounds… terse? Like you’d intentionally kept this a secret from him.

“Wha—yes, I know how to play the violin,” you huff, incredulous by the show of attitude. “What’s up with all these weird questions?”

“You’ve given me explicit permission to ask them. Level the playing field,” he reminds you, eyes slightly accusatory. “What else are you keeping from me?”

You groan, collapsing onto your back on the couch. “Ugh, I don’t know,” you say sarcastically. “Do you wanna know my time of birth too?”

“Born at exactly twelve twenty-eight PM,” Sylus recites without missing a beat, his voice bored and unimpressed. “I saw it on your Co-Star app, sweetie.”

You freeze.

“…”

“That’s creepy,” you tell him, tone disapproving, giving him a scolding poke on the nose. 

“Call it thorough research,” he counters smoothly, rolling his eyes at your feeble attack. “After all, a stubborn kitten’s been slacking on her side of the deal.”

_

The questions are, for the most part, harmless in nature. Anchored firmly in the mundane. He doesn’t stray too far from what’s comfortable, or what he deems safe to ask. And yet you can sense it beneath the surface: the burning curiosity. To know more of you, to take what he could—piece by piece, until he’s unraveled the puzzle of you entirely. 

And you don’t get it. His world—filled with endless adventure, lore, and literal fucking superpowers—surely has to be more exciting than anything you’ve got to offer. What’s your life compared to that? 

You said as much to him, mostly as an offhand comment. Although it did feel slightly more earnest when you put it into words, compared to how it sounded in your head. 

“Honestly, Sy-Sy. Life here’s really not that interesting compared to all the stuff going on over there,” you told him matter-of-factly, in the middle of collecting your daily rewards. “You don’t have to keep this up, you know.”

Sylus didn’t speak for a moment. The easy nonchalance he wore so well shifted into something more reserved, almost somber. He didn’t challenge what you said, nor did he affirm anything—you're met with silence, loaded with thoughts unspoken. 

“Don’t presume things on your own, little dove,” he said after a while, his voice low, a gentle reprimand. 

Before you could even process what he meant by that, he smoothly changed the subject, his tone reverting back to his usual effortless calm as if to ease the weight of your words. “Now then, let’s circle back—what were you saying earlier? You almost drowned in a lake when you were eight? Because of a dare you made with your sister?”

And that was the end of it.

You tell yourself it’s exhausting—the way he keeps digging, prodding, asking questions like you’re worth the level of fascination he’s making you out to be. But there’s also the truth, hidden and tucked beneath your half-hearted protests, slowly unfurling. A part of you—cautiously hopeful, dreadfully fragile—that preens under the weight of his scrutiny. 

So you let him press further; let him sift through twenty plus years of tiny, unremarkable fragments of your life like a beachcomber seeking treasures amongst the tide. And in return, he gives you his full attention, undivided and unyielding, as if your answers are the only ones that matter.

––––

He tells you there’s a new tête-à-tête feature in the game, so you check it out—not without giving him a slightly suspicious look. 

“A microphone feature?” You snort, leveling him with a half-amused glare. “You already hear me talk all the time.”

Sylus blinks at you, his face a guilefully-crafted mask of innocence. “I’m just giving you the option, sweetie. You know, in case you’d like to put our conversations ‘on record.’”

“Treat you like some kind of… quasi-therapist or something? An online confessional?” You give him the stink eye. “Is that what you’re angling for now?”

He shrugs. “If it helps.”

_

You had no intention of using the tête-à-tête “feature” you’ve been so graciously offered, quickly dismissing it as just another one of his tactics to show off his capacity to manipulate the game’s code, or something along those lines. 

It’s not the first time he’s done it. 

But then, midnight comes on a deceptively ordinary Friday, and it’s suffused with an all-too familiar feeling of utter emptiness that drowns you. You’re crumpled on the toilet seat like chewed-up gum, knees pulled to your chest—the day’s wounds still festering. It's not anything new, but it leaves you feeling like shit all the same. 

Yet another overtime shift. Yet another argument with your mom, over fuck all you know that you’re too damn old for, but still, still, finds its way to cut deep. Over and over, and over again. 

Your phone’s blank screen stares back at you, just as mute and useless as the rest of the night. And you—

“Sweetie?” 

You can’t speak. Not yet. But you don’t have to. One look at the exhaustion on your face is enough for Sylus to know exactly what you need.

Your mouth trembles open, then shuts again. He doesn’t say anything else, just waiting for you to make the first move. To start whenever you’re ready. 

After a long moment, you finally exhale a shaky breath. That’s when you catch his gaze; fixed, patient, almost... encouraging. It’s a subtle invitation, urging you to take the plunge, to make use of him to an extent only he can provide–the only one he could offer to you at this time–

So, you talk. Tentatively at first, the words slipping out like droplets from your leaking sink faucet. But once the dam breaks, you can't stop. 

It spills out. Every frustration, every ache, every moment that feels too much to carry for one person, especially for someone like you, and he… he just—

listens. 

-

-

-

You feel drained. Every ounce of energy wrung out of you after unloading the day’s weight to your unexpected confidant.

“That helped, didn’t it?”

If it were anyone else—or if you didn’t know Sylus the way you do now—you’d only catch the smug notes in his voice. The teasing lilt and the airy pretense of someone trying to ease the heaviness out of the room.

But you do hear it. Beneath the surface, woven so subtly into the words… something vulnerable. 

You hear the unspoken question behind it: he’s genuinely asking if it helped. If his presence, however small or inconsequential it might seem, was enough to pull you back ashore.

I helped.

Tell me I did.

“You did, Sy.” Your grin is tired, grateful, and a little lopsided. But it’s real. “Thank you.”

For a moment—just a split of a second—the red in his eyes betrays something achingly raw.

“Anytime, darling,” he says, his voice quieter now, rough around the edges, like it’s carrying more than the words themselves. “I mean it.”

And like a beacon of light slicing through the storm-tossed seas of your mind, you realize that he truly does.

____

You start giving Sylus the reins to select the music, trusting his taste enough to let him DJ for you. He picks the soundtrack for everything—cooking, errands, long rides—filling the silence with something that he knows the both of you would like. 

The playlists grow. From one, to two, to almost an entire collection of carefully curated tracks to suit the mood and vibe of the day. He takes it seriously—so seriously that you can’t resist sneaking in a Megan Thee Stallion track onto his precious “Slow Evenings” playlist.

He finds it hilarious. Hilarious enough to loop Kitty Kat for all sixty-five minutes of your commute back home.

You laugh despite yourself. It’s exactly the type of shit you know he’d pull as petty retribution, already intimately familiar with his brand of humor. And if you close your eyes, you can almost imagine him beside you, sharing an earbud, smirking as he revels in your exasperation.

____

One night, you notice a weariness in his eyes. It’s an odd enough thing to see that it leads to a discussion on what he’s been up to as the shadowy leader of a notorious faction, deep in a lawless part of his universe.

“Just an operative gone wrong, sweetie,” he says with a sigh, rubbing a temple as though trying to physically push the stress away. “It happens.”

You press him on the details of the botched deal—and maybe, just maybe, a small part of you is excited to live vicariously through the tale. But it’s not about you this time, you remind yourself. So you listen as Sylus indulges every question you throw at him, giving you the play-by-play: what the deal was for (special, hard-to-get protocores), where the trade-off occurred (west of Charon), and how it all went sideways (he knew it was a set-up the moment he walked into the venue).

You don’t really know how to comfort him in a situation like this, but you want to try.

In an attempt to lighten the mood, you joke, “Can you imagine clumsy, ol’ me there? I’d be dead before I even make it inside.”

Sylus freezes, his expression going still. Unreadable.

“No, you won’t.” He says in response to the second part of what you just said, his tone brooking no doubt. He says it with such intense conviction that you almost believe this exact hypothetical has already crossed his mind—more than once.

I won’t let you.

Before you can even think of what to say, he adds, quieter this time, but no less convinced: “And yes—I can.”

It’s a direct answer to your question, and it makes the words die in your throat. His voice is softer now too, but there’s no mistaking his tone. It has the same conviction from before, and it hits you that he’s had time to ruminate on this thought—more times than he’d care to admit.

And I do. You have no idea.

____

There’s another shift in the dynamic of your, well, relationship.

“Did you hear what I said, poppet?”

You snap back to meet his inquiring gaze, unwavering as always.

“Sorry, can you repeat that?” You ask, the apology clear in your eyes.

He huffs, shaking his head in amusement—always patient, never annoyed—at your inattentiveness. “What’s on your mind, my sweet?”

Well. That.

Lately, Sylus has gotten into the habit of using possessive pronouns like they’re nothing. There’s also a notable increase on the variation of pet names too, each one more layered than the last.

It’s a little excessive, honestly. Like he’s trying to compensate for something—or maybe he sees it as just another natural step in whatever’s going on between you two. You’re still not sure what exactly goes in his head. He’s always been an enigma to you.

And yet, you never put a stop to it. How could you?

Little dove. Sweet girl. My darling.

When it comes off his lips like sunkist honey—each one brings a jolt straight to your heart. 

You're quite partial to one in particular. 

My love.

____

“Oh, my love,” Sylus tuts, feigning concern. “You’ve snoozed that alarm five times already.”

You groan, hitting the snooze button again—number six now—burying your face in your arms on the desk. 

____

You’re attending a despedida party for a friend who’s flying abroad to study (For a PhD in Biomedical Science! You couldn’t be more proud.) and the venue’s going to be at The Penthouse, somewhere fancy up north. It even has an infinity pool on deck, something the celebrant dropped into the group chat with far too much enthusiasm.

So, earlier today, you’d ventured out to buy something nice for yourself. Nicer than what you have in the closet, which isn’t much of a stretch. Something different than your usual rotation of plaids and band shirts—not that there’s anything wrong with them. They’re just… you. Comfortable. Predictable. Not exactly the dress code for a rooftop soirée.

Now, you’re back home from a successful (!) trip to the mall, bags in hand: a small gift for your friend on one arm and a much larger shopping bag on the other. 

You set the gift gently on the coffee table. Then, you head to the bathroom, the grosgrain ribbon of a paper tote held tight in your fist. 

The pretty fabric caught your eye almost immediately, the moment you saw the garment; its sheen almost like woven liquid in the light. It felt like a risk, even on the rack. But under the unforgiving glare of your bathroom bulb? 

Well, now, it’s looking less of a “bold choice,” and more along the lines of: “damn, what were you thinking?”

It’s not that big of a deal or anything. You like feeling pretty. But at the same time, you haven’t deluded yourself into thinking that you’re anything above average to look at, even on the nicest occasions. 

It’s something you’ve grown used to, a definitive truth ingrained deep in your bones. You know this—like you know gravity tethers you to the ground, even when you’d rather be carried by the wind. You’ve gone through more than a decade to accept it as just another fact of life, to make peace with the reflection staring back at you from the bathroom mirror. 

Even if it means you’ll never be on the receiving end of ‘interested’ glances from strangers on the street. Or that you’ve never known the feeling of someone doing a double take when they see you at your best, all dolled-up. More than once, you’ve sat across from dates whose eyes wandered—toward some other, someone better-looking, in restaurants, at parks, even outside the movies. Everywhere past your direction. 

But that’s okay. You’re used to it, the same way you’ve grown used to everything else.

And still, there’s that impulse—a sudden need for someone else’s opinion. Someone close. Someone that matters. 

There’s a pang of fear you can’t quite shake. You hear the small voice from the deep recesses of your mind, whispering to you that it’s one of your worse ideas. That you’ll fall short of any and all expectations, and that it’ll hurt more this time around. You’ll hear the polite, “you look nice” and you’re gonna have to live with the quiet certainty that you don’t, not really, and that you’ll never quite measure up to what he’s used to seeing. To her—

You swallow hard. He wouldn’t. He wouldn’t do that to you. Not outwardly, at least.

And if he did… Well.

“I bought something,” you say as an opener, the words tumbling out in a rush as soon as you get a glimpse of his form on the screen. You’re rocking back on your heel, a little awkward as you stand there in front of your small vanity table even with your phone laid flat, front camera pointing upwards. “You remember the going-away party I’ll be attending two days from now, right?”

“Of course, the one for your secondary school batchmate.��� Sylus replies easily, voice reverberating through the tinny speakers. Even at an angle, you can see the confused tilt of his head. “Is it on the ceiling, sweetie? What am I looking at, exactly?”

“No, smartass. I—” You press your lips together, eyes flitting upward, as if courage might be dangling from the ceiling in question.

Fuck, this is a bad idea. I can’t do this.

“It’s–I bought something for myself. I mean, I bought her a gift too, obviously. But I also bought an outfit. For the party.” 

There. 

He blinks, and you can almost see the gears turning in his head. Realization dawns on his face, a knowing smile beginning to form. His voice dips, a teasing edge to it as he purrs, “Oh? Well then, save me from the suspense, sweetheart.”

“I–I’m getting to it, okay?” It comes out a little snappier than you intend, nerves flaring hot. You sigh, feeling your shoulders drop. “I’m just… Don’t be—ugh, just don’t make a big deal out of this, alright?” 

You keep your eyes off the screen, unable to face him directly.

But when he speaks, his tone carries only a quiet understanding of your struggle.

Of course he understands. He always does.

He speaks; and it’s slow and measured—as if he’s coaxing a terrified, cornered animal out of hiding. 

“Show me.” Trust me.

And so with a heavy exhale through the nose, you flip the front camera towards your direction, revealing the bare expanse of gooseflesh skin—

… And the flimsy one-piece that clings to your body like wet plastic. 

It dips low between the valley of your breasts and stops short just halfway up your thigh. The material is a gauzy organza; see-through and light, in seafoam green. Barely leaving anything to the imagination as it reveals the dusky coral swimsuit from underneath the fabric and the hot flush that spreads across your chest like wildfire. Your fists clench and unclench behind your back – hiding the physical manifestation of your rising anxiety – while you shift your weight from one foot to the other. 

There's a deafening silence. 

The knots in your stomach grow tighter, creeping its way past your lungs. Your fingers tremble as cold sweat breaks out across your skin, chilling you from the inside. You feel horribly exposed. So exposed it’s almost unbearable. 

And you still can’t bring yourself to look at him.

Your thoughts stumble, desperate to cling to anything solid, and a faint memory surfaces—a passage from an org pamphlet you’ve skimmed through back in college, something that has to do with “self-perception.”

The flesh does not define you. 

Your body is but a facet of who you are. You are as inconsequential as the earth beneath your feet, and as important as stardust in the universe.

A low, guttural sound cuts through the stillness, and it makes the hairs on the back of your neck stand on end. 

You—

“Look at me.”

A searing heat laces the cadence of his voice. It sounds restless—like a flame unchecked, rapidly growing into a raging inferno. Stifling in the way it pulls the air from your lungs, like a suckerpunch to the gut.

Your primordial instinct is to flee. But right at that very moment, you're no different from a paralyzed insect caught in an inescapable web with the way you’re stood frozen in place. Every instinct to run is smothered by the mere inflection in his voice. 

—are all. And that is all there is to be. 

“My sweet little dove,” it’s almost a croon, the way the words curl around you like wisps of smoke. Sickly saccharine… downright serpentine. “Won’t you look at me when I talk to you?”

And like a marionette on a string, you obey. 

-

Time seems to stop to a standstill the moment your eyes meet his. 

Sylus’ gaze sinks into you. Loaded. Heavy. A crazed glint, almost—to it. Even to someone like you who's embarrassingly clueless about the nuances of attraction and wholly inexperienced in its depths can see it as plain as day.

Carnal desire. In its purest form. 

Sylus looks at you as though you’re something to be coveted. Devoured. 

A small, fearful noise slips past your lips, and the twin crimson flames burn brighter.

“You’d like to know what I think?”

Yes.

No?

He sees the war in your eyes, and a throaty chuckle escapes him—raw and breathy. “Maybe so?”

You give him the tiniest nod, and the grin on his face sharpens into something wanton, something far more licentious. It slinks in like a fever, stirring something deep within you. Something as old as time.

Sylus opens his mouth. 

You brace yourself for the inevitable.

-

-

-

A ring slices through the room like a hot knife. Just like that, you can breathe again. 

____

Your saving grace comes in the form of a phone call that grounds you back to reality.

It’s a friend, one of the party guests, asking for directions to the venue. You’re listening with one ear on the receiver, answering each question robotically—your voice a controlled calm on the surface, a stark contrast to the thoughts running amok inside your head. 

The words blur into background noise, muffled and distant, like a TV commercial playing on low volume in another room.

The moment you hang up, a suffocating hush swallows the room whole. You’re left alone with nothing but heat kindling low in your gut. The ghost of the heavy exchange from earlier stays with you, thrumming beneath your skin, hot and pulsating. 

You don’t know what to do with yourself. The abrupt suddenness of it all gnaws at you, its weight driving you toward an early retreat—maybe a long night’s rest will do wonders and help you get your shit together, who knows. 

You slip between the sheets... but not before retrieving your, ah, trusty little companion from its hiding spot in the bedside drawer.

You didn’t want to assume… You don’t want to expect anything from him, but you have needs. 

God, but you do.

Your body feels like flint struck against steel, sparked ablaze by just a handful of words. Words weaved into a vivid imagery from the mouth of your… friend?? 

(Something more?) 

The uncertainty wrecks you, every nerve alight with tension. And yet it’s the same uncertainty that roots you there. Hesitating. 

So. You lie back, pushing the sheets away from your fevered skin, and just—lay there. Staring at the ceiling. The plaster cracks form maps you trace with your eyes, as if searching for answers in their tangled routes. You count your breaths, one after the other, as though the repetition could calm your racing heartbeat. 

It feels ridiculous, almost. You’re a grown adult, acting like a teenager with a demented crush. It’s more than that, though—it’s deeper, messier, and completely illogical. 

But it’s not something you can figure out tonight, not in this state. So you stop trying. 

Instead, you switch on your little toy, open an incognito browser, and let yourself succumb to what your body’s been screaming at you for the past fucking hour. 

You feel… You feel weird about using anything Sylus-related to get yourself off. That’s not to say you haven’t, before, back when he was just another eye candy from a measly mobile game. When it was just another infatuation. 

But now? Now it feels all levels of wrong, like you’re toeing some invisible line. Worse, it feels like you’re exploiting something fragile, testing the limits of a bond already stretched thin.

So, any content related to that man stays off the fap fodder. You’re not that far gone. You think. 

Instead, you scroll through your bookmarks tab, a shaky sigh leaves your lips as you let the hard vibrations of your trusty rabbit glide from inside your thighs, up… up to your warm center, in between the juncture of your legs.

You pause on a Toji smut fic—one amongst, uhh, dozens in your folder. It’s not the same, you know this, but you’re settling for the next best thing in your current circumstance. 

Since what you really want, who you’d rather much have, isn’t—

…

Your phone glitches. 

The Chrome app crashes.

And what do you think you’re doing?

Your heart stutters a beat, and you stop breathing. 

You can’t answer. The words don’t come. But he doesn’t wait for you to try.

Put on your headphones.

You’re done with that. Tonight, tomorrow, any other night. Do you understand me?

The uncharacteristic curtness of the message sends a jolt through you, and a blush overtakes your entire body. You hesitate, just for a second.

Now.

You scramble to obey, fumbling for your earbuds, slipping them on with shaking hands. 

The moment the bluetooth connects, the game boots up on its own—straight to an irate Sylus, looking royally pissed-off. 

“Sy-Sy—” you stammer, your voice barely above a whisper. “I—I don’t—”

"Oh, so back to Sy-Sy now, are we?"

The mocking lilt in his voice cuts sharper than the glare he fixes on your dimly lit face. Your mouth opens, then closes, words failing you entirely. 

You want to explain, to defend yourself. To…

“I see what you read. What you watch,” he begins, voice cutting and mean. “In the dead of night, when you think you’re alone. When you think it’s safe. That no one hears the sweet moans spill so sinfully from your lips.”

His words pierce through the air like an arrow; you feel his overwhelming presence take over, the weight of his gaze pressing down on you, every exhale grazing the sensitive shell of your ear.

“Oh, but I do,” he murmurs, the ambiguity in his tone somehow making it worse. “I hear everything. I know everything about you, kitten.”

A shiver races down your spine, your body betraying you as he speaks.

“What makes you tick,” he continues, his voice a sinister caress. “What leaves you writhing, desperate for more. The way your breathing quickens… the way your body trembles under the weight of your own pleasure.”

You’re struggling now—each breath harder to catch than the last.

“And the way that pretty little mouth of yours falls open in a silent gasp, right after you come undone.”

His words are a noose, tightening with every syllable. Your head spins as the air seems to grow heavier, saturated with the tension between you.

“But it’s never for me, is it?”

“I—I’m sorry… I don’t want to assume—”

“Assume?” His voice darkens, any hint of softness replaced with something colder, harsher. “Again with your presumptions.”

He leans closer, his tone dropping to a command that leaves no room for doubt. “From now on, the only thing you’ll need to believe is when I tell you you’re mine.”

You blink at him dumbly. His grin turns into something wicked—caustic and biting—as he cocks his head. Derisive.  

“Do you understand?”

Your head bobs in a weak, reflexive nod.

“Words, poppet.”

“Y-Yes.”

“Good.” His tone shifts, smooth like languid amber, yet no less imposing. “Now, my love,” he coos, savoring the way your eyes tear up with desperation, “show me how you touch yourself.”

____

“Shi–iit,” he hisses. “This wet already?” 

You attempt to close your legs, shame rising like a tide, but freeze halfway when Sylus lets out a low, warning growl.

“Try that, and we’ll stop,” he warns. “I won’t repeat myself twice, pet.”

The weight of his words pins you in place, and you let out a helpless whimper.

