#especially in times when they wouldn’t have it

[jjenthusee]

Delivery

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Summary: Lately your grocery list was looking a little small, your cleaning supplies were never running out, and you don’t remember buying these soaps? Who was the one refilling all your stuff?

Word Count: 1.5k

Something was off.

You were writing your list for your weekly shopping errands to refill any soap, groceries, or cleaning supplies running low, but nothing was empty. Half a bottle at best.

It had been bothering you that your large restocks that made you wince at the end of the month looking at the large receipt had minimized to five items at most.

How was this possible?

You didn’t cut down on spending or on using less items, but now that you look at your kitchen, everything was well stocked.

You counted the amount of extra paper towel rolls, the extra unopened cleaning spray that you do not remember buying, and the new bottle of cooking oil in your cabinet.

This was suspicious, very suspicious.

Call yourself the world’s second greatest detective because you narrowed down the culprit restocking your home.

“That red tin man…” You firmly looked over to the window, the shiny, newly replaced lock calling your name. “Let’s see how well your safety measures work.”

You shut the window, doubling the two locks installed by Jason himself, giving you a personal pep talk ensuring that no one is getting in. Not even him, especially him.

With some duct tape, you taped layers over the window seal. As you looked at your work, you thought to yourself…bookcase, yes. A large bookcase.

With heavy breaths, you pushed the bookcase in front of the window.

You were not letting in your not-an-actual-burglar tonight. Now you would wait.

—

Jason was off patrol, his muscles ached, his helmet felt heavy, but he was grappling his way to the small 24-hour mart that he has been cutting the cameras at.

As much as he wouldn’t be shopping with his gear on, the small store was enough for him for a quick shop and the cashier was a tired college student who couldn’t care less about who walked through the sliding doors.

He remembered you were running low on some hand soap in the kitchen and a replacement seasoning salt.

He hummed as he shopped, walking up to the counter to leave extra cash and disappearing before the cashier had time to turn back to give him back his change.

Jason softly landed on the fire escape outside your window. He waited to watch and listen for any movement inside your apartment.

The lights were off and you had to be asleep.

It was perfect for a quick look in, place the items, and go back to his safe house.

He gripped the window, gently trying to lift with the shopping bag on his arm. When it wouldn’t budge, he tried one more time with a little more force.

He put down the plastic bag and noticed you were using the lock he installed. It brought a small smirk to his face at the thought of you utilizing something he made himself.

When he looked closer, he realized the small sliver of light on the edge of the window, blurring from the curtain.

Something was blocking the light, your lights hadn’t been off at all.

As Jason was going to turn on his infrared lenses, his phone vibrated in his pocket.

You: so you were my burglar

Jason held in his laugh, fully piecing the situation together.

Jason: but I haven’t stolen anything

You: so breaking and entering? This is illegal trespassing sir

Jason: glad the lock works, but have to deduct points for the duct tape

You: if it can hold cars together, it can hold my window shut, even better if it keeps vigilantes out of my home

Jason: but I still have your apartment keys

You: yes, jay, you do. So please use my front door cause you are welcome to use it

Jason reread the message. He held his eyes on the word “welcome,” feeling his chest tighten slightly.

Jason: let me change. Be back in 10

Jason felt like an idiot, realizing he had been caught. He pulled an ordinary T-shirt over his head. His matted hair slightly fraying to the movement.

He exhaled in exhaustion as he pulled a jacket over his shoulders and grabbed the plastic bag from earlier.

How was he going to explain?

Hey, sorry, I’ve just been breaking in and refilling your groceries and anything that seems to be running low? I also got you some seasoning salt, you were running out.

Jason smacked the side of his head.

You had to be pissed because you locked the window and clearly barricaded it.

Jason got to your door, somehow, he felt his eye-bags deepen, his frown get stronger, and his hands felt colder.

With reluctance, he knocked three times. You had unlocked the door surprisingly fast, he figured you were waiting right there until he got to your apartment.

“Come in.” You left the door open for Jason, walking back to the kitchen to pour your tea.

Jason noticed how tired you looked. He felt even worse picturing you staying up until he attempted to open your window.

What if he hadn’t come by tonight?

He didn’t move from the door, watching from just outside your apartment.

“I just wanted to bring these over, I’ll leave now.” He tried to run. He needed to leave before you told him to never come back.

“Jay…” You walked over, grabbing onto his sleeve while guiding him inside. He was cold. “Shoes off. Sit on the couch.”

He immediately obeyed not wanting to anger you more.

You followed and sat next to him, your comfy clothes sinking into the cushion.

Jason looked over to the bookcase you clearly moved not long ago.

“I didn’t realize I hired a delivery man. Actually, I’m more embarrassed I finally realized what you’ve been doing.” You sipped at your cup. “How long?”

Jason tilted his head at your question.

“How long, Jay?” You emphasized.

“Five months, 2 weeks.”

“Five months?!”

“I made sure to make it very subtle, but eventually I…got carried away.” Jason admitted, his body stiffening the more honest he became.

“Jay…I’m not mad.” You reached out to grab his hand, kneading warmth into his bruised knuckles. “Really. I just need you to tell me when you do this.”

“But the bookcase and the lock.” Jason subtly relaxed to your touch, but he was far from leaning into the couch comfortably.

“Okay, I was a little mad, but that was because I had only realized that I haven’t properly restocked anything in a while. I looked at my store apps and card history and I had nothing. Just snacks or last-minute purchases.” You sighed, signaling Jason to give you his other hand to warm.

“You were busy…and I thought I could get them for you. I made sure to get the right ones.” Jason watched your hands, refusing to look at you directly.

“I know. You did so well that I took so long to realize. But, I work. I can get these things and you can get me things too, but let me know, please. That would help me out a lot and so I can thank you.”

“But I don’t do it for your words. I like helping you. If it lessens your stress, I’ll do it for you.” Jason reasoned. He was stubbornly defending his actions because you were at the root of his mind.

You were at a loss for words.

“It did help me out a lot, but it also confused me when I had an unlimited bar of soap.” You chuckled.

The sound of your laugh eased Jason. His shoulders sunk a little lower at your tension easing.

“No more frowning.” You rubbed the edges of his mouth and his furrowed brow. “I found out, you owe me dessert tomorrow, and you can get back your window privileges when you let me know when you buy me something.” You yawned.

“I said that I don’t do it to hear you thank me—“ He tried to remind you.

“I know, but I’m tired from trying to catch my burglar and I want to cuddle.” You opened your arms, waiting for Jason to ease into your embrace.

“I’m not a burglar.” Jason argued, taking off his jacket and laying into the couch, grabbing you to lay on top of him. “Did you also take another shift? You look exhausted.”

You rubbed Jason’s eye-bags when you settled comfortably. You were probably matching his raccoon eyes.

“Kiss me and I’ll go to sleep.” You smiled, sleepily touching Jason’s stubble with your hands.

He leaned into your hands, while gripping underneath your chin to bring his face to yours. The sweet touch of your lips was enough to get Jason to fully relax into you, to take in the moment and trust that you weren’t mad at him for what he was doing. It had been with good intentions, but he was just taking a different route.

“Go to bed.” Jason leaned your head onto his chest.

Your eyes got heavy, your breathing was starting to even out, but you had one last idea.

“If you tell me when you buy something, I’ll give you a kiss.” You faded into a deep sleep.

Jason had never forgot to tell you again, he even purposefully bought you extra things you didn’t need to buy.

You eventually had to start setting limits and unlocked your window for your favorite vigilante visits.

[cinnamorollcrybaby]

Mama, I’m in love with a criminal 2

Tags: Sukuna x fem!Reader, prisoner!Sukuna, dead dove, descriptions of violence including murder and child neglect, dark romance trope

Synopsis: Sukuna is in prison because of you. He’s ordered to undergo weekly counseling sessions. Talking to his counselor about you, it's apparent that his obsession with you is quite concerning.

An: You guys ate up session one 🤭 Hopefully session two can live up to the hype.

Session one. | Session two.

It was criminal how the counselor had actually been looking forward to his next session with Sukuna. They had ended on such a cliff hanger with their last sessions, talking about your first word to Sukuna in sixth grade — “please.”

The guards shuffled Sukuna in. His massive stature still clad in a blue jumpsuit as he plopped onto the couch without a care in the world. “Miss me, doc?” Sukuna asked with a crooked grin.

The guards slammed the door shut, locking and barricading it with a metal rod — as if it’d stop a monster like Sukuna.

He was in a max security prison. While the prison didn’t necessarily want the counselor to get hurt, if Sukuna was ever tempted to run… Well… they’d just take their chances on hiring a new counselor.

“You seem to be in a good mood.” The counselor noted as he fumbled with his pen. He was still nervous to be counseling the troubled individual, but he felt a weird sense of security as well. It seemed all of Sukuna’s victims had stemmed from an obsession with you, so in theory, the counselor should have nothing to worry about.

Sukuna glared at the counselor as he fumbled with his pen. He hated the clicking sound, but he gritted his teeth to bare it. He was in a good mood today. There’s nothing he enjoyed more than talking about you, and while he didn’t believe in this counseling bullshit, he enjoyed reminiscing about your past with him. “Yeah, whatever.” He shrugged as he slumped his body against the couch.

“We ended off last week with mouse saying her first word to you.” The counselor said, completely skipping complimentary words. He wanted to get right back in to the nitty gritty.

Sukuna’s lips curled into a feline smile as he kicked his feet up on the table next to him. “Her voice was unlike anything I had heard before. It was just barely a whisper, weak from not being used enough.”

“What made her talk to you?” The counselor asked, completely enthralled in Sukuna’s story.

This time, Sukuna let out a small laugh, remembering the memory as if it had happened yesterday and not several years ago. “Mouse use to wear her hair in these pigtail braids when we were younger. I wanted her to talk to me so desperately that I finally grabbed ahold of her braids, and I pulled on them, telling her that she had to say something in order for me to stop.”

“So, you hurt her?”

Sukuna’s eyes cut towards the therapist as the air in the room went stale. His feline grin was no more as he was now scowling at the man across the room from him. “I wouldn’t consider a bit of hair pulling to be hurtful. Mouse didn’t either.” His tone was low, nearly a growl. He clearly didn’t take the accusation too lightly.

He had been convicted of heinous crimes, and he had also been accused of a few more that they didn’t have enough evidence to charge him with. Sukuna drew the line when it came to you though. He’d be the monster they drew him out to he in the press — never to you though.

The counselor gulped harshly, reminding himself to not get too comfortable with Sukuna. He shifted in his seat a bit, but he said nothing to try to discount what the criminal was saying.

“As I was saying,” Sukuna hissed lowly as he got back in his comfortable position. “She was cute, whining to try to get me to stop. It was hard not to, especially when she gave me that pout. When she finally whispered the word ‘please’, I remember feeling like a fire had lit inside me. She was so vulnerable. She needed me.”

“I let go of her hair, and I made sure to braid it back for her since it had gotten a bit messy from my incessant pulling. Her hair was always so soft, and she smelled so sweet.” He spoke slowly, reliving each moment of you two in sixth grade together. His heart ached for you.

“Did she start talking to you then?” The counselor prompted, wanting for Sukuna to continue.

“Sure, if one word answers count as talking.” He let out a dry laugh as he looked up at the ceiling. His jaw line and neck were well defined and sharp — the looks of a true predator. “Mouse was quiet, reserved. She didn’t need words to convey her feelings or thoughts. I could usually tell what she was thinking before she could.”

“I immediately noticed when there was a change in her demeanor.” Sukuna’s voice shifted to a darker tone. The light left his eyes as he remembered a particularly troubling incident between you and him.

“A change..?”

“She didn’t have to say anything. There wasn’t any marks, but I could just read her like a book. She came to school one morning, and she looked like she hadn’t slept at all. She tried to give me that polite smile she gave everyone else, but I wasn’t buyin’ it. I knew something was up.”

The counselor leaned forward, furrowing his eyebrows as he listened closely. He wondered what was going on with you and how this transpired into Sukuna becoming deadly for you. “What did you do..?”

Sukuna grunted as he adjusted his position on the couch. “It was the first time I followed her home. Her house was nice, but it was anything but happy inside. I heard her dad yellin’ inside. Her mom was screaming right back at him. They went at it for far too long. I knew it wasn’t a good place for mouse.”

“So, I tapped on her window until I caught her attention over the screaming match.” His gaze lowered to the ground as he had an almost thoughtful smile on his face. “Mouse was scared — an easily frightened thing. I convinced her to crawl out her window with me that night. It’d be the last night she slept in that house alone.”

The counselor furrowed his eyebrows in confusion from Sukuna’s words. “How did that play out with her parents?”

The prisoner gave a cocky grin with a small shrug. “Her dad was most time not there or too drunk to notice. Her mom felt so guilty about the fighting that she never said anything to mouse. Every night I came to her window, and she either crawled out with me, or I crawled in to be with her.”

The counselor silently pondered for a moment. It seemed like the unhealthy attachment between you and Sukuna wasn’t one-sided. It seemed like you both needed each other like you needed air.

He took a deep breath as he was reminded of one of the warrants for Sukuna’s arrest. His first murder victim was allegedly your father, but Sukuna wasn’t necessarily convicted of it. They hadn’t had enough evidence, especially since you and your mom adamantly refused to give any statements to police.

“You’re thinkin’ about her old man, huh?” Sukuna asked as if he could read the counselor’s mind. He propped his elbow up on his knee, and he held his jaw with his hand.

“Did you do it? Kill him, I mean?” The counselor asked, even though he wasn’t sure that he wanted the answer to that question.

“Is this protected underneath patient confidentiality?” Sukuna asked. Sly bastard.

“Since you don’t pose a current threat to yourself or the community,” His counselor let out a breath of defeat, “yes, it is.”

Sukuna’s grin widened, and he relaxed back into the couch. He looked more tense when he talked about your troubled days than when he talked about the literal murders he had committed.

“Mouse was asleep on me late one summer night. If I remember right, we were teenagers by then. We were in her bed, and it was probably around the early hours of the morning when her dad came stumbling in. He kept making a fuss, trying to wake up the whole goddamn house.” He started on his story, and the counselor didn’t dare to interrupt.

“He walked into her room, and he started yelling at me to get the fuck out of his house. I told him that if he woke up mouse, I’d kick his fucking teeth in.” Sukuna started to laugh. His skin felt like it was buzzing with energy from remembering that night.

“Mouse started to stir, and when she woke up, that fucker tried to drag me out of her bed. He tried to take me away from her. When I got ahold of him, I dragged him outside of the house where mouse and her mom wouldn’t hear him scream. I made good on my promise.”

The counselor furrowed his eyebrows slightly as his stomach turned. He didn’t necessarily want to ask for more details, but his morbid curiosity got the better of him. “You kicked his teeth in… How did that lead to him dying?”

Sukuna laughed heartily at the therapist’s question. “You really don’t know a thing, do you?” He asked rhetorically. “I made that bastard bite down on a tree branch that had fallen on the ground in their backyard. He was so drunk that it was barely a fight, and when he bit down, I used my foot and-“

“Okay-! Okay! I got the image now…” The counselor spoke up quickly, waving his hands out in front of him. Sukuna got a real kick out of the counselor’s suddenly squeamish behavior.

“Ryomen! Get your ass out here! Your time is up!” A guard yelled loudly from the other side of the door, using his fist to loudly pound on the metal.

Sukuna was still laughing as he stood up off the couch. His massive frame easily took up the room when he was on his feet — the true embodiment of intimidating. “See ya next week, doc. Maybe I’ll finally get to tell ya how I made mouse mine.”

With that, Sukuna left the counselor’s office.

Tags: @catladythoughts @pinky0328 @coldluminarykoala @lemonlimecrystal-blog @san-it-is-i-guess @kunasthiast @nonamevenus @ecliipzed @jup1tersuccubus @gojodickbig @totallygyomeiswife @gremlinartstudio @tojislittleprincesss @jaybirdluvr73 @emyyy007 @b3bybunny @unofficialsapphire @thequeenofcurses @canecomplex

[aajjks]

warnings: 18+ éxplìcìt smùt, yàndèrè éx bf Tòjì, brèàkìng ìn, còàrctàtìòn, pròfànìty, dègràdàtìòn, dùbcòn, bòrdèrlìnè sòmnò, ùnhéàlthy rèlàtìònshìp, jèàlòùsy, ùnpròtèctèd sèx, hè ís só mèàn ànd hórny.

remember consent is so important! <3 horny brain rot 🧠😏

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who still misses you like crazy.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who has an addiction when it comes to having sex with you, he’s been struggling since you broke you up with him.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who fantasizes about you in bed, bouncing on his cock 24/7, jerking off his dick but it’s useless because his hands are nowhere near as soft as yours.

He misses your mouth. The way you used to worship his thick dick with your slutty mouth and especially the way you used to gag on it but you wouldn’t give up.

He bets you miss him too, he knows that you pathetically fuck yourself but your pussy doesn’t get satisfied because it misses his dick.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who shamelessly stalks you and he knows that you’ve been trying to become a whore by hooking up with men who turn to dust in comparison to him.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who is so sexually frustrated and jealous that he decides one night, he’s had enough so he decides to pay you a visit.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who has a lot of experience with picking up locks, it’s not hard, so once he’s done getting into your apartment, he makes his way up.

It’s 3 am in the morning but horny doesn’t come caring about time, and he needs to remind you that you belong to him.

Once he’s in your bedroom, he notices your sleeping form and for a moment his eyes soften, you look so innocent and so peaceful, his dick immediately hardens as he gets a whiff of your scent.

He’s missed you so much.

But then soon he realises how much a lying cheating whore you are and he makes his way over to your bed, he doesn’t care if you’ll wake up and scream.

It’s not like anyone can save you.

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who carelessly climbs on your bed and on top of your sleeping figure. You’re wearing a stupid shirt with stupid pajamas yet you’ve got his cock pulsing.

“Fuckin whore.” He mutters under his breath as he breathes hard, he can’t resist the urge to not touch you so he carefully tugs at your pajamas.

No he’s not ashamed.

Soon his patience runs out and he yanks on them harder, causing you to wake up abruptly.

Just fuckin perfect.

“hey fuckin slut, guess who? yeah it’s daddy.” He mocks, spitting the words out in a condescending tone as he narrows his eyes at your shocked sleepy face.

“Damn you’ve gotten ugly yn, looks like this break up didn’t do ya good.” He laughs, his cruel words cutting through your heavy breathing.

You scoff.

“Nah baby shut the fuck up and gimme that pussy, been so horny lately.” He confesses in a gruff tone, his lips curling in a line.

“You miss my cock. See it missed you too.” He pushes his baggy pants down, freeing his hard length. “yeah I didn’t wear any boxers.” He admits as you stare at his bare flesh.

“Now let’s fuck.”

Yandere ex boyfriend Toji who fucks you hard and raw, making your cunt weep in ways that is delicious. His dick filling you up to the brim as he pounds into you.

And you realize how good he is at fucking you. You really did miss his cock. And maybe his toxic psychotic beefy ass too

[p0ckykiss]

just a few kisses - jay

summary -> it turns out jay is an affectionate drunk (and a bit cheesy)

-> female reader x jay, fluff, established relationship, jay is obsessed with y/n's ass, suggestive, mentions of sexual activity

“can’t we leave already?” your friend complained trying to stretch her aching back. you and your friends (with your boyfriend jay) were at the new year’s after party, your friend group was huddled into a corner, too exhausted to mingle with the other guests.

“just half an hour more,” you tried to comfort your friend, while your eyes scanned the crowd. you hadn’t seen jay in a while, and you were starting to grow restless.

suddenly you felt a body come in contact with your back and a hot breath fanning over your neck. from the way your friend was jokingly rolling her eyes and turning her head away, you guessed the person behind you had to be jay. you were about to turn around to confirm this when jay opened his mouth.

“your ass looks so hot in this dress baby?” you spluttered and almost choked on the champagne you had been sipping for the past fifteen minutes. you coughed a few times before whipping around to stare at your boyfriend, scandalized. jay giggled at the look on your face and wrapped his hands around your waist, pulling you in.

“how much have you had to drink?” you questioned after getting over your initial shock. this was a side of jay you rarely got to see in public. sure, he was the cuddly when you were alone at your apartment, but whenever you were out and about, the pda was kept to the minimum.

“not that much, actually,” jay chuckled before surprising you even further and starting to pepper your face with soft kisses. a giggle bubbled up from between your lips.

“baby, there are people here!” you laughed and tried to push his face away. it took a few tries but eventually jay surrendered and settled for just looking at you, caressing your neck.

“well,” you mused after a while of just standing there with a small smile on your lips, tracing patterns onto jay's chest, “how are you feeling right now?”

jay slowly slided his hands down your backside, settling them on your ass. you looked up at him and raised your eyebrows.

“pretty amazing,” jay smirked and gave your ass a light squeeze. you snorted at that and slapped jay lightly on his arm. jay's smirk only widened as he leaned in closer to your ear.

“y/n,” he whispered, “i wanna eat you out.”

a shiver ran through you as you closed your eyes and bit your lip. you wouldn’t deny that the offer was very tempting, especially because lately your work schedules had been so hectic you used every bit of free time to just catch up on sleep, but nothing would change the fact that you were in public and leaving the party soon.

“jay, you know we can’t.”

jay whined and went back to nosing your jawline, stopping occasionally to press a small kiss to your face. you exhaled slowly, gathering all your willpower to push jay gently away from you. jay gave in and pulled his face away but tightened his grip around your waist.

“i didn’t even get my new year’s kiss yet, can i at least get that,” jay started pouting and tried to emphasize his unhappiness by stomping his foot, which only resulted in him losing his balance and almost falling and pulling you with him. you couldn’t help but grin at the sight. you glanced quickly at your friends over jay's shoulder. no one was paying you any attention.

“alright, just come with me”, you said in a hushed tone, grabbing jay's wrist from behind your back and starting to lead him through the crowds. jay didn’t question you, only followed you pliantly for a few minutes before you reached a secluded corridor. you quickly scanned your surroundings before turning to jay.

“just a few kisses, okay? we don’t have much time, we’re leaving soon,” you reminded jay while pulling him closer from the collar of his shirt. a sly smirk overtook jay's face.

“sure, baby,” he said before pressing you into the nearest wall. it became quite obvious to you in the next seconds that this was not about to be just a few kisses.

[crankinit]

Def interesting. I think when Jayce tells Mel “I couldn’t have done it without you,” is especially relevant because this moment has those famous Viktor and Mel parallels AND it’s right before Jayce and Mel have sex and their relationship transforms from friends to something more.

While what Jayce says does ring true for Mel, I’ve always felt like it would’ve better have applied for Viktor because he literally wouldn’t have been able to accomplish all that he has without him. On top of that, Mel and Jayce’s scene goes crazy with parallels because:

- it takes place at night (like Viktor and Jayce’s scene when Viktor talks him off the ledge)

-Mel and Jayce are on a balcony overlooking the city; similarly, Jayce and Viktor have a view of the city through the blasted wall that served as an open air window

-Jayce and Mel share something really personal about themselves i.e. Jayce and his family history + his dream and Mel about how her family only ever destroys. Again, a lot like how Jayce shared his personal experience about magic being beautiful with Viktor and Viktor sharing a bit about his own personal history

-Mel clues Jayce about where she’d like all this to go by brushing his hand. Similarly, but not exactly, Viktor invites Jayce to take his hexstone bracelet back and Jayce accepts

-One smaller detail: Jayce was wearing the bracelet while he had sex with Mel

So I’m not saying that Jayce was thinking about Viktor the entire time he was with Mel, but I’m also not saying he wasn’t lol So, given our new context, it’s VERY interesting how these scenes mirror each other.

Update/edit: just want to add that I don’t rly like where this interpretation leaves Mel because it leaves her as a device to advance the romantic angle of Jayvik’s relationship. However, I do think this is due, in part, to just how muddled Jayce’s sexuality is presented in the show because it seems like the writers had their own intentions and the artists had their own objectives.

I hate whoever said "since Mel's theoretically and literally a mirror then it was about Viktor all along" because now gay Jayce won't leave my mind

[gay-dorito-dust]

Hey I saw your post and honestly this is my first time making a request. How about arcane characters with a cat like reader? Idk it's just a thought that came (sorry if that's a bit weird)

Dunno whether this answers your request like you imagined. Also probs shit fire time writing for some of these characters.

Viktor found your cat like personality quite interesting and humorous if he wasn’t within the lab, working with things that normally didn’t capture your interest, unless they glowed of course.

Other than that it felt as though you were intentionally acting up in his lab for a reaction, like a cat would gauge the reactions of their owners before pushing a glass off the table. That’s how Viktor often felt with you

Then he has to keep an eye on you to make sure you didn’t touch anything dangerous because you were captivated by its light.

‘No, it’s dangerous and could hurt you my dear.’ He so often warms you as he guides your hand away when he felt it was dangerously close to what he was working with. Your mind didn’t head his warning, only the fact that there was a shinny object in the laboratory and it was the only thing you could focus on.

‘If so dangerous, why is it shining as though it wants me to touch it then?’ You responded, daring to touch the object once more and Viktor swore you either knew what you were doing and playing him for a fool, or you had no self preservation skills within your entire body to fight back against your urge to touch a dangerous foreign object.

It’s literally a stand still between the two of you and one that happens far too often that Viktor knows that this was all part of your plan, and unfortunately for him he falls for it almost always. He watches you while you watch him before doing something rash, making think you’ve actually touched the dangerous object, only to look at you unamused when you smiled at him mischievously as you wiggled your unharmed fingers at him.

This often leads you to being banned from the lab for pulling a stunt like that, however this was more for your safety and for him to calm his racing heart. You’ll kill this poor man with your antics but he wouldn’t want you any other way, especially when you cuddled up to him for warmth and sleep there.

It soothes him just as much as it soothes you.

Ekko found himself often wondering where it was you went sometimes.

He sees you in once place and then you disappear the next, returning to base only when you felt it necessary of you to do so, illusive and vague of where you’ve been it was often a bit frustrating. You could’ve been in serious danger for all he was aware and when he confronts you about this behaviour of yours, you’d only shrug and say:

‘Where it is a go on my own time isn’t something you should waste time worrying over.’ Before leaving to go elsewhere within the base and lounge against one of the trees thick and sturdy branches, eyes closed in content as you softly drift off into a light nap.

How the fuck you got up there, he’ll never know other than the fact that you managed to get up there in the first place with effortless ease.

Ekko’s nickname for you was either kitty or something along the lines of a cat based pun. You hated all of them equally but Ekko only feels more vindicated when you only proven his perception of you right whenever you displayed a trait that was common amongst cats. Whether that’d be silently judging everyone from your perch way up high, or lounging in his bed, more specifically where he had laid moments prior, feeding off of the warmth that lingered there or otherwise Ekko would find humour in you cat like traits because they were the things he loved the most.

(In a timeline where they actually have phones I can imagine him sending you cat memes and saying ‘this you?’ Or ‘I found your relative’ he thinks he’s funny, and he is but you won’t admit it out of petty pride)

However the one thing that you could always hold over Ekko’s head was the fact that you could silently manoeuvre your way into a room without him knowing and managing to catch him off guard. Ekko didn’t find it particularly funny but he lets up eventually and admits that it was kinda funny that you managed to take him by surprise. This was why you were more suited to missions heavily requiring a person with an abundance of stealth and agility.

‘Always landing on your feet aren’t you?’ He’d tease but you would let it slid as you shrugged your shoulders and reply. ‘What can I say? It kinda comes with the territory don’t you think?’

‘You sure you weren’t a cat in your past life or something?’ She would ask as she raised a brow at you as you cuddled into her side, much like a cat would when in they wanted to leech off is the warmth of a human.

‘No, why you ask?’ You say as you began to close your eyes, her warmth blanketing you almost immediately, and becoming increasingly sleepy.

‘You act like one for starters with how lazy you are.’ She pointed out and you’d only scoff at her, resting your head on her shoulder, having become too comfortable with your current position to even be bothered to move.

‘I’m not lazy, I’m merely taking advantage of the beauty that is power naps.’ You defend yourself and it was Sevika’s turn to scoff, having heard this excuse countless times before, and it never stopped her from continuing to compare your personality to that of a common house cat.

She disliked it at first, finding it weird and annoying at the fact that you didn’t seem all that bothered with the ongoings of Zaun, instead favouring to rest in high places that provided warmth or close to it and watching everyone with clear judgement within your eyes. However that judgment did end up saving her from time to time, not that she’d ever admit to this, as she was confident in her own abilities to smell a bitch from a mile away.

Though the more as time passed she grew to find it somewhat easier to deal with, though you cuddling up to her for warmth did put her off now and then, affection wasn’t commonplace in Zaun; so forgive her for not exactly taking to it immediately. Though each time you did cuddle into her side, her urge to create distance between you dwindled, from Perivale shoving you away from her, to slowly accepting that this was her life now.

‘Sure, that’s a hell of a way to avoid saying that you’re lazy.’ Sevika smirks when you glared at her, clearly insulted by this, before moving off of her to go rest elsewhere on the bed you shared and making sure your back was towards her in an effort to show your disagreement with her statement. ‘Not. Lazy. I just like napping.’ You retorted.

‘Yeah, sure keep telling yourself that, I’m sure it’ll be true one day.’ Sevika jokes and your shoulders only deflate more, knowing you’ll never win this war with Sevika when her mind is made up. She’s always in the right in most cases.

Mel is all too familiar with your cat like traits that nothing you do is out of the ordinary to her.

She finds humour and amusement in you participating in things commonly associated with felines. A human cat is what you were in her eyes as you slept the easiest you’ve ever slept when besides her, her presence was calming and was more then enough to have you reduced to a relaxed state before succumbing to sleep.

She just had that effect on you and you loved it as much as she does as she got to run her hand down your back.

‘You’re practically purring.’ She teases.

‘It’s not my fault you know exactly what makes me melt.’ You replied as you smiled up at her, never having gotten use to having this absolute goddess of a woman bless you with her smile, her heart, her everything.

Mel smiles softly. ‘You don’t exactly made it much of a challenge.’ She says as she watched the way you practically leaned in towards her touch, eyes closed in content with a smile spread across your face that she swore your nonexistent tail would be swishing from side to side. She has been in this position countless times before and yet it never gets old with how content she felt when moments like these between you and her freely exist within her mind.

You don’t exactly make it hard for her not to love you like she did, it came to you as easy a breathing as that’s how quick you were to fall for her, almost as if it was as though you were breathing; Easy, effortlessly and natural.

‘How can I when you read me so effortlessly and without fail?’ You replied back in almost a purr, a mischievous smile spread wide across your lips, ‘I shouldn’t need to hide myself from my lovers eyes, for she knows me all too well.’ You add. Another thing Mel adored was your cunning but cautious mind and the way you seemed oddly too relaxed for some, watching those very same individuals like they were merely mouses that squeaked about their freedom; like you were being amused by rather was being said in meetings as though you knew something they didn’t.

You were like the Cheshire Cat, often times speaking in riddles that only she herself understands.

Mel kisses the tip of your nose. ‘You smile like the cat that caught the canary,’ she says as she pulls away. ‘Learning more about you is more interesting and intriguing than the last.’

‘Then I hope I stay that way for a long while.’ You said, smirking when you felt her kiss your lips.

[xoxochb]

hey girlieee!! could you please do very pissed, angry and jealous Percy smut??? asking for a friend (i’m not 😇

ooooohhh anon u ate with this one

cw: rough ass sex, overstimulation, fingering, unprotected piv, orgasm denial (once), swearing

——— ౨ৎ ⊹ ࣪ ˖

you can’t breathe, you can’t think, you can’t move, you can’t do absolute jack shit like this.

your hair is disarrayed around you, your bare chest rising and falling at an abnormally rapid rate, the bedsheets soaked, tears streaming down your cheeks, clothes scattered throughout the cabin, and your poor boyfriend’s got his back scratched up, little trickles of blood falling from your nails.

percy continuously babbles about what you believe to be nonsense. bullshit like ‘you’re mine’ and ‘that other boy wouldn’t treat you as good as me’ or ‘this pussy’s only mine, isn’t it?’

you don’t dare disagree with him, not now, not when he’s like this. he’s upset you had spent the morning teaching a new camper archery instead of spending it with him doing whatever gods forsaken shit he wanted to do. angrily, you were taken to cabin three to get the life fucked out of you!

his fingers works inside of you mercilessly, pushed into a unhealthy spot in your body, while his thumb runs over your throbbing clit. and poor you, you’re an utter wreck, writhing and crying underneath him.

“please, I- I-” searching for the alphabet… “‘m all- all yours.”

“yeah?” percy cocks his head to the side and kisses your sternum. “all mine?”

you nod rapidly, with one hand pulling his hair harshly. he doesn’t like the lack of a verbal response.

“use your words, sweet girl, c’mon.”

“yes,” you pant. “all yours.”

he kisses your skin again. though when you feel your climax creeping upon you his finger slides out, letting an embarrassing whine slip past your lips.

“what- I- fuck you.”

“I’m doin’ jus’ that, pretty girl.”

you watch disoriented-ly as percy undresses himself. you’re in for the longest night of your life.

“perce, please.” ah, how you missed coherent sentences.

“I’m hurryin’, angel. gotta have patience.”

you close your eyes and wait. until finally, his cock urgently and without warning slides between your folds. asshole, you’ll get him back for that sometime. his name stick to your tongue like a leech to skin, it’s currently the only thing you can seem to say. or think. or feel.

you presume this is what he’s trying to do though so you let it happen.

your legs burn. in fact, your whole body burns. it’s like you’ve got a sadist for a boyfriend, because you know he won’t give you mercy, especially since your morning hadn’t been spent with him but with some other jackass.

you practically gag on your tears, strands of hair sticking over your face, and your moans growing progressively louder with each harsher thrust.

he’s probably trying to kill you.

you know you’re dripping by now, actually not even, pouring. his cock is filling you to the utter brim, leaving no room for the white-hot pleasure to roam but the sheets beneath you.

the world spins at a rapid pace, every time you open your eyes stars fill your line of vision, and you can barely feel yourself even existing. you call this overstimulation at its finest.

you know now, he was not lying about fucking all the life o it of you completely.

[creamflix]

ONCE MORE TO SEE YOU — toji fushiguro x female reader [oneshot]

summary: you’re a single mom with a schedule that leaves little room for anything but work and longing. twice a week, you get to hold your daughter close, pouring all your love into moments that always feel too short. across the hallway, there’s toji — a single dad who watches from a distance, arms crossed, jaw tight, as he wonders how you juggle work and parenting and still manage to make your kid so happy. at first, he’s envious. envious of your composure, your warmth, the way your daughter looks at you like you’re her whole world. but slowly, that envy shifts. what happens when two broken hearts start to lean on each other, finding strength in the spaces they thought would stay empty? can you let someone in without fear of breaking again? can he?

content warnings: fluff, slight angst with comfort. strangers to friends to lovers. slow burn. single parent/divorced (female) reader. single parent toji. reader has a girl [aged 8-9] no name specified, megumi is the same age as well. reader has a toxic/manipulative ex husband. happy ending. lot of feels. very personally penned </3 mentions of other characters: nanami, yuuji, nobara, gojo & sukuna

read on ao3!

toji didn’t usually care much about other people’s business, but you? you were impossible to ignore. 

it wasn’t just because your door slammed too loud when your kid came running out, or because you always seemed to be lugging some heavy-ass groceries up the stairs with that determined scowl of yours. it was how you did it all like some damn perfectionist. 

toji hated it. 

hated the way it made him feel like he should be trying harder too, especially when his kid, megumi, was busy leaving trails of destruction like a little tornado.

“megumi, stop throwing the damn ball against the wall!” he bellowed one evening, slumping further into his couch. the kid ignored him, of course. 

then, as if the universe hated him, your door creaked open, and there you were, strolling into the hallway like you had nothing better to do. arms crossed, brows raised, you peered down at him with that no-nonsense air of yours.

“maybe he’s bored?” you suggested, leaning casually against your doorframe.

toji snorted. “maybe he’s just an asshole.”

your face scrunched in disapproval, the kind he’d seen a million times from the PTA moms who used to glare at him when he showed up late to pick up megumi. but you didn’t launch into a lecture like he expected. instead, you glanced at megumi, who had paused mid-throw to stare at you, and crouched down to his level.

“hey, buddy,” you said, voice softening in a way that made toji’s stomach twist. “why don’t you try aiming for that spot over there?” you pointed to a section of the wall that wouldn’t drive everyone insane. megumi actually listened, and toji couldn’t decide if he was impressed or pissed off.

“what, you think you’re some kind of kid whisperer?” he muttered, shoving his hands into his hoodie pocket.

you stood, brushing off your knees, and looked him dead in the eye. “no, but i know how to talk to them.”

toji scowled. “yeah, must be nice, being born with that magic ‘mom gene.’”

you blinked, then burst out laughing, and for some reason, that annoyed him even more. 

“mom gene? toji, i only have my kid on weekends. the rest of the time, it’s just me and a bottle of wine trying not to lose my mind.”

he frowned, caught off guard. “wait, what?”

“yeah, divorce does that to you.” your voice was breezy, but your eyes flickered with something darker for a split second. “not that it’s any of your business.”

toji chewed on that revelation, something prickling at the edges of his brain. you weren’t some perfect supermom after all. you were just...getting by, same as him. 

the realization didn’t sit well — it made you seem less annoying and more...real. vulnerable, even.

“huh,” he grunted, looking away, suddenly too aware of how quiet the hallway had gotten. megumi was still tossing the ball, but it was softer now, more controlled. “guess you’re not as put together as you seem.”

“and you’re not as big of a jerk as you seem,” you shot back, giving him a pointed look before retreating to your apartment.

toji stared after you, jaw tight, until the door clicked shut. something about you made him itch, made him feel like he needed to either punch a wall or figure out why he couldn’t stop thinking about how you smiled at his kid. 

damn it.

toji sat at the edge of his couch, one hand wrapped around a cold beer and the other flipping through a stack of bills. the TV was on, low volume, playing some mindless sports recap he wasn’t even watching. megumi was somewhere in his room, the faint clatter of toys filtering down the hall. the kid had been sulking since this morning, muttering about how “nobody does anything fun.”

he grunted, rubbing a hand down his face. it wasn’t like he didn’t want to take the kid out, but hell, it was hard enough keeping the lights on. trips to the park felt like a luxury he couldn’t afford — time or energy.

and then he heard it. your laugh, loud and unapologetic, echoing in the hallway like it owned the place. toji tilted his head back against the couch, scowling at the ceiling as if that would make the sound go away. it didn’t. instead, it was followed by the high-pitched giggle of your kid, shrieking with joy as the two of you stomped down the stairs.

“hold on, mama needs her shoes!” your voice floated up through the doorframe, playful but firm.

“hurry! we’re gonna miss the swings!” your daughter yelled back, her excitement enough to make toji wince. he could practically see the image of you two — hand in hand, all smiles, making your way to the park like you didn’t have a care in the world.

his jaw tightened. perfect. just another reminder of how much he sucked at this parenting thing.

he took a long swig of his beer and stared at the stack of bills like it was their fault he couldn’t be the kind of dad who made his kid laugh like that. no matter how much he wanted to, he couldn’t just...be you. he didn’t know how to make life look that easy.

“megumi,” he called, his voice rougher than he meant it to be.

there was a pause, the kind that made him think the kid wasn’t going to answer, before a small, reluctant “yeah?” drifted back.

toji sighed, setting the beer down. “you wanna...go outside or somethin’?”

another pause. then: “what for?”

the response hit harder than he cared to admit. what for? shouldn’t his kid want to? shouldn’t he be the one excited to spend time with his old man? but megumi sounded skeptical, like he’d already decided it wouldn’t be fun.

“never mind,” toji muttered, scrubbing a hand through his hair. “forget it.”

the sound of the door to megumi’s room clicking shut made toji’s shoulders sag further.

outside, your laughter faded, replaced by the echo of your footsteps retreating into the distance. he leaned back on the couch, staring at the flickering TV screen, feeling something in his chest tighten and pull.

toji didn’t know when exactly it had started bothering him — this stupid, begrudging little alliance the two of you had. you’d come over when megumi refused his medicine, talking to the kid with that low, steady voice of yours until he opened his mouth like it was no big deal. and toji would come over when your sink started leaking, muttering under his breath the whole time about how you should’ve called a damn plumber.

but this? this was different. it wasn’t about fixing a sink or calming a tantrum. it was about the fact that you always seemed to do better — better at this whole parenting thing, better at making life fun, better at...everything. 

and he hated that. hated how it made him feel like he was doing it all wrong.

maybe tomorrow would be different. maybe tomorrow he’d try harder. but for tonight, toji sat in the dim light of his living room, beer in hand, listening to the muffled sounds of megumi’s toys clattering in the other room, and let himself wonder — just for a second — what it’d be like to get it right.

your neighbors thought you had it all figured out — the strict yet cool mom who always had her shit together. you weren’t the one scrambling for groceries or apologizing to the pharmacist because you forgot to refill a prescription. no, your pantry was always stocked, the fridge had every snack your daughter loved, and there was always a pack of pads tucked in the bathroom cabinet, just in case. because if there was one thing you were going to do, it was prepare. even if it was only for two days a week.

but those two days weren’t enough. not for you, anyway. 

your daughter was happy, blissfully unaware of how unnatural this arrangement felt to you. she was too young to see what you saw, to feel the cracks in your chest every time sunday evening rolled around and your ex-husband came to pick her up. you watched her climb into the car without a second thought, giggling about whatever they had planned for the week ahead, and you stood on the curb with a smile that felt like it might crack your face in half.

because this wasn’t the norm. at least, it shouldn’t have been.

but she didn’t know that, and how could you tell her? how could you explain that the only reason the divorce had been so clean and quick was because you’d made sure it was? no yelling, no lawyers, no drawn-out battles over custody. you wanted it over before she could develop memories sharp enough to stick. 

and it worked — she was happy. unbothered. as if this was just how life was supposed to be.

you hated it. 

you hated it almost as much as you hated sitting alone in your too-quiet apartment for the other five days of the week, waiting. hoping. praying for something, anything, that would keep her with you longer.

sometimes, you’d stare at your phone, willing it to light up with a text from your ex. something like hey, last-minute work trip, can you take her this week? or she’s asking to stay with you, is that okay? 

but those texts never came. and your little girl never asked. she loved you, you knew that, but she didn’t need you in the way you wished she did. not yet. 

not like you needed her.

so, you waited. and in the waiting, you heard everything else. 

the muffled shouts of toji and his kid through the walls. the occasional crash of what was probably a wrestling match in their living room. the bark of laughter when megumi said something funny. the kind of noise that used to fill your own apartment, before the silence settled in like an unwelcome guest.

you missed that noise. you missed the mess of it, the chaos, the constant reminder that there was life happening right in front of you.

some nights, you’d hear megumi’s voice drift into the hallway, arguing with his dad about bedtime, and you’d feel a pang in your chest so sharp it made you suck in a breath. you didn’t even know what you were hoping for anymore — a reason to knock on toji’s door? an excuse to borrow sugar or offer some unsolicited parenting advice? maybe it was just the idea of not being alone that called to you, the longing for that noise to become a permanent fixture in your home.

but the door stayed closed, and you stayed on your side, waiting.

thanksgiving wasn’t something you cared much for anymore. your daughter was off with your ex, being doted on by her grandparents, and you were left standing in the middle of your apartment wondering what the hell you were supposed to do with yourself. the thought of spending the day bouncing from bar to bar, pretending like you didn’t care that you were alone, felt more pathetic than liberating.

you had just grabbed your coat, keys jangling in hand, when the knock came. not a gentle knock, either — a heavy, impatient pounding. opening the door, you found megumi standing there, arms crossed and wearing a scowl that was all too familiar.

“you need to come help my dad,” he said bluntly.

you blinked. “uh, what?”

“the turkey,” he clarified, rolling his eyes like you should’ve already known. “he’s gonna burn it. again.”

you almost said no. you really did. it wasn’t your problem if toji fushiguro couldn’t figure out how to roast a turkey. but then megumi fixed you with a look — stubborn, determined, his little fists clenching at his sides — and you saw your daughter in him. that same unyielding resolve she’d inherited from you. 

before you could stop yourself, you sighed and grabbed your shoes.

“fine,” you muttered. “but only because i don’t wanna smell burnt turkey through the walls for the next week.”

megumi led the way, not bothering to wait for you to catch up, and by the time you stepped into toji’s apartment, the chaos was already underway. toji was in the kitchen, glaring at the bird like it had personally insulted him, sleeves rolled up and hair a mess. megumi darted off to the living room, immediately digging through his toys, leaving you standing awkwardly in the doorway.

“you planning to just stand there, or are you gonna help?” toji barked without looking up.

“oh, i’m sorry,” you shot back, shrugging off your coat and stepping into the kitchen. “i didn’t realize i was signing up to save thanksgiving.”

“yeah, yeah, just don’t touch the knives,” he grumbled, handing you a bowl of stuffing. “last thing i need is you slicing a finger off.”

“cute,” you deadpanned, elbowing him out of the way to check the turkey. “you’re supposed to baste it, you know. not drown it in oil.”

toji huffed but stepped aside, muttering something under his breath about know-it-alls. for the next hour, the two of you worked in tandem — him grumbling every time you corrected him, you rolling your eyes every time he ignored your advice only to realize you were right. it was messy and loud, and megumi kept wandering into the kitchen to ask if he could “decorate the turkey” with his action figures.

“no,” you and toji said in unison, making megumi pout and stomp back to his toys.

you hated to admit it, but it felt...nice. domestic, even. like the kind of thanksgiving you used to dream about before everything fell apart.

when the turkey was finally done, golden and steaming, toji leaned against the counter, wiping his hands on a towel. “well, guess that’s not a total disaster,” he said, nodding toward the bird.

“you’re welcome,” you replied, smirking.

toji glanced at you, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. then, in a tone that was almost shy — almost — he added, “you, uh...you should stay. for dinner, i mean. since you helped.”

you hesitated, the instinct to say no already on your tongue. but then megumi poked his head around the corner, grinning as he asked if it was time to eat yet, and something in your chest softened.

“yeah,” you said, surprising even yourself. “yeah, i guess i could stay.”

for once, you didn’t worry about whether it was selfish to want this — to sit at a table with someone else’s kid, someone else’s dad, and pretend, just for a little while, that it was your own family.

you barely had time to put your keys down when your daughter bolted out the door, still wearing her ballet costume — tutu, tights, and all. 

“where are you going?” you called after her, already regretting the question as you hurried to follow.

by the time you reached the hallway, she was standing in front of megumi, who looked as though he had just rolled out of bed. his hair stuck up in every direction, and he was clutching a carton of milk he’d clearly just retrieved from the grocery bag hanging outside his door. the poor kid froze like a deer caught in headlights as your daughter crossed her arms and declared, “you’re the same height as me. you have to practice with me.”

megumi blinked at her, then at you, then back at her. “what?”

“pirouettes,” she said matter-of-factly, pointing to her little satin shoes. “you just have to stand there and twirl, like this.” she spun in place, her tutu flaring out as she executed a clumsy turn.

“uh...” megumi glanced at the milk in his hand, clearly weighing his options. then, with a defeated grumble that sounded eerily like his dad, he said, “fine. but only for five minutes.”

you were about to step in, to scold her for bothering someone she didn’t know, but then megumi set the milk down and mimicked her spin, his movements stiff and awkward but surprisingly cooperative. the sight of the two of them twirling in the hallway — her with all the determination of a drill sergeant, him with the resigned patience of a kid who had long since accepted the absurdity of his life — made you pause.

“no, no, your arm’s supposed to go here,” she corrected, pulling his hand up into what you assumed was a ballet pose. megumi didn’t protest, just followed her instructions with a tiny scowl on his face.

you leaned against the doorframe, half-amused, half-stunned. the hallway was hardly the place for this — the flickering overhead light and slightly dingy carpet hardly screamed “dance studio” — but neither of them seemed to care. they were kids, after all. they didn’t need permission or a proper setting to make something fun out of nothing.

toji’s door creaked open, and he stepped out, rubbing the back of his neck. his eyes landed on the two kids, and his brows shot up. “what the hell’s goin’ on here?”

you smirked. “your kid’s being recruited as a dance partner.”

toji snorted, crossing his arms as he leaned against the doorframe. “looks like he’s takin’ it seriously.”

“he’s a good sport,” you admitted, watching as your daughter adjusted megumi’s stance like a tiny ballet instructor.

“yeah, well, don’t let him hear you say that. he’s already got enough of an attitude,” toji muttered, though there was a trace of pride in his voice.

you laughed softly, watching as the two kids twirled down the hallway like it was the most natural thing in the world. for a moment, you felt that familiar pang in your chest — the one that came from watching your daughter interact with someone so freely, so innocently. it reminded you of something you’d almost forgotten: kids didn’t care about the social rules adults imposed on them. they didn’t worry about boundaries or appearances. they just...were.

and maybe, just maybe, you could learn something from that.

you had rules. hard, fast rules you swore by, especially when it came to relationships. your daughter was your priority, and anything — or anyone — that complicated the fragile arrangement of custody and weekend visits was a hard no. 

you’d learned that the hard way.

it was supposed to be just another date. nothing serious, nothing special. just someone you’d met through a friend of a friend, someone who seemed decent enough at first glance. 

but “decent enough” didn’t cut it when he started poking around your home like it was his, asking invasive questions about your parenting and making himself far too comfortable in the space you shared with your daughter.

the final straw came when your girl, barely out of her toddler years, tugged on your sleeve and whispered, “i don’t like him.”

you snapped. you didn’t care about niceties or keeping things civil. your voice was sharp and unrelenting as you told him to leave, not sparing a second thought for his protests or excuses. when he didn’t take the hint, standing there like he had every right to argue with you in your own home, the commotion must have reached the hallway because toji showed up.

he leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed, his eyes hard and unwavering. “you heard her,” he said, his voice calm but carrying an edge that could slice through steel. “get the hell out.”

the man hesitated, glancing between you and toji, before finally storming out with a string of muttered curses. the door slammed behind him, and you exhaled, your shoulders sagging under the weight of your anger.

toji didn’t say anything, just gave you a curt nod before disappearing back into his apartment. but his presence lingered, a silent reminder that someone else got it. someone else understood that when it came to your kids, there were no compromises. if they didn’t like someone, that was the end of it. no debate, no second chances.

because the truth was, kids had a steadfast sense of people. they could see what adults often ignored or rationalized away. and if your little girl didn’t like someone, then that was reason enough to show them the door.

it wasn’t about being strict or overprotective. it was about being selfless in the way only a parent could be — putting your child’s comfort and safety above your own needs, no matter how lonely or frustrating it could be. 

and as much as you hated that night, as much as it left you raw and questioning your own choices, it also reaffirmed something you already knew: your girl came first. always.

toji didn’t see the point of relationships. not when all he needed was a night of sex and no strings attached. a quick call, a casual meet-up, and back to their place or the backseat of his car — it was simple, clean, and didn’t involve his son. 

rules were rules. no bringing anyone home, ever. it wasn’t just about protecting megumi’s innocence; it was about maintaining some semblance of order in the chaos of their lives.

megumi wasn’t clueless, though. he’d catch on when his dad had a “special lady friend,” his young mind putting two and two together. but he never lingered on it — he was too preoccupied with his toys or his own little world to ask questions. still, toji made it a point to keep those two parts of his life separate. or at least, he tried to.

then there was that night. the one he wished he could erase entirely.

it started with a hookup — someone he barely knew, someone who got a flat tire on the way to meet him. she called him in a panic, and toji, feeling half-responsible, told her to wait downstairs while he scrounged up some cash to help her out. it was supposed to be quick, a simple transaction before he sent her on her way.

but when he opened his apartment door to check on megumi, there she was, standing in the hallway, looking between him and his son like she’d just uncovered some dirty secret.

“seriously?” she snapped, her voice rising. “you have a kid, and you didn’t tell me? what kinda man are you?”

toji froze, his jaw tightening. “it’s not like that,” he started, already regretting everything about this situation. “he’s my son, yeah, but —”

“oh my god,” she interrupted, her voice dripping with something he couldn’t quite place. 

“you’re a single dad? that’s so...hot. like, wow, you’re doing all this on your own? it’s inspiring.”

toji stared at her, horrified. was this some kind of joke? how the hell did she jump from being pissed to romanticizing his life? did she think being a single parent was some kind of aesthetic?

before he could say anything, you appeared from your apartment, drawn out by the commotion. one look at the scene and you put the pieces together — the woman’s flirtatious tone, toji’s visible irritation, megumi standing awkwardly behind his dad.

“are you serious right now?” you said, your voice cutting through the tension like a blade. “do you even hear yourself? you don’t just barge into someone’s home and start fantasizing about their struggles like it’s some rom-com plot.”

the woman blinked, clearly taken aback, but you didn’t stop. “being a single parent isn’t some cute little quirk, okay? it’s hard work. it’s messy and exhausting, and you don’t get to stand there and act like it’s sexy or whatever weird thing you’re doing right now. you’re embarrassing yourself.”

toji folded his arms, leaning against the doorframe as he watched you with something close to amusement. “yeah,” he added, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “what she said.”

the woman huffed, muttered something about how she “didn’t mean it like that,” and stormed off, leaving behind a cloud of awkward silence.

you turned to toji, your arms crossed. “seriously, fushiguro? what the hell was that?”

“don’t look at me,” he grunted. “i told her to wait downstairs. didn’t think she’d take it as an invitation to meet my kid.”

“well, maybe next time, screen your hookups better,” you shot back before glancing at megumi. “you okay, honey?”

megumi shrugged, holding his pillow like it was a shield. “she was weird.”

toji sighed, running a hand through his hair. “tell me about it.”

as you headed back to your apartment, you muttered loud enough for him to hear, “unbelievable.”

toji couldn’t argue with that.

pta meetings were never on your radar — your ex had made sure of that. "you don’t need to stress about these things," he’d said, his tone dismissive, as if your role as a parent didn’t extend to showing up for your own kid. but the moment he insisted one too many times, you knew it was less about easing your workload and more about him basking in the spotlight of being the ever-dedicated single dad.

you weren’t having it anymore.

so, there you were, shuffling awkwardly through the school halls, feeling like a stranger in your own child’s life. asking for directions to the third-grade pta made you feel ridiculous, but not nearly as much as the sight that greeted you when you finally found the room.

your daughter sat next to her father, the picture of poise and politeness. her hands folded neatly in her lap, her back straight, nodding along as if she’d been practicing for a commercial. for a moment, you wondered if you’d walked into the wrong classroom.

but then her eyes flicked to the door, and the facade crumbled. she leaped out of her chair, her tiny legs carrying her toward you as she yelled, “mama!” loud enough to turn heads. the force of her hug nearly knocked the wind out of you, but you didn’t care. this — her joy, her excitement — was worth every awkward second of wandering the school halls.

your ex, however, looked less than thrilled. his jaw tightened, his smile turned brittle, and you swore his ears went red. 

“you’re not supposed to be here,” he hissed, his voice low but venomous. “we agreed —”

“you decided,” you cut him off, your voice calm but firm. “i have just as much right to be here as you do.”

your daughter, oblivious to the tension, looked up at both of you with wide, curious eyes. “but daddy said you don’t like school stuff,” she said, her little brow furrowed. “is that true?”

you knelt down, brushing a stray hair from her face. “of course not, sweetheart. i love being here for you. don’t ever think otherwise, okay?”

her face lit up again, but the moment was short-lived. your ex scoffed, muttering something under his breath about boundaries and making a scene. you felt the familiar heat of embarrassment creeping up your neck, the weight of the other parents’ stares pressing down on you.

and then, as if on cue, toji strolled in with megumi trailing behind him, looking as uninterested as ever.

toji’s eyes scanned the room, landing on the little drama unfolding between you and your ex. a smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “looks like i’m not the only one dreading this circus,” he drawled, loud enough for everyone to hear.

megumi, clutching a slightly crumpled report card, muttered, “dad, can we just sit down?”

toji ignored him, stepping closer to where you were standing. “need backup?” he asked, his tone teasing but with a glint of seriousness in his eyes.

your ex bristled, standing a little straighter. “this isn’t any of your business.”