“Don’t be afraid, sweet girl,” he murmurs, his tone gentler—coaxing. “It’s just me.”

His gaze burns into you, relentless, but something tender bleeds into it. 

The glow of the screen casts shadows along the sharp angles of his jaw, the upward tick of his mouth a dangerous contradiction—part teasing, part command. His sanguine eyes gleam with a mix of hunger and control, a look that leaves no room for hesitation.

You give in.

Your body relaxes under the weight of his stare, the fight draining from your limbs. It’s not submission—it’s surrender, pure and unfiltered, the kind that leaves you bare and vulnerable.

Sylus watches you, a faint smile tugging at his lips. Not soft, not kind, but triumphant—like a predator relishing the moment its prey stops running.

“Good girl,” he murmurs, the praise dripping from his tongue like honey. “That’s better.”

____

Sade’s Smooth Operator starts to play in the background as you catch your breath.

You let out a tired giggle, swiping a hand down your sweat-drenched face, earbuds still in place. “Ugh—don’t piss me off.”

You hear a resounding chuckle. 

Gently, he asks, “Alright, little dove?” There’s a beat of hesitation before he adds, quieter now, “Did I go too far?”

You curl onto your side, phone clutched in your hand like a prayer. Sylus’ gaze peers back at you through the screen, a dangerously soft expression on his face that you don’t want to identify. 

“It's perfect, Sy,” you say, your grin tender and bittersweet, heart full of something you won't name.

____

It’s one in the morning. The dim glow of your laptop screen flickers across your face, spilling into the darkened room, casting shadows along the wall. You lean back against it, the end credits of Everything Everywhere All At Once rolling quietly in the background.

 

Silence settles between you and Sylus like a warm blanket.

“Do you think it’s… like that?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper, unwilling to shatter the stillness of the moment. “All versions of ourselves colliding and coexisting at the same time?”

The question hangs there; he doesn’t rush an answer, and for a moment, you wonder if he’s choosing not to. 

When he finally speaks, it’s with the same quiet restraint, his voice threading softly through the air. 

“I’d like to think that in this vast expanse of the universe, there’s something for you and me.”

There’s a trace of something dreadfully optimistic in his voice, and it makes your chest tighten. You blink a few times, glancing upwards. 

The moment lingers, delicate in its quietness, until you instinctively reach for your phone. A quick swipe reveals a new addition to your shared playlist.

This Is A Life by Son Lux and Mitski.

A small, genuine smile tugs at your lips as you press play. The haunting strains of the song pour into the room, filling the spaces words can’t seem to touch.

“Sneaky,” you murmur, your gaze sliding back to Sylus’ face on the screen. His expression is unreadable, save for the faintest twitch of his mouth, the barest hint of a smile.

“Thought it fit the mood,” he says simply.

And it does. The music sweeps over you, soft and wistful, like the moment itself.

____

The balcony feels like a lifeboat drifting away from the chaos inside. The music, the chatter, the endless parade of tequila shots—it all fades to a dull hum as you step into the cool night air. 

Out here, the world feels wider, the sky a little darker, and you can breathe without choking on the weight of the party.

She’s already there, of course. The friend of a friend. An acquaintance by definition, but someone who feels more of a comrade in these fleeting moments away from the crowd. You’ve seen her like this most times—leaning on the railing, a cigarette perched between her fingers, its faint ember glowing against the night. You don’t need an invitation to approach her.

“You mind if I bum one?”

She shrugs, silently offering the box to you. You take one.

“Fun party, huh?” you comment after two puffs, the lit end of the stick briefly catching the glow of the skyline. Your voice is loaded with the kind of irony only shared by those watching the world from the outside in.

“It always is with them around,” she snorts, rolling her eyes in fond exasperation. Her voice carries the warmth of familiarity, from an observation you’ve both shared before. 

You exhale a soft laugh, the sound barely audible over the low hum of the city below.

The silence that follows isn’t just companionable—it’s necessary. A pause to recalibrate, to let the noise, and the lights, and the weight of too many people melt away. Neither of you feels the need to fill it. Words would only dilute the reprieve.

And then, unexpectedly:

“You look happy.”

The words land like a stone dropping into still water, rippling through the quiet. You glance at her, startled by the way her eyes narrow slightly, the way her tone suggests she’s already drawn her own conclusions.  

“You ‘ave someone?”

You weren’t ready for that. You blink at her, surprised she’s noticed anything about you—surprised, too, that it’s written plainly enough for anyone to notice.

“...Yeah,” you mumble, looking away. The admission feels strange in its simplicity. “Yeah, I do.”

She smiles at that—easy but genuine, as if your happiness has spilled over and warmed her, too. “That’s good.” 

There’s sincerity in her voice, unfiltered and direct, as she adds, “You look happier.”

You don’t reply, but her words settle somewhere deep, in the quiet places you thought were hidden. 

And for once, you don’t mind being seen.

____

The party has left you drunker than you’ve been in ages. 

As soon as the celebrant spots the two of you in the corner looking like a sad pair of eyesores, she quickly remedies it with copious amounts of Stone-Cold Stingers. You try to protest, but in the end, it’s futile against the cacophony of cheers and the face of societal peer pressure. 

So now you stagger inside the condo building, looking every bit like a drowned rat dragged in from the storm. A weary guard from reception following closely behind, his patience visibly fraying as you giggle your way toward the elevator.

“‘m fine!” you insist, words slurring together as you attempt to shoo him off with a lazy wave. To emphasize your point, you pinch your fingers together, holding them inches apart. “Just this much to drink, see?”

He doesn’t respond, his expression coming across resigned and frustrated. You can almost hear the thought running through his mind: I don’t get paid enough for this. 

With a long-suffering sigh, he finally relents, letting you totter into the elevator alone.

UG… P… 4…. 5…… Oh! Here you are. 

Rivulets of water drip down from your rain-soaked hair, trailing icy paths down your neck as you stagger down the narrow hallway. Your vision blurs, making everything double—no, triple—as you fumble your way to the left, stopping in front of the door of 601—wait, no, 603. 

You squint hard at the numbers, your head throbbing with the effort, but the stinging in your eyes and the stubborn clumping of your lashes make it way harder for you to make sense of it all. 

Your waterlogged clutch feels heavier than it should, and your trembling fingers struggle to find the zipper pull that’s somehow become the bane of your existence. You huff, muttering incoherently to yourself, your throat tight and raw as a burning lump starts to rise. An annoyingly persistent buzzing from inside your bag adds to your mounting frustration.

With an angry yank, you finally manage to tear the bag open, water splashing off it in tiny droplets. 

“Aha!” you exclaim, though the triumph is short-lived as your hands shake even harder when you pull out your phone. It’s the source of the buzzing apparently, the bright screen momentarily blinding you. 

You try to unlock it—once, twice, three times—nearly getting locked out before the numbers finally click.

The notifications hit you like the mars lights of a freight train. Texts. Lots of them. You scroll through clumsily, the device slipping slightly from your grip as you snort gracelessly.

Sylus. Of course.

The words on the screen blur and twist, but you don’t need clarity to know the progression of each message—ranging from mild curiosity, to slight worry, to exasperatedly concerned. 

The syllables of his pet name echo faintly in your muddled head, a small, fleeting comfort against the weight pressing down on your chest. Sy-Sy. Sy-Sy. Sy-Syyyyy—

Synchronous with your erratic breathing, you dig through your bag with a heavy hand, each failed attempt sends you spiraling lower.

Another ping jolts you from your drunken haze: 

How are you feeling? Did you just get back?

“I can’t—I can’t find my damn keys!” 

The words slips out as a frustrated cry.

Inner pocket, left side. Answer me, sweetheart.

His words flash across the screen just as your fumbling fingers find the keys exactly where he said they’d be. 

A tear burns a path down your cheek as you let out a half-hearted chuckle, mumbling, “Can I even function without you?” 

How long has it been since you could manage something like this on your own? Has he become an extension of your mind?

The door’s stubborn resistance only adds to your unraveling. After several failed attempts—your fingers too wound up to grip the key properly—you finally twist the lock and push it open, stumbling inside, into the darkness. 

“I’m a mess, Sylus,” you whisper, voice thick with tears as your head spins, wiping your nose with the back of your hand. 

The world feels heavy and muffled, like you’re trapped behind a fogged window. You know you’re a sight to behold—shoeless, drunk, drenched like some stray that wandered too far into the rain.

“I’ve noticed,” he says, his voice warm and steady, cutting through the quiet void of the room. It takes a second for the words to sink in, for your scattered mind to piece together that, somehow, you’ve already opened the game in the middle of all your fumbling. Automatic. Like second nature.

You stare at him, trembling and pitiful, like a kid lost in a crowd. Your bottom lip quivers, and you hate how small you feel under his gaze.

You see concern pooling in the depths of Sylus’ eyes. That and something… desperate.

You sniff, rubbing at your wet cheeks with pruning fingers, clinging to humor like a lifeline. "Don’t you do anything else?” you mumble, your voice fraying at the edges. “Like... live your own life or something? You spend so much time with me...” You force out a weak laugh, bitter and jagged. “It’s a miracle you haven’t gotten sick of me yet.”

Your laugh cracks halfway through, more like a sob than anything. It’s pathetic—you’re pathetic. 

And yet, you can’t stop. Even if it stings your throat.

Sylus’ response comes, and his voice is solid—unwavering. He doesn’t flinch like you do. “I don’t get sick of you, sweetheart. Not in the slightest.”

Something in you cracks, spilling over. “I really like you,” you murmur, voice steeped with emotion. “You’re the brightest light in my life. You’re… you’re everything.”

A flash of lightning cuts through the room, illuminating your tear-stained face.

And for the first time since you’ve known him, Sylus calls out your name.

It’s quiet, reverent, and it feels like a tether pulling you back from the brink.

You crumple down the floor, clutching your phone like it’s the only thing holding you together. In the silence that follows, all you can hear is your ragged breathing and the quiet hum of his presence on the other end of the line.

“I’m here,” he tells you softly. “I’ve got you.”

____

This is a life

(Every possibility)

Free from destiny 

(I choose you, and you choose me) 

Tagging: @xxfaithlynxx @beewilko @browneyedgirl22 @yournextdoorhousewitch @sunsethw4 @stxrrielle @mangooes @hrts4hanniehae @buggs-1 @michiluvddr @ssetsuka @imm0rtalbutterfly @the-golden-jhope @beomluvrr @milkandstarlight @bookfreakk @ally-the-artistic-turtle @sapphic-daze @sarahthemage @cchiiwinkle @madam8 @slownoise @raendarkfaerie @sylusdarling @luminaaaz @greeenbeean @vvhira @issamomma @shroomiethefrogwhisperer @nicora04 @blueberrysquire @love-anteros @fiyori @peachystea @slyfoxtsu @tinyweebsstuff @i2sannie (i spend so much time cross-checking the tags this is tiring lmao)

[onlymexsarah]

Burning Flames V || Eris Vanserra

Pairing: Eris Vanserra x Archeron!reader Summary: Since you became High Fae there were only two things that scared you: your deadly power and your attraction toward the male you should hate most after Tamlin, Eris Vanserra. Warnings: Eris thinking important stuff, Eris being Eris, probably grammar mistakes and my english. A/n: I’M SO SORRY FOR THE WAITING. I had a writer’s block and i didn’t want to write anything that would disappoint you. I hope you’re gonna like this, let me know if you want to be added at the taglist🫶🏻 Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3 - Chapter 4

As soon as you all arrived at the River House the mood lightened up. It was time to truly celebrate the Winter Solstice, and Feyre's birthday.

You were all in the sitting room, and when you said all you meant all. Even Nesta and Lucien were there, throught you thought that the presence of the latter was not entirely because his fondness to the Inner Circle.

You took a moment to look around you and letting the sight sink. They were all happy, everyone was talking about something and everyone had a smile on their faces. It was refreshing being in such a familiar occasion, but somehow you couldn't help but feel a bit of melancholy.

Feyre had found a beautiful family. Not perfect, because no one was perfect, but she had found people who loved her and would do anything for her. They would do anything for each other, and even if being Feyre's sister made you part of the group you knew you would never be more than that: Feyre's sister.

You had no special bond with anyone. Only Rhysand and Mor had taken interest in developing a relationship with you, but as you watched them talk with Cassian and Azriel you knew that you could never compare with that. The Winter Solstice was the night for wishes, and you deeply wished to find a family like that one day.

When the time of gifts arrived you were excited. When your family had fallen into poverty there was no money for gifts, so you had spent your birthdays and the holydays as normal days.

You had found out that you loved making gifts. It had something magical the whole searching the right things for everyone and find it. The one yuo were proudest was an enchated satchel for Nesta, where she could put every book she wanted and bring it with her weightless.

You had received gifts from almost everyone. but it was when Mor handed you a box wrapped with expensive, sparkling red silk that your heart skipped a beat. "I think someone is quiet fascinated by you after only few dances." said Mor smugly and she read from who it was from.

You tried to steady your hands and you took the gift and read the little note that was attached to it.

"A reminder that flames are the apotheosis of beauty if shaped by the right person. Happy Solstice, Eris."

You slowly unwrapped the delicate silk and opened the box. Your eyes widened as you caught what was inside. Everyone's attention was on you as you took the glass case that was inside the box and hold it in your hand in front of your face.

You felt everyone's breath stopping as you stared at the beautiful rose made of fire that burned inside the glass.

The glass was warm, and the fire was perfectly shaped as a rose, forever burning on its own. Something inside you flickered, something gold, soft that a moment before was not there. You didn't know what to say as every word disappeared from your mind. It was breathtaking. The beauty of it could not be compared to anything else you had ever seen.

"At least he has good taste for gifts." Mor commented crossing her arms.

You put the glass case on the table in front of you and quickly looked away from it, giving a Mor a tight smile. "What? Having second thoughts?" you said ironically to her, needing to change subject.

She snorted. "Hardly."

"Let's just appreaciate the kind gesture." Rhysand said with an amused smile. "Thanks to you we have his alliance back, let's celebrate that."

It didn't go unnotice to you your sister's tight expression. From the way she looked at Rhysand and the smile he gave her you were sure they were having a mental conversation, about what you didn't know.

The night passed smoothly, there had been no other awkward gifts thankfully. At some point your eyes threatened to close on their own so you excused yourself and went into your room.

You put the rose on the vanity in your room, and for a moment stared at it like it could explode. If Eris wanted to mess with your head then he was doing a great job.

You scoffed, fuck you Eris.

You swear you heard his low laugh deep inside you.

***

When a letter in red paper came for you with only a place and a time written on it you stormed into Rhysand's office, guilt eating you alive. You opened the door without so much as knocking, and told him everything.

You told him how Eris saved you during the war, how you had cured him because yes your power didn't go away but "my sisters lied too so you can't be angry at me". You showed him your hands and arms. You told him that Eris knew about your power but never said anything or threated you, and in the end you told him about the bargain you made.

"You were letting yourself burning from the inside out because you were scared to hurt someone?" Rhysand's voice was not in any way angry, actually he seemed more concerned.

You shrugged, your eyes fell on the ground feeling his heavy gaze on you. "You were all so happy after the war. My sisters still needed me and I didn't want to ruin anyone's happiness with this problem. I would have figured out something, eventually."

Rhysand stared at you silently, a mischievious spark in his violet eyes. "And you thought that making a bargain with Eris was the solution?"

His question wasn't accusatory. It sounded like Rhysand was curious about your maddness, and honestly you were too. There was no right answer to make it sound reasonable, so you gave him part of the truth.

"When he chose me to dance the responsability to keep him as an ally had fallen on me, and unfortunately I couldn't seduce him like Nesta would have done." You shrugged. "Cassian was right, Eris seems to enjoy to annoy me. When he proposed to train me I took it as my chance to keep him close to the Night Court and keep him close as an ally."

"And are you comfortable with this...arrangement?" Rhysand asked you carefully.

You noticed how his reaction had been completely different from what you had expected. You thought that he would look at you like the stupid girl you felt, almost pitying you for talking about Eris like he was not a monster. Instead, Rhysand had just listened, nodded and gave you an encouraging smile.

"Yeah, I'll need one of you to winnow me where we'll meet, but I would prefer if you tell no one but Feyre and Azriel." You said and saw in Rhysand's eyes that he understood the double meaning of your words:

"I don't want Mor to find out, for now."

"It can be easily arranged, but since you'll start to spend time on your own around Prythian I must ask you to start training with Cassian and Azriel whenever you can." he said kindly sitting on the chair behind his desk.

You tilted your head with a grin. "Are you asking as my High Lord or as a worried friend?"

"What about as a brother?" he matched your grin. "An overbearing one, as Feyre calls me."

You chuckled. "I'll start training with them tomorrow."

***

"Your brooding silence is louder than Nesta and Cassian during Winter Solstice." You snorted watching with almost disgust all the flowers around you. The border between the Spring's court and the Summer's court was a explosion of yellow, pink, orange and purple. All colours that made your eyes almost hurt.

You felt Azriel's death glare on your back as you pointly avoided his eyes. "I still have to understand why Rhys think letting you be alone with him is a good idea."

"Because Rhysand would be a hypocrite to deny me of this lovely bargain." An amused, deep voice said behind you making your toes curling in your shoes.

You turned around and saw Azriel watching Eris like he was imaginaing stabbing him, and somehow you knew you were right. "I'll stay with you." said the shadowsinger as if Eris' presence just reminded him how a bad idea that was.

"Tempting, but I'm not usually one who like to share." Said Eris with a cocky grin before looking at you. "Unless the lady wants to."

You narrowed your eyes at him, crossing your arms. It was annoying how most of the times you didn't know if Eris was flirting with you or trying to rile you up.

"Go Az." You looked at the shadowsinger with a kind smile. "I'll be fine."

"I'll be back in few hours." Azriel said to you before winnowing away, giving Eris one last warning look.

You watched for a few seconds the place where Azriel had been standing and took a deep breath. "Over the centuries I forgot how dramatic he could be."

You snapped your eyes on Eris, making a good effort to not notice how his green outfit made his eyes look of an impossible shade of emerald.

"He just doesn't trust you." you said ironically. "I wonder why."

Eris gave you a feline grin before offering you his arm. "There is a lake near by, shall we?"

You studied his arm with wary eyes. Inside you there were two sides that were fighting each other. The first one wanted to give him the chance that no one ever did, to trust him and gain his trust back, to get to know the Eris that if you tried hard you could see under his mask; the other part was yelling at you to not be stupid, that if the Inner Circle didn't trust him after five centuries there were very good reasons, and the worst part was that you knew most of them, and still it wasn't enough to make you feel even a hint of disgust.

So you had to pretend.

"Let's just get started." you hoped that your cold mask was at least half good as his as you walked past him toward the lake, ignoring his low chuckle.

***

From your sister's story of her training you had expected everything but this.

Eris had made you sat right in front of the lake with your leg crossed, your back straight and your eyes closed while he did the same beside you and gave you instruction with his voice.

He had told you to focus on your breathing while you had to map the environment around you just with your hearing. Was it even possible?

Spoiler: no.

Everytime you heard a sound your mind would wander around with random thoughts that become a deep dive inside your head. The birds over you reminded you of the days that your father used to bring you around the forest close to your old estate. Who knew who lived there now? Maybe the humans had chosen to let it fall to ruin after what happened to them. Maybe they would think it was cursed.

That's it. You had forgotten to calm your breathing. Again.

"Awknowledge the thoughts that came into your mind and let them go." Eris' voice vibrated right inside you making you shift slightly on your place.

"I thought you were going to teach me how to control my power, not how to control my breathing." You scoffed.

"Who said anything about training your power in the bargain?" He said almost bored.

Your eyes snapped open and you looked at him incredulous. He was smirking. That bastard was smirking and you wanted nothing more than to slap that grin away from his face.

"If you do not train me I could easily lose control and burn everything around us to ashes." You said slowly, angry that he thought he could trick you. "And you with it."

Eris opened his eyes, his grin only grew wider as he looked at you. "Oh, but that would be quite the sight." You clenched your jaw as your skin started to pinch with heat. He gave you an amused look before closing his eyes again and taking a deep breath. "Relax, Little Flame. We need to make you burst out that mass of power that you had been foolishly sealed inside you, but I won't make you do it until I know it's not completely safe for you."

"And completely safe for this place." You added while you fought the blush that was growing on your cheeks at the thought that Eris had just said that he wanted you safe.

You saw him shrugging, his eyes remained shut. "Helion wouldn't mind a little renovation." You scoffed rolling your eyes. How could he be so calm? You had expected to learn how to control your fire, and instead you were struggling to control even your breathing. "Believe it or not, but I'm trying to help you. Close your eyes."

His firm tone made you ashamedly tightening your thighs. You bit the inside of your cheek to prevent you from doing something stupid, like talk back and made him use that tone again.

You closed your eyes and took a deep breath, trying to calm the heat that was starting to grow at the pit of your stomach, which you were sure wasn't due your flames.

"You were born human, but no one taught you how to be a High Fae when the cauldron Made you. Your body is stronger, faster. Your sight, hearing, and nose are sharper." Eris' explanation hit something very precise inside you. It was true, no one had ever stopped to explain to you how to use those new abilities. And it was fine, you had never really asked, knowing that as the older sister you should have to figure it out on your own. "We are at the border between Summer and Spring, with only your nose you should be able to tell where the border exactly is, but lets start easy. Use all your senses but the sight."

His calm and warm voice made it sound simple, and you believed him. It wasn't a even-a-child-can-do-it type of simple, it was more like a your-body-can-naturally-do-that type of simple.

You spent another hour like that, and by the end of it you were smiling broadly. You had successfully used all your new senses, and you were mesmerized by Eris' patience. Not once he had rushed you or had seemed to be tired.

"You're smiling." your head snapped toward him and you couldn't help the look of surprise that grew on your face. "You've never smiled like that when I was around."