“maybe not,” toji said, crossing his arms, “but if you’re gonna start a scene in front of your kid, might as well make it entertaining for the rest of us.”

you bit back a laugh, your shoulders relaxing for the first time since you’d walked into the room. your ex muttered something incoherent before storming back to his seat, clearly deciding he’d rather sulk than argue with toji.

“thanks,” you said quietly, glancing at him.

“don’t mention it,” he replied, waving a hand. “besides, i could use the distraction. these meetings are the worst.”

megumi sighed dramatically, dragging his dad toward the nearest empty seats. your daughter tugged on your hand, pulling you toward her spot. “sit next to me, mommy!” she insisted, her voice brimming with excitement.

and just like that, the weight of embarrassment lifted. maybe the pta wasn’t so dreadful after all.

stationery shopping ranked high on toji’s list of things he’d rather not do. it wasn’t just the hassle of navigating cramped aisles and overly enthusiastic sales clerks — it was the quiet longing he saw in megumi’s eyes. his kid had always been practical, never asking for much. a pencil and eraser were all he ever said he needed. 

but toji wasn’t blind. he noticed the way megumi’s gaze lingered on superhero-themed pouches, colorful erasers, or fancy gel pens that clicked in three different colors.

today, however, megumi wasn’t eyeing superheroes. he stood rooted in front of the store’s most ridiculously pink setup — hello kitty galore. pink pouches, glittery pens, stickers with cartoon bows and sparkles. “what’re ya staring at, brat?” toji grumbled, leaning against the cart.

“nothing,” megumi mumbled, looking down at his sneakers.

toji raised a brow. “yeah, sure. ‘nothing’ has you glued there like a statue.”

“it’s for...her,” megumi muttered, barely loud enough to hear.

“her?” for a second, toji wondered if his kid had cooked up another imaginary friend. but then it clicked. “her” wasn’t imaginary — it was your daughter. ever since she had dragged megumi into practicing her ballet routine in the hallway, she’d been on his radar. toji had caught him talking about her in passing, dropping little comments about her sparkly shoes or how good she was at balancing on her toes.

toji scratched the back of his head, sighing. “alright, pick something out.”

megumi’s head snapped up, his eyes wide. “really?”

“yeah, really. just don’t make me regret it.”

a few minutes later, toji was standing in line with a glittery-pen set, the kind of thing he never thought he’d buy in his lifetime. at checkout, he stared at the receipt longer than necessary, grumbling about how overpriced stationery had gotten. still, he couldn’t shake the thought of megumi’s sheepish little smile when he picked out the pen set.

later that day, toji knocked on your door, the pen set in hand. when you opened it, he held the package out awkwardly. “here,” he said gruffly. “megs wanted to give this to your girl.”

you blinked in surprise, looking between him and the gift. “oh, uh, thank you. that’s sweet of him.”

“yeah, well, don’t make a big deal out of it,” he muttered, already turning to leave.

“wait.” you disappeared into the apartment for a moment before coming back with a box in hand. “give this to megumi. my daughter won it in a raffle at school and insisted it was for him.”

toji frowned, taking the box. when he opened it, his jaw nearly dropped. inside was a limited-edition action figure of megumi’s favorite superhero, still in its pristine packaging. “seriously?” he asked, glancing up at you.

you shrugged, smiling. “she said he deserves it for helping her with ballet.”

when toji handed the box to megumi later, the boy’s eyes went as wide as saucers. “this is for me?” he asked, his voice almost disbelieving.

“yep,” toji said, leaning against the doorframe, a smirk tugging at his lips. “from her.”

megumi cradled the box like it was made of glass, his face lighting up in a way toji hadn’t seen in a while. “she’s...cool,” he mumbled, his ears turning red.

toji snorted, ruffling his son’s hair. “yeah, kid. guess she is.”

it started with the clatter of plastic pots and pans echoing in the hallway. toji peeked out, ready to bark at whoever was making the ruckus, only to see your kid — a whirlwind in a frilly dress — dragging megumi out of the apartment by his wrist. toji frowned, leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed. “what’s she up to now?” he muttered to himself.

your girl had plopped her miniature kitchen set right in the middle of the hallway, setting it up with an authority that would make a professional chef jealous. “okay, megumi,” she declared, hands on her hips. “we’re playing house-house.”

megumi shuffled awkwardly, glancing at the scattered pink cookware. “uh...i don’t know how to play,” he mumbled, scratching the back of his head.

your daughter waved off his hesitation with a dramatic flourish. “it’s easy! you’re the dad, and i’m the mom, and we make dinner together.”

toji suppressed a snort. the dad, huh? poor kid.

but then megumi, shifting uncomfortably, mumbled, “what’s...a dad supposed to do?”

your daughter blinked at him, pausing her bustling activity. “you don’t know?”

he shook his head, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

“well,” she said, her tone matter-of-fact, “my dad doesn’t play house-house much. but it’s okay! we’ll just figure it out.”

toji’s chest tightened at her words, his grip on the doorframe unconsciously tightening. he didn’t think a kid’s game could hit so close to home, but there it was. she said it so simply, so innocently, like it was a fact of life. and megumi just nodded, kneeling down next to her and fumbling with a tiny plastic frying pan, like he was trying to make sense of a concept he couldn’t quite grasp.

when he glanced across the hall, he saw you standing there. you weren’t smiling. the look in your eyes was a mirror of his own — quiet, pained recognition. you knew. how could you not? this was your life too, wasn’t it? this strange, fragmented version of what a “home” was supposed to be.

and for once, toji didn’t have a quip or a grumble. he just stood there, watching his kid try to figure out what “playing house” meant, wondering if maybe the real problem wasn’t the game at all.

there were days when the weight of work pressed so heavily on your shoulders, you didn’t know if you’d make it to bedtime without breaking. days when you stared at your laptop screen, the relentless deadlines pounding in your head, and wondered if anyone cared enough to ask how you were holding up. 

your daughter? what could you even tell an eight-year-old? that mamma’s work feels like it’s swallowing her whole? your ex? let’s not kid anyone — he didn’t give a damn.

so when you heard the faint knock on your door, you sighed, ready to dismiss whatever delivery or inconvenience had shown up at your doorstep. but it wasn’t a courier. it was megumi, standing there awkwardly, holding a casserole dish that looked far too heavy for him.

“uh, hi,” he mumbled, not meeting your eyes. “my dad said you should eat this. and, um...are you okay?”

you blinked, caught completely off guard. “i — yeah, i’m fine. why are you —”

“dad said you looked ‘off.’” he shifted his weight, staring at the floor like the words were a script he was forced to read. “so he made food. and, uh...he said you should eat it. or something.”

you stared at the casserole, the steam fogging up the glass lid, before your gaze moved back to megumi. “your dad sent you?”

megumi nodded, still not looking up. “yeah. but also...uh, you shouldn’t be sad. ’cause my teacher says work is like a big test. and you can’t cry during tests.”

you let out a soft laugh despite yourself. “is that so?”

“yeah,” he said, more confidently now. “and also...you should have cookies after tests. or...or, like, cake. something sweet.”

you crouched down so you were eye level with him, your exhaustion momentarily forgotten. “thank you, megumi. you’re very thoughtful.”

he shrugged, his ears turning red. “it’s just what people do, right?”

“you’re absolutely right,” you said, reaching out to ruffle his hair. “tell your dad thank you for the food, okay?”

megumi nodded, suddenly eager to escape, and darted back toward his apartment. as you stood, watching him go, you caught a glimpse of toji leaning against the doorway, his arms crossed, pretending like he wasn’t paying attention. your eyes met, and he gave a half-smirk, a silent acknowledgment that, yeah, he sent his kid over to do the emotional heavy lifting.

you didn’t know whether to laugh or roll your eyes, but as you brought the casserole inside and inhaled the warm, comforting aroma, you realized it didn’t matter. the gesture had worked. 

and for the first time that day, you felt a little less alone.

toji leaned against the garbage chute, the crumpled bag dangling from his grip like the weight of his entire day had been stuffed inside it. his head was pounding, his nerves frayed, and the sheer mental load of keeping everything together made his chest feel tight. 

just one drink, he thought. one drink to take the edge off. 

but the thought of megumi catching even a whiff of whiskey on his breath, of being the kind of dad who needed an escape like that, stopped him cold.

that’s when you showed up, bag in hand, hair disheveled from a long day. you gave him a quick glance, your usual mixture of mild irritation and casual acknowledgment, before tossing your garbage into the chute.

“you look like hell,” you said bluntly, folding your arms.

“gee, thanks,” toji shot back, voice dripping with sarcasm. “needed that.”

you didn’t flinch. instead, you just leaned against the wall beside him, watching as he seemed to wrestle with something internally. you weren’t dumb — you could tell when someone was running on fumes.

“you ever feel like you’re drowning?” he asked suddenly, surprising even himself with the admission.

you blinked, caught off guard by his honesty. “constantly,” you replied, your tone softer than usual. “but i’m guessing you mean with the whole...single parent thing.”

toji chuckled dryly, shaking his head. “ding, ding. i don’t know how you do it. you make it look...effortless.”

“effortless?” you raised an eyebrow, almost laughing at the absurdity. “you think i have it together? newsflash, toji: my kid’s with me two days a week. that’s not parenting perfection. that’s a weekend babysitting gig.”

“still,” he muttered. “you make those two days count. i see it. i hear it.”

you exhaled, running a hand through your hair. “look, i don’t have all the answers. but what i’ve learned? you can’t do it all. not perfectly. no one can. and pretending you can is just setting yourself up to fail. so...cut yourself some slack. you’re not screwing up as bad as you think.”

he stared at you for a moment, the words sinking in like drops of water on parched earth. it wasn’t a grand revelation, but coming from you — iron mom of the year — it hit different.

“you really believe that?” he asked, his voice quieter than usual.

you shrugged. “not always. but it’s what i tell myself when i feel like i’m about to lose it. sometimes it helps. sometimes it doesn’t. but it’s better than drinking yourself stupid.”

toji’s eyes flicked to you, his brow furrowing. “how’d you —”

“please,” you cut him off. “you think i don’t know that look? seen it in the mirror too many times.”

he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “you’re something else, you know that?”

“so are you,” you countered, nudging his arm lightly. “whether you believe it or not. and whether you’ll admit it or not.”

he didn’t respond, just stood there for a moment, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. and as you turned to head back to your apartment, he found himself standing a little taller, the crushing weight of the day feeling just a little lighter.he still wouldn’t call it respect. but maybe, just maybe, he didn’t hate you as much as he thought.

your ex’s text had felt like a sucker punch, the kind that knocked the wind right out of you. you’d stared at the message for far too long, rereading his smug little declaration: “taking her on a trip she’ll never forget. don’t worry about the details.” 

no invite for you, no mention of her asking for you — just a cruel reminder that he still had ways to hurt you. and for her birthday, of all things.

you spent the next two weeks in a fog. the silence in your apartment was deafening without her, no shrieks of laughter, no tiny footsteps running to show you her latest masterpiece. it felt like someone had pressed pause on your life, leaving you stuck in this unbearable limbo. every day you’d get up, go to work, and come home to the same aching emptiness. you even avoided the hallway, unwilling to face anyone — not even toji and megumi.

but then, one evening, as you were sorting through yet another pile of takeout containers, you heard a soft knock on your door. when you opened it, there stood megumi, clutching a piece of paper in his small hands. he shoved it toward you without a word, his face unreadable, before bolting back down the hall.

you closed the door, confused, and unfolded the note. it was written in uneven, colorful crayon strokes, the kind only a kid could produce:

dear y/n, pls come to my bithday party. we having cake and maybe pizza dad said okay i want you to come :) from megumi

your breath caught in your throat, and before you knew it, hot tears were streaming down your face. it was the kind of pure, innocent gesture that knocked down every wall you’d tried to build over the past two weeks. megumi didn’t know the weight of what he’d just done — how he’d given you a reason to get out of bed, to care about something again.

you clutched the note to your chest, letting out a shaky laugh through your tears. for the first time in weeks, you felt a flicker of warmth. maybe you couldn’t be there for your own daughter’s birthday this year, but for megumi? you’d show up.

and maybe, just maybe, you wouldn’t feel so alone.

toji swore he hadn’t stopped pacing since he woke up that morning. 

megumi’s birthday. 

the kid had been talking about it for weeks, dropping subtle (and not-so-subtle) hints about what he wanted. toji had done his best — got the decorations, ordered the cake, and even splurged on superhero-themed plates and napkins. but standing in the middle of his living room, now transformed into a battlefield of action figure balloons and capes, he couldn’t help but feel like a superhero himself — one on the verge of a breakdown.

megumi had insisted on handling the invites, which in hindsight might’ve been a mistake. the first arrivals were fine enough: yuuji and nobara, two of megumi’s classmates. yuuji was all boundless energy and chaos, while nobara strutted in like she was already running the place. “where’s the cake?” she demanded, hands on her hips. toji grunted and pointed toward the kitchen.

then came the wild card. the bane of his existence.

“tooojjjji!” gojo’s voice echoed through the apartment, loud and grating as ever. “heard there’s a party! didn’t wanna miss out.” he waltzed in, sunglasses perched on his stupidly perfect nose, a massive gift bag in hand that screamed overcompensating. toji pinched the bridge of his nose. why me?

and then, you. you stepped in, looking a little hesitant, holding a neatly wrapped present in one hand. megumi practically lit up when he saw you, rushing over to tug you inside. “you came!” he exclaimed, grinning ear to ear. toji froze for a moment, then scratched the back of his neck awkwardly.

“didn’t think you’d actually show,” he muttered, avoiding your eyes.

“megumi invited me,” you said simply, smiling down at the boy. “couldn’t say no to the birthday boy, now could i?”

toji grunted in response, but deep down, he was relieved. somehow, having you there made the chaos of the day feel a little more manageable.

the party was... chaotic, to say the least. yuuji inhaled pizza like it was a sport and promptly threw up in the kitchen sink, much to nobara’s disgust. “ewwwww, you’re so groooossss!” she shrieked, dodging as yuuji stumbled past her. toji was already on the phone with yuuji’s older brother, sukuna, who arrived not long after, looking pissed as hell.

“i told him not to eat like a damn vacuum,” sukuna growled, hauling yuuji out the door.

megumi, meanwhile, didn’t seem fazed by any of it. he was too busy showing off his new action figures to your daughter, who somehow managed to make it to the party just a few hours before her flight. you and toji exchanged a glance — a silent acknowledgment that, despite the chaos, the kids were happy.

and somehow, so were you.

with your daughter off on her dad's two-and-a-half-week escapade, you found yourself with something rare and unsettling: free time. the emptiness of your apartment felt heavier without her laughter filling the corners, so you did what any sane, lonely adult would do — you forced yourself to go out. and somehow, somehow, you ended up on a date with nanami kento.

god, he was perfect. the kind of perfect that made your chest ache. polite, well-mannered, and respectful, with a quiet intensity that felt... safe. he opened doors, listened like you were the only person in the world, and didn’t even bat an eye when you cried mid-dessert about how surreal it felt to be treated so kindly. nanami kento was a unicorn in human form. you left the date with a full heart and a nervous little hope tucked away in the corner of your mind.

but with that came distance. maybe you didn’t mean to pull back from the chaotic warmth of your hallway interactions with megumi and toji, but it happened all the same. when megumi called out a soft “hi” as you passed him by the mailboxes, you offered a quick smile but kept walking. the sink had been dripping for days, but instead of knocking on toji’s door, you’d booked a plumber. you weren’t doing anything wrong, you told yourself — they were just neighbors. neighbors.

not friends. not anything more than the people across the hall. right?

toji, though, noticed. the absence of your knock, the way megumi seemed a little more sullen, staring at the hall like he was waiting for someone. “you think she’s mad at us?” megumi asked one evening, poking at his rice.

toji’s response was a noncommittal grunt, but the truth was, he didn’t know. for some stupid reason, the distance stung. not that he’d ever admit it. not that he had any right to care.

you were just neighbors, after all.

when your girl came bounding through the door, her face glowing from the trip, the first thing she asked wasn’t about you or the gifts she’d brought back. no, it was, “how’s gumi? how’s uncle toji?”

the question hit harder than it should’ve. you realized with a pang of guilt how much distance you’d put between yourself and the fushiguros. brushing it off with a casual, “they’re fine,” didn’t sit well either. so, when your daughter insisted on running over to their apartment to see megumi, you didn’t stop her.

watching her skip down the hall, you thought it’d all smooth over naturally. kids were resilient like that, weren’t they? but then she came back. and she was crying.

between her sobs and hiccups, you managed to piece together the story. megumi, sweet, awkward megumi, had exploded in a torrent of childish frustration. how your daughter hadn’t been around. how you hadn’t been around. how he thought you both didn’t care anymore.

you felt your heart shatter as your girl bawled into your arms, her small hands clutching at your shirt. “why’s he mad at me, mama? i didn’t do anything!”

meanwhile, across the hall, megumi was in tears too, angrily wiping at his face as he sat cross-legged on the couch. “i hate her!” he shouted, voice wobbling. “she didn’t even say hi! she just left like everyone does!”

toji sat there, looking at his son, the beer he’d been nursing now warm and forgotten. the kid’s words were like a punch to the gut. he realized, with sinking clarity, that megumi wasn’t just upset with your daughter. the boy was lashing out because he felt abandoned.

when the knock came at the door, it was no surprise. you stood there, your girl clutching your hand, both of you looking just as frazzled as toji and megumi.

“we need to talk,” you said.

“yeah,” toji muttered, stepping aside to let you in.

the conversation wasn’t easy, with both kids sniffling, glaring at each other, and clutching onto their respective parents like lifelines. but as you and toji sat there, stumbling through apologies and promises to do better, you realized how much you’d hurt them by pulling away.

“friends don’t do this,” your girl said, wiping her tears with the back of her hand.

“yeah,” megumi added, glaring at his lap. “friends don’t just leave.”

and in that moment, you and toji exchanged a look. it was one of understanding, of shared guilt and resolution. you weren’t just neighbors anymore, were you? whether you liked it or not, you’d become something more — something messier, but ultimately worth fighting for.

the fight left behind a new set of rules — some spoken, others understood. your daughter would spend one hour with megumi every weekend, no negotiations. an additional hour was set aside for assisted ballet practice, with megumi reluctantly twirling around like an uncoordinated giraffe under her direction. and then, as if her creative pursuits weren’t already ambitious, she insisted on an hour of practicing makeup.

on a very, very unwilling toji.

the first time she smeared blush across his cheekbones, a bright pink mess, toji grumbled the entire time. “this is ridiculous. i look like a clown.”

“no, you don’t,” your girl countered with all the confidence in the world. “you look beauuuutiful.”

megumi snickered behind her, holding up a hand mirror so his dad could see the finished product. toji groaned, but the corners of his mouth betrayed him with the faintest twitch of amusement.

you leaned against the doorway, watching the scene unfold. the shared giggles, the clumsy but earnest teamwork — it was loud, chaotic, and beautiful in its own way. this was right. this was what you hadn’t even realized you were missing.

and kento? well, the date you thought could be something turned into a friendship you didn’t know you needed. he became a quiet presence, someone who checked in, who made you laugh when work got overwhelming, and who offered sage advice about life when you needed it most.

“you’re doing great,” he told you once over coffee, his calm reassurance soothing the doubts that often crept in.

between the budding chaos in your hallway ballet classes, the makeup artistry sessions that somehow always ended with toji pouting in pink lipstick, and the quiet stability kento offered, you realized that life had settled into something messy, imperfect, but undeniably nice.

maybe it wasn’t what you’d planned. maybe it wasn’t ideal. but as your daughter twirled around the room, megumi trailing after her with hesitant steps, and toji scowled half-heartedly at his reflection, you couldn’t imagine wanting anything else.

exam season brought chaos, but not the kind you'd expected. with your daughter spending extra time at her dad's house to focus on studying, the silence in your apartment felt foreign. that is, until megumi started showing up more often, knocking on your door with his usual grumbles.

"why isn't the test about superheroes or football?" he'd complain, dragging his workbook into your living room as though it carried the weight of the world.

you’d chuckle softly, pulling up a chair next to him. “if multiplication was about superheroes, what would the question even look like?”

megumi furrowed his brow, considering. “uh... like, if spider-man saved five people every day for a week, how many people would he save?”

you smiled, leaning in. “exactly. now, how would you solve that?”

somehow, tailoring the lessons to his interests worked wonders. before long, megumi wasn’t just tolerating study time — he was coming over more and more, plopping onto your couch like he lived there.

toji, on the other hand, didn’t know what to make of it. sure, he appreciated that you were helping the kid, but every time he walked past your door and heard megumi's laughter ringing out, he felt... off.

he chalked it up to jealousy at first. not the bitter kind, but the kind that made him wonder why megumi could so easily open up to you, share his frustrations and laugh like the world wasn’t on his tiny shoulders.

then there was the other feeling, the one he buried as quickly as it surfaced. it was... comfort. relief, even. seeing megumi so at ease with you, so happy, made something in his chest tighten.

it didn’t help that when megumi came home, he’d mention you in passing, the smallest smile tugging at his lips. “she said i’d ace the test if i think about it like superheroes. she’s kinda cool.”

toji would grunt, pretending not to care. “yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable over there.”

but the truth was, toji couldn’t decide if he envied you for being able to connect with his son so easily or if he was just... glad. glad that someone like you existed in megumi’s world.

he wouldn’t admit it, though. not even to himself. instead, he shut the feelings down, brushing them off like they were nothing. because, after all, you were just the neighbor who helped out when needed.

right?

toji had every intention of marching into your apartment to retrieve megumi with a grumble about bedtime. the kid was always strict about his sleep schedule — how the hell had he fallen asleep at your place?

but when he stepped inside, the sight stopped him dead in his tracks.

there you were, sprawled on the couch with megumi curled up next to you, both of you out cold. the TV flickered softly, playing megumi’s favorite superhero show. the coffee table was a chaotic mess of open textbooks, scattered pencils, and hastily scribbled notes.

toji stood there for a moment, unsure what to do with the weird tug in his chest. the scene was... domestic. 

painfully so.

megumi’s head was resting on your shoulder, your hand loosely draped over his back like you’d done this a thousand times before. the way you were both nestled together was too natural for something that should’ve felt foreign. it made something warm and uncomfortable rise in toji’s chest, a feeling he wasn’t ready to name.

he took a step closer, leaning against the doorframe. his frown deepened, not out of anger but out of frustration — mostly at himself.

this wasn’t anything, right? this was just you being nice to his kid. helping him out with schoolwork and keeping him company because you were a good person.

but then why did his heart feel like it was trying to beat its way out of his chest? why did seeing you with megumi like that make his throat tighten?

toji ran a hand through his hair, sighing quietly.

“dammit,” he muttered under his breath.

he knew he should’ve woken the both of you up, taken megumi home, and gone about his night like this didn’t mean anything. but instead, he found himself lingering, watching the two of you for a moment longer.

did neighbors really do this? take care of someone else’s kid like they were their own?

and did neighbors treat each other with such quiet, subtle affection? the kind that slipped into actions rather than words — the casseroles when someone was too tired to cook, the soft smiles exchanged in passing, the way you’d text him about the latest sale on megumi’s favorite snacks?

toji shook his head, trying to shove the thought away. god forbid, he might actually like you.

it was supposed to be a normal monday morning. drop your girl off at her ballet studio, exchange a quick goodbye, and then head to work like it wasn’t eating you alive that she was growing up too fast.

but then toji came out, coffee in one hand and his other scratching the back of his neck as he leaned against the doorframe, clearly still waking up. “hey, kid,” he called to your daughter, motioning her over with a lazy wave.

what happened next made you freeze mid-turn, your keys jangling awkwardly in your hand.

toji knelt to her level, his gruff voice taking on an edge of sincerity. “listen up, girlie. when you’re up there, you give ‘em hell, alright? don’t let anyone tell you you’re not good enough. and don’t worry about messin’ up — just keep goin’ like it never happened.”

your daughter nodded with wide eyes, hanging on to every word, her little face lit with admiration.

and god, he was trying so hard to keep it clean. but every so often, a “shit” or “hell yeah” would slip out, sending her into a fit of giggles. she tried so hard to be serious, biting her lip to stifle her laughter, but the sheer ridiculousness of him attempting to be PG while still being him was too much for a nine-year-old.

megumi, standing nearby with his arms crossed, was clearly torn. his little scowl was stuck somewhere between annoyance at your daughter for monopolizing his dad’s attention and longing to be spoken to like that himself.

and your daughter? she latched onto toji like he was some kind of life coach, her arms around his neck, thanking him in that sweet, sing-song voice she always used when she was truly happy.

your fingers tightened around your keys as your chest did a stupid thing.

because here was toji, your grumpy neighbor who could barely keep it together when megumi so much as sneezed during homework time, and yet here he was giving your girl the kind of pep talk that should’ve come from her own dad.

and worse? she listened. eagerly.

you fidgeted with your keys like that’d distract you from the warmth creeping into your chest, from the realization that maybe, just maybe, this tough, foul-mouthed, perpetually tired man wasn’t just good with kids. he was good for you. god forbid, you might actually be falling for toji fushiguro.

it wasn’t your finest moment — double-booking a work meeting during your daughter's pickup. you were already spiraling into guilt, pacing the room while trying to find a way to make it work, when toji grumbled his way into volunteering.

“don’t make a big deal outta it,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. “she’s comin’ over for megumi anyway. might as well save you the trouble.”

you barely had time to thank him before he was out the door, keys jingling in his hand.

but what toji walked into at your ex’s house was far from what he expected.

your ex was already on some power trip, standing in the doorway like he owned the world. the smugness on his face was palpable, and it only got worse when he saw toji, a man who didn’t give a damn about puffed-up egos.

“oh, so you’re her chauffeur now?” your ex sneered, leaning lazily against the doorframe.

toji ignored him at first, his sharp eyes scanning past him to find your babygirl. she was standing behind her dad, clutching her little backpack like it was a shield, her lips trembling as she peeked at toji with wide eyes.

“c’mon, kid,” toji said, his voice softer than you’d expect from a man like him. he extended a hand, but your ex stepped in the way.

“you got a lotta nerve coming here,” your ex spat, crossing his arms. “what, you think playing house makes you her dad?”

toji’s eyes darkened, his jaw tightening as he took a deliberate step forward. “nah,” he said coolly, his voice dripping with menace. “but i’m a helluva lot better at it than you.”

that set your ex off, his voice rising with insults and accusations, not even caring that his daughter was right there, watching the whole thing unfold.

and toji? he had it. his patience snapped like a brittle twig.

“y’know what’s funny?” toji growled, stepping so close your ex had to tilt his head back to meet his glare. “you’re standin’ here flappin’ your gums about bein’ her dad, but you’re too busy bein’ a selfish prick to realize what you’re doin’ to her.”

before your ex could stammer out another insult, toji hoisted your girl into one of his arms like she weighed nothing, shielding her with his broad shoulders as he glared down at your ex.

“don’t bother callin’. she’s got enough on her plate without dealin’ with your crap,” he bit out before turning on his heel and walking away, your girl clutching his shirt like it was her lifeline.

the ride back was quiet, your girl’s sniffles filling the air as toji’s hand rested protectively on the wheel. he didn’t say much — just an occasional grunt to reassure her. when they arrived, he handed her off to you without a word, but the fire in his eyes told you everything you needed to know.

and you? you were floored. because for all of toji’s grumbling and rough edges, he wasn’t just stepping up when you couldn’t — he was fighting for your girl like she was his own.

evening walks were supposed to be your moment of calm, a chance to clear your head after a long day. but calm went out the window the moment you saw megumi in the park, his usual quiet confidence missing as a group of older kids cornered him.

his small frame was tense, shoulders squared, but you could see the way his hands trembled as he balled them into fists at his sides. it wasn’t like megumi to let himself be pushed around, but whatever the bullies were saying had struck a nerve.

you didn’t even have to get close to catch the cruel words that slipped out of their mouths.

“no wonder your mom didn’t stick around.”

“bet she took one look at you and ran.”

“you’re just some charity case with a deadbeat dad.”

your heart twisted at the look on megumi’s face — his jaw clenched, eyes glassy with tears he refused to let fall. you weren’t his mom, but you felt the instinctive flare of protectiveness that made you forget every rule of decorum.

marching over, you didn’t bark at the kids or shoo them off like some passerby might. no, you planted yourself right beside megumi, crossing your arms with a look so sharp it could cut steel.