You watched him with a hint of michievous in your eyes. As soon as you had successfully told him where the border was he had instructed you to stand in front of the lake and try to smell the animals around you. "You've never been silent around me before."

Eris laughed. The redhead in front of you, the Heir of Autumn, the General of the Autumn Court's army actually laughed and didn't incinerated you for your words.

It was an awful lie what you had said. His voice was probably the most beautiful sound you had ever heard, and you wondered if he laughed because he knew that deep down.

Cauldron, I hope not.

"Tell me if you sense some creatures in the lake." Eris smirked crossing his arms over his chest. "I'll gift you with more silence in the meantime."

You playfully rolled your eyes and took a step closer to the lake.

Deep breath.

Empty mind.

Eyes closed.

You felt the bird above you, the deers at your left, deep in the Summer's forest and even the rabbits beyond the Spring's border. But nothing came from the lake in front of you. Confused you opened your eyes and tried to catch some glimps of fishes or other creatures.

"Nothing." You said tilting your head a bit confused. "I don't think there is something in this lake."

"Good." Eris grinned michievously. "Then put your hands in the water and let your fire out."

You felt your eyebrows hitting your hairline as you widened your eyes and looked at him incredulous. "I am absolutely not."

"You absolutely are." he quickly remarked.

"What if there are fishes in there? I cannot kill them." You gestured to the pool of water in front of you, trying to understand what he intented.

"You said there is nothing in there." He shrugged becoming serious. "You need to start trusting your senses. There might still be days where you need to let your power out and you'll need to scan the area quickly to make sure no one is around."

His words carried something too personal for you to let them go. Was he speaking for personal experience? You wanted to talk back, you wanted to ask him if there were creatures in the lake, but something inside you stirred.

Eris might be the only one who could understand you, who knew what you were going through. He was the oldest son of Beron, you wondered what kind of pressures he had to live with. You wondered if he too had to learn how to use his fire beside a lake to not hurt anyone.

You slowly crounched on your feet and even slower took your gloves away. The burned flesh on your hands were red with remains of the green sticky cream that Madja had given you. The cold water send shivers of pure relief through all your body.

"You want me to light a fire under water..." You said skeptical looking at Eris over your shoulder.

"Darling, I'm positive your power could light a fire at the bottom of the ocean, if wield properly." You looked away from his lazy grin as your stomach twisted at his new nickname.

Water or not water you had to understand now how to call the fire at you. For weeks the flames had been burning all your body no-stop, you just needed to focus them in your hands.

"I do not suppose to know you, but I might guess that your power usually answer to your anger." he was standing behind you like you hadn't a burning fire inside you ready to explode, like you weren't a danger for him. "Focus that sweet mind of yours toward what anger you most."

You.

The answer was quick in your mind.

Eris Vanserra had the ability to make you angry with just a look, and there were so many reasons that you couldn't focus on just one. It made you angry when he used his mocking tone with you. It made you angry when he used a gentle tone with you. It made you angry when he looked at you like you were the only person in the room, and it made you angry when he avoided your gaze in a room full of people.

It made you angry knowing what he did to Mor. It made you angry that there were times when you didn't care. It made you angry that you thought that the male in front of you could never do shuch thing. It had made you angry that he had saved you. But you were even angrier when he hadn't seek you out after the battle.

Eris Vanserra made you angry because he didn't make you angry at all. He made you feel frustrated, amused, annoyed, flustered and seen, and you were angry because you shouldn't feel those things. Not with him.

You felt it then. You felt hot flames rising from your skin and you imagined that the water in front of you were your feelings, and they needed to burn. So, they burnt.

Bright, red fire appeared underwater around your hands and the water in front of you started to boil. You let it all out. Every flame you had pushed down in those months was now left free.

It felt so good to finally let it go. The flames were circling all your arms, from your shoulders down your elbows and to your hands. You had missed the warmt that came from inside your body, the ethernal sensation that no cold could ever touch your skin, never again.

***

Eris had never known an enchanting sight as the one he had in front of him now. Your flames were all around you while from the lake it was rising a cloud of steam that soon enough would catch someone's attention.

He felt your rage through the bond and everything you had kept inside. The steam of power that you were letting out was huge, destructive, beautiful.

He watched silently as your fire stopped and you let yourself fall back, sitting on the burned grass and staring the water with emotionless eyes. He dared to tuck softly the bond, trying to understand what you were feeling, then you laughed, and something gold flickered inside him at that sound.

It was a laugh that could make him burn courts to the ground for the chance to hear it again. It was the laugh that at some point he had dreamed while Under the Montain. It was the laugh of hope that no matter if people like Amarantha, Beron or the King of Hybern ruled merciless, there were still people with enough strenght to laugh.

"I've never felt so free in a long time." you almost whispered to yourself. You stared at your hands and Eris let out a sigh of relief as he saw that the skin was completely healed.

He saw as you took a deep breath and closed your eyes tilting your head back toward the sky, and Eris felt the need to make you stop looking so fucking perfect while he had no right to enjoy this view.

He cleared his throat bringing his hands behind his back. "Can I dare to ask what or who you were thinking? I wouldn't want to find myself in the middle of the two of you."

You gave him a indecipherable look. "Cassian's habit to steal my breakfast."

Eris didn't hold the scoff that escaped his lips. It was clearly a lie, but he understood that. He was no one for you, there was no reason for you to trust him with your thoughts, so he didn't push, even if his stomach twisted in a payinful knot.

He smelled a light scent far behind him, and he knew that was time for you to return back at home. "We should go back before the shadowsinger cut my throat."

He turned around, needing to stop that moment before he started to believe things that couldn't be true. Not yet.

"Wait." your voice stopped him and he curiously turned around to look at you as you stood up and brushed of the grass from your dress. You walked closer to him with a steady look that made him equally unsteady. "It's time for my part of the bargain. My question."

He rose slightly his eyebrows, surprised by your sudden determination. "Go ahead."

He saw as you tried to organize your thoughts, crossing your arms as to make you more secure of yourself. "Is this side of yours part of the mask?"

Eris tilted his head, a bit confused by your question. "This side?" What were you seeing in him? What did he let slip?

"Yes, this side." You gestured with your hands at his whole person. "You, helping me and not being a total arrogant. You always make sure to make the others doubt your intentions, to doubt you. While...while the one I have in front of me is not the same male I heard the others talk about."

Eris stood there for a moment, looking into your eyes. He heard steps behind him approach, steps of someone who usually doesn't want to be heard. He slowly reached out a hand, and tuck some hair behind your ear and he smirked as he heard your breath caucht in your throat.

"Maybe I'm just manipulating you." He whispered, knowing he had few more seconds to play with you. If he couldn't have you for himself, he at least could have those reactions from you. "Maybe I want you to think I'm the good guy to use you against your precious Inner Circle. It would be quite the revenge."

"You are not moved out of revenge." Your response left him speechless for a moment. "If you wanted revenge then half of Prythian would be death."

"I could convince you to kill them for me." he stated back. He had let his hand lingering behind your ear, and now he let it slowly trace down the curve of your neck.

You breath had become clearly shorter, he could feel your heart beating through your chest, but your face betrayed nothing. He could see something flicker in your eyes, the only thing you couldn't control, but the look you were giving him was caution.

It was a game now, seeing how far he needed to go to convince you he was indeed the bad guy. Not to you. Never to you. But to everyone else. He wasn't above killing to gain what he wanted. He had lied, killed, manipulated and swore false oath to ensure the security of his people, but for you? He would kill with his bare hands an entire court to give you a throne, and it terried him.

"I told you, I won't kill for you." your voice snapped him back from his mind. You grabbed his wrist with your hand, fingers still hot with fire, and shoved it away from your neck. "You didn’t-“

“It’s time to go.” A voice cold as death stopped you in mid sentence.

Eris didn’t acknowledge the shadowsinger behind him, keeping his eyes on you. “But we were having so much fun.”

“Step away from her.” Your eyes snapped on Azriel and something twisted inside Eris as he watched you smiling at the shadowsinger and walking toward him.

Will he ever be the one receiving that smile? Will you ever walk toward him that happily?

He watched as you took Azriel’s arm and the shadows started to grow around you, ready to winnow away.

“Little flame.” Eris called after you. Your eyes found his over the wall of shadows that was forming around you. It was time for the answer, he guessed. “No, it’s not.”

Your eyes widened, and it was a pity, seriously, that he couldn’t see the rest of your face before you disappeared, because he knew it would be hilarious.

taglist: @adventure-awaits13 @blueeclipsepaperstudent @huffleruffplant @azysmate @bia-wayne-west @babypeapoddd @lady-targaryens-world@sourapplex @ghostwritermia @asteria33 @pinklemonade34 @tell-me-a-poem @speedypersonawhispers @historygeekqueen @webvics @paliketerson @lizzytish82 @tincanhat @marrass @acourtofmoonlightandstars @yasmin-oviedo @ghostwritermia @marly500

[pixii33]

𓈒ㅤׂㅤ 𓇼 ࣪ 𝐌𝐲 𝐝♡ve 𓈒ㅤׂㅤ⭒⠀

Pairing: Unhinged Aegon x Therapist Reader part 4

Summary: you left as fast as you could. What was his gift? You were praying to god that your love be safe. But little you knew, it was just the start...

Warning: blood, mental illness.

˚꒰♡꒱‧ Hi there! Before you read this, you should know that English is not my first language. Original gif by @asoiaffan ♡ Hope you enjoy!

PART 1, PART 2, PART 3

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest like a drum as she gripped the steering wheel, her knuckles white. Her breathing was shallow, frantic, as if she couldn’t get enough air into her lungs. Every horrible possibility ran through her mind, twisting her thoughts into a frantic knot. Her boyfriend wasn’t answering his calls. Aegon had smiled at her like he had some dark secret, that twisted, sick smile. The gift he left. What had he done?

She pressed down harder on the gas pedal, the car speeding recklessly through the empty streets. The world around her blurred as she focused solely on getting home—on finding out what was waiting for her. Her hands were trembling so violently she could barely keep the car steady. As she took a sharp turn, her tires screeched against the pavement, almost colliding with a car coming from the opposite direction.

“Shit!” she gasped, jerking the wheel back. Her pulse skyrocketed, her breath coming in short, rapid bursts. The other car honked angrily as it sped past, but Y/N didn’t care. She couldn’t think about anything except getting home.

“Aegon’s lying,” she muttered under her breath, her voice trembling. “He’s trying to scare me. He’s just… messing with me. I’ll get home, and it’ll be fine. It’ll be fine.”

But no matter how much she tried to convince herself, the fear was still there, gnawing at her insides like a festering wound. She could still hear Aegon’s voice in her head, the way he had laughed so softly, so eerily.

Did you open the gift I left you?

Y/N swallowed back the rising panic, her throat tightening. Her vision blurred with unshed tears, her heart thundering so loudly in her chest she thought it might explode. She pressed harder on the gas, speeding through another intersection without checking. Her mind was a whirlwind, screaming at her, warning her, pleading with her to turn back—but she couldn’t. She had to know. She had to see.

When she finally pulled into her driveway, she slammed on the brakes, barely giving the car time to stop before she jumped out. The moment she stepped outside, she froze.

The air was thick, heavy with a putrid smell—like something had rotted, festered. Her stomach lurched as the stench hit her full force, bile rising in her throat. It was a smell she couldn’t ignore, and it only heightened her terror. Something was wrong. Something was so wrong.

“Jacob…” Her voice cracked as she whispered her boyfriend’s name, the words barely a breath. Tears pricked her eyes as she stumbled toward the door, her legs weak and shaky. The smell only grew stronger as she got closer to the house, the kind of stench that clung to the walls, suffocating. Her mind spiraled into horrible images, and she felt her knees buckle beneath the weight of her fear.

“What did Aegon do?” she whimpered, her throat dry, her lips trembling.

She fumbled with the keys, her hands shaking uncontrollably as she unlocked the door and stepped inside. The smell hit her full force, thick and rancid, making her gag. Her eyes watered from the stench, and her mind immediately jumped to the worst conclusion. She couldn’t think straight. She couldn’t breathe.

“Jacob,” she whispered again, her voice desperate, pleading. “Please, God, no…”

Her eyes scanned the room, her vision blurry with fear. The house was eerily silent, except for the pounding of her heart in her ears. The living room was still, as if nothing had been disturbed. But then her gaze fell on something that hadn’t been there before—a large box sitting in the middle of the couch.

Y/N froze. The knot in her stomach twisted violently, her chest tightening with dread. The gift.

She took a slow, shaky step toward the box, her heart pounding so hard she could feel it in her throat. The stench was overwhelming now, and her breath came in shallow gasps as she tried to steel herself, telling herself it would be okay.

“He’s messing with me. He’s messing with me. He wouldn’t…”

But her thoughts were fractured, her mind replaying Aegon’s twisted smile, his eerie laugh, the way he had hinted at something horrible waiting for her. Her steps were slow, each one more painful than the last as she forced herself closer to the box. Every fiber of her being screamed for her to stop, to run, to leave—but she couldn’t. She had to know. She had to see what he had done.

Her knees nearly gave out beneath her as she stood in front of the box. Her hands trembled violently, hovering over the lid. She squeezed her eyes shut, her breath ragged as she tried to calm herself, tried to tell herself that whatever was inside, she could handle it.

“You can do this,” she whispered to herself, her voice shaking. “It’s just a box. Just open it. Open it, and it’ll be over.”

She took a deep breath, her hands trembling as she gripped the lid. And then, just as she was about to lift it, she heard it.

“Meow.”

Y/N’s eyes snapped open, her heart skipping a beat. The sound was soft, almost delicate, and it took her a moment to process what she had heard. Slowly, with trembling hands, she lifted the lid of the box. Inside, curled up in a soft blanket, was a small golden kitten with wide, innocent eyes and a pretty blue collar around its neck.

For a moment, Y/N just stared, unable to comprehend what she was seeing. Her breath caught in her throat, and the tears that had been threatening to spill over finally broke free. She let out a sob—of relief, of exhaustion, of fear—and collapsed to her knees in front of the box.

It was just a kitten. A cute, tiny kitten. Nothing horrible. Nothing gruesome. Just… a kitten.

“Oh my God,” she choked out between sobs, her hands trembling as she reached into the box and scooped the kitten up into her arms. The kitten nuzzled against her, purring softly, and Y/N cried harder, her body shaking with the force of her relief.

She hugged the kitten tightly to her chest, pressing her face into its soft fur as she sobbed uncontrollably. The tension, the fear, the gut-wrenching panic she had felt—it all came crashing down at once, and she couldn’t hold it back. She kissed the top of the kitten’s head, her tears soaking into its fur as she whispered, “Thank you. Thank you, God. Oh my God…”

For what felt like hours, she just sat there, cradling the kitten, her body wracked with sobs of relief. The terror she had felt—the belief that she would find something horrible, something irreversibly gruesome—it all melted away, leaving her trembling and exhausted.

When she finally managed to calm herself down, she stood up, still holding the kitten in her arms. Her mind was a haze, her body weak from the emotional onslaught. As she walked toward the kitchen to find something for the kitten to eat, she noticed something strange—the smell was still there.

Her heart skipped a beat, and her stomach twisted again. She glanced around the kitchen, her eyes landing on the counter where a package of meat had been left out—rotting. The smell was coming from the meat.

Y/N almost laughed—a weak, breathless laugh. All of her fear, all of her panic, had been over rotting meat.

The realization made her feel foolish, but it also made her feel relieved. She hadn’t found her boyfriend’s body. She hadn’t found anything horrible waiting for her. Just a kitten and some rotten meat.

But as she fed the kitten and sat down on the floor, petting its soft fur, a new fear crept into her mind. Aegon’s words still echoed in her head. Why isn’t he answering your calls?

Her relief was short-lived, replaced by a sinking feeling of dread. Something was still wrong.

The doorbell rang, its sharp sound cutting through the quiet of the house. Y/N froze, her heart leaping into her throat. She held the kitten closer, her mind racing with a flood of possibilities. Was it Aegon? Had he followed her here? Her stomach twisted with fear as she slowly walked toward the door, her breath coming in shallow gasps.

With trembling hands, she peeked through the peephole. Her heart nearly stopped when she saw Jacob standing on the other side, holding a bouquet of flowers. For a moment, she couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe—he was alive. Jacob was standing there, perfectly fine.

She flung the door open, tears spilling down her cheeks as she threw herself into his arms, wrapping her arms around his neck and burying her face in his chest. “Jacob!” she cried, her voice muffled against his shirt. “Oh my God, I’m so happy you’re here. I missed you so much.”

Jacob stood there, stunned, the flowers still clutched in his hand as he blinked down at her. “Y/N… are you okay? What happened?”

But Y/N didn’t let him finish. She tightened her hold on him, her tears soaking into his shirt as she pressed her face harder into his chest. “I thought… I thought something happened to you,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “I’ve been so scared. I missed you so much, Jacob.”

His arms wrapped around her slowly, pulling her closer as he kissed the top of her head. “I missed you too, Y/N,” he murmured, his voice soft. He held her tightly, gently rubbing her back as he tried to calm her down. “I’m here now. Everything’s okay.”

For a moment, the relief was overwhelming, and she stayed in his arms, soaking in his warmth, the familiar smell of him. It was real—Jacob was safe, and Aegon hadn’t touched him. She hadn’t lost him.

After a few moments, they moved to the couch, and Y/N wiped her tears, trying to compose herself as she sat beside him. Jacob placed the bouquet of flowers on the coffee table, a small, awkward smile on his face as he looked at her. “I brought these for you,” he said softly.

She managed a weak smile, trying to hide the lingering fear that gnawed at her insides. “They’re beautiful. Thank you.”

They sat in a brief, comfortable silence before Jacob sighed, his expression turning more serious. “Y/N… there’s something I need to talk to you about.”

Her heart sank. Something to talk about? She suddenly had a bad feeling, the unease creeping back into her chest. But she forced a smile, trying to push the anxiety aside. “What is it?”

Jacob ran a hand through his hair, his eyes filled with hesitation. “I’ve been offered a job,” he began slowly, “but it’s far away. Really far away. I’ll have to leave soon, and I don’t know how long I’ll be gone.”

Y/N’s mind immediately raced back to Aegon—the man who had haunted her thoughts and dreams, the man who had been tormenting her for weeks. The man who might have killed Jacob if things had gone differently. The thought of being alone, with no one to protect her from Aegon, made her stomach churn. But she swallowed her fear, forcing herself to remain calm.

She couldn’t tell Jacob about Aegon. Not now. Not after everything they’d been through. She didn’t want to fight with him again, and she certainly didn’t want him to think she was crazy.

So instead, she plastered on a smile, pretending everything was fine. “That’s… great,” she said, her voice unnaturally bright. “I’m really happy for you, Jacob.”

He looked at her, his brow furrowing with concern. “Are you sure? I know it’s sudden, and I don’t want to leave you alone—”

“I’ll be fine,” Y/N interrupted, her voice firm despite the terror creeping into her chest. “I’ll be okay. You deserve this, and I don’t want to hold you back.”

Jacob smiled, relief washing over his face. He reached out and took her hand, squeezing it gently. “Thank you, Y/N. That means a lot to me.”

They sat together for a while longer, talking about the details of his job and the logistics of his trip. Y/N listened, nodding at all the right moments, but inside, her mind was spiraling with fear. She smiled when she was supposed to, laughed at his jokes, and even kissed him, pretending that everything was fine. But deep down, she was still terrified. Aegon was out there, lurking in the shadows, and she knew he wasn’t done with her.

Jacob leaned in, kissing her softly, his hands cupping her face. She kissed him back, holding him close, trying to savor the moment despite the dread twisting in her stomach. When they pulled apart, Jacob smiled, his eyes soft and full of love. “I’m going to miss you.”

“I’m going to miss you too,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Jacob smiled, clearly relieved by her reaction. He leaned in and kissed her softly, and she kissed him back, pretending everything was okay. But inside, she was shaking. The terror of what Aegon had said, of what he was capable of, still gnawed at her.

When they pulled away, Jacob wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close again. Y/N rested her head on his shoulder, trying to calm her racing thoughts. She closed her eyes, breathing in his familiar scent, trying to ground herself. But the fear still lingered, festering inside her.

Suddenly, her phone buzzed on the table, and Y/N flinched, her heart jumping into her throat. She reached for it with trembling hands, her eyes widening when she saw the message on the screen.

Do you like your gift? :)

The message was from an unknown number, but Y/N didn’t need to guess who it was. She paled, her heart hammering in her chest as the blood drained from her face. Aegon.

Her breath hitched, her body going rigid as fear gripped her once again. Her mind spiraled, panic clawing at her insides. She wanted to scream, to throw the phone across the room, to run. But she couldn’t. Not in front of Jacob.

Jacob glanced over, noticing her reaction. “Who’s that?” he asked, his voice casual, but Y/N could hear the hint of curiosity.

Y/N forced a smile, quickly locking her phone and setting it back down on the table. “No one,” she said, her voice strained but steady. “Just a spam text.”

Jacob didn’t seem to notice the tremor in her voice. He nodded, leaning back against the couch as he wrapped an arm around her. “I guess it’s just me and you tonight, then,” he said with a smile.

Y/N smiled back, but it didn’t reach her eyes. Inside, she was screaming. Aegon was watching. Aegon knew.

The days after Jacob left were quiet. Too quiet, in fact. Y/N tried to keep herself busy, throwing herself into distractions to keep her mind from wandering. At least she had Fluffy, the golden kitten Aegon had given her. He was a good boy, sweet and playful, a small comfort in the silence that now filled the house. She'd named him Fluffy because of his soft fur, and he seemed to take well to her affection, curling up in her lap and purring as if he sensed her unease.