“is there a problem here?” you asked, voice calm but carrying a weight that made the kids shrink back.

they glanced between each other, suddenly unsure. “we were just talking —”

“talking?” you cut in, your tone sharp enough to make them flinch. “sounds to me like you’re all just jealous.”

the kids froze, confusion written all over their faces. “jealous of what?” one of them finally asked, voice cracking slightly.

you placed a hand on megumi’s shoulder, squeezing it gently. “jealous that you’ll never have the heart or the strength this kid has. it’s easy to gang up on someone when you’ve got a pack behind you. try standing on your own for once. but then again, maybe that’s asking too much.”

megumi didn’t say a word, but you felt him lean into your touch, his small hand brushing against yours as if testing its solidity.

the bullies sputtered, trying to save face, but one by one, they slunk away, muttering excuses as they disappeared into the distance.

the moment they were gone, megumi’s tough facade crumbled. his shoulders sagged, his head dropping as the tears he had been holding back finally spilled over.

you crouched down to his level, wrapping your arms around him as much as his wiry frame would allow. “it’s okay, sweetheart,” you murmured, brushing a hand through his unruly hair. “you’re okay now.”

and just like that, this tough, guarded nine-year-old melted into your embrace, his small sobs muffled against your shoulder.

you stayed there, holding him as the evening light faded, your heart breaking and swelling all at once. you weren’t his mom, but in that moment, you might as well have been.

toji wasn’t the type to lose his composure, not even when megumi brought home bruised knees or a bad grade. he was a man of steady hands and a guarded heart, but tonight? tonight was different.

he was sitting on the couch, beer in hand, when megumi hesitated in front of him, nervously fiddling with his sleeve. “dad, something happened today,” he mumbled, voice low.

toji raised an eyebrow, setting his drink on the table. “what kind of something?”

and then megumi started talking — about the bullies, about their cruel words, and then about you stepping in. how you stood there, firm and unyielding, pretending to be his mom without hesitation. megumi’s voice cracked when he got to the part where he cried in your arms, and toji swore he felt something shatter in him.

he didn’t know if it was anger, gratitude, or guilt — maybe all three twisting together into a storm that made his chest ache.

"you didn’t say anything stupid to her, did you?" toji asked, his voice rougher than he intended.

megumi shook his head quickly. "no, but... she was really nice. it felt... it felt okay."

toji sighed, running a hand through his hair as he leaned back into the couch. he should’ve been mad. should’ve been upset at megumi for dragging you into their lives like that, but instead, all he could think about was the way his chest tightened at the thought of you.

he needed to see you. not because he owed you, not because of some sense of duty, but because the idea of you stepping up for his kid like that made him feel something he hadn’t let himself feel in years.

he stood abruptly, grabbing his coat. megumi looked up at him, startled. “where are you going?”

toji paused for a moment. “i’ll be back. don’t stay up too late.”

megumi didn’t ask questions, just nodded and watched his dad leave the apartment.

when toji knocked on your door, he didn’t even know what he was going to say. a simple “thank you” didn’t feel like enough, but what else could he offer? the way his hands flexed at his sides and the way his heart pounded in his chest betrayed the calm exterior he was trying to maintain.

when you opened the door, he saw the surprise flash in your eyes. “toji?”

he rubbed the back of his neck, looking almost sheepish — a sight you never thought you’d see. “can i come in?”

and that’s when you felt it too — something bubbling between you both, something that had been building for a while, but neither of you had been ready to face. until now.

toji stood there, hands shoved into his jacket pockets, his eyes flicking between you and the floor like the words he was searching for might be scrawled on the ground. he wasn’t the kind of man who talked about his feelings, let alone spilled them out like this.

but he had to say something.

“look,” he started, voice low and gruff, “i’m not great with... this kind of thing.”

you tilted your head, waiting patiently, and that just made it harder for him.

he huffed out a breath, rubbing the back of his neck. “megumi told me what happened today. how you... stepped in. and, uh —” he paused, almost wincing at how clumsy his words sounded, “ — just... thanks. for being there. for him.”

you smiled softly, opening your mouth to respond, but he held up a hand, cutting you off. “no, wait. i’m not done.”

he shifted, clearly uncomfortable but pushing through it anyway. “it’s not just today. it’s all of it. you’ve done more for that kid than most people ever have. hell, more than i probably have, and i’m his dad.” his laugh was bitter, self-deprecating. “you didn’t have to, but you did. and i —” he faltered, swallowing hard.

you could see it then, all of it — the gratitude, the guilt, the admiration, the something more he was too scared to name. it was all there, plain as day in the way he looked at you.

he sighed, shoulders slumping as if the weight of his words had exhausted him. “just... thanks. for him. for me. for... everything.”

and maybe you didn’t need to say anything. because as clumsy and awkward as his words were, you understood. you really did.

so you stepped forward, just close enough that he couldn’t avoid meeting your eyes anymore, and gave him a small, understanding smile. “you don’t need to thank me, toji. i care about him. about you both.”

something flickered in his expression — relief, maybe, or something even deeper. he nodded, just once, and it felt like enough. no confessions, no big speeches.

just this.

something had changed, though neither of you dared to put it into words. it was in the little things, the quiet moments that made your lives blur together in ways that felt natural, almost inevitable.

like how megumi, who usually kept his friends at arm’s length, started demanding your baby girl's presence at every outing, loudly justifying it as “she’ll get bored otherwise,” when really, he just liked having her around. and during those movie nights, when the kids were too engrossed in the screen, you and toji sat closer than necessary, your fingers brushing as you both reached for the popcorn. neither of you pulled away.

it was in how you became megumi’s loudest cheerleader at his little league matches, rivaling even toji’s booming encouragement. and the way he’d grin at you like you were the reason he hit that home run, his awkwardly mumbled, “did you see that?” enough to warm your heart.

toji wasn’t any different. no matter how busy he was, he showed up to every single one of your baby girl's ballet recitals, clapping so obnoxiously loud at the end that even the other parents gave him side-eyes. and after each recital, he’d crouch down, looking absurdly out of place with his towering frame, to tell her exactly how amazing she was — always with a teasing grin and a “guess megumi’ll have to step it up to keep up with you, huh?”

and then there were the practices. toji, of all people, trying to mimic ballet moves while your daughter giggled at how his long legs never quite landed in the right positions. megumi tried to feign disinterest but ended up joining too, his face as serious as ever as he attempted a plié.

you’d think the makeup thing would’ve been too much for him, but no. those butterfly-drawn cheeks and glittery nails stayed with toji for hours after your daughter left, and he never wiped them off — not until bedtime. megumi pretended not to notice, but you’d catch him smirking when toji forgot to scrub off a particularly bright streak of pink before heading out.

it all felt so... domestic. so easy. yet, neither of you dared to name it.

because neighbors helped neighbors, right? neighbors went to movies together. neighbors cheered for each other’s kids. neighbors shared popcorn and let their walls crumble, piece by piece.

this was okay. just neighbors looking out for each other. nothing more.

...right?

until it wasn’t.

you barely managed to get out of the cab, your heels clicking against the pavement, your dress clinging uncomfortably after hours of fake smiles and firm handshakes. all you could think about was peeling everything off, crashing into bed, and hoping the world would let you sleep in for once.

but then you saw him — toji, leaning against your apartment door, his broad frame tense, his head snapping up the moment he heard your footsteps.

"where the hell were you?" his voice was rough, low, but not angry. it was something else.

you froze, your bag slipping off your shoulder. “what are you doing here?”

his eyes, bloodshot and desperate, locked onto yours, scanning every inch of you like he was checking for injuries. “it’s one a.m., on a thursday,” he said, his voice cracking slightly on the last word. “your lights were off. you weren’t answering your phone.”

it hit you then — he’d been worried. toji fushiguro, the man who grumbled more than he talked, who deflected every feeling with a snarky comment, was pacing the hallway outside your apartment because he thought something had happened to you.

“i had a business meeting,” you said, the exhaustion seeping into your voice. “it ran late.”

but your explanation didn’t seem to matter. he took a step closer, his shoulders sagging in relief but still stiff with whatever storm had been brewing inside him.

“you could’ve told me,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “what if something happened? what if —”

“toji.” your voice was soft, cutting through his spiraling thoughts.

he stopped, his hand dropping to his side as he looked at you, his expression raw and unguarded. he wasn’t just worried. he was terrified. terrified that whatever this strange, fragile thing between you might be, it could slip away in an instant.

and before either of you could think better of it, you closed the distance. your arms wrapped around his torso, pulling him into a hug that felt as natural as breathing.

he stiffened at first, his body caught off guard, but then his arms came up around you, pulling you closer with a quiet exhale that sounded like he’d been holding it in all night.

neither of you said a word. you didn’t need to. whatever this was — this thing that had been building between you — it was no longer just neighbors helping neighbors.

it was so much more.

sure, the hug wasn’t something life-changing, but it definitely shifted something, like a tiny crack in the wall that neither of you were ready to knock down completely. there was this... tension now. not bad, not awkward, just there. like some invisible thread pulling you two closer, though never quite crossing a line — both of you too cautious, too unsure, to see what might happen if you did.

and damn those kids. they picked up on it almost immediately, their sharp little eyes catching every glance that lingered too long or every time toji grumbled just a little less around you.

megumi, of course, was the worst of the two, his quiet observations turning into pointed stares and a knowing smirk that made you want to sink into the floor.

“so,” he started one evening as he watched you and toji navigate an unspoken argument over whether you’d be the one to drive the kids to practice. “are you gonna be my dad’s special lady friend now or what?”

you nearly choked on air, and toji’s head snapped around so fast you were sure he’d pull a muscle.

“megumi,” toji growled, the warning clear in his voice.

megumi just shrugged, completely unbothered. “what? i like her. she’s nice. and you’re less grumpy when she’s around. that’s what matters, right?”

toji pinched the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath about smartass kids. but there was a faint flush on his face, one that made you glance away quickly before your own cheeks betrayed you.

megumi’s logic was simple, blunt, and so very megumi. but it stuck with you more than you wanted to admit. if he was okay with whatever this was between you and his dad, maybe... just maybe, that was enough.

you sat cross-legged on the couch, sorting through some old receipts and papers, while your babygirl sprawled on the floor with her coloring book. the soft scratch of her crayons filled the room, a soothing sound that made the evening feel warm and easy.

“mom?” she asked, her voice cutting through the quiet.

you glanced up, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “yeah, baby?”

she didn’t look up from her coloring, her little fingers gripping the green crayon a bit too tightly as she focused on staying inside the lines. “i like him.”

you blinked, confused at first. “like who, sweetie?”

she paused, tilting her head as if the answer was obvious. “uncle jiji.”

the crayon stilled in her hand, and she finally looked up at you, her eyes wide and sincere. your breath hitched, a small wave of surprise washing over you.

“oh?” you tried to keep your tone light, your fingers fiddling with the papers in your lap. “why’s that?”

“he’s funny,” she said matter-of-factly, returning to her coloring. “and he’s nice. he always listens to megumi, even when megumi’s being bossy. and he told me i’m the best ballerina ever — even better than on tv!”

you couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped you. of course, toji had said that.

“he’s just really cool,” she added, as if that sealed the deal.

you set the papers down, your chest tightening in a way that felt both overwhelming and oddly comforting. her words felt like a weight being lifted off your shoulders, one you hadn’t even realized you were carrying.

“you really like him, huh?” you asked softly.

she nodded vigorously, her pigtails bouncing with the motion. “yeah. and megumi’s cool too. he always shares his toys, even his superheroes. i think he’s my best friend.”

the corners of your mouth tugged upward as you leaned back against the couch. “well, i’m glad you think so, baby.”

“do you like him?” she asked suddenly, her eyes locking onto yours, filled with that unnerving, sharp perception only kids seemed to have.

your cheeks warmed, and you glanced down at the papers in your lap, pretending to shuffle them aimlessly. “well… yeah, i think he’s nice too.”

she studied you for a moment before shrugging and returning to her coloring. “good. because you’re happy when you talk to him. and he looks at you like daddy never does.”

your breath caught. her words were simple, innocent even, but they struck something deep. you reached out, smoothing a hand over her hair.

“you’re pretty wise for someone not even ten yet, you know that?” you murmured.

she giggled, leaning into your touch. “i know.”

as she went back to her coloring, you leaned back into the couch, letting the relief settle in. maybe she was right. maybe this wasn’t so bad after all. maybe… it was something good. something you both deserved.

toji sat on the worn couch in his living room, staring blankly at the muted television. the house was quiet, save for the occasional shuffle from megumi’s room. it should’ve been peaceful, but instead, it felt like the silence was screaming at him, pressing all those thoughts he’d been trying to ignore right to the surface.

what the hell was this?

he leaned forward, elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand down his face as he let out a low sigh. you were in his house so often now that it was hard to tell where the line was anymore. your girl's kid-sized ballet slippers were right by the door next to megumi’s sneakers. a casserole dish you’d returned sat drying on the counter. you had this way of slotting into his life that felt so natural it scared him.

did he want to address it? maybe. 

maybe not.

you were busy as hell — a working mom with your own kid to think about. toji wasn’t stupid. he knew what he came with. a nine-year-old son, a messy history, and enough emotional baggage to sink a ship. did he really want to drag you into all that?

but then there were moments, like tonight, when the kids had dragged you into some elaborate roleplay involving superheroes and ballerinas. you’d sat cross-legged on the floor, a makeshift cape tied around your shoulders, pretending to be "supermom," and he hadn’t been able to look away.

when you’d caught him staring, you’d just laughed, “what? do i have pizza sauce on my face or something?”

he’d grunted something noncommittal, shaking his head, but his chest had felt tight in a way he couldn’t explain.

and now, here he was, thinking about it again.

his thoughts were interrupted by the soft click of the front door opening. you peeked your head in, a sheepish smile on your face. “hey. sorry, megs forgot his backpack at my place. figured i’d drop it off before i forgot, too.”

he stood, shoving his hands in his pockets as you walked in, setting the backpack down by the door. you were still in your work clothes, your shoulders looking a little more tired than usual.

“you could’ve waited till tomorrow,” he muttered, his voice low but not unkind.

“it’s no big deal,” you replied, brushing him off.

he watched as you straightened, lingering in the doorway, and something about the way you hesitated made him speak. “you eaten yet?”

you blinked, clearly surprised by the question. “uh, no, actually.”

he motioned toward the kitchen. “there’s leftovers. you want some?”

your smile softened as you stepped closer. “sure. thanks, toji.”

as you walked past him, his hand twitched at his side, like it wanted to reach out but didn’t know how.

in the kitchen, you moved around like you belonged there, grabbing a plate and heating up the food. he leaned against the counter, watching you in silence, and for the first time, he let himself think about what it would mean to let this thing between you be more than unspoken.

“hey,” he said after a moment, his voice rougher than he intended.

you glanced at him over your shoulder. “yeah?”

he opened his mouth, then closed it, the words catching in his throat. instead, he just muttered, “nothing. never mind.”

you tilted your head, studying him for a second, before giving a small nod. “okay.”

but there was something in your eyes, like you knew what he wasn’t saying, and it made his chest ache.

he wasn’t sure if addressing whatever the hell this was would change anything, but seeing the way you fit into his life — into megumi’s life — made the idea of trying feel a little less terrifying.

it wasn’t like you and toji had made any grand declarations. it was all small things, gestures that felt normal but carried an undercurrent of something deeper. grocery runs were the easiest excuse. you’d bump into him on your way home, still in your blazer and heels, and he’d grumble about needing to pick up some snacks for megumi. before you knew it, you’d both be walking side by side, bickering over the best brand of chips.

“you’re seriously buying that brand?” you teased, holding up a bag of chips that toji had tossed into the cart.

“megumi likes ‘em,” he retorted, leaning on the cart with that stupidly casual confidence that annoyed you just enough to make your heart flutter. “and besides, it’s not like your kid’s picky when she raids our pantry.”

you rolled your eyes but smiled all the same, because he wasn’t wrong.

then there were the little fixes around your apartment that seemed to magically get done whenever toji was around. your leaky faucet, the busted door hinge, your temperamental car — he waved off every attempt you made to pay him. “mechanic perks,” he’d say with a shrug, wiping his hands on a rag and giving you a smirk that made you want to both thank him and punch him.

and those car rides? the ones where the kids didn’t even need to be there? yeah, those were starting to feel more like a habit. you’d offer to drop toji off after picking megumi up from practice, and somehow, the drive would extend into picking up your girl from ballet class.

“they gotta meet anyway,” toji would say, his tone so nonchalant it was almost believable. but the way his eyes softened when your babygirl came running out, arms wide open for both of you? that was something he couldn’t fake.

then there was the day your ex finally had enough of whatever this was. the two of you had shown up together, a united front, to pick up your daughter from his place. she’d lit up like a firework when she saw you and toji standing side by side, and you couldn’t help but revel in the sight of her running straight into toji’s waiting arms before hugging you just as tightly.

“this is the guy you’ve been parading around with?” your ex sneered, his voice dripping with disdain as he leaned against the doorframe. “what, you think a deadbeat like him is an upgrade?”

toji’s posture stiffened, his grip on your daughter tightening just slightly as she clung to his neck. you opened your mouth to retort, but toji beat you to it, his voice calm but laced with steel.

“funny coming from you,” he said, his eyes narrowing as he stared your ex down. “least i actually show up for her.”

your ex faltered, his face contorting in anger, but he didn’t have a comeback. you didn’t stick around long enough for him to try.

as you buckled your daughter into the car, her voice piped up, innocent and bright. “jiji, are you coming over for dinner?”

toji glanced at you, and for a moment, something passed between you. a silent understanding, an acknowledgment of whatever the hell this was.

“yeah, kid,” he said, ruffling her hair with a small grin. “i’m coming over.”

and for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel like you were walking this road alone.

the house was warm with the kind of peace that only came after a long, chaotic day. your babygirl and megumi were a tangled heap on the couch, her tiny head resting on his shoulder while he leaned back with his mouth slightly open, fast asleep. the tv played muted scenes of superheroes saving the world, but the real action was in the kitchen, where you and toji stood shoulder to shoulder by the sink.

"you sure you’re not just washing that same plate for the third time?” you teased softly, nudging him with your elbow as he scrubbed with more focus than seemed necessary.

toji smirked but didn’t look up, his voice low and gravelly. “just making sure it’s clean. you don’t want megumi whining about leftover crumbs, trust me.”

you chuckled, rinsing another dish under the warm water, and for a moment, it was just the soft clink of plates, the jazz playing quietly from your speaker, and the faint sound of your daughter’s steady breathing in the living room.

but something was different tonight. the air felt heavier, charged, like it was holding its breath. you could feel it in the way toji’s arm brushed against yours as he passed a dish to you, in the way his fingers lingered a second too long when he handed you the towel.

“you really didn’t have to stay and help with this,” you said, glancing at him.

he shrugged, still not meeting your gaze. “figured i owed you. besides, you cooked. least i can do is clean up.”

his voice was quieter than usual, almost shy, and that wasn’t a word you’d ever thought you’d associate with toji fushiguro. it made something in your chest tighten.

you turned off the faucet, drying your hands as you looked over at him. he was still focused on the plate in his hands, but you could see the tension in his shoulders, the way his jaw was set like he was bracing himself.

“toji?”

he finally looked at you, and there it was — that softness in his eyes that he didn’t let show often. it made your breath catch, made the world feel like it had shrunk down to just the two of you standing in this little kitchen.

he set the plate down slowly, wiping his hands on a towel before turning to face you fully. for a moment, neither of you said anything. the jazz filled the silence, but the air between you was louder than words.

his hand came up hesitantly, brushing a strand of hair from your face, his calloused fingers grazing your cheek. “you’ve been good to him, y’know,” he murmured, his voice rough but soft in the way he said it. “to us.”

you didn’t know what to say to that. all you could do was nod, your throat tight as you looked up at him. his face was closer now, his gaze flicking between your eyes and your lips like he was searching for something — permission, maybe, or courage.

you didn’t even realize you’d moved until your hand rested lightly on his chest, feeling the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath your palm.

and then it happened.

he leaned in, slowly, almost cautiously, and your eyes fluttered shut just as his lips brushed against yours. it was tentative at first, as if testing the waters, but when you didn’t pull away — when you leaned into him instead — it deepened.

toji kissed like he did everything else: fully, unapologetically, with an intensity that left you breathless. his hands found your waist, pulling you just a little closer, and you slid yours up to rest on his shoulders, feeling the strength there, the way he held you like you were something fragile and precious all at once.

the kiss wasn’t hurried or frantic; it was slow, deliberate, like he wanted to memorize every second of it. it was the kind of kiss that left your knees weak, your head spinning, and your heart pounding in your chest.

when you finally pulled back, both of you a little breathless, his forehead rested against yours.

“damn,” he muttered, his voice low and a little shaky.

you couldn’t help but laugh softly, your fingers still curled in the fabric of his shirt. “yeah,” you agreed, your voice barely above a whisper.

the moment stretched between you, warm and heavy and perfect. and for the first time in a long time, everything felt right.

megumi stirred awake first, his sharp eyes blinking groggily as he took in the scene. your baby girl was still curled up against him, her face smushed against his shoulder, and he wrinkled his nose, trying to shake her off gently without waking her. it was only when he looked over to the kitchen that he paused, his brain catching up with what he was seeing.

his dad. toji. standing ridiculously close to you by the sink, both of you talking in low voices like the world outside didn’t exist. toji’s hand brushed your arm lightly as he reached for a towel, and you laughed softly, a sound that felt too intimate for megumi to process this early in his half-asleep state.

“ugh, gross,” he mumbled under his breath, sitting up straighter and inadvertently jostling your babygirl awake.

she yawned, rubbing her eyes and giving him a confused look. “what’s gross?”

“nothing,” megumi said quickly, his face heating up as he avoided looking at her — or at the scene in the kitchen that was playing out like the ending of one of those superhero movies he loved but would never admit made him feel things.

by the time you and toji noticed the kids were awake, megumi had already schooled his expression into something neutral, though his sharp eyes flicked between the two of you as you made your way over.

“sorry for waking you up, sweetheart,” you said softly to your kid, crouching down to smooth her hair.

toji, ever the blunt one, crossed his arms and grunted, “time to get going, brats.”

megumi shot him a look, one that said you’re not fooling me, old man, but he didn’t say anything. instead, he stood up and stretched, deliberately not looking at how his dad’s gaze lingered on you for just a second too long.

at the door, the kids exchanged their goodbyes in their usual awkward but affectionate way — your baby girl giving megumi a quick hug that he tolerated with a huff.

toji ruffled megumi’s hair roughly, earning an annoyed grunt. “come on, kid. say thank you.”

megumi rolled his eyes but muttered a grudging, “thanks for dinner,” before looking up at you.

and then, because megumi was too perceptive for his own good, he added, “and for putting up with him.”

toji frowned, his brows knitting together. “watch it, smartass.”

but the way you laughed — soft and warm and filled with something megumi couldn’t quite name — made toji’s expression soften.

as you leaned down to hug your babygirl goodnight, megumi caught his dad watching you again, his face doing that weird thing it did when he was proud of a home run or secretly enjoying one of megumi’s superhero tangents.

“dad,” megumi said as they stepped into the hallway.

“what?” toji grunted, avoiding his son’s gaze.

megumi smirked, the kind that made him look way older than his nine years. “you’re doing that thing.”

toji frowned, feigning ignorance. “what thing?”

“you know. that thing my favorite superhero does when he saves his secret girlfriend,” megumi said with a dramatic air, glancing back at your door before looking at his dad again.

toji snorted, trying — and failing — not to look flustered. “quit it, kid.”

but megumi didn’t miss the way his dad’s lips twitched into the smallest of smiles. he knew exactly what was going on.

love? probably.

yeah, megumi was pretty sure his dad loved you.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

it was funny, really, how quickly time had flown. one moment, you were corralling a tutu-clad, glitter-faced babygirl to ballet class, and the next, you were breaking up arguments between her and megumi over whose superhero knowledge was superior. 

"they’re literally fake, megumi!" she'd shriek. 

"so are ballerinas in space!" he’d yell back. 

and there you and toji would be, slumped at the dining table, each nursing a lukewarm cup of coffee as you exchanged weary, knowing looks.

“how do ten-year-olds even have this much energy?” you’d mutter, pressing your fingertips into your temples.

toji, half-laughing, half-grumbling, would reply, “they don’t. they’re siphoning it off us.”

it had been a year and a half of this — this weird, beautiful, chaotic thing you’d built. the kids, their shared antics, and the way they declared every single dinner a sleepover had woven your lives together so seamlessly that it felt like you’d never been apart in the first place.

but the truth? the sleepover excuse wasn’t just for the kids anymore. you and toji had grown so comfortable in this rhythm, this routine, that it felt like breathing. and yet, there was still this unspoken thing between you, hanging in the air like a question neither of you wanted to ask.

it was easy to ignore, easier still to pretend that this was just how things were. you’d watch as toji threw his head back in laughter at one of megumi’s sarcastic comments, his broad shoulders shaking, or when he’d lean in to help your girl tie her ballet shoes — his fingers oddly gentle for someone so rough around the edges. those moments made your heart ache in ways you didn’t want to name.

and then there was the way he looked at you when the kids weren’t paying attention. like when megumi would drag your babygirl out into the yard to “train” her in superhero moves, and you’d catch toji’s eyes lingering on you just a second too long.

“what?” you’d ask, your voice quieter than you intended.

“nothin’,” he’d say, but the way his lips twitched into a small smile betrayed him.

but you knew it wasn’t nothing. it hadn’t been nothing for a while now. and maybe it was time to stop pretending.

your ex hadn’t made it easy, of course. every time he paraded some new flavor of the month in front of your girl, you’d see the disappointment in her eyes, and it made your chest tighten. but then there’d be toji — steady, dependable, his quiet reassurances and the way he always managed to make her smile again.

“he’s better than dad,” she’d told you once, out of the blue, her voice small but firm.

and maybe that was the final nudge you needed.

the night felt heavier than usual, the quiet hum of the dishwasher and the occasional creak of the floorboards the only sounds accompanying you as you stood side by side in the kitchen. toji rinsed the last plate, handing it to you with a quick glance that lingered a little too long.

“they’re getting wilder,” he muttered, nodding toward the living room where your girl and megumi were sprawled on the sofa, limbs tangled as if they'd fought sleep until it finally won.

you chuckled softly, drying the plate and setting it aside. “they’re ten. this is the warm-up for what’s coming in a few years.”

he let out a low groan, running a hand through his hair. “don’t remind me. thought i’d have more time before the hormones kicked in.”

you smirked, leaning against the counter as he dried his hands on a dishtowel. it was domestic in a way that felt almost too intimate, like crossing an invisible line. and yet, neither of you had stepped back.

“toji,” you said, your voice breaking the comfortable silence.

he looked up, the weight in your tone pulling his full attention. “yeah?”

you hesitated, biting your lip as you fidgeted with the edge of the dish towel. how do you even start this? you thought about the past year and a half, the shared laughter, the quiet moments, the way his presence had become a constant in your life. the way your girl lit up when he was around. the way you lit up.

“this,” you finally said, gesturing between the two of you, your words coming out softer than you intended. “whatever this is... do you think we should talk about it?”

his brow furrowed slightly, and for a moment, your heart sank. but then he nodded, setting the towel down on the counter.

“i’ve been thinkin’ about it,” he admitted, his voice low.

“and?” you prompted, your heart pounding in your chest.

he sighed, leaning against the counter beside you, his gaze fixed on the floor. “look, i’m not great at this kinda thing,” he began, his fingers tapping absently against the edge of the counter. “but... you’ve been good for me. for megumi. hell, for both of us.”

your breath caught, and you turned to face him fully. “toji...”

he held up a hand, cutting you off gently. “lemme finish,” he said, his voice a little rough. he looked at you then, really looked at you, his eyes searching yours like he was trying to figure out how to say something he’d been holding onto for too long.

“i didn’t think this was gonna happen,” he said finally. “not for me. not again.” he ran a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “but you... you made it so easy. like it’s not somethin’ to be scared of. like it’s just... there. y’know?”

you nodded, your throat tight as you listened.

“and it’s not just about me,” he continued, his voice softening. “it’s about them. megumi... he’s happier than i’ve seen him in years. and your girl? she’s somethin’ special, and the way you’ve raised her... damn.” he shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. “you’re somethin’ else, you know that?”

you felt your cheeks heat, and you looked down, trying to compose yourself.

“so yeah,” he said, his voice steady now. “i don’t know what this is, but if you’re askin’ me if i want more of it... then yeah. i do.”

your breath hitched, and when you looked up, the sincerity in his eyes made your chest tighten.

“toji,” you said again, your voice barely above a whisper. “i’ve wanted to say something for a while now, but I didn’t know how. you’ve been... everything we didn’t know we needed. me and my girl. you’ve been there in ways no one else ever has, and it’s just... it’s so easy with you. i want this too.”

his lips curved into a small, relieved smile, and for a moment, the weight of the unspoken words between you lifted.

“yeah?” he asked softly, his voice almost teasing.

you smiled back, nodding. “yeah.”

and then, like it was the most natural thing in the world, he reached out and pulled you into a hug. it wasn’t rushed or desperate — it was steady, grounding, the kind of hug that felt like coming home. and when he whispered, “i’m all in if you are,” into your hair, you felt the last of your hesitation melt away.

because with toji, love wasn’t just a possibility — it was a promise.

. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁

another two years later, and the kids were twelve. twelve. a big deal, according to them. suddenly they were "basically teenagers," and with that came a whole new level of attitude and pride. and you and toji? you were more than grateful for the chaos. or, as he liked to tease, “engaged to it.” yeah, engaged. took the man long enough — three and a half, maybe four years — but who’s counting?

your kids, of course, had taken the news with the kind of casual confidence only twelve-year-olds could muster. “about time,” megumi had muttered, earning an elbow in the ribs from your girl, who’d just grinned and said, “told you he liked her.”

and publicly? they carried themselves with the kind of poise that made you and toji bite back laughter more than once. “yeah, that’s my dad,” your girl would say with a shrug as toji dropped her off at ballet, towering over all the other dads and somehow looking both intimidating and incredibly proud as she disappeared into the studio.

megumi was just as bad. “that’s my mom,” he’d say to anyone within earshot at his little league games, pointing you out as you cheered the loudest from the stands, sometimes alongside toji who couldn’t help but smirk at your enthusiasm. “and yeah, that’s my sister,” he’d add, nonchalantly, as if it wasn’t a big deal that they’d practically become inseparable siblings over the years.

of course, behind closed doors, they were just kids. kids who still watched superhero movies while pretending not to, kids who choreographed ballet routines to superhero soundtracks because cool kids don’t watch superhero movies.

and you? you were still on that hustle, balancing work, motherhood, and planning a wedding with the kind of grace that made toji shake his head in awe every time.

“how do you do it?” he’d asked one night, watching you juggle your laptop and the kids’ school schedules.

“coffee and pure spite,” you’d replied, smirking over the rim of your mug.

toji, though? he’d built something solid too. his mechanic shop was finally open, a dream he’d quietly nurtured for years. seeing him in his element, sleeves rolled up, hands covered in grease, and that signature smirk plastered across his face, was enough to make your heart skip a beat every damn time.

life wasn’t perfect — there were still late nights, homework battles, and the occasional tantrum — but it was good. no, scratch that. it was damn good.

produced by creamflix on tumblr. all rights reserved. do not copy, steal, modify, repost. banners by cafekitsune — support your writers by liking and reblogging. ♡

[humanpurposes]

Hi hiiii I couldn’t resist to not slide into your inbox and request a Christmas fic based on this prompt with a Aemond who isn’t used to his girl’s flirty behavior and gets flustered soo easily👀 you can totally ignore this if you don’t like it<3333

“Since I can’t ride in Santa’s sleigh, can I ride you instead?” “Sorry, what?”

HI RUE ✨ Kinda put my own spin on this but I'm sure you'll love it <3

Can I Ride You Instead?

modern!Aemond x reader

Words: 1.6k

Warnings: smut, Aemond being a workaholic while his girl has needs

A/n: It's tiiiiime, happy 1st December!!

Main Masterlist // Christmas Masterlist

One more night in King’s Landing. You look out from the window at the lights in the city; street lamps; lively pubs; offices that have been abandoned until new year; and all the festive lights lining the highstreets. Conquest Street is your favourite place to be this time of year. You love the displays in the shop windows, the market in the square, the little wooden huts selling scarves and handmade jewellery, the smell of mulled wine, sugar and cinnamon, almost tangible in your nose and on your tongue. What you wouldn’t give to be there right now.

Aemond’s apartment is bleak by comparison. He doesn’t see the point in decorations, not when he’ll be spending Christmas at his family’s estate– at Dragonstone, Christmas is Alicent’s territory. Aemond’s place is clean, lit by lowlights with no bursts of colour or fairy lights and no tree.

He’s sitting at the dining table. The cold glare of his laptop shines over his face and reflects in the lenses of his glasses.

This boy never takes a break.

Term technically doesn’t end until tomorrow but everyone you know has already gone home to make the most of the break. Not Aemond. He wants to stay for as long as possible. He doesn’t talk about his family much, but you can put pieces together. You booked your own train ticket home according to his because you could think of nothing worse than leaving him alone on the run up to Christmas.

“Sit down, you’re making me anxious,” Aemond says, not looking up from the screen.

He’s been on the verge of irritation all day. You’re in the kitchen trying to make hot chocolate? Too much noise, he says. You’re at the dining table wrapping presents for your parents? Too distracting.

You take slow steps across the floor, behind his chair, draping yourself over his shoulders. He’s working on some project for an internship and simultaneously trying to get ahead on the research for his dissertation.

You love how he looks when he’s focused, the frown that means he’s utterly absorbed in what he’s doing. It’s not quite so endearing when he could be focusing on you instead.

Your arms wrap around him. He pushes his glasses up and puts a hand over yours, a featherlight touch. You want more.

“It’s getting late you say,” letting your lips ghost over his temple.

“It’s not even six.”

“You should take a break. We could order food?”

“Yeah, when I’m done with this, I just need to–”

“Aemond.”

Your arms fall away from him and he looks up at you with a slow breath. His expression is soft, his eyes slightly hooded, his lips fallen. He knows he's upset you.

“Aemond, it’s our last night together before Christmas.”

He shuts the lid of his laptop and leaves his glasses on the table. As much as you love how he looks with them on, there’s something about the unobstructed view of his face that never fails to take your breath away. Especially his eyes, one blue, one glass and made to imitate a sapphire, framed in a neat scar running down the left side of his face, an injustice of childhood.

He leans forward, snaking his hands to your waist, pulling you in towards him. 

It’s an unfair move really. Suddenly all you want to do is run your fingers through his silver hair, tilt his chin up, hold his face in your hands.

“You’re right, darling,” he says, stroking his thumbs in circles where they fall against your belly. You feel the pressure of it through the knit jumper you wear. “Let’s go out. Pub? Restaurant? What’s the market thing on Conquest Street, didn’t you mention that a while ago?”

“It’s a bit late to go out now, I’d have to get ready.”

“We’ll stay in and watch a Christmas movie then, yeah?”

“I didn’t think you’d be in the mood for something festive.”

He makes a quick face. Not that long ago you’d tried to get him to watch The Muppet Christmas Carol, and he was far from impressed. What horrors will you have in store for him next? “Whatever you want. I want whatever you want.”

You coax him to the sofa, big and plush and expensive. Aemond throws a blanket over the two of you and with a few taps of his phone arranges the food. Without much deliberation you put on Love Actually, meeting Aemond’s eye with a wide grin.

He hides his face in his hands but survives the ordeal.

By the time the credits are rolling it’s not particularly late, but you’re dreading the morning. You’ll have to wake up early, pack a bag, then you and Aemond will go to the train station together and go your separate ways until the new year. A whole two weeks apart.

You cozy up to him, breathe in the smell of his aftershave.

“What now, another film?” He asks, trying to find the remote.

Another idea pops into your head. “We could do something else?”

Aemond catches your eye, trying not to smile. “Now let me think, what else could we possibly do, hmm?” He’s awful at playing coy and has been since the moment you met him. He’s too observant, too intent on the details to play dumb.

“Well,” you say, tracing fingertips along the material of his sweats, over his thigh, “since it is the season, and I can’t ride Santa’s sleigh, can I ride you instead?”

His mouth bursts into a messy smile. “Sorry, what?”

You mean to huff out of annoyance but it comes out like a laugh. “I’m trying to be cute!”

Aemond takes your chin in his fingers and your body freezes. “You really don’t need to try,” he says, and leans in to capture your lips with his.

The way Aemond kisses makes you melt every time. He’s slow and commanding, like he’s savouring every precious moment. His hands slide underneath your jumper, dragging along your skin to hold your waist. The promise of what will come next puts you on edge.

Sparse gasps for breath hum in the back of your throat. Aemond smiles against your lips and holds you tighter, dragging you to straddle his lap. He pulls away from your mouth, to your frustration, and places a wide palm at your navel, the waist of your jeans. “Stand up, need to get these off.”

You move off him and go to undo the top button, but Aemond grabs your wrists and pulls you closer. You watch as he smiles slightly, his fingers moving to undo the button and the zip. He’s teasing you, drawing out the anticipation as much as he can. 

You sigh in relief once they’re off, dragging them down your legs, tossing them aside and coming back to straddle Aemond. 

His hands settle at your thighs. “Look at you, so eager, hmm?”

“You can’t blame me, you’ve been ignoring me all day,” you say, grinding your clothed core against the bulge in his sweats. You can be teasing too, with drawn out movements of your hips.

Aemond’s jaw tightens. You can see he’s trying to stay smug. “Well, we’re fixing that now.”

You press a kiss to his cheek while your fingertips curl at the top of his sweats, dragging them down enough to free his cock. He’s taught you what he likes and if you were feeling patient you might have come to your knees before him, but at the slightest touch of Aemond’s fingertips against the fabric over your clit, you know what you need.

He pulls your panties to the side, dragging you along his leaking cock with a hand at your lower back. He’s hard and you’re achingly wet. He holds you where he wants you, lining himself up to pull you down onto his length. The stretch is sharp and sweet, hollowing you out and filling you perfectly. 

Aemond’s head falls against the back of the sofa as you sink down.

“Does it feel good?” you tease him.

He’s breathless, helplessly watching the space where your bodies meet. “Fuck, perfect little pussy– feels so good,”

You cradle your arms around his head as you ride him, unhurried, hands restless as you feel his hair and the sides of his face, along his jaw.

Aemond hardly has to do anything, as soon as his fingertips are on your clit you feel your spine straighten and something inside you tighten. He circles over you lazily, watching your face with a soft, admiring kind of amusement. 

“Right there,” you whisper, “don’t fucking stop.”

“Are you gonna come for me, darling?”

Your thighs are burning at the effort but you don’t care. You’re so close, so close.

“Beg me,” Aemond murmurs.

A slew of slurred and breathless pleas fall from your lips. You can feel the slickness between your legs, how easily he glides over you, how deep his cock reaches inside of you, pushing against the right spot.

Aemond hums as he grabs your hips with his free hand, fucking you faster and harder until you’re falling apart, convulsing, melting. 

You fall against Aemond, holding each other closer as you wait for the deliriousness to fade away. Suddenly the air is unbearably cold. You cling to Aemond, to his warmth, content in his arms.

“Happy with your ride?” Aemond asks. You can hear him grinning.

You lift your head and rest it against his shoulder. The light of the TV catches in his features, his jaw, his cheeks, his nose, the details of grey in his right eye and the unnatural bright blue of his left.

“Can I go again?”

Aemond leans into you, pressing his nose against yours. “You can ride me as many times as you want, darling.”

No taglist, follow @ficsbygee and turn on post notifs for updates!

[parkersbliss]

if you’re willing to, how about 141 reacting to you saying “no one will hear you scream”? i know they’d all play the biggest uno reverse card, especially gaz because he just has such a sweet face you wouldn’t expect it.

I am always willing to!!! anon thank you for blessing me with this. you're so right like don't threaten the military men who are masters of stealth, now that's asking for trouble...

pairing: task force 141 (ghost, gaz, price, soap) x reader 

warnings: um, gaz threatening you? actually, all of them threatening you bc you threaten them

a/n: see me personally I would not mess with this. and certainly not price.

Masterlist | Taglist | Prompt List

requests open for tf141!

SEE TIKTOK HERE

—

Gaz:

It was easy to convince Kyle to come out here. In fact, he didn’t even think twice when you asked to go out on a hike. He had grabbed a light jacket, laced up his boots, and was out the door. He was an outdoorsman, after all, and any time he could spend with you was well spent. You weren’t going to hear an argument out of his pretty mouth. 

It’s nicer this time of the year. Not too hot and not too cold with the leaves changing into the sunset colors. Honestly, you were glad you had come out here, even if it was because you had other intentions than some fresh air. 

You were lagging behind Kyle, his hand flexing and calling for yours. You jog to grab his when you notice, swinging them as you approach a viewpoint. 

You can overlook the area below you, coming up on a small cliff that showcases the changing leaves and sun. There’s a slight breeze that ruffles your hair, making the tips of your ears a little cold. 

“It’s so beautiful,” Kyle breathes, taking in the view. 

You nod, gazing out at the leaves tumbling in the wind. Then, with a practiced ease, you say: “No one would hear you scream out here.”

Kyle steps back from the edge, whipping around to look at you. “What?”

“What?” You ask dumbly. 

“Don’t “what” me.” He points a finger at you. “I heard that shit.”

You step toward him, feeling guilty when you see his face. “Kyky-” you call. 

“Nope!” He grabs something from his pocket, pointing it at you.

You put your hands on your hips, scoffing and stepping back. “You brought a taser?”

“And I’m not afraid to use it.” He continues to point the weapon at you as you take steps back. You were messing with your boyfriend, but your boyfriend was not messing with you. 

“Babe, it was a joke!” You protest. 

He narrows his eyes. “Oh, not so funny now, huh? No one could hear you scream.” 

“Kyle!” You hiss at that, his point made.“Please put the taser away.”

“Please don’t threaten me,” he retorts, but relents and slips the taser back into his pocket. 

“Why do you even have that?”

Kyle shrugs. “You never know. As you just proved.” 

“Oh my god,” You said, walking back over to him tentatively. Once you’re close enough, he grabs your waist pulling you to his side. “Don’t ever say that shit again,” he whispers. 

You glance at the taser in his pocket. “Lesson learned.” 

Kyle smiles, kissing your cheek. “Ice cream?” 

Ghost:

You take a deep breath, letting the crisp autumn air fill your lungs. It’s cold, cutting through the skin of your throat, yet at the same time it’s comforting. It’s much better than the humidity-laced air of summer at least. Where each breath you took felt like you inhaled oven air. 

Simon glances over at you, cocking his head to silently ask what you were doing. 

“Just taking in the air,” You said. “’s nice.” 

He hums an agreement, walking along the stream you two were hiking. A few birds were chirping, leaves crunching under your boots, and the sound of water running over rocks. It’s a quiet you’re not used to from being in the military. That still doesn’t stop the idea from forming in your head. 

“No one would hear you scream out here,” You muse, falling in step beside Simon. You say it casually, not looking at him. You act as if you had just asked where he wanted to get dinner tonight. 

Simon, of course, is aware of everything. He stops walking, turning to you at an agonizingly slow pace. “Excuse me?”

You shake your head. “Nothing.” And continue along the trail. 

He doesn’t follow you. You can tell when his footsteps aren’t echoing yours, a little slower and more steady. Instead, they fall silent on deaf ears. You can’t hear anything and the hair on the back of your neck stands up at the sudden stillness of the forest. 

“Simon?” You call, turning to face him. And of course, he’s gone. You curse under your breath, spinning around to find him. You walk back to where he was, checking around the trees and the bushes. You shouldn’t threaten a lieutenant, the master of infiltration nonetheless. You peek around another tree, trying to get a view of him when a hand grabs your shoulder. You scream, throwing the hand off your shoulder and raising your fists. You come face to face with your boyfriend and drop your hands. 

Simon stares at you, a deadpan look on his face with arms crossed. “What was that about no one hearing me or, should I say you scream?” 

You swat at him. “It was a joke.”

“Damn right, it was. You think you could take me?” He begins walking again, offering his hand to you. He was a true gentleman even after he pulled that stunt. You really needed to learn to keep your eyes on him. 

You lace your fingers together, sighing. “No.” 

Simon is content with the answer, placing a soft kiss on your temple. “Let’s finish this hike without any other threats, hm, sweetheart?"

“It was a joke.” 

“Mine wasn’t.” 

“Simon—!” 

Soap:

Johnny took convincing to go out for a walk. He was more inclined to spend his days on the couch, relaxing next to you. Not some boring “walk for fresh air.” He would argue he’d already gone on plenty of walks while deployed. 

You dragged him out anyway, saying it’ll be good for him to do one without worrying about being shot at. 

So here you are, on a quiet trail in your local park, pointing at the various colored leaves and their unique shapes. 

“This is stupid,” Johnny said, kicking at a pinecone on the ground and sending it flying. 

You roll your eyes, squeezing his hand, which was intertwined with yours in his jacket pocket. “You could humor me a bit.” 

“What good would that do?” 

You huff. “I actually quite like it out here.” 

“‘m sure you do, love.” 

You tap your chin with your free hand. An idea forming in your head to spice things up a bit. Or at least raise the stakes for your walk. “Like, no one would hear you scream out here, you know?” A mischievous grin curls on your lips as you look at Johnny with innocence. 

“What?” He asked, eyebrows furrowed. He knew what you said, just hadn’t quite processed the implications yet. 

“I said, we can go get ice cream. As a peace offering.” 

Johnny removes his hand from yours, taking a step back. “I don’t think so.” 

“You don’t want ice cream?”

He shakes his head. “Nope. I’m actually tired. Thinking we should head back now.” 

You jut your bottom lip out, enjoying the slight panic on his face. “Already?”

He spins on his heels. “Yep! Right now. Let’s go. Back in public. With people.” He urges, walking away from you at a brisk pace. 

You laugh to yourself, jogging after him. He glances at you over his shoulder, clearly paranoid and you feel a little bad about it. His pace quickens and within seconds, he’s out of your line of sight and you sigh. Damn him. 

You exit the trail, and back into the regular park, squinting your eyes to spot your boyfriend. You can’t find him anyway, which is weird because his mohawk makes him unmissable. 

A hand taps your shoulder and you jump. 

“Oh, relax,” Johnny said, holding out an ice cream cone for you. “We’re out of the woods now. Everyone would hear you scream here.” 

You take the ice cream from him, glaring at him and his smug look as he remixes your words against you. “Not funny.”

“Now imagine how I felt. Except I wouldn’t really have a problem if people heard.” 

“We’re going home.” 

Johnny laughs madly, throwing an arm around your shoulder. “That’s all I wanted.” 

Price:

You stand at the end of your hike, overlooking the view beneath you. The cliff dips into a valley, scattered with red and orange trees, the telltale sign of the approaching cold. The sun sits high in the sky, blessing you with a little warmth as the clouds drift through the breeze. 

Price stands next to you, hands on his hips like a proud dad after completing the hike. He pushes his sunglasses to sit on his forehead, taking a deep breath. 

“We should do this more often,” he said.

“We should,” you agree, watching a pair of hawks circle and dive. “It’s so peaceful out here.” 

“So quiet,” Price added. 

You hum. “No one would hear you scream.” 

You knew the risk of saying something like that to your boyfriend, but you couldn’t help it. A little challenge for him. 

Price doesn’t hesitate, he takes a step back from you, putting considerable distance between the two of you. His eyes scan the trees, the valley below, the space behind you — he’s clearly checking for any threats. 

You take a step toward him and he holds up his hand. “No. Empty your pockets.”

“What?” You asked with a laugh. 

“You wanna say shit like that? Empty your pockets,” He said again. 

You stare at him, and you can see the serious look on his face. Within the minute you had uttered that sentence, you already regretted it. Leave it to John Price to take everything so seriously. Even when it was his girlfriend who could never hurt him. You sigh, dropping your phone, wallet, keys, tissues, and everything else. You stare at him. “Happy?” 

“Hands up.” 

“John!” 

“Not hearing you out, darling.”

You begrudgingly raise your hands as he steps towards you, patting you down and inspecting the things you’ve dropped. “It was a joke.” 

“Am I laughing?” His hands come to rest on your shoulders, squeezing them slightly. “Believe me, darling. You wouldn’t be able to scream before I drop you.” 

You spin around to face him, a shocked look on your face. He had gotten you there. Price wouldn’t be stupid enough to let you make any noise. 

“It was a joke,” He mocks you, a sly grin on his face. 

You purse your lips, grabbing your things off the ground. “Point made.” Price grabs the rest of your belongings, handing them to you with that sweet smile of his. 

“C’mon, let’s hike back down. We can go to your favorite sandwich place.” He places a hand on your back, leading you off the cliff.

“As long as you don’t slip poison into it.” 

“No promises.” 

-- END --

Read more, HERE. Never wanna miss a fic? Join HERE.

🏷 taglist: @trxpslxt @looking1016 @the-kakawshi-bird @Bitchyzombietaco

[bengals-barnesbabe]

Not Future... Now

MDNI 18+ | Imagine Joe seeing you holding someone’s baby and losing all sense of mind at the thought that maybe, just maybe, that baby could be his one day.

Word Count: 1.6k

A/N: releasing some old drafts, enjoy babe. also not proofread :)

Main Masterlist

⑅୨୧⑅୨୧⑅ .⋅ ۵♡۵ ⋅. ୨୧⑅୨୧⑅୨୧

Joe’s been having a certain recurring thought lately. It shows up in his dreams or when he’s in the gym or on the field. He’s tried to brush it off; it’s too vulgar to say out loud, but it won’t go away. He felt ashamed for it always being on his mind, especially at work- if any of the guys knew what he was thinking about at practice, he would probably quit and never show his face again. But at the same time, it feels so natural for him to think about it. Especially right now.

Nothing else was on his mind while you were cuddled up against him, watching some random action movie on Netflix. He stopped focusing on the screen the second you pushed your ass onto his crotch to ‘get comfy,’ if anything, you knew exactly what was on his mind and were torturing him for fun. 

But you were as oblivious as you could be, eyes glued to the TV screen. 

Oblivious to how easy it would be for him to just push your silk shorts off the swell of your fat cheek, move the elastic barrier of your cute panties to the side and slide his cock through your plump folds. 

Oh, what he’d do to hear that first shocked gasp turn into a sweet, inevitable moan as you take him in deeper. You would try to question the abrupt action only to sink further into his chest and succumb to the pleasure he’s giving you until ropes of his cum fill your womb.

Instead, he settles the thoughts in his mind and tries to refocus his mind on the car chase in front of him instead of the sweet scent of your vanilla perfume. The sultry scent he can’t live without, something so you that bakeries and cafes remind him of the woman he gets to come home to every day. But there’s something so satisfying about that scent on your soft brown skin that has him clutching every part of your body he can get his hands on. Your thick thighs that look beautiful around him, that delectable neck his head fits perfectly in, and his current favorite: the soft layer of fat on your lower belly. Ever since he started having those dreams, he hasn’t taken his hands off your small pooch. Unconsciously, he’ll caress your tummy for as long as you let him. 

He could tell you didn’t like it at first. He understood you were feeling self-conscious about it, so he reassured you that he adored every part of your body the same during a long, hot love-making session. Now, you don’t give him a second look when his hands start roaming from your waist down. 

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

After spending all day caring for other people’s kids as a nanny, you eagerly joined your boyfriend of 2 years on the couch for a mandatory cuddle session. You put on the movie Baby Driver and relaxed into Joey’s chest as his arms pulled you closer. 

About halfway through the movie, his hands started moving down into the waistband of your shorts and settled on your tummy. You couldn’t help but smile, knowing he was as relaxed as you were. Recently, this has been his favorite resting position, with you against his chest and him caressing your belly. It took you a while to fully embrace your figure, but if it weren’t for Joey, you wouldn’t realize just how much there was to love about it. He loved every dimple and roll and made sure you did, too.

However, there was something different about the way his hands touched you. Most of the time, he liked to lightly squeeze and massage the fat, which was very nice when it was that time of the month. But right now, he was just slowly rubbing on it. No light tugs and squishes, no drawing random shapes or doodles on the skin, just rubbing his hand over it. 

“Joey…” You whisper, trying to look back at him but failing thanks to his face lying cozy in your neck.

“Mhm?” He mumbles softly. 

“What are you doing?” 

You feel a grin grow on his lips. “What are you doing?” 

Rolling your eyes, you place a hand on his, seizing the motions on your stomach. “I asked you first.”

He hums and pecks up your neck to your ear. “I’m thinking.” His voice makes you shiver then he begins to kiss and suck on the sweet spot behind your lobe.

“Wha-what are you thinking about?” 

A light chuckle vibrates through his lips as he resumes the light touches on your stomach. “You.” 

“What about me? I’m right here.” You giggle as he shoves his face back in the crook of your neck.

“You really wanna know?” His voice’s so muffled you can barely understand him.

You shuffle your body so you’re underneath him and can finally see his sweet blue eyes. “Yes, I wanna know.”

He smirked and used one hand to stabilize himself above you, then leaned down to your lips. “You asked for it.” He whispers with a peck on your lips. Then he shifts down and plants open-mouth kisses on your collarbone. 

“I’ve been thinking about our future-

He lifts on his knees and unbuttons your silk top.

“About what’s next for you and me-

Bring his lips back down and suck minor bruises from your sternum to your belly button, all while keeping his eyes on your face. “Mmmm, Joey.”

“And I’m reminded of it every day when you send me pictures of you at work.” He growls, coming up to press a deep kiss on your lips. He barely gives you time to react before pulling away to suck on your sweet spot again. “I wanna get you pregnant.”

“What?” You moan, half in surprise and half in pleasure. 

“Can’t stop thinking about you full of me, walking around showing everyone who you belong to. Can’t you see it, baby?” He pulls your leg around his waist and lays his full weight down on you. 

“Joe.” Your eyes widen as your groins rub against each other, his bulge now very apparent. “Holy fuck- have you been...

“Hard this entire time? No.” He pauses to suck more bruises onto your chest. “Just can’t help it, baby. I have this stunning woman with a beautiful body just waiting for me to knock her up.” 

“Oh.” You moan as he pulls the cups of your bra down and takes one of your nipples in his mouth. “Joey, you can’t just say that.”

His flat tongue licking up your sensitive peaks makes your hips jolt up, and hands pull at his hair.  

“Fuck baby, you can’t do that.” He groans, grinding his hips against yours. He switches over to your other nipple with his tongue and tugs and twists with his hand to give both stimulation. Your breaths quicken as your moans get louder, your panties being soaked with your arousal. He gives your sensitive nipple one last harsh suck, then kisses back up to your lips. 

“You don’t know what you do to me, baby. Y’know how much you mean to me? Y’know how much I can depend on you?” He mumbles between kisses. Your hips and lips continue to mingle until you abruptly push him up, making his arms hold his weight hovering over you. 

“What did you say?”

Making him horny and sappy is one thing, but the last one has nothing to do with you. 

“Joe, what do you mean you can depend on me?” Sure, it's a far-fetched theory, but suddenly, he connects his desire to have a child with how his team is currently doing. But it’s a theory nonetheless.

“Baby, what are you doing?” He sighs, dropping his head to kiss yours. Dismissal and Ignorance.

“Are you trying to get me pregnant so you have someone always to support you and never disappoint you, unlike your team?” You question, dodging the way he dips down to your neck.

He groans. “Y/n, are fucking serious right now?” There’s practically no space between your wide eyes and his scrunched face.

“I’m not having a baby with you just because your defense sucks.” 

His face morphs into a smirk while he licks his lips. Then he leans into your ear. “No, you’re gonna have my baby because you like to walk around here in tiny ass shorts while talking about other peoples’ kids. I want you to have my baby because I can’t go one minute without thinking about how goddamn gorgeous you’d look knocked up, waddling around my house.” He pronounces each word as husky and breathily as the last, sending shivers down your spine. 

“I’m going to get you pregnant because you’re mine, and nothing makes me hornier than the thought of my girl having my kid. Anything else you wanna say, princess?”  He says, sliding your shorts off and throwing your fallen leg over his waist. 