But even Fluffy couldn't drown out the constant notifications from her phone. Aegon was still texting her, not the threatening or possessive kind of messages she was used to, but almost... sad ones. He talked about how he was feeling, how much everything hurt, how lonely he was. His words were raw, like those of a lost child, begging for attention, for someone to understand him.

“| don't know what's wrong with me anymore, Y/N."

"Everything hurts."

"I can't sleep, I can't think, I can't breathe without you."

"Why don't you ever reply? Do you even think about me? Or am I just dead to you?"

But no matter how hard she tried to focus on the kitten, or the movies, or anything else, there was one thing she couldn't escape: her phone. It buzzed constantly, the screen lighting up with message after message from Aegon. At first, she didn't bother reading them. She had learned long ago that giving him any attention, any response, was like feeding a starving animal. He would latch onto it and never let go.

He mentioned Fluffy too, explaining that he got her the kitten because he wanted her to have something to make her happy, something to be her friend when she felt alone. He wanted to give her a little version of Sunfyre, his beloved cat, so that she would have a piece of him even when he couldn't be with her. Aegon just wanted her to be happy.

There were long paragraphs detailing his spirals, how he would drink until he couldn't feel anything, how the world seemed to blur around him. His words became increasingly disjointed, desperate.

"I feel like I'm disappearing. Do you even remember me?"

"I bought him for you so you wouldn't be alone. So you'd have a piece of me with you."

"I wanted you to be happy. That's all l've ever wanted."

Sometimes, Y/N felt a strange flicker of pity for him. He sounded so hurt, so lost. But every time she thought about feeling sorry for him, she reminded herself that this was Aegon. The same man who had put her through hell, the same man who had stalked her, who had terrorized her. It didn't matter how sad or broken he sounded-she couldn't trust him. She couldn't let herself fall into that trap again.

And so, she ignored him.

She never replied to his messages. She couldn't. And for a while, it seemed like that was enough. Aegon remained calm, his texts gentle, almost pleading, but never aggressive. Everything was fine, or as fine as it could be.

Until it wasn't.

One evening, Y/N noticed her phone buzzing more than usual. At first, it was just a few messages from Aegon, the usual ramblings about his day or how much he missed her. But then the texts became more frequent, coming one after another, a steady stream of notifications lighting up her screen.

He was demanding her to reply.

It wasn't a request anymore-it was an order. The tone of his messages shifted, becoming more erratic, more desperate.

"Why aren't you answering me?"

"I know you're there."

"Please, just talk to me."

The texts came faster, piling up one after another until her phone buzzed continuously. Then, the calls started.

Her phone rang and rang, Aegon's name flashing across the screen. She ignored it, her hands trembling as she tried to keep herself calm. But the ringing didn't stop. It was relentless. The sound echoed in the small living room, pounding against her skull, making her chest tighten with anxiety.

Y/N couldn't take it anymore. Her heart was racing, her hands shaking as she reached for her phone and turned it off completely. The sudden silence was deafening, but it was better than hearing Aegon's voice, than seeing his name over and over.

She tried to distract herself, to forget about the flood of messages, about the growing dread building in the pit of her stomach. She put on a movie, curled up on the couch with Fluffy, trying to lose herself in the noise of the television. But her mind kept wandering back to Aegon, to his erratic texts, his sudden shift from pitiful to demanding. Something was Wrong. She could feel it.

And then, the doorbell rang.

Y/N’s heart stopped.

Her eyes flicked to the door, her body going cold as fear washed over her. She didn’t move at first, just stared at the door, her breath shallow, her mind racing. It couldn’t be…

Slowly, she stood up, her legs trembling as she moved toward the door, careful not to make a sound. She didn’t want to look. She didn’t want to see who was standing on the other side. But she had to know.

Peeking through the peephole, her blood turned to ice.

It was Aegon.

He was standing there, his face pale and smeared with blood. His clothes were stained with it too, dark crimson splashes that looked like they’d been hastily wiped away. His hair was disheveled, his eyes wide and wild, like an animal cornered and desperate.

Y/N’s heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps as she watched him. He didn’t look right. He didn’t look normal. Something was horribly, horribly wrong.

And then he spoke.

“Please… let me in.”

Her breath hitched, her entire body stiffening in place. She didn't respond. She couldn't. Her throat was too tight, her mind racing too fast to form coherent thoughts. She just stood there, frozen in place, as he pressed his bloodied hand against the door, smearing it with red.

"I need you," he whispered, his voice hoarse, trembling. "Something happened. I did something bad. I don't know what to do. I don't know who to go to."

Tears welled up in his eyes, and he looked so utterly pathetic, so broken, that for a fleeting moment, Y/N almost felt sorry for him again. Almost. But the sheer terror that gripped her heart wouldn't let her move. She couldn't afford to feel sorry for him. Not now.

"I don't feel good, Y/N" Aegon sobbed, his hand sliding down the door, leaving a dark red smear behind. "Please... I just want to see you. Please. Let me in."

Y/N’s hand hovered over the doorknob, her mind a storm of confusion and fear. A part of her wanted to open the door, wanted to help him. He looked so broken, so lost. She couldn’t help but feel that same flicker of pity again, that small voice in the back of her mind whispering that maybe he really did need her, that maybe he really was just a scared, lonely boy.

But then Aegon’s face twisted, his tear-streaked expression contorting into something darker, something terrifying.

“You fucking bitch!” he snarled, slamming his fists against the door. The sudden violence made Y/N jump, her breath catching in her throat as she stumbled back, her eyes wide with terror.

“I know you’re in there!” Aegon screamed, his voice raw with rage. “You think you can hide from me?! You think I don’t fucking know?!”

He pounded on the door again, harder this time, the wood rattling under the force of his fists. “You’re mine!” he shouted, his voice cracking with fury. “I’ll fucking kill you, Y/N! I’ll rip you open! I’ll tear you apart!”

Y/N’s body went cold, her heart pounding so hard it felt like it would burst from her chest. She stumbled back, her mind screaming at her to run, to hide. She couldn’t stay here. She couldn’t face him. Not like this.

Y/N's body moved on instinct, her fight-or-flight response kicking in. She ran. She bolted to the bedroom, slamming the door behind her, her heart hammering in her chest. Her hands shook so violently that she could barely turn the lock, but she did it. She locked the door and stumbled backward.

Y/N sat huddled in the tub, her entire body trembling uncontrollably, clutching Fluffy so tightly that she could feel his little heartbeat against her chest. Her breath was shallow, uneven, the fear twisting in her stomach like a knife. She pressed her hand over her mouth, trying to silence the sobs that threatened to escape. If she made a sound—any sound—he would know where she was.

The front door had crashed open. Aegon was inside. He didn’t call out anymore; the apartment had gone terrifyingly quiet except for the slow, deliberate thud of his footsteps. Each step echoed through the empty rooms, growing louder, heavier. He was searching for her.

Her mind raced, each frantic thought more horrifying than the last.

He’s going to find me. He’s going to kill me.

Her heart hammered so violently in her chest that she thought it might explode. The apartment was small; there weren’t many places to hide. He would check the bedroom soon. It was only a matter of time before he found her.

Stay quiet. Don’t move. Don’t breathe. Maybe he’ll leave. Maybe he’ll think you’re not here.

But the thought was ridiculous. He knew she was here. He had known from the moment he’d started pounding on the door. He could feel her fear, her presence, like a shark smelling blood in the water.

The footsteps grew closer.

Oh god, oh god, oh god.

She squeezed her eyes shut, pressing herself against the cold, hard surface of the tub. Her grip tightened around Fluffy, who had gone still in her arms, sensing the terror in the air. She could hear Aegon’s footsteps in the hallway now, slow and methodical, as if he were savoring the anticipation.

Don’t come in here. Please, don’t come in here.

The bedroom door creaked open.

Her entire body went rigid, her breath catching in her throat. She bit down on her lower lip so hard that she tasted blood, forcing herself to stay still, stay quiet. Her chest ached from the effort of holding her breath. Every muscle in her body screamed in agony from the tension, but she didn’t dare move. She didn’t dare make a sound.

The silence was unbearable. The only thing she could hear was the pounding of her own heartbeat in her ears, each thud a countdown to her doom.

The floorboards creaked. He was inside the room now.

Her mind was racing, a whirlwind of fear and desperation. What do I do? What can I do?

Run? No, he was too close. He would hear her. He would catch her. There was nowhere to run.

Fight? With what? She had nothing. She was defenseless. He was stronger than her, and she had seen the blood. She had no idea what he was capable of.

Hide. Just hide. Stay quiet.

She could hear him moving through the room, the soft scrape of his shoes against the floor. He wasn’t saying anything, but the silence was more terrifying than his screaming had ever been. It was the silence of someone who knew exactly what they were going to do. The silence of someone who was in control.

He’s looking for me. Her stomach twisted into a knot of terror.

The sound of a drawer being yanked open, then another. He was checking everywhere. She could picture him tearing through the room, methodically searching every corner, every shadow. Her heart thudded in her chest, so loud she thought for sure he could hear it. Can he hear it? The thought sent a fresh wave of panic surging through her.

Please, please, just leave.

Suddenly, the air in the room shifted. Y/N’s breath hitched as she realized he was standing right outside the bathroom door. She could hear his breathing now, low and ragged, like a beast just beyond the threshold.

He knows. He knows I’m in here.

Her whole body locked up in terror as she imagined him standing there, staring at the door, his bloodshot eyes wide and crazed, his hands still covered in blood. Her mind conjured up horrifying images of him busting through, grabbing her, and dragging her out of the tub, his fingers sinking into her flesh.

He’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me and I’ll never see daylight again.

Fluffy shifted slightly in her arms, a soft, almost imperceptible meow escaping his tiny throat. Y/N’s breath hitched, terror flashing through her veins like electricity. No, no, no, no, no.

The bathroom door handle rattled.

She froze. Every inch of her body turned to ice. The metal handle creaked as Aegon twisted it, testing the lock. It didn’t open, but he was trying. He was there. Just on the other side.

Her entire world shrank to that single sound—the soft, rhythmic rattling of the door handle as Aegon tried to get in. It felt like hours passed as she sat there, paralyzed in the tub, waiting for the inevitable. Waiting for him to break through.

And then, with a sickening thud, the door slammed.

He was pounding on it now, harder and harder, the force of his blows making the door tremble. Each hit reverberated through her, shaking her down to her core.

Oh god, he’s coming in. He’s going to get in.

The doorframe groaned under the pressure, the wood splintering. Y/N pressed herself further into the tub, trying to make herself as small as possible, her heart racing so fast it felt like it might burst. Her breathing was shallow, her chest tight with fear. Every instinct screamed at her to move, to run, but she couldn’t. She was trapped.

The door cracked. She could hear the wood giving way.

Oh god, he’s going to kill me. He’s going to kill me.

But then… silence.

The pounding stopped.

She blinked, her breath catching in her throat. Was it over? Did he leave?

Her body trembled, her muscles aching from the tension. She didn’t dare move. She didn’t dare make a sound. She just waited, listening.

Nothing. No footsteps. No breathing. Just the eerie, deafening quiet.

Slowly, cautiously, she lifted her head, straining to hear something—anything. Her heart pounded in her chest, her breath coming in shallow gasps. Maybe he had given up. Maybe he was gone.

But then, out of nowhere, a loud, sickening crash shattered the silence.

Y/N’s blood ran cold. She whipped her head toward the source of the sound, her heart seizing in her chest.

Aegon’s face smashed through the small window in the bathroom door, the glass shattering around him. His bloodshot eye stared through the broken pane, wide and unblinking, searching. His face was smeared with blood, his skin pale and stretched tight over his bones, but it was his eye—his one, crazed, bloodshot eye—that was the most terrifying.

It was staring right at where she was hiding.

Did he saw me? Did he saw me? Oh god. I'm dead. I'm dead.

Y/N slapped her hand over her mouth, tears streaming down her face as she tried to stifle her breathing, her whole body trembling uncontrollably. She squeezed her eyes shut, praying that he couldn’t see her, that he couldn’t hear the terrified gasps that escaped her despite her best efforts.

Don’t breathe. Don’t move. He can’t see you. He can’t see you.

But his eye… it was right there, inches from her, staring through the broken glass with a wild, unhinged intensity. His breathing was heavy, ragged, echoing in the small space as he scanned the room, looking for her. His hand reached through the broken window, the bloodied fingers scraping against the door, searching, clawing.

Y/N’s heart thundered in her chest, her pulse so loud she thought for sure he could hear it. Her entire body shook with fear, her breath coming in short, panicked gasps. She pressed her hand harder against her mouth, trying to muffle the sounds of her sobs.

Please don’t find me. Please, god, don’t find me.

For what felt like an eternity, Aegon stayed there, his face pressed against the door, his eye wide and frantic, his breath fogging up the glass. He didn’t say anything, didn’t scream or yell. He just… looked.

And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

He pulled back, his bloodied hand retreating through the shattered window. His footsteps echoed through the apartment once again, slow and deliberate, growing fainter and fainter until they finally disappeared altogether.

He was gone.

Y/N stayed there, curled up in the bathtub, her body trembling violently, tears streaming down her face as she clutched Fluffy to her chest. She didn’t move. She didn’t speak. She didn’t even breathe properly, too scared to believe that it was really over.

When she was sure he was gone, she let out a strangled, shaky breath and crawled out of the tub, her legs weak and shaking. Fluffy stayed behind, still curled up in the tub, too scared to move.

Her fingers fumbled for her phone, but she had turned it off earlier. With shaking hands, she powered it on, and as soon as the screen flickered to life, she called the police.

But even as she pressed the phone to her ear, the sound of her own heartbeat drowned everything else out.

How about you? Did you like this part?

@ 𝒃𝒓𝒐𝒌𝒆𝒏𝒂𝒏𝒈𝒆𝒍 𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟒. 𝒅𝒐𝒏'𝒕 𝒄𝒐𝒑𝒚, 𝒓𝒆𝒑𝒐𝒔𝒕 𝒐𝒓 𝒕𝒓𝒂𝒏𝒔𝒍𝒂𝒕𝒆 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒎𝒚 𝒘𝒐𝒓𝒌𝒔 𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒐𝒓 𝒂𝒏𝒚 𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓 𝒘𝒆𝒃𝒔𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒔.

[sweetfictionalworld]

The Deal - Chapter 2

Pairing: Hwang In-Ho/ The Front Man x Female Reader

Story Summary: You get suspicious of Player 001 and confront him. That decision leads to a deal that will change the fate of your life forever.

Chapter Summary: Conversation with the enemy.

Warnings: None for this chapter. NSFW warnings will be added in future chapters.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 3 | Chapter 4

In-Ho had left to join the players, he couldn't be gone for long to risk someone wondering about him. You didn't really know what to do, so you turned on the big screen in front of the armchair. Your stomach churned when you saw what was on. The next game. So, this is how In-Ho liked to entertain himself? Watching people get murdered? You felt sick just thinking about it.

You turned it off and started examining the room. There wasn't much there, but you did find some books to read and a bathroom. Well, thank God for that. At least now, you didn't have to wait for permission every time you needed to use the restroom.

You didn't know how much time had went by when the door opened and a guard with a square on his mask walked inside. He was carrying a black box with a pink bow on it. Your pulse quickened as flashes of the dead players being put into boxes went through your mind.

"The Front Man wants you to take a shower and then put this on," the guard said and handed you the box.

The Front Man? So that was what they called him?

You took the box out of the guard's hand and he left without another word. You looked down at the box with curiosity and carefully took off the lid. Your eyes widened as you took out the gorgeous, golden silk dress and a matching pair of high heels. The dress was ankle long with thin straps and an open back. At the bottom of the box, there was a pair of golden silk thongs to match the dress. Wow...and he even had all of your sizes right.

The warm water on your skin felt rejuvenating. It almost melted away all your thoughts and emotions you'd experienced since you'd woken up in the bunk bed.

You looked at the stranger looking back at you in the mirror. Where was the joyful person from a year ago? Before your husband died and left you with all his debts you couldn’t possibly pay, debts he hadn't even told you about. Fuck, you hated him for that. You sighed and slid the thong up your hips, and shimmied into the dress, let the soft material glide down your body. You ran your fingers through your wet hair, wishing you had a hairbrush. You slipped into the high heels and made a grimace. You'd never been a fan of them.

There was a set table waiting for you outside, with lit candle lights and a beautiful bouquet of flowers in the center. What was this? You took a few steps forward and that's when you saw In-Ho standing at a bar counter, opening a bottle of wine. He looked up, his eyes twinkling up with interest when he saw you, his gaze slowly taking in your appearance with appreciation. He put down the bottle and approached you with a confident gait. You could feel your heart racing and your breath hitching from his closeness as he stood before you, and his gloved fingers slowly running up your bare arm.

"You look exquisite, y/n," he said in a hushed tone as his gaze followed the trail of his fingers. The mix of his deep voice and touch sent a jolt of arousal through your core and settled between your legs. Fuck, you didn't want to feel this way about this man. You despised everything he was doing here and hated your body for reacting this way.

In-Ho's lips curved up into a smirk and you knew. You knew he knew exactly how your body was reacting to him. Well, fuck him. He wasn't going to have the higher ground here. So, you held your head high and looked him straight in the eyes.

"If you're trying to woo me with a candle light dinner, it won't work. I might have agreed to give you my body, but you will never have my soul."

In-Ho only smirked wider in return and you hated him more.

"Please sit down, y/n. Dinner will be served soon," In-Ho said and smirked at the glare you gave him. Oh, he would have so much fun with you.

You hated to admit how good it felt to get a real meal of food in your stomach. And the red wine...you rolled it in your mouth, taking in every detailed taste of it. It was delicious.

"So, how did your husband come to have such high debts?" In-Ho asked and took a sip of his wine while fixing his gaze on you.

You looked at him, surprised by his question.

"Uhm...well, you know. The usual stuff. Addiction to gambling, spending money he didn't have. That sort of thing."

In-Ho nodded in acknowledgement.

"What about you? How did you become...this?" you asked, motioning to his appearance.

In-Ho smiled. "You know, I was once the winner of the game."

You almost choked on your wine and stared at him in disbelief.

"Really?"

In-Ho nodded. "I needed the money for my sick wife. But in the end, it didn't matter. My wife died, and I had nothing to live for out there anymore. So they offered me to be the overseer of the games."

"They?"

"The one who created the game."

"Why are you telling me all of this? Your name, your backstory."

In-Ho shrugged his shoulders. "I guess...It feels good to have someone to talk to again."

You studied his face, every beautifully carved feature, and you could see the sadness written in them, but also the longing for something more. Perhaps, deep in his heart, he didn't want to be this cold, ruthless person.

"Well, It seems like I'm not going anywhere, so you can talk as long as you like," you said in a joking tone and smiled at him, trying to lighten the heaviness of the situation you were in.

In-Ho looked at you and smiled back, and the soft chuckle coming from his mouth warmed the inside of your chest in ways you didn't want it too.

~ to be continued...

[httpwintersoldier]

『sweet little thing p.4 | b. barnes x reader』

pairing: bucky barnes x afab!reader words: it's very long, I don't even know how many parts it's going to have summary: what happens when the guy you have a crush on happens to have a dad, who is older, hotter and rougher? 『 part 1 』 『 part 2 』 『 part 3 』 『 part 4 』

fluff ; angst ; smut

As you stood in front of your university's building, it suddenly looked a lot bigger and a lot scarier. You had no idea if Andy had told everyone else about what had gone down over the weekend, but you felt exposed already.

Each step forward was dreadful, you walked in autopilot. The blur in your vision and the ringing in your ears were such that you didn't even notice your group of friends calling for you. It was only when Jas walked over to you that you snapped out of your hypnotic state.

"Y/N? Is everything okay? We were calling for you..." She asked, searching your face.

You forced a smile and awkwardly laughed.

"You were? My bad, I was distracted." It wasn't a lie, you were distracted, but it wasn't the whole truth either.

Your friend frowned a little, but if you were making up an excuse then it was because you didn't want to talk about whatever you were going through, so she just let it go and brought you over to the place they were sitting at.

Anxiety started building up within you and you couldn't breathe as you approached the group - you didn't know if you were ready to face the consequences of your actions...

Thankfully, Andy hadn't arrived yet, and, from the way they all greeted you and spoke normally, it didn't seem like Andy had told them anything.

Being around your friends eased your mind and body, and, after a couple of minutes, you had forgotten about the reason why you had been so nervous.

That is, until the reason arrived.

"Hello, everyone."

You froze in place. The only available seat was next to you, which was fortunate, because at least you wouldn't risk making accidental eye contact with Andy.

Everyone greeted the friend, you included. He wasn't in a great mood, and everyone noticed - Andy was usually bright and chirpy from sunrise to sunset, however he seemed gloomy and tired, it was very unlike him.

The group ignored whatever was going on for as long as possible, but the conversation wasn't flowing and, at some point, the tension spread through the group and became unbearable.

"Okay, I can't pretend anymore, what the fuck happened between you two? Why is there such an awkward atmosphere in here?" Jas finally asked.

It was obvious, from the change in behaviours that came from the two of you, that you and Andy were the source of it all. The question was genuine and simple in Jas' mind, however she didn't know the Pandora's box she had just opened.

"Did you fuck or something? Was it terrible and now you can't face each other?" One of the guys joked, only furthering the awkwardness.

The friend to his right smacked his arm, but it was too late. Andy's body tensed up and he scoffed, glancing to the side.

"It wasn't me she fucked."

The statement hit everyone like a truck. The whole group wondered what that meant, but from the context clues, they picked up that you had gotten with someone close to him. Your hands balled up in fists and your world started spinning as cold sweat ran down your back.

"Whoa, what does that mean? Did one of you-" One of the guys started, pointing at the two other men at the table, but he was cut off.

"She fucked my dad."

The table went silent. Shock and disbelief painted on everyone's faces, and your anxious eyes skimmed every single one of them, looking for the least bit of sympathy.

"What?" One of them busted out, not fully convinced that he had heard correctly.

"Y/N, did that really happen?" Jas asked, trying her best to sound understanding in face of the situation.

You couldn't look at her. You looked at your hands, still balled up in your lap, and nodded.

"Like once, or?..." Another punch to the man's arm.

"Dude!" One of them called out his friend's ridiculousness and lack of awareness.

"What?! Like you're not asking yourselves the same!" He defended.

"I..." All eyes were on you, you could feel them, you could feel Andy's sorrow and hatred, as well as everyone else's curiosity and confusion "I didn't mean to do it, I don't think he did either. It just sort of... happened. And we kept in contact and..."

You were tying to be as broad as possible with the details, as to not hurt Andy (or disgust him), but he still stood up abruptly and began walking away.

"Andy! Wait!" Courage shot through you as you went after him and grabbed his wrist "I'm sorry, I really am, please... Believe me."

He turned around to face you, his crystal eyes covered with a layer of tears.

"What do you want from me? Forgiveness? Understanding? Well, I can't give you either of them. I liked you- fuck, I still do! So I'm sorry if I can't sit back and support you and... and my dad. So please, leave me alone. Maybe one day I'll get over it, but not right now, not in the foreseeable future."

You slowly let go of his hand, and a little sob escaped his lips. Not a single word was uttered as he turned around and began walking away.

You slumped back on the seat you had been sitting in, surrounded by your friends.

"I should go check on him..." One of the guys said, as he stood up and followed the way Andy had gone.

The others didn't follow, as they knew the boy would feel overwhelmed by too many people crowding him in such a vulnerable moment.

You felt Jas softly place her hand on your back, and you could see from your peripheral that she had told the other two boys to take leave as well. They patted your shoulder as they walked away, their boy-ish way of saying "good luck".

"You know what the worst part is?" You asked Jas, unable to look her in the eye.

She didn't respond, simply letting you air out whatever it was you needed to air out.

"I don't regret it. And if I somehow went back in time, I would do it again." You started "It felt like I was being pulled to him, I couldn't think of anything that didn't include him, and when we finally got together... it just felt so right."

You stopped for a second to catch your breath and wipe the tears. You lifted your head and looked at Jas, that had nothing but a pitiful expression on her face.

"It's fucked up I-I know, especially when I liked Andy. When I started going to his house I was so excited because that meant I was getting closer to my goal, but then I saw Buck- Mr. Barnes, and my world was flipped upside down. I can't pretend I don't know him, and I can't go back and pretend I don't feel like this, not when I see him whenever I look at Andy."

Your friend sighed and shook her head - what a mess. She wrapped her arm around you and squeezed your body, in a show of support.

"I'm not gonna sit here and pretend it's not fucked up to sleep with your friend's dad, especially when that friend likes you, but I'm also not going to pretend you're a villain for following your heart. It's a really complicated situation, Y/N... I really don't know what to say."

"I just... I feel sorry for Andy, but it's not a situation that I want to stop. Bucky is such a great person."

There was a small silence between the two of you, and it was clear Jas was itching to ask something.

"Am I allowed to ask what happened? And how it happened?"

"Holy shit, sweetheart... Rough day?" Bucky asked, as he kissed the top of your head and walked into your house.

"That bad, huh?" You chuckled, closing the door behind you "I guess I look like how I feel..."

You stared at how his biceps flexed as he removed his jacket and tossed it on the couch. When he turned around and saw your eyes fixated on his build, Bucky chuckled. He gently grabbed your hand as he walked to the couch, and pulled you down to his lap. The man's large arms wrapped around you, and his thumb drew shapes on your thigh as you got comfortable.

"You said we needed to talk, everything okay?" There was a glimpse of worry in his eyes, and a hint of concern in his voice as he asked that.

"My group of friends know about it..." You simply said.

Bucky's grip on you tightened at those words, and his body stiffened.

"Are you okay? What did they say?"

You sighed and turned to look at him.

"They were perplexed, mostly. And confused. I don't blame them for that... Things were a bit tense the rest of the day, the group was pretty separated, I don't think anyone knows how to feel about the whole thing."

"They didn't give you a rough time?"

You shook your head negatively.

"I think I'm the one giving myself the hardest time, it's weird. I feel guilty, but I would still have done it if we turned back in time." Bucky smiled a little at the confession, and kissed your temple lovingly. "How about you? How's Andy treating you?"

Bucky sighed, there had been a lot of that going around you recently.

"The first day he didn't sleep at home, I don't know where he slept and I was worrying all night, but if I called he wouldn't have picked up, and if I texted he wouldn't have replied, probably would have pissed him off more... He sleeps there now, at least, I try to talk to him but he's still hurting..." The man paused and swallowed, trying not to cry "I broke his trust, I know it's going to take time, but fuck, it hurts. I can't imagine how he's feeling, and it sucks not being able to be there for him 'cause I'm the source of it all but I haven't felt this way about someone in a long time. I feel like a damn school boy around you, Y/N."

Tears gathered in your eyes as you got to see the vulnerable side of someone like Bucky - a big, strong army man that almost looked mean and cold when you first saw him. You pulled his head against your chest and pet his head.

"His anger towards you will pass, you didn't know he liked you. What I did was worse, I knew exactly what he wanted, and I took it from him."

"His anger towards you will also pass, Bucky..."

He looked up at you with those beautiful eyes, now tear-stained and pain-stricken. The sight was a beautiful tragedy... You wiped away his tears with the sleeve of your sweater.

"How can you be so sure?"

"You're his dad, that bond is a lot deeper than some girl." You joked, with a small laugh.

"I don't think you realize just how special you are, and how much the simple thought of losing you hurts."

You and Bucky had spent too much time crying and thinking about all of the things that had gone down the past weekend, so when his army pal hit him up and asked him if he wanted to go for a drink, he found it to be the perfect escape for the night.

He didn't want to leave you alone, but you insisted that you'd need a long shower (and some makeup) and that it would take time, more time than you wanted him to wait, so you assure him you were fine and told him you'd meet him there.

Admittedly, you felt uncomfortable walking into the bar, it was a stereotypical "manly" place, with a pool table, chairs that dated back to before you were born, and no sight of a drink that wasn't a beer or a whiskey. You weren't dressed appropriately, you figured, as your little red dress (that you had worn to tease Bucky) was drawing a lot of attention.

You spotted "Mr. Barnes" near the bar, talking to two men and walked over to him, avoiding the stares and comments from the random men around you.

"Come on Buck, she's what? Twenty? What do you even talk about? What do you even have in common?" The tall, blonde man that Bucky was talking to said.

You held back a smile and placed one arm around Bucky's waist. He hadn't seen you coming, since his back was facing the door, but the man's face instantly lit up when he looked found that the person touching him was you.

"I'd say we have some... tastes in common, so to speak." You said, with a smile, winking at the blonde that instantly went red.

Bucky smirked at the dirty joke, and his expression was one of pride. One of his hands tapped your butt lightly, as if saying "good job", and you smiled.

You didn't take the man's comment in the wrong way, you were sure he was just looking out for his friend, but it did kind of hurt your ego that he thought you were some airhead with no real content to herself just because of your age.

"Y/N, that's Steve, my best-friend, we were in the army together," Bucky began, hinting at the tall blonde in front of him, whose face was red with embarrassment "and that's Sam. I don't like him, but he's always around."

"Real nice, Buck." Sam said, making Bucky smile faintly, a smile that he discreetly hid by taking a sip of whiskey.

"I'm sorry about my comment, miss."

"That's okay, sir," you said, mocking how proper the man sounded "I know there's a big age difference between us, but I like the guy."

Steve smiled softly, still embarrassed he'd been caught in that situation, but glad you hadn't taken offense to the comment.

"What are you drinking, sweetheart?" Bucky asked you, and although he was talking to you, his gaze was everywhere but on your eyes.

You had no idea how many drinks he had had before your arrival, but he didn't even try to hide his hungry gaze as his eyes fixated on several parts of your body.

"Espresso Martini?" You asked.

"Ooh she's a fancy one. I don't think they do anything here that mixes more than two drinks." Sam joked with a laugh.

"Didn't think so either," you laughed "but it was worth a try! I'll have a vodka redbull, then."

"Comin' right up, sweetheart." Bucky said, and turned to the bar to order.

"So, he told us how you met..." There was a hint of awkwardness in Steve's voice as he said that.

"Not under the best pretext, no..." You replied, nervously fixing your hair "It's a little awkward as it is, but I'm hoping for a good outcome."

"Sounds like you're here to stay." Sam chirped in, with a suggestive face.

"I sure hope she is!" Bucky's voice was lower than usual, his eyes were half-lidded and his cheeks were a pretty pink colour.

The man pressed a kiss to your temple and circled your waist with his arm as he handed you your drink. You giggled at his roaming hand and stared at him.

"How many of those have you had?" You asked, pointing at his cup.

Bucky looked at his drink and shrugged. You and his friends shared a laugh at his state - it was obvious that Steve was also not at 100% capacity, and Sam walked towards the same state, you'd just have to catch up to them.

You hadn't eaten much before leaving the house, as you didn't want Bucky and his friends to wait for you for too long, so a couple drinks (mixed with the fact that the bartender had been going 50/50 on the vodka and redbull quantities) had you in the same state as the trio.

Your body leaned against Bucky's for extra balance, and the latter didn't mind the closeness at all. The four of you were having a fun time, laughing at the old war stories and anecdotes from the young James Barnes and sharing stories, when a group of four men approached you.

"Hey there princess, how about you ditch the fossils and come hang out with us, we can show you a real good time."

They looked out of place in the bar (although so did you) - they wore different polo shirts and tight jeans, too tight for their own good, you reckoned. They weren't too tall, but their muscular build certainly asserted dominance.

You could feel Bucky's body tense behind you, and you could see from your peripheral how the three men sized up the other men with their eyes.

"I don't... I don't think I will."

"What? You want to spend your night with grandpa?" The tallest of the trio, a bald man with tattoos on his arms, scoffed and walked towards you, placing his arm on your shoulder.

He didn't even have time to continue his sentence, Bucky slammed down his drink and gripped the man's hand. The male forcefully removed the other guy from you, twisting his arm behind his back and kicking him in the back of the leg, causing his knees to buckle.

"I believe she said no, Caillou." Bucky growled through gritted teeth.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing, old man?! Think you can fight?" Another one of them asked, pulling Bucky up by the collar of his shirt.

Before a third one could join in, Steve let go of his drink and stood in front of the man.

"Going somewhere, pal?" Steve asked, with a small smirk that displayed not happiness, but adrenaline.

"Come on, I wouldn't want to scratch up your pretty face." The other male mocked, patting Steve's cheek lightly.

Bucky's best friend simply laughed, before punching his opponent, whom stumbled back. He then threw another punch to the side of the man's face, the side that was not covered by his palms, and delivered a blow to the man's stomach, which sent him stumbling back.

"I wouldn't worry about it." Steve mocked back, looking at the man, crouching on the floor while holding his torso and face.

Bucky kept the guy that had touched you on the floor, but two others were on him. He punched and kicked, but it was a 2 versus 1 situation, and so Bucky got handed some devastating blows.

"I gotta get new friends..." Sam said, upon seeing the scene, before downing his drink in one go and stepping forward into the fight.

All you could do was stand there and watch, with a horrified expression and hands over your chest, as your boyfriend and his friends became a mess of flying wrists and arms.

Your head was spinning and you didn't know what to do, but one thing was for certain: seeing Bucky fight so wildly to defend you and your peace... it was hot.

"I'm really sorry guys... I didn't mean to cause all that." You apologized sincerely.

"Are you kidding?" Bucky scoffed "Those guys had it coming."

"Yeah, plus, it was kind of fun." Steve agreed, much to your surprise "I wish we hadn't gotten banned from the bar but..."

"I wish we hadn't gotten beaten up." Sam chimed in, making everyone laugh.

After being kicked out of the bar, none of you was in a decent state to drive home, so you just decided to walk - to sober up and calm down. Bucky noticed how your heels were dangling from your hands, and as his eyes dropped to your feet, he realized you had been walking barefoot.

"Come on, get on my back." He said, as he knelt down to make it easy for you.

"What? You can't be serious, Bucky, you're all beat up." You told him, eyeing his state.

"Wasn't an offer, sweetheart."

After that it was hard to stop the fire from spreading through your body. The boys kept on talking, but you could only focus on how close Bucky's body was to yours - your chest pressed against his back, his arms tangled with your legs, and your thighs gripping his waist.

"The state of your face, Bucky..." You complained to him, as you knelt between his legs, holding his face in one hand and the first aid kit in the other.

There was a small gash on his bottom lip, cuts on his jaw and forehead, and a bruise was already forming on his cheek.

"I've had worse." The man joked, hinting at the fact that he had served in the army, but you didn't laugh, you were too worried about his state "Come on, sweetheart, it's not that bad."

You looked at him with a serious expression, conveying how worried you were for him, and climbed on his lap, so you could work on "fixing" his face. You opened the first aid kit and began scolding him.

"Bucky... You can't get into fights every time some asshole hits on me..." You told him, as you applied some medicine to his cuts.

The man hissed at the stinging sensation on his lip.

"If I can't do that, then what do I have to give you?" He was smiling, but there was a glimpse of sadness in his eyes.

You put down the cotton swab and the bottle of medicine and looked into his eyes.

"What does that mean, James?" You asked, with eyebrows furrowed in sorrow.

Bucky sighed, and his hands ran up and down your thighs, before giving them a squeeze.

"You heard them, sweetheart, I'm old... I'm holdin' up pretty well but-"

You shut him up with a kiss, before he could say anything else.

"You're not old, Bucky. Let's start with that, you're talking as if you're some decrepit thing, you're beautiful. You do realize that I'm not exactly lacking when it comes to options of young guys, right? If I cared about age I would have a pretty wide catalog in the university I go to, you are just what I was looking for, just what I needed - and I didn't even know I needed you before I met you."

His eyes were full of emotion, and he couldn't express any of them. The only thing he could do to paint an image of what he was feeling was grab the back of your head and bring you forward, locking your lips in a tender kiss. You had never experienced such feelings in a kiss before, and the two of you had kissed many, many times. There was sorrow, sadness, gratitude, admiration, and love.

One of his large hands brought you closer, as if you were still too far away for his liking. As your kiss deepened and his tongue became more creative, your hips rolled against his, feeling his already hardened cock under you. A strained moan was muffled by your lips, and the two of you pulled away.

"I'd love to fuck you right now," he began, slapping your ass and grabbing your cheeks in the middle of the sentence "but my whole body is sore..." The man lamented.

Biting your lip, you undid his zipper and pulled his pants down slightly, just enough so you could comfortably pull his cock out from the confinement of his underwear.

You climbed down from his lap, spreading his legs gently so you could fit in between.

"Tonight, I'll take care of you." You told him, as you gripped the base of his cock and teased its tip with your tongue.

"Fuck..." He muttered under a sigh of relief, as he momentarily threw his head back against the wall.

You lips slid up and down his shaft and his tip hit against the back of your throat. As you hollowed your cheeks and pressed your tongue flat against the base of his cock, you felt Bucky gathering your hair in his fist, a makeshift ponytail so he could see you as well as possible.

His hips thrusted slightly, following your movements. You could tell he was holding himself back. Bucky's chest rose and fall, and a plethora of groans and curses left his lips.

You looked up, curiosity getting the best of you, and it was the most beautiful view. Bucky's mouth was agape, his eyebrows furrowed with pleasure, and his eyes had a dark veil of ecstasy. As his pupils met yours, he muttered another curse under his breath.

"Don't look at me with those eyes, pretty girl, or I won't last."

You pulled away from his cock, a string of spit connecting your lips to his tip.

"Let's pick up the pace then." You teased as you stood.

You pulled your dress up just enough to remove your panties and got back on his lap. No preparation was needed, as his state alone was enough for wetness to spread between your legs.

The man just watched as you gripped his cock and easily slid down his shaft. Your moans mixed and bounced off the walls. Bucky's hands gripped your ass and you gripped his shoulders as you began to move up and down.

His eyes traveled down your body, focusing on the red dress that had been teasing him all night long.

"Fuck... you and these pretty little things you like to wear... I wanted to fuck you over the counter of that bar the second I saw you..." Bucky said in your ear, kissing the spot directly under it.

That incited a loud moan from you, as you picked up the pace. Bucky's body worked in sync with yours, his hips snapping upwards and his big hands forcing you down on his cock - any pain or soreness from the fight was long forgotten.

You could tell from the look in his eyes that he was near, his clouded vision and clenched jaw were all too familiar. You held him against your chest as he buried himself deep in you one last time. You could feel his cock twitch within you, spilling his cum.

Bucky held the back of your head and caught you in a deep kiss, exchanging a million silent words.

You stared at the man standing on your porch and your heart began beating on your chest. You parked your car and exited the vehicle, that took no longer than five seconds, but it felt like hours as thoughts ran through your mind - why was Andy at your house? Why was he waiting for you?

The week that had passed was filled with awkward silences and tense conversations, so much so that the group had pretty much divided itself to prevent the weird atmosphere that had ensued - you'd sometimes hang out with one half, and then you'd hang out with the other. You felt bad for your friends, it felt like they had to take turns to spend time with everyone...

"Andy... Hi." You greeted, trying to hide the nervousness "Do you want to-"

"Do you like him? Do you have feelings for him?" He was cutthroat and went directly to the issue, to the core of the reason why he was there, as Andy didn't seem like he wanted to spend a long time in your presence.

The question was deafening, it was something you hadn't even admitted to Bucky himself, it was something you knew the answer to, but you had never voiced it out loud.

You took a deep breath and looked at Andy.

"I do." Your voice was firm and determined, as if it had been something you struggled with, when in reality coming to terms that you did have feelings for a man like that was the easiest that you ever had to do, but admitting it to his son, your friend... that was rough.

There was sorrow in his eyes as he heard the answer. Andy pressed his lips together in an understanding smile as he slowly nodded.

"Why?"

You thought you had heard wrong. Was he asking "why" you had feelings for his dad, "why" you had done it, "why" your feelings for Andy had come to a halt...

"What?"

He sighed and shoved his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"Why do you like him?"

"I mean..." You swallowed thickly and licked your lips, there was no way to word why you had come to like Bucky so much without being cheesy "He's always on the forefront when it comes to protecting me, even when I was just your friend to him, he went out of his way to get rid of a group of guys that were harassing me. He's really kind, he treats me well and although he has this rough exterior he's really sensitive and loving." You paused and look into Andy's sad eyes "He cares about you, very much, and he feels really sorry..."

"I know he does... That's why this is so hard for me. I would've expected it if he was a deadbeat who didn't give a shit about me, but he's always been there, he's always been my best-friend and now... I still love him, I don't think I will ever not love him, but it was an unexpected blow." Those words were hard for Andy, you could tell.

His voice was breaking and cracking, as if he had to physically pull them out of his throat.

"I came down here because I wanted to know... I needed to know if you and my dad were just a fling or it was an actual thing." The boy struggled with his words, and so did you, wanting everything to be as broad and un-specific as possible.

"Is it better that I like him?" You asked, unsure if that was the answer he was looking for.

Andy shrugged. The boy himself was not sure what answer he was searching for, and what outcome would be best.

"In a way it's better that you actually like him, because then you weren't just crewing up things between us for a one night stand, but in the long run it might hurt me more. I-I don't know..."

"I'm sorry, Andy..."

"Yeah, you've said that, you and him." He said, with a cynical chuckle, which struck you deeply "I'm not saying I will never forgive you, I eventually will, you were a good friend to me, but right now I can't be the bigger person and just forgive you both."

"I can wait." You said with a small, sympathetic smile.

Andy just nodded, and bid you a silent goodbye. There wasn't exactly closure, and it wasn't the conclusion you had hoped for (or expected), but it was better than nothing.

You stood on your porch, watching as he left, thinking about what had just happened, and trying to process what it all meant.

"Hey."

You snapped your head in the direction of the very familiar voice.

"Bucky, hey! Andy just left, actually." You told him, as you pointed towards the direction his son had gone in.

"I know, I got here a while ago, but it didn't seem like a conversation I should be a part of."

"So you were nearby... waiting?" You realized.

"Yes." The man responded simply.

"So did you hear..."

You hoped the answer was negative, you prayed it was negative.

"I did."

Oh. What a nightmare. You had just indirectly confessed to him, he had heard you tell his son how much you liked him. It was too soon, you hadn't been together for long, and it wasn't something you wanted him to know yet.

"Oh... It's okay if you don't feel the same, I mean it hasn't been a long time so I get it but-"

"Don't do that." Bucky interrupted your rant, with a serious tone.

You had been averting your gaze, too nervous to meet his stare, but at that sentence, you looked up into his eyes.

"Do what?" You asked.

"Act like you're somehow not enough for me to feel the same. Act like what we have isn't special, and act like I wasn't obsessed with you from the very start."

Bucky stepped forward and cupped your face with his hands.

"There's no use in denying what we feel, Y/N, and time doesn't fucking matter because a day with you feels like a second, it's never enough. So don't focus on the days we spent, let's just focus on the days we have ahead, okay? The sooner we start our journey, the more time we will have to enjoy it, together."

You were too choked up to respond, you could only wrap your arms around his neck and pull him into a deep kiss.

"Fuck me like you want to make me yours forever." You whispered, looking straight into his eyes.

Bucky instantly grabbed your thighs with his hands, making you wrap his legs around his waist as he hurriedly carried you inside of the house.

For the first time, when he laid you on your bed, he took his time. He removed his clothes first, and then slowly peeled your off of every item you wore, taking in your curves like you were a piece of art at the Louvre.