“N-no!” You choke out as his finger traces your sopping folds.

“No, what?” He teases your entrance while his lustful, blown-out pupils watch your silent whimpers.

“No daddy, I need you.” Joe wastes no time removing his sweats and hooking your legs around him.

“Yea? Good, I need to feel you around my cock right now.” He groans, sucking in a breath as his dick glides against your sopping folds.

"Joey?" You take his face in your hands, pulling him down.

"Yeah, gorgeous." He pecks your forehead, gazing into your pretty lustfilled eyes.

Leaning up to peck his swollen lips, you whispered softly. "Please breed me."

His eyes widened, "Jesus Christ, woman," then he sunk into you.

[geraldmariaivo]

I’m like 95% sure that I’m autistic, though undiagnosed. While I absolutely experienced a lot of these, I found the communication barrier less extreme. Mostly for three reasons.

1) as a smallish child I devoured books, and my parents encouraged my reading, so they just chucked thicker and thicker books at me. And my dad has a lot of old fantasy books. Between that and my later consumption of really long fanfics online, my childhood-adolescent vocabulary exploded with big words that older people know, and mean very specific things.

2) My parents watched lots of detective and private investigator shows (think Elementary and Person of Interest). These shows had smart characters who used big words, lots of words, spoke calmly, and very importantly- got their points across in a way that I understood very clearly, and the other characters understood as they walked through their explanations. None of them were particularly good at socializing, but they could convey information.

3) growing up, my dad and especially my uncle (my dad’s older brother, and an engineer) were the single most pedantic people I knew, and they would argue semantics into the ground. I know for a fact that my uncle is autistic (undiagnosed, but trust me there’s no way he’s not), and he had the most literal mindset ever. He was the kind of guy who drilled into me to never say “always” unless I genuinely meant “every single solitary instance.” He’s loosened up with age, but my god it was so stressful to talk to him as a child. Between him and my dad, I had to figure out how to piece together sentences so there was no possible way it could be misconstrued or used against me, because anything that could be, would be.

I ended up absorbing the speech patterns, and paired it with my vocabulary to make what I said as air-tight as possible. (Example: if someone asked “Did [X] do [Y]?” and you’re 98% sure they didn’t, normal answer is “No.” or “I don’t think so.” What I had learned to say in middle school was “To the best of my knowledge, [X] didn’t do [Y], though I haven’t asked them about it recently, so you might need to.”

Unfortunately I now have the opposite problem. In the words of Red from OSP: “Why use one word, when fifteen will do!” Which also sometimes (but much less often) results in people not knowing what the fuck I’m talking about because I explained it in too much detail. This usually happens when someone is sleep deprived, extra stressed, or uninterested in what I’m saying anyway. Ironically, my dad is the one who complains about it the most, telling me that I sound weird, and need to learn how to talk like a normal person. Meanwhile my uncle is like “Ah, yes. I can understand what you’re saying perfectly.”

Funnily enough I’ll sometimes use internet shorthand when something is obvious enough that I can be confident that the person I’m talking to can extrapolate the meaning, but it ends up with me say things like “Honestly the Generation 1 Transformers theme songs are funny to me. They clearly didn’t really know what they were doing. The every season’s theme was different, and all of them had disorganized music and vocals. None of them were particularly coherent, and half the time you wouldn’t be able to tell what genre the show was by listening to it if it wasn’t for the fact that they slapped a computer-y sounding filter over the voice lines because robots.”

ironically, my dad, one of the main reasons that i Talk Like That, tells me that i have the weirdest speech patterns. It’s not particularly derogatory, but every time he does it reminds me that he knows has gained the trust of zero autistic people under the age of forty because of his boomer-ass nonsense, because every autistic person under the age of forty that I’ve met who’s heard me speak like that almost immediately dropped the mask and started using their own patchwork speech patterns. (Yes i know all naturally occurring speech patterns are patchwork due to social mirroring and the like.)

I realized the other day that the reason I didn't watch much TV as a teenager (and why I'm only now catching up on late aughts/early teens media that I missed), is because I literally didn't understand how to use our TV. My parents got a new system, and it had three remotes with a Venn diagram of functions. If someone left the TV on an unfamiliar mode, I didn't know how to get back to where I wanted to be, so I just stopped watching TV on my own altogether.

I explained all this to my therapist, because I didn't know if this was more related to my then-unnoticed autism, or to my relationship with my parents at the time (we had issues less/unrelated to neurodivergency). She told me something interesting.

In children's autism assessments, a common test is to give them a straightforward task that they cannot reasonably perform, like opening an overtight jar. The "real" test is to see, when they realize that they cannot do it on their own, if they approach a caregiver for help. Children that do not seek help are more likely to be autistic than those that do.

This aligns with the compulsory independence I've noticed to be common in autistic adults, particularly articulated by those with lower support needs and/or who were evaluated later in life. It just genuinely does not occur to us to ask for help, to the point that we abandon many tasks that we could easily perform with minor assistance. I had assumed it was due to a shared common social trauma (ie bad experiences with asking for help in the past), but the fact that this trait is a childhood test metric hints at something deeper.

My therapist told me that the extremely pathologizing main theory is that this has something to do with theory of mind, that is doesn't occur to us that other people may have skills that we do not. I can't speak for my early childhood self, or for all autistic people, but I don't buy this. Even if I'm aware that someone else has knowledge that I do not (as with my parents understanding of our TV), asking for help still doesn't present itself as an option. Why?

My best guess, using only myself as a model, is due to the static wall of a communication barrier. I struggle a lot to make myself understood, to articulate the thing in my brain well enough that it will appear identically (or at least close enough) in somebody else's brain. I need to be actively aware of myself and my audience. I need to know the correct words, the correct sentence structure, and a close-enough tone, cadence, and body language. I need draft scripts to react to possible responses, because if I get caught too off guard, I may need several minutes to construct an appropriate response. In simple day-to-day interactions, I can get by okay. In a few very specific situations, I can excel. When given the opportunity, I can write more clearly than I am ever capable of speaking.

When I'm in a situation where I need help, I don't have many of my components of communication. I don't always know what my audience knows. I don't have sufficient vocabulary to explain what I need. I don't know what information is relevant to convey, and the order in which I should convey it. I don't often understand the degree of help I need, so I can come across inappropriately urgent or overly relaxed. I have no ability to preplan scripts because I don't even know the basic plot of the situation.

I can stumble though with one or two deficiencies, but if I'm missing too much, me and the potential helper become mutually unintelligible. I have learned the limits of what I can expect from myself, and it is conceptualized as a real and physical barrier. I am not a runner, so running a 5k tomorrow does not present itself as an option to me. In the same way, if I have subconscious knowledge that an interaction is beyond my capability, it does not present itself as an option to me. It's the minimum communication requirements that prevent me from asking for help, not anything to do with the concept of help itself.

Maybe. This is the theory of one person. I'm curious if anyone else vibes with this at all.

[thesunloveschips]

Obsessed - Part 8 (Azriel x Reader)

Summary: Y/n discovers a few things and a few more are revealed.

Warnings: sex, minors please stay away.

Click here for Obsessed (Masterlist)

****

Y/n was upset. Her semester was ending. The exchange programme had come to a close. Now, she’d have to leave for her internship and then go back to her university for the remainder of her studies. She’d miss her friends. She’d miss this new country. 

And who knew how long Azriel was posted here in this city? 

It was a coincidence that they met and they had a good few months together but Y/n really did not want to go back to a life where he was not a constant. 

The idea of it didn’t sit well with her. 

After her last exam today, she’d taken some time for her friends here. On her way back to the apartment, she’d started feeling upset but then she wore a smile and rang Azriel’s doorbell.       

He’d opened the door, took one look at her, and fucked her wildly like he wanted to reinforce something. And then, they made love to each other with Y/n slowly riding him. 

Y/n let herself rise and fall, eyes closed. Her hands were on his chest, tattooed and perfect for her. His large hands nearly covered all of her ass. 

Fuck. 

He was such a large man and the most convincing evidence of it was deep inside her, thick and throbbing as she rode him at her own pace. 

She could feel the air on her body. Her nipples were already hard and were even more sensitive after Azriel had sucked on them and smeared his saliva, and then left them exposed. 

Her breasts ached and all she wanted was his large hands to pinch and grab them roughly as if he selfishly owned her. 

His hands. Gods, they were so perfect. 

The tattoos on his fingers was an arousing sight. 

Especially after she’d once seen herself suck them. 

The way those hands groped every part of her and were still on her ass. 

She was in bed, tired after exams and sex. Azriel had woken up after a nice cuddling session for a meeting. It was an urgent one and he’d promised to return soon but Y/n was not going to pester him even if he didn’t. 

The man had a job. That too, at Umbra got fuck’s sake. That was an empire on its own managed by some young fellow Y/n hadn’t bothered about since that was not her field. 

Sex with Azriel always made her sleepy and she always woke up feeling refreshed. 

Her eyes were closed. The furry blanket was so cosy and she was just there. 

Her phone rang and interrupted her peace. 

Y/n groaned in frustration. She grabbed it and softened when she saw Azriel’s name. She swiped on the screen and accepted the call. “Hey.”

“Hello, sweetheart. I hope I wasn’t disturbing you.”

“No, no. Tell me.” She wouldn’t tell him that she wanted to sleep even more. 

“Could you bring me my iPad? It’s on the nightstand.” Y/n rose and looked around for the device. 

“Where. . Got it.” She removed herself from the sheets, ended the call, took the iPad, and was about to walk out of the room when a message popped up. 

Miss Y/n’s mother has sent a parcel to the apartment she shared with Nesta Archeron. We believe her mother has no knowledge of her current whereabouts and her exchange program. 

What? 

Y/n tapped on the notification and the chat opened. It was a group chat with Azriel and a bunch of people. She scrolled and read the messages.

Other members of the group chat were constantly updating on her location and activities while Azriel had sent the occasional ‘okay’.

She also found photographs of her taken from her outings with friends. Taken from a distance and clearly not with her consent. 

The more she saw, the more she wanted to smash her head against something. 

Why? 

Why did Azriel have her followed? 

He’d always known where she was, at what time, who she was with. She hadn’t bothered hiding much from him. 

Then why was this. . ?

Y/n walked over to the room with the iPad, the group chat open on it.

She saw Azriel’s eyes widen as she entered the room. She placed the iPad on his table. “What’s this?”

He looked at the chat quietly and then looked up at her. 

Y/n felt hot with fury coursing through every part of her. And yet, for some strange reason, she felt cold. 

It wasn’t until Azriel walked over and wrapped a jacket around her that she realised that she hadn’t dressed after leaving bed. 

She’d been naked and angry. 

“I’ve had you followed, Y/n.” 

And she couldn’t control it. 

She was barely restraining herself until then but to hear him say that he had her followed broke the dam. 

“Why? Didn’t you trust me enough to go out and not cheat on you?” 

This time, Azriel sounded confused. “It wasn’t because I thought you were cheating on me.” 

The audacity of this man to say such a thing. He had her watched and followed and photographed and so much more. 

“Scroll up, Y/n. This started the night I met you in that club before we ever spoke to each other properly.” He extended the iPad to her. 

She hesitantly took it and scrolled up furiously. When she reached the first message, she saw the date the group had been created. Feyre’s birthday. There was a photo of her dancing in that club with Nesta. 

Somebody had sent a few documents. She opened them—her CV, biodata, details of people close to her. 

“You’ve known all this about me?” He silently nodded. She felt like such a fool. 

Y/n couldn’t even think. She couldn’t process it like this. So she simply kept the iPad on his desk and walked away. 

“Y/n. Y/n, listen to me, sweetheart.” He was following. She increased her pace and entered his room. Her clothes were on the chair and she began dressing. “Y/n, please. I only wanted to know about you.”

She looked at him and it hurt. 

It hurt to know that this man didn’t trust her. 

Didn’t trust time. 

Didn’t trust their connection. 

“I would’ve told you everything with time.”  She wanted to cry. “Whenever I was ready to revisit my past and speak about it, I would’ve told you. About my childhood. My ex. My mother.”

“I only wanted to know about you.” He was pleading but she was so tired. 

“You did not trust that our relationship would reach to the point where I would ever confide in you. You thought yourself entitled to find everything about me. .” She choked back a sob. Azriel moved to hold her but she took a step behind and he halted. 

“You did not trust me.” It was a whisper and it broke everything. “And therefore, you violated my privacy.”

“I did not get that information because I didn’t trust you.” Azriel moved. When he reached her, he kneeled. 

“I was impatient. I wanted to know everything about you immediately. I’m desperate for anything you’ll give me. You heart, your body—I cannot have them unless you give them to me. But information—that I can take from any place. And I’ll take any scrap of it you leave behind.”

What was this feeling? She was being broken but also healed at the same time. And even then, everything hurt. 

“And as for being followed, I had to know that you were safe.” He was still kneeling. The world was blurry.

Y/n was still cold as she hadn't dressed completely. 

She didn’t know anymore. 

She didn’t want him to know that she had a troubled past at least until she could help it. 

She knew it would’ve come out soon but this soon? It wasn’t at her own pace. 

What was she supposed to do? 

Should she explain it to Azriel?

Should she be angry at him? 

Should she end this relationship? 

It was dizzying now. Her breathing was becoming difficult. 

She could hear her sniffles, Azriel calling her name. “. . breathe, sweetheart. Inhale. . . Exhale. . .” 

He kept telling her to inhale and exhale until she could focus on those words and force her breathing into a pattern. 

She was sitting now. Azriel was wiping her nose with something. A blanket was draped over her. He was right there, holding her hand. 

Her eyes fluttered close and Y/n faded into the dark. 

****

Whispers.

Somebody was talking. 

Somebody was responding. 

It ached. 

Something more than her body ached. 

“. . rest and she’ll be. . medicines. . . care.” 

Y/n faded away again. 

****

Y/n was warm. In a room. It was dark. And a hand held her own. 

Azriel was right there, sitting on the floor, one hand holding hers and the other arm folded on the bed to rest his head. 

He must’ve fallen asleep. 

She tried to rise and felt too weak. But the shuffling of the blankets was enough to wake him up. 

“How are you feeling?” His deep voice asked. 

“Fine.” She didn’t want to say anything more. Absolutely nothing. 

She’d sweat a lot. The greasy feeling of it remained on her body. “You have a fever.” 

Oh. 

“Have some medicine.” And he rose to leave her side, to get a strip of tablets and water from the nightstand but she did not let go of his hand in the first instance. 

“Y/n.” And then she immediately let go and looked away. What was she supposed to do? 

Was their bond supposed to be overlooked by this? 

Could it be so easily sidelined? 

She saw his hand with the medicine come in her line of sight. “Medicine.” 

His voice was only deep whispers ever since she woke up. As if he was afraid his normal pitch would shatter something.

Y/n quietly took the medicine and water and consumed them. Azriel was there to take the glass away from her and he kneeled by the bedside. 

“You had a panic attack and then you fainted.” 

“And the fever?”

“You came to me with the iPad unclothed, leaving your body exposed to the cold. And you didn’t fully dress when you came to the bedroom.” And she was now wearing one of his sweatshirts which was too big for her.

Y/n could tell that he was being careful with his choice of words. 

“I’m so sorry, Y/n.” He clutched her hand as though in prayer. “It’s my fault you had a panic attack.” 

Damn straight. 

Was there any point? 

“I need to go.” She knew she sounded weak and pathetic and even if she did go back to her apartment, there was no way she’d be able to take care of herself.

“Please. Rest here until you recover. I’ll sleep on the sofa.” 

“Don’t you understand?” Oh gods, she was going to sob any moment now. Or scream. “If I stay here, even for a single second, I will not get any clarity.” 

“As you wish.” Azriel retreated to a distance. Y/n slowly stood up under his gaze. 

She remembered that she had only worn her panties and jeans when Azriel had followed her to apologise. So she removed his sweatshirt he had dressed her in. 

When the sweatshirt was over her head, leaving her bare, Y/n saw that Azriel had turned away, as if he knew his permit to see her naked had been revoked.

She wore her own clothes and looked around. She grabbed her phone and walked towards the door where he stood with his back towards her.

Upon hearing her footsteps, he moved away, clearing the way for her. Once she began walking, she heard him follow her. She looked behind and saw his imposing figure behind her.

He was in pain. 

So much pain. 

She could see it. 

But so was she. 

And Y/n had had enough of ignoring her own pain for others. 

But Azriel standing there and following her from behind was a realisation. 

That he’d always be there. Behind her if not beside her. 

“Call me.” He suddenly said. “If you need anything—medicines, food, anything—just call.”

She wanted to kiss him. So she turned away and left his apartment.

Y/n climbed into her bed, her fluffy blanket, and fell asleep without changing her clothes. 

****

Azriel had a mission. 

Scratch that, he had two missions. 

One, Y/n’s recovery. 

Two, Y/n’s forgiveness.

He honestly didn’t understand where she’d gotten the idea that he had her followed to monitor her in case she cheated. 

If she did cheat on him, it would be the fault of the fuckwit who thought he could drive a wedge between them. 

Azriel would simply dispose of any such menaces and Y/n wouldn’t even know anything.

He sighed.

Her not knowing had not turned out well for him. 

He’d flown in his personal doctor in the middle of the night. And while she’d been resting in his apartment, he’d gotten a doctor in the city to check on her. 

His doctor was situated in one of the apartments, ready at a moment’s notice. 

Azriel kept stock of medicines and food ingredients, just in case she wanted something. 

And he waited like a dutiful husband. 

And while he waited, he googled up on how he could earn her forgiveness. 

The bugs in her apartment began transmitting her sound. She was crying and talking. He heard the name Nesta. And more crying. 

She was worried about how this would pan out. 

How she’d been an excellent fool by falling for him. 

Wait. 

Y/n had fallen for him? 

Oh. 

He shouldn’t be happy considering what happened but he couldn’t help it. 

And it was then that Azriel decided that he should probably get rid of those bugs before she saw one or saw something else on his iPad. 

He wasn’t going to hide the iPad. 

He didn’t like hiding things from Y/n but there were certain things he simply hoped she’d never find. 

It was poor thinking but what else could he do? 

He was obsessed and his morals clashed and crashed far too often for it to make sense. 

As as for how to earn her forgiveness, Y/n’s favourite books had a lot of fictional men grovelling after fucking up. 

He needed to analyse everything. 

What exactly was she hurt about. 

What could he do to stop her hurt? 

How to make amends. 

How to convince her that he was not a complete piece of shit and was worth some consideration of forgiveness. 

Her safety had been an important concern. 

If Y/n knew the number of people that had started following her while she went out on her own. 

The number of people that had been beaten up so that she could roam around outside without anything to fear.

The number of phone numbers he’d looked into after any call that made her uncomfortable. He had them all deactivated.

No. 

Her safety was an important matter that needed his attention. 

It was not a bargaining chip to win an argument or to prove a point. 

It was simply his duty. 

But how was he going to convince her that he hadn’t worried about her cheating? 

That he was only endlessly and ravenously curious about her ever since he first saw her? 

Azriel sighed. He needed advice. He picked up his phone and called the one person he trusted enough with such a matter. When the call was answered, he began. “Hello, mum.”

****

Taglist:

@fantanbietsson @angstylittleb1tch @fhgsvbnh @olive-main @cherryjain17 @halo-mystic @starofanotherworld @latinxbipride @viatorem-maris @acotarbestie @sevikas-whore @anthonys-viscountess @randomgurl2326 @thelov3lybookworm @cat-or-kitten @mortqlprojections @tele86 @rorel1a @red0202 @atomictyphoonkitten @colorfulgardenerduck @scarsandallaz @anonymousdisco @rcarbo1 @workof-a-rr-t @fuckingsimp4azriel @isabella13dusk @donnadiddadog @yannnnooooxoxox-blog @nxgh1 @thedeviltohisangel @katherinebright @fandomtrash5092 @epicsweetness712 @anik-4 @hitsxbikbv @julesvanslutta @fae-dreamer-99 @cartonkid1200 @anainkandpaper @yourwonderbelle @stefbroo @imjustagirl713 @bbykaixx @lilah-asteria

[dreamscapeee222]

Hi! I'm not sure if you do individual characters for your Arcane writings so I'll just request this for all the ones you write for (especially for Jinx)

Can I request a platonic relationship between them and the reader where the reader is like a sister figure to them and is the type to say stuff like "I'd let the world burn for you" towards them, or just like show it through actions. In short, very protective. Thank you!

A/n: I love this idea! This is amazing <3

You're like a sister to them

Vi, Jinx, Caitlyn, Ekko, Jayce, Viktor, Mel

Masterlist

Vi

Vi had always been the tough one, the protector. It was her instinct to shield the people she loved, but with you around, she found herself on the other side of that dynamic more often than not.

“You’re not doing this alone,” you said firmly, arms crossed as Vi tried to convince you to stay back from her latest reckless plan.

“(Y/N), I can handle it,” she argued, her voice carrying that familiar edge. But the way her eyes softened told you she appreciated your concern, even if she wouldn’t say it outright.

When things went south—as they often did in Zaun—you didn’t hesitate. Charging into danger, standing your ground against anyone threatening her, and putting her needs above your own had become second nature. After one particularly brutal fight, you found Vi bruised and battered but alive, your own knuckles bloodied from what you had to do to keep her safe.

“You shouldn’t have done that,” Vi muttered, wincing as you patched her up.

You looked her dead in the eye. “I’d let Zaun burn before I let anyone hurt you.”

Vi didn’t respond right away, but the way she squeezed your hand told you everything.

Jinx

Jinx was chaos incarnate, a whirlwind of mischief and destruction. Most people either feared her or stayed far, far away. But not you.

You saw the vulnerability beneath her manic energy, the little sister who had lost so much. You were the first to defend her, to step between her and those who judged her too harshly.

“Hey,” you snapped, your voice sharp as you blocked the path of someone bad-mouthing Jinx. “Say another word about her, and you’ll regret it.”

When Jinx caught wind of your protective streak, she didn’t know how to react at first. She was used to people abandoning her, not standing by her side. But as time went on, she leaned into it, testing the limits of your loyalty with her wild schemes.

One night, after a particularly risky plan that ended with the two of you hiding out in a crumbling safehouse, Jinx flopped onto the floor beside you. “You’re crazy, you know that?” she said, a grin tugging at her lips.

“Takes one to know one,” you shot back, ruffling her hair.

Her grin widened, but her voice turned soft. “Thanks for not giving up on me.”

Caitlyn

Caitlyn was used to handling herself. As an Enforcer, she’d been trained to deal with danger and never rely on anyone. But when you came into her life, she learned what it was like to have someone truly in her corner.

You had a knack for showing up at the right time, whether it was pulling Caitlyn out of a tough spot or standing up for her when others underestimated her. Once, during a high-stakes mission in Piltover, you caught wind of a plot against her and intervened before she even knew she was in danger.

“You knew,” Caitlyn said later, her voice a mix of disbelief and gratitude.

“I always know when you’re in trouble,” you replied with a shrug, brushing off her thanks. “And I always will.”

Your fierce protectiveness didn’t go unnoticed. Caitlyn often tried to return the favor, but you were stubborn. “Let me be there for you too,” she said one night after you had risked too much for her again.

“Not a chance,” you said, smiling. “That’s what big sisters are for.”

Ekko

Ekko was resilient, but even he had moments when the weight of leadership threatened to crush him. In those moments, you were his anchor, reminding him he wasn’t alone.

When someone dared to question Ekko’s leadership of the Firelights, you stepped forward, your voice sharp and unwavering. “If you’ve got a problem with him, you’ve got a problem with me.”

Ekko didn’t say much after the confrontation, but later that night, as the two of you sat overlooking the Undercity, he turned to you with a small smile. “You don’t have to fight my battles for me, you know.”

“Too bad,” you said, leaning back. “You’re stuck with me.”

Your loyalty wasn’t just words; it was in the way you stood by him, no matter how dangerous things got. When Ekko doubted himself, you were there to remind him of his worth. “The Firelights need you,” you said one night. “And I’d go through hell to make sure they don’t lose you.”

Jayce

Jayce was no stranger to pressure. As the golden boy of Piltover, he was constantly under scrutiny. That’s where you came in, fiercely protective of him in a way that often surprised him.

When tensions ran high during council meetings, and the others turned on him, you didn’t hesitate to step in. “Jayce has done more for this city than any of you,” you said, your voice cutting through the room. “Maybe show some gratitude.”

He pulled you aside afterward, his expression a mix of amusement and exasperation. “You don’t have to go to war for me, you know.”

“Too late,” you replied with a smirk.

Jayce often tried to shield you from the backlash his work brought, but you wouldn’t hear of it. “I’d burn every bridge in Piltover if it meant keeping you safe,” you told him one evening, your tone serious.

He laughed, shaking his head. “You’re unbelievable.” But the gratitude in his eyes said it all.

Viktor

Viktor was used to being overlooked, dismissed, and underestimated. But not by you.

When others questioned his work or his health became a concern, you were the first to step in. “If you have something to say about him, say it to me,” you said sharply during one tense exchange with a council member.

Viktor pulled you aside afterward, his brow furrowed. “You don’t need to defend me like that,” he said, though his voice lacked conviction.

“Someone has to,” you replied firmly.

Your protectiveness extended to the smallest details, like making sure he ate during long workdays or quietly taking on tasks to ease his burden. Viktor would often catch you in the act, shaking his head with a small smile. “You’re relentless,” he said once, his tone affectionate.

“And you’re worth it,” you shot back without hesitation.

Mel

Mel didn’t often let people close, but you were an exception. You saw through her composed exterior, recognizing the weight she carried.

When her position on the council put her at odds with dangerous players, you were always there, a silent but fierce guardian. “You’ll have to get through me first,” you told a rival councilor one day, your voice cold as ice.

Mel later approached you, her expression unreadable. “You don’t have to fight my battles,” she said, though there was no mistaking the gratitude in her tone.

“Maybe not,” you replied. “But I will.”

She rarely showed vulnerability, but when she did, you were the first person she turned to. “You’d really let the world burn for me, wouldn’t you?” she asked one evening, a faint smile playing on her lips.

“Without question,” you said, and she believed you.

See pinned.

[blog-o-meter]

Making Room - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: (Y/N) follows up on her promise of visiting Nicholas in Los Angeles after their fateful weekend together, excited to see him again, but increasingly finds herself doubting her place in his world.

warnings: 18+, implied phone sex, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, blowjob, cursing, pls let me know what else

required listening: Islands by The XX

word count: 30, 568

a/n: ok ik technically this is a continuation to room 5, but you honestly don't even have to read it, unless you'd like to understand the occasional reference to the beach weekend (I'll link it below). I thought 17k words was long for room 5, but this one had me in a doozy!! this one was mostly for my enjoyment, just to see where the story would take me, but if you happen to enjoy it, awesome!! pls pls pls let me know what you guys think <3

Read 'Room 5' here

reblogs and likes are appreciated and lets me know if you'd like to see more!

Four months. It had been four months since I last saw Nicholas — in person, that is. Since that fateful weekend at the beach, we had been messaging and calling almost every day, which is absolutely insane to think about. Could you imagine what would’ve happened had I not booked that specific hotel on that specific weekend? I’d probably be staring at my phone for a completely different reason, doom scrolling, bored out of my mind. But, now, Nicholas was my reason.

God, we’d text, FaceTime, and call any chance either of us got. I was afraid our conversations would be surface-level at first, like they are with almost every guy I’ve tried to talk to on Tinder or Bumble or Hinge, but I was equal parts surprised and relieved to find that all our talks seemed natural and easy, as if we were best friends in a previous life. It was like we had skipped all of the awkward stages and landed right in the middle of something real, which I hoped would happen, especially after how we met. I think I’d die if Nicholas ended up being a one night stand or failed budding relationship.

It scared me, as much as it thrilled me, to find just how easily Nicholas could get me to open up about anything. He didn’t ask the typical questions one would ask when getting to know someone. We all know the ones, the ones everyone dreads to ask or answer for the millionth time with those potential matches on dating apps that end up going nowhere: what’s your favorite color? What do you do for fun? And the one that personally makes me want to bite my phone in half: wyd?