He kissed the skin between your breasts and played with them softly, before trailing his lips down your body, eyes locked on yours drinking your every expression. The man kissed the inside of your thighs, taking his time before eating you out. His tongue tasted you hungrily, and, although he tried taking his time, Bucky's desperation showed - he couldn't get enough of you.

"Bucky please..." You begged, unable to wait any longer.

He listened to your pleas instantly, locking your lips in a deep, passionate kiss, forcing you to taste yourself on his tongue, before slipping into you so easily that it felt like a puzzle coming together.

This time, he didn't let you go. He held you close and looked into your eyes as he fucked you, listening to your every command, to your every noise like it was music.

And, when the two of you came in sync, promises of staying together forever came out in unison.

"minors dni" banner credit - @cafekitsune

taglist: @bookofriverr ; @starfly-nicole ; @deafening-roar-of-angry-students ; @blackhawkfanatic

Thank you so much for the support 🩷 I haven't proofread it yet, sorry for any mistakes

[imsorrythatimweird101-blog]

HOW SHIFT USING THE GATEWAY TAPES (UPDATED)

Hey, I want start off to apologize. I'm so sorry for bringing awareness to the tapes and then not clarifying on what to do or how to start. I did try to answer every question I can. I did post a guide a while back but Im still remastering it

IMPORTANT VOCAB

F10- body asleep and mind awake

F12- having your consciousness in the universe and expanded

HOW TO START:

So first off you need click on drive. Once you open the drive you will see tapes.

Before staring the tapes you NEED read a MANUAL. So if you look at your bottom left corner. You will see a PDF and it will have a picture of a old man. He's name is Bob. The creator of the tapes. I love Bob.

Once you click on the tape. You scroll down and you see titles. These titles are the titles of the tape in the folders that your going to use. At the bottom of the titles, there going be a discription. These discription tell you what the tapes do but also how they work and what you need to do during those tapes. Once your done your ready to go

STEPS

Step 1: open the drive and you will see the folders of tapes. ‼️DO NOT USE ANY OTHER AUDIO EXPECTED THE DRIVE. YOUTUBE COMPRESS THEM AND MAKE THEM NOT WORK‼️

[GATEWAY TAPES DRIVE ](https://drive.google.com/drive/u/0/mobile/folders/1vZJg5oJvfYVwWryJh05pfkZTV0cnd026)

Step 2: click the bottom far left corner. It's a Manuel and has a picture of a old guy smiling (bob)

Step 3: find the title of the tape your going to use. Read it carefully and know what's going happened and what to do

Step 4: go to discovery and play the first tape. Don't fall asleep! Be awake during the tapes!

Great! Keep doing these tapes for each tape. Each tape you must do it 3 times or more. So you can get familiar with it. BUT MOST IMPORTANT IF YOUR NOT READY TO MOVE ON OR YOU FEEL LIKE YOU NEED KEEP DOING. THAT'S OKAY, SHIFTING IS ALWAYS GOING BE HERE SO DONT RUSH

‼️PAY ATTENTION TO THIS PART‼️

Once you reach Tape 3- advanced F10. There's a trigger that YOU MUST MASTER. The whole point of discovery is to train your brain to be awake and body asleep.

Now continues the normal steps like the other but this time. You need keep doing it until your able do It without the tapes. This is very important because when your trying reach F12(the goal). You need to be in F10 first and master It already

After that, you NEED to do the other tapes like the normal steps. Because the 4 tape is to have fear go away and if you blockages. The 5 is for awareness while you sleep and 6- free flow- is to freestyle

‼️Make sure to let go any expectations of these tapes because this will hold you back! Put your expectations and your needs in the energy box!‼️

But you can go to F12 tape.

F12 tape is next to discovery. Know as Wave 2. A lot of people ask why only that tape and not the others. Well! If you do F12 tape and in beginning bobs explains that after F12 tape. Those tapes are TOOLS. Those tools involved with manefisting, remote viewing, answering questions etc (I recommend you to check it out)

So the thing you need to do is master F12 and then shift!

Tips and questions

Q: what are gateway tapes?

A: here's some recourses that explains it way more better then I ever could

[gateway tapes ](https://youtu.be/46E_FX-KxZ8?si=yV8dqgoBdcNJXclD)

[Gateway tapes CIA EXPLAINED ](https://youtu.be/HOFq3ruef7I?si=JbwpcgnZ9rrbGyyz)

Q: can I shift at F10?

A: yes you can. It's possible but it's not really meant for that. Its more of SATS approach if that's what you're looking for because F10 is mind awake and body asleep

Q: how many times do I listen to it

A: as many times you feel like. I personally listen to it 3-4 times a day but only because I'm in summer break. Whatever works in your schedule

Q: how do I know I'm in F10?

A: your body is heavy and your limbs are numb. Your body is supposed to be asleep. Many people reported that the hear themselves snore. Me personally, my breath is non-existent and my chest is numb in away. Or like barely there. Trust me you will know. Ofc this doesn't mean you can't move you body at all. You can move your body in F10 but need the WILL to move your body. It can be different from everyone

Q: I tried it couple of days, why is it working?

A: first off, you need patience. This is practice. It's like a baseball player wanting to be the best pitcher in the world but they throw the ball couple of times and then when it's not right. They run and cry in there room. You need take the tapes seriously not half ass it and be PATIENT. Don't rush things. That's the worse thing you can do because you will miss important cues and it's going be all bad.

Q: I keep falling asleep why is that

A: your brain and body is not used to it. Your brain isn't normal active. Its active but it's going through your sleep cycles. So having your brain be in vibration state of being awake and your body being sleep cycle. It's going get confused because it's not used to it. That's why the tapes train it.

Q: do I need earphones or headphones when listening to tape

A: yes, you need ones that aren't noise cancelling and make sure that you hear bob in your right ear. Only because there certain sounds that play in both your ears for your brain to sync.

Q: are these tapes actually going make me shift

A: yes, I believe it will. The only reason why I personally believe that anyone can 1000 percent shift because these gateway tapes were run by scientist and actually doctor in fields to perfect it. Not only that CIA agents use these and it's approved by the CIA. There actually evidence and research done. It isn't like some random teenagers made a method up in there room. These tapes are designed to open the human mind and Bob himself even talked to alter version of himself with these tapes.

‼️MOST IMPORTANT TAKE‼️

Now, you gotta have open mind and believe it too. You cant go in the tapes with a negative mindset and expect a beautiful outcome. This is in every method you used..not only the gateway tapes. If you believe it won't work because whatever the case then obviously it won't work because your mind is going block everything and not letting it's self In general. This is life In general.

[fangdokja]

Yandere royal guards plot twist: reader was isekaid into their world and has no idea wtf they’re saying, so thinks being nonchalant is safest when it’s actually making them insane lmao

You got isekai’d. Now three murder machines think your blank stares are divine wisdom.

♡ Yandere! Royal Guards who don’t realize their beloved Sovereign is just some random girl from another world with no clue what’s happening.

♡ Yandere! Royal Guard who prowls at your feet like a starving beast, ears twitching, tail lashing, his grin full of sharp promises. “Sovereign, I’ve torn out the tongues of the palace spies. Their screams were... exquisite.” His voice purrs, expectant, waiting.

You stare blankly. “Ah.”

His pupils dilate. His breath shudders. “...Your restraint is incredible.”

♡ Yandere! Royal Guard who kneels before you, his wings folding like a dying swan’s. “Sovereign, forgive my forwardness, but do you love us?” His angelic eyes shine with desperation, manic with devotion. “You need only say it, and we shall set fire to the world in your name.”

You blink slowly. He is sweating.

“…Sure.”

His breath hitches—his body trembles—his fingers dig into his chest as though holding his heart inside his ribs. “Such… modesty,” he breathes. “To hide your love beneath cold indifference—your restraint is divine.”

♡ Yandere! Royal Guard who glowers from the shadows, a hulking wall of destruction. “Fight me.” His voice grinds like crushed bone, deep and sharp. “Your fists. Now.”

You shake your head. “No thanks.”

His nostrils flare. His hands twitch. “...You are waiting,” he mutters. “You want me to earn it.” His eyes gleam with lethal reverence. “I will not disappoint you.”

You sip your drink. He goes outside. The walls tremble. The ground shakes. The screams of unfortunate trainees echo into the sky.

They don’t know that you, a confused isekai victim, have no idea what they’re saying. They think your apathy is an unfathomable test. Every blank stare fuels their madness.

And the worst part? You’re just trying to stay alive.

────────────

♡ Note. This is NOT canon. Reader is canonically genetically equipped, capable in her position despite the chaos of the Yandere! Royal Guards, and her apathetic personality is really made to be that way. This is a what-if fanfic to the main story. Character banner art belongs to “inplick” and can be found in Instagram. But, it it also official art from a collaboration between Link Click x Sanrio.

♡ A/N. Anon, my request box is closed even for short requests (this isn't an ask, but a request). Also, please read the RULES before making requests. I only allowed this since I do plan on opening Anon requests; but, I haven't made the official announcement. My request box will officially open 2-5 months from now. But... since this can be used for drabbles anyway, fine. Don't expect me to spoil you guys though! I'm already swamped with a lot of long project requests alongside other works. Also, I don't like doing canon-divergent works of my OC's usually, but fine. Short, attempt at humor idea. Seriously. Please read the Rules, I don't like repeating myself.

────────────

If you want to be added or removed from the tag list, just comment on the MASTERLIST of Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows. Thank you.

General TAG LIST of “Whispers In The Dark”: @keisocool , @elvabeth , @elloredef , @mjsjshhd , @lem-hhn , @yuki-istired

❤︎ Fang Dokja's Books.

♡ Book 1. A Heart Devoured (AHD): A Dark Yandere Anthology ♡ Book 2. Forbidden Fruits (FF): Intimate Obsessions, Unhinged Desires. ♡ Book 3. World Ablaze (WA) : For You, I'd Burn the World. ♡ Book 4 [you are here]. Whispers in the Dark (WITD): Subtle Devotion, Lingering Shadows.

[ceilidho]

prompt: IKEA soap/reader fic. PART 4. (read 1, 2, 3) tags: dubcon; nsfw

-

You only realize after the fact that you may have miscalculated in thinking that this could be a one-time thing between the two of you. 

After listening to Johnny bitch and moan during the Christmas party about having to take time off work to spend the holidays with his very religious family, you delude yourself into thinking you’ll finally be able to have some peace and quiet around the store. Not literally, of course. Working during the holidays is always a recipe for exhaustion—parents coming in at the last minute to demand toys that have long since sold out, fights breaking out in every other aisle as customers fight for the last palatable set of Christmas ornaments and boxed fruit cake. 

You’re not delusional enough to think that work will be a piece of cake, but you are selfishly a little happy that you’ll finally get some time to breathe without Johnny hovering over your shoulder at all hours of your shift. Seasonal shoppers are as exhausting as always, but you get to sit alone in the breakroom with a cup of coffee in the morning right before your shift without someone staring at you or breathing into your personal bubble. 

Johnny spends his entire time off blowing up your phone, sending you pictures of his childhood home, calling you during your breaks, and sending you weird videos that seem to have been filmed entirely in the dark where you can’t see or hear anything apart from some weird squeaks and one loud grunt at the very end of the video that sounds kind of like—you close the video.

You spend the first few days of January dreading his return. The day of is like a shock to your nervous system, the whole morning spent pouring coffee with a trembling hand. 

“Hiya gorgeous,” he purrs when you clock in for your shift. You’re somewhat used to Johnny sneaking up behind you, so you don’t flinch this time when you feel the length of his body press up against you at the time clock. 

“Johnny, it’s seven in the morning,” you mutter out through pursed lips, shoulders stiff when he puts his hands on them and digs his thumbs into the tender points of your back. You bite back a moan.

“Missed ye, kitten. Cannae believe I went a whole week without hearing you purr.”

He could’ve phrased that a thousand other ways, but he just had to choose the one that would make you wince. He digs his thumbs in again, trying to push the moan out of you, but you tamp it down. You hold back a shudder when he plants his nose onto the crown of your head and inhales, drawing your scent into his lungs. 

“Where’ye assigned ta today? Jeff owes me a favour—gonna ask him if I can spend the day with ye so we can catch up.” 

You go still when he drops a firm kiss to the side of your head. “I’m…not sure. I haven’t checked the schedule yet.” It’s a half-lie. You may not have checked the schedule yet, but you know from having briefly chatted with your manager this morning in the parking lot where you’ll be spending most of your day.

Still, it means that you get to shake off Johnny for a bit. “Lemme go check for ye, okay, hen? Stay here, a’right?”

You watch him jog off down the hall to the breakroom before finally leaving. It’ll be better for you if you’re gone before he comes back. 

The first hour of your day is spent on softlines until Priya in jewellery randomly comes down with a chill and gets sent home early, forcing you to cover her section. Usually that wouldn’t be such a bad deal—it means you get to spend your shift helping people try on bracelets and rings, restocking the earring display, and leaning against the counter for hours at a time. It’s not a particularly busy station.  

While you're assigned to the jewellery section though, Johnny pops out of nowhere as you're helping a customer contemplating a birthday ring for his fiancé. With the kind of confidence that you’ve come to expect from Johnny, he uses your hand to model some of the rings, but this time it feels oddly weirdly intense. When he slides the first ring onto your finger, you can feel the way he holds his breath, even shudders a bit. He presses himself right up against you behind the display counter, hardness pressing against your hip. 

It doesn’t take long for your customer to leave. Johnny’s demeanour is off-putting, concerning even. You can’t fault the guy for being rightfully repulsed by the way Johnny crowds up against you like you’re alone together. 

“What are you doing?” you hiss through your teeth.

“Cannae help it, hen. I ken ye wanna wait, but it jus’ makes me a bit emotional seein’ my girl wearing a ring I put on.”

He blinks down at you with big, blue eyes, the picture of innocence. You should’ve anticipated there being a danger in letting Johnny stew over that on his own. Of course he’d come to his own conclusions, even one as deranged as thinking of your hook up as a step towards dating. You can’t help but side eye him. 

“We—we’re not a couple, Johnny.”

He cocks an eyebrow. “Ye just let anybody eat you out in the supply closet then? S’that right?” It’s said rhetorically, like he knows the answer already. You flinch at the slight though.

“That was—” you cut yourself off to take a breath, an ache growing behind your forehead, “—that was a…it was a one-time thing. You can’t just act like we’re dating.”

His lips turn down in a pout, displeasure rippling across his face. You brace yourself for the inevitable argument, for shit to hit the fan, because obviously that’s what’s brewing under the surface. You brace yourself for worse too because when you happen to glance around, you realize how few people are actually milling around in the area. 

Then, instead of losing his temper, Johnny’s eyes grow smoky, heavy-lidded, and the pout lifts into a lazy, playful grin. “A’right, kitty, no’ dating then. That’s fine wi’ me.”

This time it’s you that frowns, staring up at him dubiously. “…Really?” It feels too sudden, quicksilver. Johnny’s fiery by nature, short tempered on his best days and more likely to grit his teeth and bear the displeasure of not getting his way than happily giving into it. His sudden smile is at odds with the version of him that exists in your mind, furious at you for denying him. 

Maybe you’ve got him all wrong. 

The gleam in his eye betrays nothing, however. “I swear.” He leans closer to you then, fingers fiddling with the name tag pinned over your chest on your work vest, straightening it. “Doesnae mean we have ta give the rest up though. Ye liked what we did in the closet, right, hen?”

It feels like he’s sucked the air out of the room, as big as it is. “I thought we weren’t going to talk about that.”

“Och, c’mon, kitty,” Johnny breathes, hunching just a little over and into your space, making the moment feel private, just the two of you. “Had to talk about it eventually. Did ye just expect that everything would go back to normal after ye let me eat ye out? Hey—” he catches you when you try to make a move to step away from him, wrapping a big hand around your wrist and tugging you closer to him, “—listen, kitty—it doesnae have to be anything serious, right? That’s what’s making ye all jumpy and nervous? I’ll lick your pussy, free of charge. Dinnae need any labels. How’s that sound, kitty? Dick on demand?”

It should repulse you. The way he speaks to you is crass, crude. His voice is hushed, haggard, fur stretched taut over stone—and yet, your hands tremble, just a little. It tempts you. Purring Scottish burr, lapis lazuli eyes, bristle cheeks that you still remember scraping up your inner thighs. He’s a package you can’t imagine sending back.

“You won’t get…you promise not to get weird about it?” you ask.

His smile curls up, impish. “Cross my heart, kitten.”

Maybe you’re delusional enough to think that you can have your cake and eat it too. There’s a voice in your head telling you to face the facts, but you disregard it as if you haven’t been working with Johnny for months. As if you aren’t aware of his penchant for saying or doing anything to get his way. It’s maybe naive of you. 

All you know is that he smothers a laugh when you tell him you’ll think about it. Knows he’s got you right where he wants.

You don’t fight when he drags you into the single-stall bathroom towards the end of your shift, letting him position you in front of the mirror before sinking to his knees behind you. Forces you to watch the way you come apart on his tongue, not giving you his fingers until you beg him to, the whispered plea a hairsbreadth away from becoming a scream. 

“Oh, did she miss me?” Johnny breathes, a happy laugh in his voice when he runs the broad side of his tongue over your entrance from the back. “Fuck, look at that. Winked at me ‘n everythin’. Hi darling, missed ye too.”

You don’t think you’ll ever be the same after hearing that come out of his mouth. You go hot all over again when you clench involuntarily, equal parts turned on and horrified. He sniggers before trying to cram his whole tongue up into you. 

There’s a moment of panic when Johnny draws up behind you after making you come and you hear him undo his pants. There’s nowhere for you to go with your pants still looped around your ankles, underwear pulled all the way down as well. You hear yourself hiss a startled Johnny when he slots a fat cock between your thighs, staring dumbly at the reflection of him behind you. At your back, he seems massive, lean and trim but towering over you, broad. 

He shushes you. “Dinnae be selfish, hen—gotta get mine too. Jus’ gonna fuck your thighs, dinnae fret.”

You squeak when he pushes your thighs together forcefully, dragging his cock over your folds to wet himself. Watching Johnny fuck is nothing like staring down at him when he eats you out. He pants harsh and ragged into the side of your head, nips at your ear. The glint in his eyes goes animalistic, vacant. Human desire recedes, subsumed into the animal part of his brain with the single-minded need to fuck. 

The only thing keeping him from driving up into you, accidentally or not, is the way you keep your thighs pressed together. A warm, tight channel for him to push his cock into. Thick fingers dig into your waist, sure to leave bruises. You wince when lean hips pound against your backside, growing frantic as need overtakes him. You flirt at the edge of panic, certain that at any second, he’ll pull your thighs apart and nudge the head of his cock up into you. 

“Jus’ like that, fuck,” he grunts. “Be a good little fuckin’ girl and jus’ let me—”

His tongue lolls out on a particularly rough thrust, hands groping over your belly and up to your chest, slipping his hand under your shirt and bra to pinch your nipple. He twists it mean, nasty, until you have no choice but to grunt through grit teeth, eyes watering. You feel like a doll meant for his pleasure, no choice but to grip the sides of the sink and let Johnny use you until he comes. 

“Fuck,” Johnny groans, eyes going half-lidded. “Love makin’ this pussy come. Love gettin’ her all messy and wet. Lettin’ me between your thighs even when I make ye nervous—fuck, ‘m gonna come, ‘m gonna—fuck, fuck, fuck—”

White come stripes the sink in front of you, thick and viscous. Paints the inside of your thighs as well when he drags his hips back until just the head of his cock sits nestled up against your sex. Hyperconscious of where it tags your inner lips, that there’s no barrier between the two of you, just come and skin. 

The full body shake shocks you, a ripple from your heels to the top of your head. 

His free hand grasps you by the hair when you try to slip away. “Ye gonna clean up your mess, baby?”

You glance back up at his reflection in the mirror, trying to suss him out. Shark-like eyes meet yours. Something you’ve seen in glances before finally staring back at you with full force. You reach for the paper towel dispenser with a shaking hand. 

“Nah,” Johnny scolds, giving you a shake. “With your mouth.”

The command hangs in the air, no joke or laugh to undercut it. His eyes read serious to you, still dark. No leniency present in the blue. 

You stare down at his come on the sink, slack-jawed. “You don’t seriously mean—”

“Jus’ kidding, silly,” he chuckles, giving a teasing bite to your earlobe and tugging. The tension in the air disperses. “Got ye, huh?” 

You force a laugh. “Yeah…got me.”

[angelplummie]

TAKING WHAT’S NOT YOURS! 3

ART X TASHI X PATRICK X F!READER

part 1 part 2 part 3 part 4

no smut in this one, but homoeroticism and swearing. enjoy yall!

“why are we here?”

“i told you why,” tashi took off her many bracelets into a hotel-issued jewellery box. the room was a dusky cream all over, and smelt of sandal wood. the various lamps cast sloping shells of yellowlight.

art watched, naked and tangled within the duvet.

“you told me we were seeing a physiotherapist. now we’ve come all the way here and he just cancels?”

“i can’t control these things art. he’s very popular, something just came up. think of this as a holiday. we’ll do something relaxing, fun, tomorrow. you crushed in atlanta, you deserve a rest.”

“i didn’t crush. i came second.”

tashi duncan just breathed deeply, not a sigh but something like it. an acknowledgement.

“i know. you work too hard.”

art sniffed and rested his head on the heel of his palm.

“can you just tell me why we’re here? please?”

wrists lighter, she sighed. wrapped in a silk negligé, she began removing her necklace, away from him so that they would not make eye contact but he could still watch her face. she had a defeated look. caught. but still scolding like a mothers, like she was slightly irritated he even asked.

“she’s competing in the open this year. she might win.”

“who is she?”

he asked, but he knew. you were the she. you were her, hissed in arguments, brushed under rugs. their point of contention. they didn’t speak of you, couldn’t. not after the way they got together, not after that final match and the injury.

a certain wildness came across her face whenever you came up, even peripherally, in conversation. like he had reopened a wound, pressed on a bruise that was ripening. she wore that look now, the injured bear look.

“her. if she wins this she’ll have won every major tennis competition in the us. in under 5 years. then what? fucking wimbledon? no. not on my fucking watch.”

she took off her necklace, which clattered against the vanity. she then began on her rings.

“how do you know she’ll win it?”

“i don’t know she’ll win it. but it’s really looking like she will. and she can’t.”

“why can’t she win it?” art soothed, “what would be so bad about that?”

“she can’t win it art.”

he sighed, and watched his wife as she took off their wedding band to sleep. he kept his on, but each to their own. her mouth quivered, and he knew that that was enough of questions for now. she would only get herself worked up if she thought about it more.

“we’ll talk about it in the morning, ok? come here.”

she pressed her long fingers to her temples for a moment, sighed again, and began walking to the bed.

for a moment she perched on the edge, but his pawing hand beckoned her closer. soon enough they were entangled at the legs, and he held her soft head to his chest.

she drew in a nasal breath.

“we have to stop her. make her lose.”

we. so he was a part of this now. did he think that was appropriate? no. he had left you for her, had harboured secret feelings for her your whole relationship. what he felt for you was real, but tashi was his wife. was always going to be his wife. but now, how could he, in good conscience, try and detract a modicum of happiness from you when he had taken so much in years prior? he couldn’t. he couldn’t even think about you. the thought of you being happy away from him made him so soul crushingly, unreasonably sad that he locked it away in a place no one would ever see or graze by mistake. the thought of you sad made him feel even worse. in truth, he avoided you like the plague. he followed your matches religiously to know where not to be. consumed trashy tabloids so he knew where you brunched, where you bought your sports bras, all so he could know never to be there. because he had that life he always wanted. that life he tossed two of the most important people to him away for. he had to be contented with what he had, or else he would die. and he was more than contented. he was everything he wanted. he had a wife he loved, a sky rocketing career, a future. a purpose. but there were aches of the heart, sympathies a man couldn’t shake, even if he had to.

“we have to?”

her grip around his torso tightened, and she raised her head to look at him.

“we have to.”

“what could we even do?”

“fuck with her head. get in there and throw her off. and if worse comes to worse break her knee like she broke mine.”

“don’t joke.”

“i’m not kidding art. she’s not winning. and you’re helping me.”

“tashi-“

“you’re helping me aren’t you?”

and she fixed him with the look. the look she gave when she wanted you to remember that her acl tore and that she will be able to do the thing she loved most in the world, and somehow it’s all your fault. only you can fix it. only you can take the defiance from her eyes and the downturn of her lips, and you can only do that if you go as she says. art had no choice, no choice at all.

“what do you need?”

•••

in, coincidently, the same hotel a few floors up, you shaved your pubic hair. your coach advised you against shaving close to the tournament. he recommended it for your legs, it meant you were more aerodynamic, but pubic hair made no difference. between razor burn and chaffing, it was an unnecessary distraction. but, he also didn’t sanction sweaty, time consuming, exhausting sex with a trifling man slut of an ex boyfriend that dumped you once and was ready to dump you again, so today was the day for rule breaking.

he chewed you out pretty nice when you got back to your hotel room. you insisted on showering even though your physio stayed late specifically for you, and now instead of hurrying out and apologising and being stretched into a peppy, sexy, marketable, rubber-band-legged tennis cunt, you were shaving yourself. because winning didn’t matter unless you were ready for her.

why did being shaven mean being ready? you didn’t know. but patrick’s joy at your bush had sickened you in grim retrospect, and you wanted to spite him. you would always be ready from now on. if tashi duncan was going to try and fuck you over, the least you could do was prepare to be fucked.

you were dry as can be. you hosed yourself down pretty ruthlessly to clear yourself out. evict any traces of that man from your body, scrub until you reached a layer of skin he hadn’t touched. you had one tired foot on the edge of the sink, and angled yourself so you could see everything. you would be so smooth that you could see a reflection when you were finished.

patrick had caught you off guard, had used you, but you didn’t doubt that he told you the truth about one thing. tashi was coming. she was probably already here. that would be an evil thing to makeup, and despite your outburst you didn’t truly believe he was evil. you thought he was weak, slimy and pathetic, but he wasn’t great enough to be evil. didn’t have the forethought.

what would you do when you saw her? it was early days in the tournament, you could afford to be a little distracted while you picked off the weaker ones. but you couldn’t still be this distracted in 2 days time. maybe time would take care of it. maybe you would have to take it into your own hands.

regardless of what happened, the hair had to go. you had shown patrick a soft underbelly, a vulnerability. one that neither tashi duncan or art donaldson would ever experience again. you could never give her the satisfaction.

if she brought art with her, that would give you something to think about. he, like patrick, was a stolen thing. he was the physical manifestation of all she took from you, in it’s fullest form. he was tennis. he was something you had never beaten. tashi duncan pilfered and pillaged, but worse of all she never lost to you. you never looked her in her eyes and beat her, at anything. love, sex, the game, she had never lost. worse, she had lost her ability to lose. a fate worse than death, but a fate that saved her from the shame she so rightfully deserved. while you lived on, you could defile yourself further, could fall out of grace and could become as common as dirt. she however was immortalised as a god, an angel too good, too talented for this world. she was given implicit dignity. you can’t beat her if she can’t play. the conniving bitch.

semenless, hairless and distantly heartbroken, you set the razor down on the side of the bathtub. you left to dress and be scolded by your coach, who would forgive you tommorow when you won, just like you always did. you won by default.

•••

your manager had forgiven you as soon as you picked up the racket. apparently emotional turbulence served only to help your game, as you achieved your second win of the tournament in record time. not distracted by a certain ex boyfriend at the end of this particular match, when you won you felt fully able to celebrate. sweat drenched and vagina raw you shook your fist at your chest and breathed deep, victorious sighs. your opponent smiled graciously, and disappeared to cry and fade into obscurity, as all would in the face of your brilliance.

the air smelt new. it smelt fresh and new and made for your design. the felt of the tennis balls glowed neon in your periphery and bounced gleefully with your triumph. you guzzled gatorade, answered interviewers questions with emphatically friendly responses, and certainly spawned some rumours that the performance enhancing drugs you were so clearly on had unprecedented side effects, like mood swings.

yesterday your soul was crushed. today you got a new one. let’s see tashi duncan try to fuck that up. let’s see her bring you down.

boys didn’t fucking matter, tennis mattered. and you were great at tennis.

these were all things you believed in earnest, with no trace of sarcasm or cynicism. you believed, right until the second, while walking back to your hotel with your team in front of you, lazily enjoying the world, when a deep, slender, ring laden hand touched your shoulder. you jolted up out of your skin. your head whipped round and there she was. there was satan, smiling like your number was up. stopped in your tracks, you turned your body slowly to face her. as you did more and more of her appeared, and you realised she was really there.

she was so beautiful. such a perfectly set face, everything seemed to match. the attractive broad nose, the full pillowy lips, the eyes, which smouldered on their own, naturally. hair that fell in long stretched curls just as it had all those years ago. she hadn’t changed, at least not visually.

you gave her a once over. that fucking body. god, you wouldn’t know she had stopped playing, you wouldn’t know she could be unable to do anything at all. she was so slender, but so strong, muscle caking her bones in delicate, powerful form. she looked invincible, perfect and impermeable. her loose linen shirt hugged and hung from her frame like a fashion doll, like a mannequin of steel. she was taller than you, by a few inches, and made you feel small, in a way so much more infuriating than patrick. she wasn’t suppose to be bigger than you. she wasn’t a lumbering brute, she was your equal. she was your equal.

from the corner of your eye, you noticed something sparkle on her finger, but you had already looked back to her face.

“tashi,” you said, in a tinny voice that didn’t sound like yours. your throat dried within moments.

“hello stranger,” she said, still grinning.

stranger. funny, that’s exactly what you were. she said it like an inside joke, like you two were the closest of friends. you were strangers.

“hello.”

“congrats on your win.”

“thanks.”

you sniffed, and wet your lips. you weren’t going to break eye contact, she certainly wasn’t going to, so you were locked in silent warfare. what the fuck do you want? you urged every second. wait and see, she replied.

“so,” you say, forming the intentions of a smile on your lips,”what brings you to new york? i hear only a few days ago art was in atlanta.”

“we came up to see a physio guy, he’s supposed to be great. great enough that he cancels last minute.”

“hm. ain’t that just the way!”

you smile, with your eyes too, like you mean it. she smiles too, but she’s awful at being fake. she grimaced more than she smiled, she was always devoid of delicacy, of subtly. everything she was she was overtly. overtly beautiful, overtly talented, and confident. overtly ruthless. why she felt the need to smile if that’s not how she felt was beyond you, but you could play along.

“what hotel are you staying at?”

“the boro. you?”

“us too! why don’t you have a drink with me and art at the bar? it would be good to catch up.”

me and art. you narrow your eyes, deepening your smile to disguise it. she was being so normal, it was strange. what game was she playing? was it something you could win? either way you were in.

“sure! i need to check in with my coach and what not first but ill meet you there at 7, is that ok?”

“7 is great. can’t wait,” her voice was mechanical, it couldn’t be more blatant this was a ploy, and you would fall for it hook line and sinker. she came here to fuck you up? you would destroy her, the second she gave an inch. you already had a massive secret. she fucked patrick. five seconds around art and her life crumbles around her.

you smirked, nodding, and a dark look befell her eyes.

“oh, and just to let you know,” she said, voice lowering. she stepped closer, leaned down to whisper in your ear. the smell of vanilla over powered you, and suddenly you felt very gross, putrid in comparison. but you didn’t have to compare yourself to her anymore.

“i saw patrick zweig in the crowd today. i know you guys had a thing back in college. thought i’d give you a heads up,” her soft whisper tickled your ear. you shivered.

“oh, god,” you said,”thanks for telling me. what the fuck is he doing here?”

“I have no idea.”

“what a freak.”

there were several options of why she told you that, and how she might know.

maybe she really did see him in the crowd. you hadn’t seen him, but you hadn’t seen her either. maybe she didn’t see him, but knew he was coming into town, maybe he told her. maybe she got him to come here and warn you. why? to cut you out of the competition early maybe, start the psychological warfare before her feet even touched new york concrete. it hadn’t worked, and that’s why she had been forced to make a face to face appearance. maybe that was it. maybe it was a grand conspiracy in which all parties were mechanised to get you. you would not be got. no way no how.

your paranoia brought the conversation to a screeching halt as your smile became more and more vacant.

“you look good,” she said after a stretch of silence.

“thank you. so do you. you haven’t changed at all.”

“neither have you.”

“well, i think i’ve changed a bit.”

“nah, you’re the same.”

no. you’re different. but how would she know anyway? you wave goodbye as she saunters off, away to a blonde man that she kisses lightly on the cheek. you don’t take in anything more than that because you turn around immediately, and stalk to where your coach is smoking a cigarette by a coffee truck. fuck that bitch. you were going to gut her alive and use her intestines as a skipping rope. art would not extend his neck to receive a kiss when you were through with them. fucking drink at a fucking bar. who did she think she was?

fuck that bitch, tashi thought. you were right, you had changed. your backhand was perfect. impeccable serve. you were deadly. you were harder now too. you didn’t scowl but there was a coldness about the eyes, a disconnect from face and mind. you were fake as plastic, and just as shiny. you had beefed up, gotten more tight and muscular. maybe tight was the word. tight about the eyes. what were you? you were another creature all together. a beast, an amalgamation of all tashi’s hopes and dreams and all her worst nightmares.

she swayed over to art, knowing you would watch at least for a moment as they smiled at each other and took each other’s forearms tenderly, and she kissed the side of his mouth. his hair had been cut only a few days ago, and she told him to wear that white cotton t-shirt out and about. he said it was too casual for such a high level tennis match, she said she knew that. he looked very fucking good. she looked very fucking good, as she always did. she had set the trap, now it was time to get you in it, trapped, and to bash your head in with a rock.

she and art watched from the corner of their eyes as they kissed and you sauntered away, refusing to look back. your skirt swished with the aggravated sway of your hips. you swung a metal water bottle with the rhythm of your steps, like you were trying to hurt the air. you were pissed off. art could tell, and his stomach churned. this was wrong. it was mean, and they were adults now. married adults, who should be satisfied enough in their lives that they don’t need to plan or scheme. but. here they were. and there he was, embroiled and accomplice to a mean spirited scheme. anything to dry tashis eyes. anything to make up for the fact you were tennis cunt extraordinaire and she was arts coach. a fantastic coach, but a coach all the same. he could hurt you if that’s what tashi needed. he didn’t want to, but he could.

she didn’t know if she could, if it was possible rather, but she wanted to. no, she knew she could. she would. you could flick the skirt adidas paid you to wear and walk with a sexy sway and you could guzzle complementary gatorade but she knew what you were and that you were bellow her. you were her subordinate and if she couldn’t make the world see it she would make it clear to you.

your feet hit tarmac harder than they needed to as you found your coach, who clapped a hand to your back and sung your well deserved praises. breaking news, tennis cunt is good at tennis. alert the media, alert the national guard, alert nasa. this is earth shattering stuff. fuck everyone, but fuck tashi in particular. fuck that bitch. and fuck art. fuck him. fuck him.

and yet, only a few hours later you were pulling your hair out trying to put together a cohesive outfit that said i’m not trying to impress you but i’m very impressive. i’m very accomplished and polished and if i was you and i had thrown me away i would kill myself for the shame and regret. tashi duncan is nothing.

but it was hard to find an outfit so articulate. not too dressy, but not overly casual as to downplay yourself, to suggest you think dressing nicely is above what you deserve. a dress. a black dress said sex but it was also classic, simple. a black dress meant nothing, and therefore meant everything. your body itself provided the glamour, your form a kind of jewellery. yeah. that was it. eat your heart out, donaldson.

you sit at the bar, perched with your smooth legs crossed over each other. you sipped a coke, that might’ve been a rum and coke on a different night, but you needed to keep your wits about you. you remember getting drunk one night with art, swaying around his house. his parents were away and he invited you back over spring break. his house was so big. you remember kissing him, so wasted. he wasn’t as drunk as you. he held your waist, and smiled and said,”let’s get you into bed.”

“but art. you’re so pretty.”

“and you’re so drunk. i’ll still be pretty tomorrow.”

art didn’t do drunk. i don’t know. something to keep in mind.

they walked in, looked around and smiled when they saw you. neither of them had changed despite having hours. fucking cunts.

“i see you didn’t wait for us,” tashi smiles.

“oh, sorry.”

they sit, tashi next to you, art in tow. what was arts role in all this? you knew why you wanted him here, to destroy his marriage of course. but why did tashi want him here? what purpose did he serve for her? he just sort of looked around. you watch him as they settle. art. oh art. you felt something in your chest, and hated it. art. he was just that guy, you know. the guy that you can say you hate, but you just can’t. you want to so badly, but being in his presence for even a few seconds has you crumbling. the shape of his nose, the bob of his adam’s apple, the golden dusting of hair on his arm that glints in the boozy light of the bar. he was so… guy. so man. so beautiful. he beats his blonde eyelashes and turns to look at you, smiling with only one corner of his mouth. you smile back, unconsciously genuine. fuck him. what a prick.

you look back to tashi, who watches you bemusedly. half smirking half frowning. her deep eyes glow like ambers. she tossed a strand of hair from her face, orders her and art two sparkling waters as she eyed your coke.

“so,” you say, to divert your train of thoughts more than anything,”how’s life been?”

“let’s drop the pleasantries shall we?”

the smile that had spooked you all day dropped, lips instead set in a line

“we aren’t actually here to catch up.”

“oh. ok.”

that was brief. you understood why she was so quick to give up the falsehoods though, tashi duncan didn’t deal in lies. she dealt in hard cold truth.

“i’m here for one thing. i want you to play art.”

you frown with one eyebrow, and your upper lip curls into a look of disgust.

“what?”

you glance at art, who doesn’t look surprised in the slightest. he looks mournful almost. what a freak. tashi’s face is sullen, serious as the plague.

“you heard me. i want you and art to play each other. art wants to too.”

art didn’t look at you. nodded though.

“and i wanna do it tonight.”

you spluttered a laugh, hands gripping the bar.

“tonight?”

this bitch had lost her mind. you have a tournament, an important one at that, and for her to assert that you should jeopardise that, overexert yourself for the sake of what? assuaging a personal grudge? making her feel better because a significantly larger man beat a woman at a game that tashi hadn’t played in five entire years? what crack was she smoking that made that an acceptable ask? did her arrogance know no bounds?

“i have a match tomorrow.”

“yeah, no fucking shit. that’s why there’s stakes.”

stakes. what the fuck. you almost wanted to laugh. but this bitch was giving you a proposal, a fucking pitch. for what? what could she possibly have to offer you other than sucking on a shot gun and pissing off forever?

“do you have any fucking idea how ridiculous this is? after everything you did to me, you think you have any right to saunter up to me and ask me to waste my time and my energy, the night before a fucking match? you and your fucking husband can fuck off.”

“after everything i did to you? what the hell did i do to you? you broke my fucking knee.”

your confused look fell into seething blankness.

“you didn’t break your knee you tore your ACL. and you broke it yourself.”

“that’s fine, that’s fine. you tell yourself that, but know the only reason you have this fucking career is because i wasn’t there to beat you down and put you in your place.”

“jesus fucking christ, i would’ve beaten you that match and you know it.”

“i don’t know a goddamn thing-“

“and where do you get off pretending like you never did shit to me? you took everything from me tashi. you took everything and now you travel across the country and stumble up to me to make yourself feel better because i can play and you can’t. you want me to try and beat a fucking man? fine. i’m game. i’m in, let’s do it. i would hate to waste your precious time. let’s hear the fucking stakes.”

the gloves were off. both of your backs had straightened like hackles on a cat and your nostrils flared and your chests rose and fell and neither of you broke eye contact for even one second. you hadn’t realised but you had gotten closer, so close that your minty fresh breath fanned tashi’s upper lip, and pieces of tashi’s hair tickled your cheekbone. this was fucking intoxicating. being this close to the woman you had hated for so long, getting the confirmation that she hates you just as passionately, knowing you matter enough to her that she needs to destroy you, it all fills you with the most exhilarating feeling. you want more. her deep eyes glowed with fury. fuck.

art sits hunched over the bar, removed. he drank his drink, slowly facing away. he almost looks bored, or he would if his eyes didn’t flit about all the time. no, art was anxious. he disapproved of whatever tashi planned, but he loved her too much to tell her no. the thought stings you, spitting in the face of your satisfaction. art. he would always make you hurt no matter what.

“here’s the stakes. you lose, i leave knowing that i was always better than you, and you give me $4000, for my troubles. you win, you get to fuck art in front of me.”

he didn’t flinch. he knew. you’re pulled back by an otherworldly force, stone cold sober. your neck twists back and forth, scanning the bar for anyone to help you, save you, give you a moment to chew on whatever that was. no one was gonna help you. even art, who sat and drank his sparkling water, wouldn’t meet your eye.

“what?”

she didn’t reply, just leant back, arms crossed, satisfied. was she honestly, seriously, really, actually whoring out her husband so that you, a girl she barely knew from college, would play him at tennis so she could prove a point? was she that confident he would beat you? or was she a pervert as well as a cunt?

“are you that confident you’ll win? or do you think i’m that desperate? believe it or not, i’ve actually moved on from a man i saw briefly 5 entire years ago.”

a tiny white lie never hurt anyone.

tashi widened her eyes. a silent challenge.

“are you sure? are you sure it wouldn’t feel good to fuck my husband right in front of me? take something from me? hurt me? give me a taste of my own fucking medicine? if i’m such a bitch, if i took everything from you, take something back. beat me at tennis and fuck my husband.”

this bitch was fucking crazy. and yes, it would feel fucking incredible. but you would also have to touch art again. which would dredge up emotions you didn’t know if you could stomach. eugh. no. couldn’t. wouldn’t. won’t.

“i’ll play you. no stakes.”

“no,” art looked at you in the eyes for the first time since that day, that match that ended you two forever. his voice was cold and hoarse. your eyebrow raises involuntarily. look everyone, the puppet can speak on its own!

“agree to the stakes or don’t bother.”

you laugh airily, you search arts face for reprehension. there’s just nothing. you were wrong about him, he didn’t disapprove that strongly. where did he get off in this? did he like being used as a bargaining chip in his evil wife’s evil schemes? was he completely eroded from who he used to be? did you ever even know him? he tongued the inside of his cheek. his mouth curved at the edge. he smiled slightly like he knew you, like this was a game you were all in on. like any of this is funny.

“no. i’ll play you, and i’ll even cough up the money if i lost. but i’m not fucking anyone. end of story.”

tashi leans forward. her eyes twinkle yellow in the soft glow of the bar. her mouth opens with unspoken hunger.

“then lose.”

[bucketsofmonsters]

Deep Water - Part 1

cw: the ocean, talk of being drowned, water inhalation, more tags to be added as the story continues

merman x fem reader

Word count: 3k

read on ao3

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5

You peeked out a small porthole, a rarity on this kind of ship. You couldn’t decide if you were grateful for it or not as your stomach churned looking out at choppy waters. 

You’d never been particularly comfortable with the ocean. It wasn’t that you disliked it, far from it. You just had a healthy fear of it. 

Right now, it felt like anyone who didn’t was a fool. 