No, he wouldn’t ask those questions. First, he’d lead in with an anecdote of his own, explaining to me his personal lore as a way to soften me up before he’d ask me the hard-hitters: What were you like as a kid? What is your concept of love? Do you regret anything? All of his questions kept me on my toes, and I mean that in the best way possible. I found myself answering every question he had about me in an unfiltered and honest way, which I don’t think anybody has gotten me to do in years, possibly since the one free therapy session I went to during my first semester of college.

But my favorite question he would ask me on certain late nights was, “Is everyone asleep?,” his voice low and intimate through the phone.

It was a question that made my skin flush, one that made the heat pool low in my belly. My toes would curl under the sheets the moment I’d hear his breathing become deeper and deeper, pressing my ear to the phone as close as I could so I could hear every idiosyncrasy in his breath.

“Yeah, why?” I’d innocently ask, though I knew exactly where his question would lead to.

“Good,” he’d murmur, his voice dropping to a whisper that made my heart race. “Then it’s just you and me, right? No interruptions?” I could almost hear his hand graze down to the waist of his jeans through the phone.

If phones still had cords at the end of them, I’d be twisting the hell out of it around my finger. “No interruptions,” I’d whisper back.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he’d confess softly, the words almost tangible through the phone.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” I’d reply, my voice barely audible as I’d reach for my underwear under the sheets.

“You have no idea how much I want to be there with you right now, (Y/N),” he’d continue, his voice rich with longing, “To touch you… to feel you….”

The words would send a jolt through me, a wave of heat rushing to my skin as I’d shift around in bed, biting my lip at his voice. It was hard to hold back when he knew all the right things to say.

The killers, though, were the selfies he’d send. It had started innocently enough: a picture of him holding up his coffee one morning with the caption, 'Good morning, beautiful.' But then it escalated. Tousled hair and sleepy eyes at the end of a long day, shirtless mirror selfies after a workout; he knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn't shy about it.

>> just something to tide you over

He’d tease over text. I couldn’t feel his muscles taut under my fingers through the phone, but I’d look at the shirtless picture he’d sent and my face would flush all the same. And every time, l'd reply:

> You’re torturing me, you know that?

To which he'd say:

>> Good. Now you know how I feel every time I hear your voice but can't touch you.

Somewhere between the steamy exchanges and long, deep conversations, I found myself trusting Nicholas in ways I hadn’t trusted anyone in years. And yet, the more I opened up to him, the more terrified I became. This wasn’t some casual crush I could move on from after a few weeks. Nicholas had become something more; he mattered to me deeply, and I ached for him in ways I couldn’t possibly fathom. There was only so much back-and-forth I could take until one day, when I finally told him:

> I can't keep doing this, Nic. I need to see you.

I watched as the typing dots appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. Finally, his reply came through.

>> I’m booking you a flight to LA.

> like actually?

>> yes. I need you here with me. No more waiting.

Some part of me thought that he was still joking, but when he sent me a screenshot of my digital boarding ticket just a few minutes later, I could’ve sworn my heart didn’t just skip a beat — it stopped completely. The ticket was dated for the next week, an early morning non-stop flight from my hometown to LAX Airport with a return date of just a few days later. 4 days in LA. Nicholas was dead serious.

A smile tugged at my lips, but it was quickly followed by a wave of nerves. After months of teasing such a trip, it was happening. I was going to fly across the country to see him, really see him, for the first time since that weekend at the beach. I felt a mix of excitement, anxiety, and anticipation settle in my stomach. Though, I was most excited to be able to feel Nicholas again.

Thankfully, my boss was a pretty understanding guy. I never really had to ask for “permission” whenever I wanted a day off; I just had to let him know a few days in advance that I’d be out so he could adjust tasks accordingly. And so, I let him know that I’d be out on Thursday, and that was enough to cover my bases. What stressed me out, though, wasn’t missing a day of work, it was the packing.

I had never been to California, let alone fly to another state to meet up with a guy. What does one even pack for that? What would we even been doing on said trip? Museum dates? Beach dates? We did meet at a beach. And then there was the lingerie situation — should I even pack it? Would that make me look presumptuous? Though, Nicholas had been more suggestive over text lately…

By the time Wednesday night rolled around, I’d somehow managed to stuff four days worth of clothing into a single carry-on while convincing myself I’d forgotten something essential. Toiletries, toothbrush, extra underwear, passport, wallet. Toiletries, toothbrush, extra, underwear, passport, wallet. Toiletries, toothbrush, extra underwear, passport, wallet. I double-checked my bag about three times before deciding I was overthinking it. Still, my nerves didn’t settle.

All I kept thinking about, kept counting down to, was the moment I landed safely in Los Angeles and had Nicholas in my arms again. I had been thinking about the way he held me, his teasing, and his beautiful smile ever since we met. Thankfully, we existed in an era of smartphones, and I could just wait for a FaceTime call from him to satisfy my desire for a moment.

Nicholas made sure to express the same sentiments any opportunity he could, too. The night before my flight, he called me while I was lying in bed, my heart racing too fast to be able to properly wind down.

“Are you packed?” he asked, his voice smooth and reassuring, but with an underlying excitement that matched my own.

“Since yesterday,” I said, rolling onto my side and staring at tomorrow’s outfit neatly folded on my desk chair, my luggage zipped and ready to go. “I feel like I’m forgetting something, though.”

“Even if you did, don’t worry too much. Just bring yourself; that’s all I need,” he said softly, and my stomach flipped at how sincere he sounded.

I smiled, burying my face in the pillow to hide the ridiculous grin I was wearing, even though he couldn’t see it. “I swear, it’s like you get all your lines straight from a romance novel.”

I could hear his smile through the phone, “Maybe I’m just a romantic.”

“Yeah, booking a flight for a girl you met four months ago might’ve given that away,” I teased, rolling over to the other side of the bed.

“Hey, you’re the one who said you needed to see me,” he shot back, a playful lilt in his voice. I could hear him shuffling items on the other side, the clank of something on a wooden surface followed by the occasional spray of some liquid, “I’m just being accommodating.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault,” I replied, laughing softly into the receiver.

“Absolutely,” he said, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “If it were up to me, I would’ve booked that flight for you the moment I was back in LA, but I didn’t want to push. I wanted you to feel ready.”

He always seemed to know the right thing to say, the perfect balance of sweet and thoughtful without crossing into saccharine. “Well, I’m definitely ready now,” I admitted, my voice softer now.

“Good,” he sighed, “because I don’t think I could’ve waited any longer.”

“Just a few more hours, and I’m all yours,” I murmured through the phone, daydreaming about the moment I could be with Nicholas again.

He sighed longingly, mumbling, “All mine.”

I’m not sure how it would be the moment we saw each other. Yes, we had a wonderful day together that weekend at the beach, but a part of me thought what if we lost that in-person magic we had back then? There was so much riding on this trip. What if things felt… different once we were in person again? I mean, this would be our first time staying an entire weekend together.

I had planned on staying at a nearby hotel, but Nicholas insisted on him hosting me so he could spend every second, both waking and sleeping, with me. After all, it would only be a few days and it would save us some time from waiting around in traffic driving back and forth, so he said. As much as I loved our night together at the beach, that was exactly it — just one night. This was three nights and four days at his place.

The line went quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that wasn't awkward but charged. It was the kind of silence that let you feel every unspoken word, every unsaid thought hanging in the air. I could hear him breathing on the other end, the sound steady and rhythmic, and it somehow soothed the storm of emotions brewing inside me.

That next day couldn’t have been any more stressful for me, and I didn’t particularly appreciate the universe’s sense of humor. The security line at the airport looked short but was taking agonizingly long to get through. I’d glance down at my watch almost every minute thinking that would magically help pass the time. And it wasn’t just me. I could see everyone else in line starting to get anxious, too. You’d think an airport in a small town would be easier, faster, and less stressful, but no, it wasn’t.

And of course, once I did get through, my tray of items was randomly checked. It was like the TSA agent knew my stomach was in knots about today, taking their precious time to open my luggage and sift through my stuff. I stood there helpless, trying not to fidget as the agent meticulously examined my bag. Finally, the agent gave me a curt nod, zipped up my bag, and handed it back to me.

I didn’t even bother to politely smile back like I usually do; I just grabbed my things and power-walked toward my gate, which, of course, was all the way at the opposite end of the terminal. My heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest as I weaved through the small crowds of fliers. When I finally reached my gate, I was out of breath and sweating, but I had made it just in time with the final group starting to board.

Just as it was my turn to scan my boarding pass, the gate agent halted me, politely smiling, “It looks like we just ran out of cabin space. We’re going to have to check in your carry-on.”

I sighed, one of resignation more than anything else. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about looking for any cabin space and carrying this heavy hunk of clothes over my head. Nodding my head, I said, “Of course,” smiling politely.

I watched as one gate agent scanned my ticket while the other wrapped a paper tag around my luggage. As I walked through the gate and boarded the plane, my nerves didn’t let up, and they didn’t dissipate the entire four hour flight either. I tried to nap, I tried watching a movie, I tried listening to music, I tried reading a book, and I even tried to distract myself with the in-flight snacks. Nothing could get me to calm down, and it didn’t help that the flight was particularly bumpy.

However, when the plane began to descend down into Los Angeles, some of my nerves started to let up just a tinge. I had never been to Los Angeles, so flying over the city was a treat. The sprawling cityscape stretched endlessly beneath the plane, glittering under the bright California sun. The ocean sparkled in the distance, a deep blue that reminded me of back home, reminded me of that weekend I met Nicholas. It also reminded me that somewhere amongst those highways and palm trees, he was waiting for me. I made sure to take some pictures of the skyline before the plane descended further.

My stomach flipped as the plane wheels hit the runway, the vibrations jolting me out of my thoughts. This was it. I was here, in his city, and in just a few minutes, I’d be wrapped in his warm embrace again. Yet, as much as I tried to hold on to that comforting thought, I couldn’t quite shake the nagging voice in my head questioning how I fit into all this. His city. His world.

As I disembarked, the nerves came rushing back in full force. I fiddled with the strap of my purse, glancing around as I entered the terminal. LAX was as chaotic as I’d expected from seeing so many movies — crowds of people swarming the gates, families reuniting, fashionable friend groups all excitedly walking to their gates, the occasional couple running across the terminal trying to catch their flight, businesspeople striding purposefully to their next destination. The energy in the air was frenetic, and for a moment, I felt swept up in it.

But beneath the excitement, a strange unease crept in. By sheer law of probability, I knew it might also be their first time in Los Angeles for some of these people, but try as I might, I still felt out of place. Everybody seemed so important here, as if they were meant to be part of something bigger — chasing careers, dreams, or maybe just the California sun. It made me wonder about myself. Nicholas was fond of me enough to invite me out here, I knew that much, but was I just tagging along for the ride? Or could I fit in, truly fit in?

I tried to follow the arrows to baggage claim, but my mind was so out of whack that I couldn’t even remember what direction the arrows pointed at once I had passed the large signs. I ended up having to follow a group of people from the same flight and pray they were making their way to baggage claim, too. Thankfully, though, my gamble paid off, and I ended up at the carousel watching the luggage trickle out of the abyss in the wall. My tiny carry-on stuck out like a sore thumb, an obnoxious flurry of colors in a sea of huge black and gray suitcases.

The hum of conversation and the screech of suitcase wheels filled the air, but I couldn’t focus on anything but finding my bag and, beyond that, finding Nicholas. My heart thumped in anticipation. I pulled my bag out of the carousel and looked around for Arrivals, finding my way to a set of glass doors that led outside. I fished for the phone in my purse, my hands shaking as I looked for Nicholas’s contact and tapped on ‘Call.’

The phone rang once before Nicholas picked up, his voice immediate and warm, cutting through the noise of the bustling airport. “Are you here?” he asked, his excitement palpable. “Do you see me anywhere?”

I glanced around, the bright California sun blinding as I stepped out of the terminal and onto the curb. The air was warm and carried a faint scent of jet fuel mixed with something floral, almost citrusy. “I’m looking,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the nerves threatening to make it crack. “Where are you?”

“I see you,” Nicholas said, and before I could process what he meant, I caught sight of him walking toward me.

The world seemed to blur around me, slowing down as my focus narrowed to solely him. He was taller than I remembered, or maybe it was just the setting that made him feel larger than life. His dark sunglasses couldn’t hide the grin on his face as he wove through the crowd, his casual outfit — a fitted white t-shirt under a brown leather jacket and baggy light-washed jeans — making him look effortlessly put-together. The jacket clung to his broad shoulders, and the way his shirt skimmed his chest made my heart race faster than I’d like to admit. His hair, a little shorter than the last time I’d seen him, caught the sunlight in a way that made him seem almost unreal, each strand gleaming like something straight out of a movie still.

Even in the chaos of the airport, he moved with a calm confidence that was magnetic. His walk was quick and purposeful, choosing the perfect opportunities to weave himself between the people bustling past him, his long strides closing the distance between us in seconds. The faint scruff along his jawline was new, a rugged addition that only added to his allure. He looked like he belonged here — in this city, in this moment — and the closer he got, the harder it was to remember to breathe. I was in utter awe.

And then he smiled — a full, radiant grin that reached his eyes and made me weak in the knees. He pulled off his sunglasses as he approached, his piercing gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made the noise of the airport fade into nothingness. I missed seeing those big, brown eyes of his in person. Our video calls could never quite capture the shimmer in his eyes properly.

“Nic,” I breathed, smiling, barely able to get the word out before he closed the distance between us.

I expected a hug, but when he pulled me close by the waist and picked me up off my feet and spun me around in his arms… God, I felt like a princess. The chaos of the airport faded into white noise as I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing him in; he smelled like cedarwood and a hint of something sweeter, maybe vanilla. His arms around me were firm, safe, and for the first time in months, the ache of longing I’d carried with me felt like it had finally eased. All that trouble going through the airport was absolutely worth it.

He set me down gently, his hands gripping my waist as he lowered his head for a kiss. The moment his lips met mine, I melted into him. His kiss wasn’t tentative or questioning; it was sure, full of longing and unspoken promises. It was the kind of kiss that said, Fuck, I’ve missed you. My hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, holding on as if I might float away if I let go. The warmth of his palms on my waist grounded me, his touch both possessive and reassuring.

I moaned quietly into the kiss, running my fingers through the back of Nicholas’s head, his hair soft under my fingertips. The kiss deepened for a moment, his lips moving against mine like we had all the time in the world, like we weren’t standing on a bustling curb at LAX with people rushing past us. But right then, none of it mattered. It was just us, lost in the feeling of being together again.

When we finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the small space between us. “Hey,” he whispered softly, smiling, his voice low and rough with emotion as he continued to peck my lips.

“Hey,” I almost sang. My heart was still racing, my cheeks flushed from more than just the California sun. “You’re even more handsome than I remember.”

Nicholas grinned, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “And you’re even more beautiful than I remember. How’s that possible?”

I rolled my eyes playfully, blushing at his comment. We stayed there holding each other for a moment. Truthfully, I couldn’t believe this moment was real. Was it real? My hands rested on his chest, slowly moving across to his shoulders under his jacket, like I was trying to make sure Nicholas was really here with me.

Nicholas stifled a quiet chuckle, kissing me again. His laugh sent a comforting warmth through me, melting away the last traces of stress from the flight. I bit my lip to keep from smiling too wide, but it was impossible not to.

He smiled, kissing my forehead, his lips warm against my skin. “Let me take that bag,” he said, nodding toward the carry-on that I had abandoned behind me in the flurry of our reunion.

I shook my head, smiling. “No, you don’t have to—”

“It’s ok,” he interrupted, already reaching for it. “You’re here visiting. Let me take care of you now.”

I let him, because honestly, it felt nice to let someone else handle things for a change. As he grabbed the bag, he reached for my free hand with his other, lacing his fingers through mine. His grip was firm yet gentle, the kind of hold that made me feel steady even as my heart still raced from his kiss.

He led us toward the ragtop car parked nearby. I stood awkwardly off to the side as I watched him open the passenger side door and reach in for something on the seat. When he pulled himself out, he turned around, a huge bouquet in his hands.

The flowers were stunning — an array of vivid colors that seemed to mirror the vibrance of the city around us. Almost every flower under the sun was intertwined with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath, creating a bouquet so large it practically swallowed his hands. The scent wafted toward me, sweet and intoxicating, and I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped my lips.

“Welcome to LA, babe,” he smiled and gave me another kiss as he handed me the bouquet. “I should’ve asked what your favorite flower was before I decided to buy a bouquet, so I just asked them to put as many different ones as they could. I’m hoping one of them is your favorite.”

I smiled, reaching for the pink peony in the middle and placing it behind Nicholas’s ear, “Peonies,” I said as I caressed his cheek.

He leaned into my touch, his hand coming up to gently wrap around my wrist as he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were softer, warmer, and full of something I couldn’t quite put into words. “I’ll remember that for next time,” he murmured, his voice low and full of affection.

He kissed my hand, grabbing hold of the carry-on again and walking around to the trunk. I climbed inside the car, clutching the bouquet in my lap as I heard Nicholas move stuff around in the trunk. The nerves started to creep back in as the reality of the situation hit me again. This wasn’t just another FaceTime call or text conversation. I was here, with Nicholas, for an entire weekend. Everything we’d talked about, teased, and imagined over the last few months was about to become real.

I looked around the car, having never been inside a ragtop before. The interior was sleek and classic, a mix of polished leather and chrome details that gave it a timeless charm. The seats were a deep caramel color, slightly worn in a way that made them look comfortable rather than aged. The dashboard gleamed under the sun, a testament to Nicholas’s attention to detail — or at least, to whoever he had take care of his car.

I ran my fingers along the edge of the seat, trying to ground myself. The bouquet in my lap was vibrant against the neutral tones of the car, and I stared at it for a moment, a nervous energy bubbling in my chest.

The trunk slammed shut, jolting me out of my spiraling thoughts. I looked up just as Nicholas slid into the driver’s seat, his movements effortless and smooth. He turned to me with a smile that instantly calmed my nerves.

“I figured you might want to head straight to my place, settle in a bit before we do anything,” he spoke calmly as he buckled himself into the seat and pulled down his sunglasses over his eyes. “I have so many things planned for us — dinner reservations tonight to start. It’ll just be you and me all weekend,” he smiled as he squeezed my knee lightly before starting the car. The engine roared to life, a low, satisfying rumble that matched the energy of the city around us.

We quickly pulled out of the airport, earning a quiet yelp from me every time Nicholas revved the engine and drove just a few miles over the speed limit. The wind blew against us, my hair flowing back and forth as the car cut through the wind. The sun pierced into my eyes, triggering me to reach into my purse for a pair of sunglasses.

As I looked out into the city, admiring the palm trees and all of the Instagram-perfect shops and restaurants on the way, I felt Nicholas’s hand rest on top of mine. His touch was reassuring, grounding me as the city unfolded around us like a living, breathing postcard. Los Angeles was everything I’d imagined and more — a chaotic mix of glamour and grit, sunshine and shadow, all wrapped up in the hum of traffic and the distant buzz of life happening everywhere at once. As Dorothy said, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

The car ride to his place was a blur of cityscapes and conversation. He asked about my flight, teased me about my airport mishaps, and filled me in on some of the plans he'd made for the weekend. It felt easy, natural, like no time had passed since that weekend at the beach.

I turned to him, momentarily losing myself in his profile — the way his jaw tightened as he focused on the road, the way the sunlight caught the edges of his sunglasses. I so desperately wanted to something, anything,, but I held myself back, instead opting to bring his hand up to my lips and gently kiss his knuckles. He smiled, squeezing my hand gently as his eyes focused on the road, bringing my hand up to his lips and doing the same.

I couldn’t deny it. As overwhelming as this moment was — the city, the trip, him — it felt right. I glanced out at the skyline again, letting the rhythm of the car and the warmth of Nicholas’s hand calm my nerves.

As we wound through the streets, the neighborhoods shifted, transitioning from the bustling downtown to quieter, artsy districts filled with murals and trendy coffee shops. The chaos of LAX felt like a distant memory, replaced by a sense of anticipation as Nicholas navigated the narrower streets with ease. The flowers in my lap swayed slightly with each turn, their scent mingling with the faint leather smell of the car’s interior. I stole glances at Nicholas, marveling at how natural he seemed in this city.

When we finally pulled up to a mid-rise apartment building, my breath caught in my throat. The building was modern but understated, like the apartment complexes that seem to be popping up everywhere now. A few potted plants flanked the entrance, giving it a welcoming vibe. It was exactly the kind of place I’d imagined Nicholas living in — stylish, yet approachable.

Nicholas pulled into the parking garage, making his way to a reserved spot near a building entrance, turning to me with a proud but slightly nervous smile as the car’s convertible roof started to close. “We’re here,” he said with a lilt, slipping off his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket pocket.

We both exited his car. He quickly retrieved my luggage from the trunk and took me by the hand, the sound of the plastic wheels echoing through the concrete structure as he walked us to the entrance. I expected for us to board the elevator, but we continued walking, turning a corner and arriving at his front door. I was so jealous that Nicholas lived in an apartment on the ground floor and so close to the door that led to the parking entrance. Talk about luck. When I lived in an apartment back in the city, I had to settle for a five-story walk up. I will say, though, my calves were killer that year.

Nicholas pulled out his keys, glancing at me with a little smirk as he unlocked the door. I stifled a chuckle, rolling my eyes as I walked in, but my jaw nearly dropped as I took in the space. The apartment was gorgeous — not ostentatious, but carefully curated, with an effortless charm. The open-concept kitchen flowed into the living room, where you could barely tell the walls were a millennial grey from all the colorful posters and furniture that adorned the space. Music posters, some action figures, books on top of books, and the occasional fine art print, nothing flashy but all very thoughtful. A few plants were scattered around, their leaves adding a touch of life to the space.

I shook my head, smiling to myself as I set the bouquet and my purse carefully on the granite countertop near the entrance. I was quiet, looking around and trying to learn as much as I could about Nicholas through all his little trinkets. Careful not to step wrong, I approached the bookshelf, awed by all the things he had on display. There were a few pictures of him on different production sets. There was a Terry McGinnis Batman action figure still in its box. There were so many books that the shelves were starting to warp, most of them fiction with a handful of autobiographies. That’s when I noticed White Oleander sticking out a bit. I turned around to glance at Nicholas, finding him to be leaning against the kitchen counter, eyeing me all over with a smirk.

I smiled, pulling the book out of its spot, “You read it?” The book seemed to be already falling apart.

Nicholas slowly walked over to me step by step, “And I bought the movie.”

“Really?” I asked, pleasantly smirking as I put the book back on the shelf.

I felt his hands settle on my waist as he stood behind me, his breath warm against the shell of my ear as he pulled me closer. My breath hitched slightly, the pit of my belly starting to ache. 

“This amazing girl told me that the writing was… poignant,” he smiled against my ear, pressing a kiss.

As I trailed my fingers across the row of books, Nicholas slipped his under my shirt and brushed over my stomach, my abdomen slightly twitching involuntarily. His touch was gentle, almost tentative, like he was testing the waters. A shiver ran through me as his fingertips brushed against my skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. I closed my eyes for a moment, leaning back slightly into his chest, the weight of him grounding me as his arms circled around my waist.

"Did you like it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, fighting to keep my composure. The ache in my belly grew stronger with every second his hands lingered on me, and it was becoming impossible to ignore the way my body responded to his presence.

Nicholas smiled, his lips grazing my ear as he spoke. "I loved it." He placed a kiss on my neck, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

A soft gasp escaped my lips as Nicholas's kiss deepened against my neck, his breath warm and steady, the scrape of his light stubble adding a tantalizing roughness to the tenderness of his touch. My fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the bookshelf for support, my knees threatening to buckle as he pressed himself closer to me.

The scent of him — that intoxicating mix of cedarwood and vanilla — was heady, making it hard to think clearly. Every nerve in my body seemed to hum under his touch, each caress of his fingertips against my skin leaving a burning trail that made me crave more. His hands slid slowly upward, tracing the curve of my sides as his lips trailed along the column of my neck, lingering in the hollow just below my ear.

"I missed you," he murmured against my skin, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver racing down my spine, “so fucking much.”. He held me like I was something precious, his movements careful yet filled with purpose, like he didn't want to miss a single moment of this.

I tilted my head to give him better access, my breath hitching as he gently nipped at my earlobe. My own hands moved without thought, one reaching back to tangle in his hair, the other bracing against his arm as if anchoring myself to him. His hair was soft between my fingers, and I found myself threading through it, pulling him closer as my body melted into his. His hands rested on my waist again, fingers splaying wide as if to hold all of me, his thumbs brushing gently over the bare skin just above the waistband of my jeans.

"Nicholas," I breathed, my voice shaky and filled with want.

"Hmm?" His lips curved into a smile against my neck before he turned me around to face him. His ability to pretend he wasn’t being a devious little thing was something to admire.

His hands slid to my hips, gripping just firmly enough to keep me steady, and I finally met his eyes. They were dark and full of something raw. His gaze flicked down to my lips, lingering for a beat before returning to my eyes.

I bit my lip, trying to keep from smiling too much, but it was useless. He leaned down, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat, and kissed me. This time, it wasn't just a reunion kiss; it was deliberate, deeper, and filled with an aching intensity that made the room spin. His hands gripped my hips tighter, pulling me flush against him, and my own hands flew to his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath my palms.

I pulled away to catch my breath, “Didn’t you say we had a dinner reservation?”

A smirk played on the corner of his lips as he stepped closer, cornering me against the bookshelf. He slowly kneeled down, his gaze never faltering away from my eyes as his hands traveled down the sides of my legs.

“We do,” he mumbled, his voice thick with desire. His gaze fell to my groin, “but there’s still some time left. This is more important.”

I swallowed hard, my breath catching as his hands undid the button of my jeans and pulled the zipper down. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of my pants and slowly, he pulled the denim down.

"Nic," I managed to whisper, my voice trembling as I reached for his head, tangling my fingers in his hair.

He smirked up at me, mischief dancing in his eyes. "(Y/N)," he said innocently, though the way his hands wrapped around my bare hips betrayed his intentions, “Let me spoil you, baby,” he said as he started to shower my thighs in slow kisses, spreading my legs apart as he settled between them. 

I couldn't help it; my head fell back against the bookshelf, and I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through me. I could feel myself throb harder the closer his mouth inched to my inner thighs. He took his time, his hands and lips moving with a careful deliberation that was both maddening and intoxicating.

My heart was racing, every inch of me on fire as Nicholas's lips trailed lower, brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I bit my lip to keep from moaning, but my body was betraying me — my back arching ever so slightly, my hands gripping the edge of the bookshelf, fingers trembling with anticipation.

He paused, his lips hovering just millimeters from where I needed him most, and he looked up at me with that damnable smirk of his — a mix of devilish amusement and raw desire that made my stomach flip. His fingers played at the trim of my underwear, kissing the hem as he pulled them down and let them fall around my ankles.

He knew exactly how to play with me, how to stretch the tension until it was almost unbearable. I bit back a whimper, wanting him so much but also knowing I had to let him have control of this moment - and, god, it was so hard to surrender.

I shifted slightly, my hips lifting involuntarily as his kisses trailed over the crease between my leg and groin, inching closer. His smirk deepened, and he placed another kiss on the soft skin of my thigh, a slow, deliberate action that sent a shiver through my entire body. I couldn't look away from him, the look in my eyes desperate.

"Please, Nic," I breathed, barely able to recognize my own voice, raw with need.

He paused for a moment, looking up at me through darkened lashes, that smirk still playing on his lips. He was savoring the control, the power he had over me in this moment.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice soft but commanding.

I swallowed hard, the tension in the air almost unbearable. "Please," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, aching with desire.

Finally, his mouth found me, and I cried out, my head falling back as his tongue worked magic against my most sensitive spot. He moved with precision, alternating between soft flicks and firm strokes, driving me higher and higher. His hands held my hips firmly, keeping me grounded as my body writhed in pleasure. He was driving me to madness, his tongue creating waves of pleasure that crashed through me, leaving me breathless and helpless. Every sound, every sensation, was magnified, echoing around the apartment as if the rest of the world didn't exist.

"Fuck," I moaned again, my body trembling under his tongue. I clutched at his hair, pushing his head deeper into me as I bucked my hips forward.

Nicholas responded with a low growl, the vibrations sending shockwaves through me. He didn't relent, his movements growing more urgent, more insistent, as if he wanted to pull every last ounce of tension from my body. The pressure built in me, tightening like a coiled spring, and I could barely hold on.