As you looked down at swirling black water, swearing you saw something snake around just far enough under the surface that you couldn’t make it out, that fear felt very reasonable. 

It wasn’t only fear that consumed you when you looked out at that churning water. There was awe in there too, as you looked at the seemingly infinite abyss below you. 

But not enough awe that you wouldn’t keep yourself as far away from it as you could. 

But that was the problem. Fate had thrusted you right into deep waters and you’d had no choice in the matter. 

So there you were, stowed away on a transport ship, tucked amongst boxes of spices and herbs and expensive teas that you’d never get to try. 

At least your hidden little corner smelled good, some of the herbal scents escaping their carefully packed boxes. 

You sat back down behind them, trying to put the thought of the turbulent waters under a few thin layers of wood out of your mind as the waves rocked you back and forth at a sickening pace, never quite stabilizing enough to be able to fall into a rhythm, refusing to be tuned out or ignored. 

You pulled your shawl tighter around you, though it was no use. The chill of the ship had long since set itself into your bones. 

You closed your eyes and tried to tell if it was raining or if it was just the darkness of the night blanketing the ocean. The sounds of the waves roared above anything else. You decided it wasn’t, more for your own peace of mind than anything. You didn’t need water coming at you from any more directions.

As you sat, curled up on the floor trying to focus on anything other than the deafening crashing of the waves, a new sound caught your attention. The door creaked open and as footsteps approached you, you held your breath. 

They’d caught you on an exhale and sooner than you would’ve liked, you had to sneak a tiny breath of air. Nothing noticeable, surely. Not through the sounds of crashing water. 

And then the ship slammed to the side, a massive wave sending the ground tilting under your feet.

The boxes slid as the ship wretched and you went with them, slamming into the opposite wall of the ship.  

The sailor cursed as he pushed his way out from behind the boxes that had slid right into him. You scrambled to push yourself away, to obscure yourself in any way possible. You didn’t have time to stand but maybe you could hide yourself just far enough away in the dark that he wouldn’t see you. 

You weren’t fast enough. 

His hand snaked out to grab your leg, ending your desperate scramble to get away before it had even really begun. 

“No wonder we got stuck in this god-awful storm, found our bad luck charm right here.”

You kicked at him, trying to struggle, to get away, to run. But where was there to go? They knew you were here now, it was over. You were at their mercy. 

The pleading started as soon as it sunk in, desperate promises that you wouldn’t cause any trouble, that it was only a day until they docked, you could stay out of their way, they wouldn’t even notice you. 

Rain poured down on your face as you were dragged above deck. 

Part of you was aware of the talk that began to arise as the others caught sight of you. You couldn’t focus on anything other than getting away, trying with everything you had to run. 

Despite that, you were pulled closer and closer to the edge of the ship. The rain got saltier and through the dark and endless storm, you realized you were at the edge of the ship, briny water splashing over the sides and hitting you in the face. 

You doubled your attempts of escape as you looked down on the dark waters, not sure where you would go if you escaped but certain that anything was better than being pulled closer and closer to the inky waters. 

“This is your own fault,” one of them yelled over the storm, directed at you this time.

“Please,” you called out, “Please let me stay. I’ll do anything.”

It was an ill-advised promise, especially to make to a ship full of sailors, but you could not be thrown overboard. You’d even prefer one of them ending you here and now, with your feet still standing on the wood of the deck.

Anything but being thrown off, your lungs filling with the churning, black water below you. 

“You should have thought of that before you stowed away,” the man to your left said, with what sounded almost like a chuckle. You hoped you’d imagined it amongst the rest of the endless noise. 

It was hard to know exactly what was happening. The waves were roaring and you could hardly see or hear anything. 

One second your feet were thrashing, fighting to land a blow on any of the men near you, and the next you were underwater. If you thought gathering your bearings was hard on the ship, it was impossible down here. It must be nearby but you had no idea where the ship could be. You fought to stay afloat despite knowing exactly how this would end. There was nothing else to it now. You’d landed in your cold, wet grave. The waves forced you under again and again and no matter how you tried to time your breaths, you couldn’t escape the burn of the saltwater sneaking into your lungs. 

Just as you’d breached the surface again, attempting to cough up some water before heaving in another deadly breath, something yanked at your foot and you were pulled under the waves once more. Your scream was drowned out by the ocean, eyes fighting to open despite the sting of the seawater. 

As you opened your eyes, you realized it was calmer under the water. You were no longer trying to fight the wishes of the waves to pull you down and the ocean rewarded you with a moment of clarity. 

The rockiest part was near the surface, where the rain still beat down on the water. You were being pulled further and further away, so far down that the last rays of sun from behind the clouds could barely reach. 

You’d expected to see a shark or some other ocean creature as you’d felt that tug on your leg. Instead, you found a face staring back at yours. He looked curious, taking you in as you stared dumbfounded back at him. 

Before you had a chance to process what you were seeing, the man who’d just pulled you under the waves leaned forward and kissed you. It wasn’t a long kiss, ending before you even fully realized it began. 

He pulled away and your lungs began to burn, pleading for oxygen. You tried to swim up for air but he grabbed your arm and yanked you down again. Then you caught a glimpse of something below him, the limited light reflecting off of a shimmering tail.

You gasped in water, your lungs unable to hold out any longer. Instead of choking on the ocean water filling your chest, you felt like you were gasping in air. You knew it was water, the texture was different than the air was, but as you heaved in water, you discovered you could breathe. 

He was smirking at you, the smugness evident in his face. 

He let go of your arm, having proved his point and you stayed under, filling your lungs while glancing up at the rocky surface. 

Suddenly, you were being pulled along again, under the stormy water. You didn’t have the strength to fight him, letting him take you wherever he wanted. 

It wasn’t long before you were being pushed into shallow water. You could feel the sand barely a few feet under the water and eagerly moved towards dry land. 

You pulled yourself up onto the warm sand. The rain had disappeared entirely, the sun shining above you once more. You sucked in air, falling to your back as you basked in the warmth. Off in the distance, you could see the storm still swirling. You’d traveled much further than you’d thought. The feeling of the sun shining down on you was more than welcome and some wretched part of you hoped those sailors were still in that accursed storm. 

As soon as you got your first breath of oxygen, it was like your lungs remembered that water wasn't supposed to be inside of them. You started coughing up the salty water onto the shore, gasping like you’d been drowning the whole time and just hadn’t realized it yet. 

You saw your savior wince as you hacked up the seawater. “Sorry, didn’t know that would happen.”

You stared up at him incredulously as your breathing finally slowed. “Aren't sirens supposed to drown humans?”

His eyes narrowed at you above the water. “Aren’t humans supposed to be grateful when you save them?”

Fair enough. “Thank you. I don’t really understand why you saved me but thank you.”

You laid back on the sand, inevitably getting it in your hair but too exhausted to mind. The warmth was welcome after the freezing cold water. 

You took him in from your new vantage point, eyes darting instinctively to his tail. It was a pearlescent thing, the complex shimmering shifting above his white scales. Just above it was a set of gills that he kept below the water as he lay there, staring up at you on the shore. His face wasn’t unpleasant, something almost impish about it. A smattering of scales sat on his cheekbones right under eyes that were tinted orange. His hair was shaggy and pale, dragged down to his shoulders by the water that saturated it. 

“We do drown people sometimes,” he said quietly, like he was working it out for himself and you just happened to be overhearing it. “I was planning on going after your ship but it didn’t feel like a fair fight after they threw you off like that.” 

“Humans didn’t want me, sirens didn’t even want to drown me.” You couldn’t help but laugh.

“I can… I can drown you if you want?” he said, mouth barely above the water as he spoke. 

“Maybe some other time. Where even are we?” you asked, looking around at the small patch of sand. It was a relatively barren little island, a few rocky tidepools on the other side of it the most exciting thing present on the small stretch of land.

“Just a little island nearby. I figured you’d want to get some rest before I took you anywhere. Why’d they throw you overboard anyway?”

“I was a stowaway,” you explained. “I needed to get somewhere and didn’t have any other way to travel. They found me mid storm and women are bad luck so off I went.”

“I can take you there if you want. Where the ship was going, I mean. I know all their routes. I won’t even drown you.”

Who would have guessed that the sailors would try to drown you and then you’d have a siren promising to bring you ashore? It was like the world had turned upside down. 

“Thank you so much,” you said, hoping it could both convey your gratitude and keep him on your good side long enough to successfully get you to your destination.

“Also, we should wait until night, I’ll take you back then okay?” He sounded very insistent, despite you having no idea why. 

You were honestly worried you might freeze to death if you left at night. “How about in the morning?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He waited eagerly, watching the sun set. It was refreshing, being able to see it clearly after locking yourself below deck for so long. When it finally dipped below the horizon, he turned to you. “Watch this.” 

His tail flicked excitedly behind him, a light glow starting to reflect off of the scales on his bottom half. 

As he ran his hands quickly through the water, you were able to make it out better. The water lit up a light blue as he moved. 

You couldn’t help the smile that crossed your face, your eyes going wide with wonder. “Oh my god, that’s incredible.”

“Isn’t it? It’s why I like this island so much, it’s so strong here. It’s a bunch of tiny plants in the water that are glowing, I thought you’d like it.”

How could you not? You’d never seen anything like it in your life, it almost looked like the water was alight with a blue flame. 

You could feel your siren’s eyes on you as you moved your hand back and forth in the water. 

“Are you less sad now?” he asked and your movement slowed at his question. 

“What?”

“You were upset, did I fix it?”

Was that what he was trying to do? “Why do you care?”

He shrugged. “Not often I get to talk to you guys, our encounters are usually less pleasant than this. We’re kind of similar, you know. Sailors don’t like me either.”

“Small world.”

Eventually, you abandoned the glowing water, as amazing as it was, in an attempt to rest. You knew you needed to get some sleep. You were exhausted but it was cold and you never fully dried off and you were absolutely miserable. You heard a shuffling in the sand and then a warm hand touched your side. You didn’t know how his body regulated his temperature so well in the cold water. His arms were open, a clear invitation to nestle into him

You hesitated and he spoke. “You seem like you could use the warmth.”

You moved towards him, head settling on his chest as his arms wrapped around you.

“I thought fish were cold-blooded,” you said as his arms rubbed up and down yours, immediately sending a wave of heat through you.

“I’m only half fish.”

“Is that how you can breathe out here?” you asked, looking at the trail he left in the sand as he dragged himself ashore.

He murmured in the affirmative, leaning back to make sure you could comfortably lie down against him. He was right, his body heat did help. There was also something comforting about leaning against him, his arms wrapped around you protectively. 

You drifted off faster than you would have thought possible while soaking wet and cuddled up with a fish man. 

When you woke up, you glanced at the boy next to you. He really did look silly on the land like this, flopped over on his side. As you took him in, you stared at his gills right over where you assumed his ribs would be. You knew what he had told you last night but he looked too peaceful and still. You quickly nudged him awake, wanting to make sure he was alright out of the water like this.

He rubbed his eyes, moving slightly in the sand in an attempt to get a good look at you. “What do you want?”

“Just wanted to make sure you were still breathing.”

“Mmhmm, still breathing, can I go back to sleep now?”

He tried to roll over, tail flopping helplessly behind him, and you nudged him again. “Don’t we need to leave?”

He squinted up at your face, which you knew was creased with worry, and his demeanor softened. “Yeah, let’s get you home.”

You didn’t bother to correct him about where you were going, instead helping him back into the water. He pulled you in after him, looking back at you as he did, clearly deep in thought.

“You know how I kissed you yesterday?” he finally asked. 

“To make me breathe underwater? Yeah, I do.”

“It would be much easier to transport you if you could breathe underwater again.”

It was the most roundabout way anyone had ever asked to kiss you before, that was for sure. 

He seemed nervous about it so instead of letting him dwell on it, you just kissed him. You hoped there were no other rules to the kiss you needed to follow but your siren didn’t seem to mind, instead leaning into it. It was kind of nice, being the one to surprise him this time. 

You knew the kiss didn’t have to be long, the one from the day before had barely lasted a moment, and yet you lingered. His hand hesitantly rose to cup your cheek, his touch featherlight. He wasn’t holding you there but his touch begged you to stay just a second longer. 

He looked almost frightened when you pulled away, eyes wide and hand still outstretched. 

“Will that work?” you asked.

He cleared his throat, still looking dazed. “Yeah, that should be fine. Come on.”

Even knowing that you’d be fine and you’d be able to breathe, it took forever to will yourself to inhale after he pulled you into the water, waiting until the last second before you passed out, when your body forced breathing on you. 

The journey felt much faster than it should have been. You couldn’t have been zooming through the water for more than an hour when you were being pulled to the surface once more, your feet extending to find rocks beneath you. 

You turned and your eyes met the shore, the dock looming above you. You guessed you’d probably beat the ship here. Who knows if they’d made it at all, maybe the storm had taken them out. Part of you hoped it had. 

He grinned up at you as you stood, still lying below you in the water. “This is your stop.”

You had no idea how to thank him. What did one even say to someone who had just saved your life? 

“Thank you,” you managed. “If you ever need anything…”

If he ever needed anything what? You couldn’t imagine he’d have a particularly easy time finding you. 

He seemed to understand your meaning anyway. “I’ll be sure to ask. And if you ever change your mind on the drowning thing, let me know.”

You couldn’t help but giggle. “Will do.”

You settled on the shore, the rocks shifting beneath you as you sat, and you watched your siren swim off, one last shimmer of pale scales flashing before he disappeared into the waves.

[overlyspecific]

Part 2 of Merlin as Robin Hood

Part 1, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10, Part 11, Part 12

A noble is traveling through the woods and Merlin sees him mistreating his servants.

Noble: come on, move faster! we need to get to Camelot before sundown. I don’t want to spend any longer in these words than I have to.

servant: *under his breath* well maybe if you gave me a horse i would be able to go a little faster

Noble: what did you say?!

the noble brings his arm up to strike the servant, but is suddenly thrown back against a tree. ropes spring up to tie the noble down.

Merlin: he said if you gave him a horse things would go faster. i happen to agree. what do you think, should i give him your horse?

Noble: Magic! You are using magic! The king will have your head for this!

Merlin: Oh he has certainly tried…several times. Anyways, its been a great chat but I actually have places to be so why don’t we speed things up? Lance? Gwaine?

Lance and Gwaine appear from behind the trees. The servant jumps back at their entrance.

Gwaine: yeah merls?

Merlin: take the excess from the cart for that village in famine we visited a couple days ago.

Gwaine: on it!

Merlin: Lance, make sure Gwaine doesnt take the ale.

Lance: on it.

Gwaine: oh come on, Merlin. whats the point of being an outlaw if we can’t benefit from it just a little?

Merlin: we’re not outlaws. we are just working outside of the law.

Merlin turns to face the servant.

Servant: Who ARE you?

Merlin: the names Merlin but some call me emrys and one calls me an idiot but i dont listen to him much.

Servant: and you steal from the rich…but you dont take anything for yourself?

Merlin: only what we need to survive

Servant: wow that’s really-

Merlin: amazing, honorable, selfless?

Servent: -a total rip-off of that guy in sherwood forest.

Gwaine: *from the cart, unloading boxes of jewelry and gold* that’s what I told him, but he didn’t listen

Lancelot: two people can do good in a similar way.

Merlin: thank you Lance, thats why you’re my favorite

Gwaine: *mock outrage* you dont mean THAT

Servant: so can I go or…

Merlin: yes you are free to leave, but you have to do one thing first…

Time jump. The throne room of the castle.

Uther: he said what?!

Servant: he said ‘tell the prince i appreciate the fancy jewels but i look better in blue’

Morgana hides a laugh behind her hand and Arthur glares at her. his anger isnt enough to hide his blush, and Moragna laugh harder.

Uther: Arthur, you are to go after him at once!

Arthur: but father, he has magic and seems to always be three steps ahead.

Uther: I don’t care! I will not have my kingdom be accosted by a sorcerer who taunts us at every turn

Morgana: *under her breath to Gwen as she fills her cup* he really only taunts arthur

Uther: Arthur, you will find him and make sure he burns on the pyre. we will make an example of him. no one is above the law!

Arthur: yes, father. we will leave at once

[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)

[ippipo]

self aware caleb

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | smutty stuff | part 4 | part 5

it was merely sexual attraction. from the moment he saw you, he felt attracted towards you sexually. you were funny, witty, so you, and god, it hurt. he swore it was just sexual attraction.

it was a sick obsession. a throwback to his in-game personality that made him easily vulnerable to these situations. he just wanted to keep you with him all the time. but good lord, did it hurt him when you were down. he hurts for you. but he kept telling himself that it was just obsession, infatuation at least.

but the more he spoke with you, the realisation dawned upon him that he was down bad. you haunt him every night before he goes to sleep and bless him like food in famine every morning he wakes up. it was addicting. he wanted all of you and every part of you.

and it truly, absolutely, devastatingly hit him when his desire to be next to you increased tenfold. he needed you so much, it made him want to curl up into a box small enough to suffocate him and take him away from all the pain he was enduring being away from you.

so he decided to risk it all and come to you. he didn't realize he needed you that badly until that one moment when you were talking to him as usual, laughing by yourself while reminiscing something funny from your childhood. and during that time, a question popped up that made him wonder.

"you can't come here right? does that mean you'll go back to mc if this thing, you know, stops?"

and the answer was as clear as day.

he should.

but not a single inch of him wanted to. he only wanted to be with you. when all your life has been dedicated to loving someone against natural will, it crumbles in mere seconds when you find out it wasn't meant to be. and during that period of feeling inadvertently lost when you find someone who gives you a sense of self and structure to your meaningless life, you cling onto them.

you cling so tightly that the mere thought of finding someone else or going back to the life you used to have seems more scrambled than you'd expect. to caleb, it felt like a million puzzle pieces had been scattered everywhere and when he realized your existence, everything fell back into place.

but when he did try going back to his life, skyhaven, mc, and every other thing related to his past, it felt like something had ruthlessly ruined his puzzle, throwing around all the pieces left and right so he could never rearrange them.

this uncomfortable reality of his prompted him to escape, pull every string that he could and fight against the odds of time and space to reach you. it wasn't easy at all, but he knew it was worth it.

he watches as you laugh with your friend and sylus, and he wishes it was him in their place. the dull ache in his chest lingers as he notices how your phone remained untouched throughout the night, contemplating whether to text you or not.

the ache began spreading like wildfire the more he waited. and he decided it was time to stop stalling.

kale 🥬

go to your room

you spring up from your seat when you hear the sound of a notification, not expecting it so late at night. you look at andy who was passed out, and sylus was no longer visible on the screen.

your heart drops when you read the name of the sender, but it wasn't the time to wallow anymore.

you

what the fuck?

where have you been?

why are you texting me now?

you couldn't help the way your hands were shivering as you type. "what is wrong with you, caleb?" you whisper to yourself as your eyes well up again.

kale 🥬

im sorry ill answer everything but js go to your room please

you

fine

and you get up to leave the living room, ignoring the way your heart was pounding against your chest and a lump in your throat that made it difficult to breathe.

"hey," an eerily familiar voice greets you in the dark. you look around frantically only to see nothing but pitch black.

you flinch when a hand grabs you by the shoulder and pulls you close to a body. a tall, lean, muscular body. you could feel his chest, a husky vanilla cologne filling your senses, overwhelming you and making you sensitive to everything around.

you try not to scream, and you didn't. everything felt oddly alright. nothing out of place, as if you were expecting it already, expecting someone already.

"did you miss me?" the damning voice whispers so close to your ear, sending a chill down your spine and straight to your core, arousal pooling. but at the same time, your body screamed to react violently, make it known that you were upset and angry.

and so, you turn around to face him, and push him by the chest. "what the fuck, caleb?!" you whisper-yell. he didn't budge at all, and your fingers lingered over his chest a little longer than you intended them to, but this was not the time to feel horny because you were freaking out.

you close the door behind you and everything becomes even darker. you locate yourself in front of him and grab his collar. "tell me what's happening. why are you here—no, how are you here? d-do you know how long i've waited for you to talk to me? not even a single text from you for so fucking long," you couldn't stop your voice from quivering as you punch his chest in anger, not impactful enough apparently with how he didn't wince at all.

he brings his hand towards your face to caress your cheek but you slap it away. "don't fucking touch me."

you gasp when you realise what you had just said, hands retracting to your sides. the pained look in his eyes made it so very clear. "i'm sorry, i-i didn't mean that," you quickly try to explain. nevertheless, he shoots a sad smile towards you and caresses your cheek. the warmth in his touch makes you lean towards his hand, closing your eyes to consume the sensation unconsciously.

caleb watches as you make yourself home in his touch, blushing at the hazy look on your face. 'control, control, control,' he tells himself, not wanting to take you then and there right in that moment while you were vulnerable. "i'm sorry, i didn't mean to.......leave you. it took longer than i expected to figure out the way to reach your world," he finally gives you the explanation you wanted.

"is that why you couldn't talk to me at all?" your voice carried a kind of distress that made it very evident that you suffered in his absence.

caleb nods, making you sigh. "and here i thought you no longer wanted me."

he slides his arm around your waist and pulls you closer towards him gently. his thumb drew circles on your side. his other arms reaches out to your face and his fingers brush your hair behind your ear. though you couldn't see him properly, except that he was pale as fuck and practically a glow stick in the dark, you could make out his smile.

"i've waited for so long to hold you like this," he whispers softly. he could only wish that you didn't hear the way his heart was hammering against his ribcage as you snuggled into him. "mhm, me too," you mumble as you rest your head on his shoulder.

you flinch when you hear caleb wince as your hand slides around the back of his waist. curious, you let your hand wander around that area once more and you don't ignore how his body tenses up. choosing to not comment on it since you just met for the first time, you let it be for now. but you weren't going to let it go until you receive an answer.