His grip on my hips tightened, his hands now braced against my skin with a possessive heat that matched the fire burning between us. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't focus on anything but the overwhelming sensations he was drawing from me, each flick of his tongue bringing me closer to the edge.

I gasped, eyes fluttering shut as the heat in my body started to build, coiling tighter and tighter. I couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything other than the way he was making me feel, like I was on the verge of completely unraveling under his touch.

"Nic..." I managed to breathe out again, my voice trembling with need. My breath hitched when I felt him pause for a moment, looking up at me with those dark, heated eyes that burned with a hunger I couldn't ignore.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, his lips brushing against my skin as he spoke, sending a wave of heat through my already burning body. "So desperate for me."

I felt the heat rush to my face, embarrassment mixing with the overwhelming desire that flooded me. My body was betraying me, trembling in ways I couldn't control. He smirked, sensing my hesitation, but instead of teasing me further, he pressed forward again, his mouth returning to me with a renewed urgency.

The sound of my soft moans filled the room, and I could feel my body slowly spiraling toward release. My grip on his hair tightened even more as my hips moved instinctively, chasing the pleasure he was so skillfully drawing out of me.

“Nic, I can’t—“ I could barely utter a sentence, shutting my eyes as I cried out for mercy. My entire body was tight, every muscle coiled as I teetered on the brink.

He didn't respond with words this time. Instead, he increased the pace of his movements, his tongue and lips working relentlessly to push me toward the edge. And just as I thought I couldn't take anymore, it happened — my body snapped, my breath caught in my throat as the tension finally broke, and waves of pleasure crashed over me.

I cried out, my hands desperately clutching him as my body trembled with the intensity of the release. I tried to stay standing, but my knees buckled under me, my vision becoming blurred as I crumbled down into Nicholas’s embrace.

We stayed for a moment on the floor together as I tried to catch my breath. Nicholas held me close, amused to see me gasping for oxygen. My body was still trembling, waves of aftershocks pulsing through me with every movement he made. And just as I thought it was over, I felt Nicholas shift under me.

His hands traced the curve of my hips before gently pulling me to my feet, “Up," he commanded softly, his voice still thick with need. As he guided me to the couch and urged me to lay down, I watched as he removed his jacket and slipped off his shirt. “We’re not making it to dinner,” he tossed his top aside and climbed on top of me. I smiled, welcoming his weight as he settled on top of me and devoured me in a kiss.

I didn’t expect for Nicholas and I to have sex so soon. Honestly, I thought it would happen at the end of the day, maybe after dinner once we had our bellies filled with food, suggestive conversation, and a glass of wine, but this was perfect, too. I had missed the feeling of being in Nicholas’s embrace. It was more than just physical; it was the way he made me feel seen, cherished, and utterly consumed in the best way possible. There was an intimacy in the way he touched me, how his gaze never left mine as though he could unravel all my insecurities with just a look. It terrified me how easily he could undo me.

Afterwards, I comfortably laid bare on the couch, blissful and entertained by watching Nicholas fiddle around in the kitchen in nothing but his briefs and an apron. I watched him, half-dazed and smiling like an idiot as he hummed to himself, utterly at ease in his own skin. I still couldn’t believe I was with him again.

I stretched my body out, my head resting on a pillow, eyes following his every movement. His hair was still slightly messy from our earlier antics, and the way his apron hugged his waist made me laugh to myself. He turned around with a grin, catching me staring, and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked, playing it cool as he stirred something.

I grinned back, sitting up slightly. “You’re so domestic.”

Nicholas let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he set the spoon down. He walked over to the couch and lowered himself beside me, his hand resting on my thigh. “Well, you know, I like to spoil my lady.” His smile was playful, but there was a certain possessiveness in the way he spoke that sent a thrill through me.

“Home-cooked meal after generous sex,” I smiled and twiddled with the hair near his ear, “You definitely know how to spoil me.”

Nicholas grinned, his eyes softening as he leaned closer, brushing his lips against my temple. "I plan on spoiling you in every way I can. This weekend is all about you and nothing else.”

Whatever he was cooking started to bubble in the pot, prompting him to whip his head toward the stove and walk back over to tend to the food before it was ruined. I smirked, leaning back again, letting my body relax into the cushions and silently thanking the universe for sending me a man like Nicholas into my life. After so much time alone and having my time wasted by unfruitful conversations on dating apps, I told myself I’d give up on finding love. And just when I thought I did, I met Nicholas.

He finally turned off the stove, plating something that smelled amazing. His back was still turned as he set the food on the table, removing the apron and draping it over the back of one of the chairs. I lifted myself up from the couch, reaching for my underwear and Nicholas’s jacket, slipping into both. As I made my way over to the table, the cool fabric of Nicholas’s jacket hanging off my shoulders, I felt a wave of warmth from within. It wasn’t just the physical heat from our earlier moments; it was the emotional pull, the connection I hadn’t realized I’d been craving for so long. As I sat down, I watched him with a smile tugging at my lips, his movements slow and deliberate as he set the dishes down.

He caught my gaze again, his lips curling into a soft, satisfied grin. “Hope you’re hungry,” he said, sitting across from me, a playful glint still in his eyes. His bare chest and tousled hair made him look effortlessly gorgeous, and I couldn’t help but admire him as I picked up my fork to dig into the rotini.

I took a bite of the food he’d made, and my eyes widened. “This is incredible,” I said, genuinely impressed. The flavors were perfectly balanced, comforting yet exciting. Or maybe that was just me being nice to the guy that could manage to make me orgasm multiple times. I think Nicholas could serve me burnt toast and I’d still say it was incredible.

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, watching me with a small, pleased smile. “I’m glad you like it.” His voice softened, the flirtatious edge fading a little as he continued, “I want everything tonight — this whole weekend — to be… perfect.”

I swallowed, meeting his gaze, the warmth between us still undeniable. I reached across the table for his hand, “Tonight is perfect, and I know this weekend will be even more perfect.”

He smiled, grabbing his plate and switching over to the chair next to me, planting a kiss on my cheek as he continued to eat. We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the soft clink of utensils filling the cozy apartment. I felt a deep sense of contentment, something I hadn't experienced in years — or maybe ever. The combination of Nicholas's warmth beside me, the delicious food he'd made, and the intimate glow of the dim lighting felt surreal. I kept sneaking glances at him, marveling at how natural this felt. Though, there was a slight pang in my stomach thinking about how him and I would be out there together for the world to see.

The following morning, I awoke in Nicholas’s bed, tangled in his bedsheets. The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting soft golden light across the room. I blinked slowly, my body still heavy with sleep, and turned my head to see Nicholas beside me. He was lying on his stomach, one arm draped possessively over my waist, his hair adorably mussed. His face was so peaceful, his lips slightly parted, quietly snoring, and I couldn’t help but smile at how boyish he looked when asleep.

Initially, I had told him the guest room was fine, so it didn’t feel like I was completely invading his personal space, but he wasn’t having it. He wanted me to invade his space, any way I could. His persistence had made me laugh, but it also warmed me. It was a little overwhelming, but also thrilling in a way I couldn’t quite put into words. Now, waking up next to him, I realized how glad I was that I’d let myself give in.

For a few moments, I just lay there, listening to the sound of his steady breathing and the faint hum of the A/C. It felt surreal to be here, in his bed, wrapped up in his warmth. The events of the night before played on a loop in my mind, bringing a flush to my cheeks and a soft ache of contentment to my chest.

I tried to slip out of bed quietly, not wanting to disturb him, but the moment I moved, his grip on me tightened. "Don’t even think about it," his voice was raspy with sleep, a little amused, as he cracked one eye open.

I laughed softly, brushing a hand through his hair. "I was going to make some tea."

He groaned dramatically, burying his face in the pillow. "Stay. Tea can wait."

I rolled my eyes but obliged, settling back into the bed and snuggling against his side. He let out a satisfied sigh, pulling me closer. His embrace was addicting, like I never truly knew what an embrace really was until I found myself in his.

"You're too good at convincing me," I teased, running my fingers lightly over his back.

"One of my many talents," he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to my forehead. "Did you sleep ok?"

“Like a rock,” I smiled softly. “You?”

"Best sleep l've had in months," he said without hesitation, his hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. There was something so genuine about his tone that it made my heart ache in the best way.

We stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other and the quiet morning. But eventually, the promise of coffee and breakfast coaxed us out of bed. Nicholas, ever the gentleman, insisted on taking the lead in the kitchen again, though I managed to convince him to let me help this time. We moved around the space with an easy rhythm, stealing kisses and teasing each other as we worked. I’d reach under him; he’d reach over me — it was like we were partners in some choreographed dance. It felt like we had been doing this for years instead of days.

When we finally sat down with our warm mugs of drink and plates of scrambled eggs and toast, I felt an almost overwhelming sense of contentment. "What's on the agenda for today?" I asked, taking a sip of my green tea and eyeing him over the rim of my mug. 

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Well,” he began, setting down his coffee mug, “I was thinking we could start with a walk through the park, have a picnic. There’s this little spot that I go to sometimes that I think you would absolutely love. I also know this café we could go to afterwards, and they make a mean cup of tea.” He reached across the table to take my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “And then,” he continued, his tone softer now, “there’s this party tonight, but we’ll go only if you’re up for it.”

I squinted my eyes, thinking about it. It was Los Angeles; wasn’t it obligatory  to attend at least one party while one was in town? Did you ever truly visit if you didn’t? Plus, it could make a heck of a story to share with my friends back home.

“Alright,” I nodded my head slowly, “A party sounds like fun.”

Nicholas’s grin widened, and his thumb stilled for a moment as he studied my face. “I’ll make sure it’s fun,” he promised, his voice brimming with confidence. “But if it gets too much, just say the word, and we’ll leave.”

I gave his hand a small squeeze, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “Deal.”

After breakfast, we moved through the morning in a relaxed, almost effortless rhythm. Nicholas lingered at the table, finishing his coffee while I went to gather my things for the day. I found myself standing in front of my luggage, deciding on what to wear and Nicholas slipped by and made his way into the bathroom, the scent of his cologne and natural musk lingering in the air, mixing with the warm sunlight streaming through the window.

I scanned my options in the suitcase, feeling a little spoiled for choice. We were heading out the entire day, so I wanted to be comfortable but still look put together. After all, this was our first full official day together. The day would most definitely be filled with pictures, selfies, and videos together. Maybe I should wear something he wouldn’t be able to forget. I pulled the lingerie I had packed out from under the folded clothes, and stared at it for a moment. It was a black, floral lacy bra and underwear with a pair of matching stockings, one I had bought over a year ago and hadn’t had the opportunity to wear until now.

Upon hearing the water shut off, I hid the lingerie under the romantic, plum dress I decided on for the day and sat on the bed, waiting for Nicholas to walk out of the bathroom so I could step in. The sound of the shower running had been a constant hum in the background, but now the air was filled with the sound of Nicholas moving around inside.

The door creaked open, and Nicholas stepped out, his hair damp and messy in that effortless way, holding a towel in front of his crotch as he used his other hand to dry his hips off. His gaze met mine, the usual glint of mischief ever present. “All yours,” he smiled, walking over to his closet and loosely wrapping the towel around his hips before reaching in to choose an outfit.

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips, watching the droplets of water trail down his sides. I reached for my travel bag inside my luggage, “Finally,” I replied, trying to downplay the sudden warmth spreading through me, making my way to the bathroom.

As I showered, the air was filled with the sound of the water streaming out of the shower head and Nicholas moving around in the bathroom, getting ready. The soft rustle of a towel, the occasional clink of items being set down, the sound of a cabinet door or drawer opening and closing — all of it felt so… domestic, like a tiny glimpse of a future I didn’t think was possible for me to have. But with Nicholas, suddenly everything was possible. I bit my lip, trying to ignore the flutter of butterflies in my stomach at the thought of how quickly things between us were unfolding. I’d known Nicholas was someone special the moment we met, but the way he had slipped into my life, so effortlessly… Well, let’s just say I never expected it.

Squeaky clean, I shut off the water, wringing the water out of my hair and brushing off the excess water off my arms with my hands. I slowly pulled back the curtain, knowing Nicholas was still getting ready in the bathroom. My jaw almost dropped at the sight of Nicholas in a loosely buttoned shirt and slacks, looking as sexy as ever. He was standing at the sink, running his fingers through his damp hair, his shirt half-tucked in, showing off the lean lines of his torso. The casualness with which he moved, the effortless coolness of the moment, made my heart skip a beat.

I caught his eye in the mirror, his lips curving into that familiar smirk. I wasn’t sure if it was the cold air hitting my wet skin or his look that made me shiver, but I hugged myself, trembling. He turned to face me, looking me up and down as he grabbed the neatly folded towel atop the toilet tank, stepping closer. I reached my hand out to grab it from him, but he unfolded the towel and reached out for my arm, beginning to dry me.

I stood still, my breath catching at the tenderness in his touch. His fingers were warm against my damp skin as he gently patted my arms, my shoulders, then down my back. His touch felt like more than just drying off — it felt intimate, like he was taking his time to care for me in a way that left me speechless.

He rested his hand on the small of my back and he slowly patted my tummy dry, doing slow, downward strokes as he got down on one knee , his breath tickling my mound, motioning for me to pick up my leg. Shivering, I obliged, watching him dry my foot off before he set it down on his knee, continuing to dry my leg ever so gently.

The intimacy of the moment settled over us like a soft blanket. Nicholas was so focused, his eyes on my skin, his touch so deliberate and delicate, that I felt a shiver run through me. His closeness, the warmth of his hands, it made me feel seen in a way I wasn’t used to. It was like every gesture — no matter how simple — held a deeper meaning, and it was all just for me.

I couldn’t find the strength to say anything in this moment, not wanting to ruin the moment, so instead, I reached out to take my fingers through his hair, slowly and carefully. His gaze flicked up, meeting mine as he finished drying my leg. There was a soft smile tugging at his lips, but his eyes were full of something deeper. My heart thudded in my chest as he reached for my other leg, lifting it with just the gentlest of touches. I sucked in a breath, not sure how to respond, but he didn’t seem to need any words — his actions spoke volumes.

As he finished drying off my legs, his face hovered over my groin for a beat, sending a shiver up my spine. He continued upward, standing straight and wrapping me in the towel, his eyes full of that knowing glint. “There,” he said softly, his voice a little rough. “All dry now.”

I stood there, wrapped in the towel, my skin still tingling from his touch. Nicholas’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

“Thank you,” I whispered, not entirely sure if I was thanking him for drying me off or for something more. For making me feel cherished, for showing me a side of him that felt so intimate and tender.

Nicholas smiled softly, stepping closer, his hand gently cupping my cheek. “Of course,” he murmured, brushing a strand of wet hair behind my ear. “Anything for you.”

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch, letting the words sink in. They weren’t just kind words; they were genuine, filled with a sincerity that made me feel like I was exactly where I needed to be.

His thumb traced over my lips before he pulled away, giving me just enough space to breathe. “Now, go finish up. We’ve got a whole day waiting for us,” he said, the playful tone returning.

I nodded, finally feeling like I could breathe again. I quickly wrapped the towel tighter around me, stepping past him and making my way back to the bedroom. The room still smelled of Nicholas’s cologne, mixed with the faint trace of my shampoo. I paused for a moment, gathering myself, before I quickly slipped into the outfit I’d picked out earlier, making sure Nicholas hadn’t taken a peek as he finished fixing up his hair in the bathroom.

We then switched shifts; Dressed up, I made my way to the bathroom to finish up everything else while Nicholas stepped out and made his way to the living room. When I emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed and ready to go, Nicholas was already waiting by the door, a tote bag packed to the brim on one hand and the other on the door handle. He glanced over at me, his eyes lighting up in that way that made my stomach flutter.

“Ready, beautiful?” He asked.

I nodded my head, stepping closer to him and kissing him on the lips, “Always.”

By the time we headed out for the walk he’d planned, the city had fully come alive. The park was buzzing with energy — joggers weaving through the paths, families playing with their children, and couples strolling hand in hand, us hopefully being one of them.

As we strolled through the park, Nicholas’s hand wrapped around mine, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against my skin. It was such a simple gesture, yet it felt grounding in a way I couldn’t quite explain. And while the park was vibrant with life, I was hyper-focused on him — on us.

It was four months of midnight phone calls and whispered promises to make the distance work. And yet, the one thing we hadn’t said to each other lingered unspoken between us like a quiet secret.

I love you.

I repeated the words in my head, testing their weight, wondering what it would feel like to say them out loud. As much as I wanted to hear the words spill out of Nicholas’s lips, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to. And though I felt that love for him, I didn’t want to say it either, afraid that somehow this dream might be ripped away from me as soon as I made myself vulnerable to somebody other than myself. What if, to him, I was just a temporary escape from his Hollywood life?

I glanced up at him as we walked, his profile illuminated by the golden afternoon sun. He looked so carefree, so perfectly at ease in this moment. Maybe the same thoughts were running through his mind. He did go through all this trouble for me to be here with him. There must be some part of him that felt love for me, but maybe he was too afraid to say it, too.

Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe it was enough that we were here, together, in this moment. Nicholas had flown me across the country, planned this day, made me feel like the center of his world. Actions speak louder than words, right?

Nicholas led me to a quieter section, shaded by tall oaks and dotted with colorful wildflowers. “This is it,” he said, gesturing to a secluded spot with a perfect view of the lake.

He pulled out a blanket from the tote bag and spread it out under a tree, and we settled in, the soft rustling of leaves and distant sound of the lake water creating a peaceful backdrop. The sun was perfectly striking through the branches, sprinkling us with dots of light.

As we sat there, sharing light snacks he’d packed in advance and peacefully reading our books, I couldn’t help but feel a deep gratitude for moments like this, where it’s just Nicholas and I, nobody else — not a fan, not somebody we know interrupting us, and certainly not strangers. I wished him and I could exist in a space outside of time where we didn’t have to worry about anything else. Los Angeles, for all its glamour and reputation, felt distant and strange to me. I’d never imagined myself here, surrounded by the buzz of celebrity and the weight of expectations that came with it. The sprawling city with its perfect weather, glitzy events, and endless opportunities seemed like a dream to most. But to me, it felt like an illusion. It was a strange land. Perhaps I’ve just been so used to home.

I glanced down at Nicholas, who was settled between my legs, the back of his head resting on my stomach as he read his current book, The Great Gatsby. He hovered the book on top of his face, blocking out the bright sun as he read, quietly whispering as he read. He looked so at ease, like this city had embraced him fully. And maybe it had. After all, he was an actor, a rising star. He’s meant for bigger, grander.

Being with Nicholas felt so natural, yet I couldn’t help but wonder how long this bubble of peace and simplicity would last. What would it feel like when I had to face the full weight of his world? The flashing cameras, the probing questions, the unrelenting scrutiny from strangers who would never truly know me or us.

I repeatedly brushed my fingers through his hair, mostly as a way to soothe myself, absentmindedly, the warmth of his body pressed against mine grounding me. I had taken Nicholas’s copy of The Auctioneer for me to read, and I did end up reading the first couple of chapters before abandoning it completely, instead focusing on my fingers raking through Nicholas’s hair and his quiet reading. Being here with him like this, in a quiet corner of a bustling city, was almost enough to make me forget my worries. Almost.

Nicholas turned a page in his book, the faint rustle of paper breaking the tranquil silence. He shifted slightly against me, adjusting his position so the sunlight no longer peeked through the edges of the pages. I continued running my fingers through his hair, letting the motion calm my restless thoughts.

Then, he spoke. Not to me, but softly to himself at first, the words spilling out with the rhythmic cadence of someone lost in the beauty of a line.

“‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,’” he read aloud, his voice low and thoughtful.

The words hung in the air between us, settling over the moment like a warm blanket. I hadn’t read The Great Gatsby since freshman year of high school, but I recognized the line immediately — it was the ending. Hearing Nicholas recite it now, his voice tinged with both awe and introspection, made it feel different. Weightier.

He tilted his head back slightly, glancing up at me from his position in my lap as he closed the book. “You know, I think about that line a lot,” he said, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile. “It’s one of those things that sounds beautiful, but also kind of sad.”

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. “Yeah… No matter how hard you try to move forward, something always manages to pull you back.”

“Exactly,” he said, sitting up now, turning toward me with a look of quiet intensity. “Sometimes I feel like that’s me. Like no matter how much I try to live in the moment or look ahead, there’s always something pulling me back. Expectations… I don’t know. Maybe that’s why I love acting so much. I get to lose myself, utterly drown myself in a part for a little while.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. I had spent so much time wondering about his world, about whether I could fit into it, that I hadn’t stopped to think that maybe he had doubts too. Maybe he wasn’t as at ease in all this as he seemed.

I reached out, placing a hand on his cheek, drawing his gaze back to mine. “You know, sometimes it’s okay to let the current carry you, as long as you’re steering toward something that’s worth it.” I was saying the words to Nicholas, but part of me thought that maybe I should be listening to my own advice, though I do have a habit of ignoring my own words.

He blinked, studying me for a moment before his expression softened. “And you’re worth it,” he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my forehead.

The words settled in my chest, warm and reassuring. They weren’t the three little words I was waiting for, but they were enough for now.

I stayed quiet, letting his words sink in. I wanted to believe him, to trust that the weight of his career wouldn’t drown out these quiet moments. The thought of being swept into the whirlwind of his life both thrilled and terrified me. And what terrified me most, right now, was the thought of showing up to a party at Nicholas’s side. Could I learn to carve out a space for myself in his world?

That evening, the party was in full swing by the time Nicholas and I arrived. The house was grand, perched in the hills with a breathtaking view of Los Angeles sprawling below, glittering like a thousand tiny stars. Inside, the crowd was composed of people who looked like I should recognize but didn’t, but they looked so well-put together that my mind doubted itself and wondered if maybe I should recognize them. Though, I’m sure I hadn’t seen them anywhere else before.

I looked down at my outfit, thinking to myself that maybe I showed up a little underdressed. But Nicholas said that I looked amazing, and I chose to believe him, for now.

Nicholas, ever the perfect guest, greeted everyone with the same warm charisma that had drawn me to him in the first place. His hand rested lightly on my back as he introduced me to some of his friends, his voice laced with pride when he said my name. For a moment, I felt confident, secure even. If he believed I belonged here, maybe I did, but the bubble burst quickly.

Nicholas had stepped away for just a moment; a friend had asked him to help unload his car with the cases of wine he had gone out to buy, leaving me alone in a huddle of some partygoers, some of them his friends and others some strangers. As I stood in the small huddle, the conversation shifted to some store I had never heard of before.

“Their new smoothie is so good,” a woman in a sleek black jumpsuit and nails for days said, swirling her glass of white wine as she scrolled on her phone with the other hand. She looked effortlessly beautiful. She turned the phone to her friend to show her the smoothie she was talking about, but she didn’t turn it enough for me to earn a peek. I didn’t want to seem like I was invading, so I chose to imagine what the smoothie might look like. Maybe it was some sort of berry concoction with some magical healing powder.

“Right?” another chimed in, laughing. “God, I’ve been going there almost every day just so I can order one.”

I forced a polite smile, pretending to sip my drink, but internally, I was scrambling. What were they talking about?

“(Y/N), what’s your go-to order at Erewhon?” the woman turned to me, her expression friendly but curious.

I stammered, nervous, “What’s Erewhon?”

The question hung in the air for a beat too long, and I felt the energy shift almost imperceptibly. The woman’s perfectly shaped eyebrows raised just slightly in surprise, and the others exchanged subtle glances, their smiles frozen in place before they all erupted into soft giggles, amused mostly.

“Oh, my god. You don’t know what Erewhon is? You absolutely have to go ASAP!” She quickly tapped on her phone and pulled up the brand’s Instagram. “It’s the cutest grocery store. They have the best smoothies. Totally worth the price,” she turned her phone towards me and let me swipe through the account.

“You’d totally love it,” the other girl chimed in, smiling from ear to ear.

I felt my cheeks flush, realizing how out of place I seemed. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the phone screen rather than the growing sense of discomfort in my chest. Erewhon. A grocery store. I hadn’t even heard of it before. It sounded fancy, cool, nothing like the names of businesses back home.

I managed a small smile as I flicked through the images on her phone, trying to act like I wasn’t completely lost in this world. “Looks… fancy,” I said, unsure if I was trying to convince them or myself.

The brightly lit shelves of health foods and fancy bottles of water didn’t seem like something I’d gravitate towards. Or maybe it was just something I wasn’t used to seeing. After all, my hometown happens to be about two decades behind on all the trends. The fanciest store we have is Target and even then, it hasn’t been updated from its early 2000s red interior. Seriously, it’s like a time capsule compared to the Target in the city.

Another man in the group, dressed in a designer jacket and sneakers that probably cost more than my rent, chuckled lightly. "It's definitely a vibe. You'll have to go. It's kind of a staple here."

I nodded quickly, swallowing my embarrassment. "Yeah, I'll have to check it out." Note to self: research Los Angeles-based health food stores to avoid further cluelessness.

They smiled politely and moved on, their laughter and banter resuming as if l'd never been there. I felt invisible, standing on the periphery of a world I didn't fully understand. A part of me wished I could connect with these people on a more personal level past surface-level smoothies. Maybe then, I could fit in. But how would I even approach such conversation with people I barely knew?

The conversation picked back up, the clinking of glasses and the hum of idle chatter feeling like background noise in my ears. I could barely focus on anything other than the creeping feeling in my stomach, that sense of being an outsider, always trying — and failing — to catch up.

Every topic — from boutique Pilates studios to obscure art galleries — seemed designed to remind me I wasn't one of them. It wasn't their fault, really. They weren't being cruel. It was just a difference in culture.

I had never been good at blending into new circles, and this wasn’t the first time I felt like I was straining to keep up with conversations that seemed so far removed from my own experiences. And yet, I so desperately wanted their approval. I wanted Nicholas to see that I could fit in seamlessly into his life, just as he did mine. I didn’t want my reluctance for new experiences to hinder me, not tonight.

As I scanned the group, I saw an opening. A slight shift in the conversation. Someone mentioned the latest box office hit, a movie that was playing in theaters now. My heart skipped a beat. Movies. I could do movies.

I cleared my throat, trying to gather some courage, and leaned into the conversation. “Has anybody seen The Substance yet?” I said, the words feeling a little foreign in my mouth but carrying a hint of excitement.

Immediately, the conversation turned lively, everybody excitedly talking over each other, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt the knot in my stomach loosen just a little. The conversation flowed naturally from there. More opinions were shared, theories thrown around, and I found myself truly engaged in the discussion. I was no longer the outsider who had been fumbling for the right thing to say. I was just another movie lover in the group, exchanging thoughts about a shared passion.

I caught Nicholas out of the corner of my eye, returning with a crate of wine in his arms, a small smile playing on his lips as he set it down near the bar and approached. He paused, scanning the group before his eyes landed on me. I could see the relief in his face, knowing I was fitting in and enjoying myself. It made me feel more at ease.

As I continued to talk with the group, I glanced at Nicholas once more. He gave me a subtle nod, a silent affirmation that I was doing fine, though he was completely unaware of the quiet storm I had managed to keep at bay just barely.

I spent the rest of the evening flitting from conversation to conversation, doing my best to keep up, trying to shift the conversation in my favor, and it worked a few times, but it was tiring having to muster up all the energy I had to pick out the precise moment to do. As much as I wanted these people’s approval, I just wanted to be with Nicholas, alone, without any of them by our side. I didn’t want the thought of their possible opinions on me to linger at the back of my head any longer. I didn’t want to perform for them anymore. I wanted to be with him.

When I saw Nicholas cross my line of sight on his way to the bar, somehow my brain switched gears, immediately forgetting about the other people in the room. No matter the doubts running through my head, he always managed to soothe my anxieties, even without trying. If I just had him in my grasp, if I could just escape with him for a moment, maybe all of the tension inside me would disappear.

I excused myself from the huddle and crossed the room, making my way over to Nicholas. He was pouring himself a glass of wine, his profile lit warmly by the soft glow of the chandelier overhead. For a moment, I hesitated, watching him swirl the wine in his hand and taking a small whiff. The way he carried himself, so confident and at ease, was mesmerizing. He turned slightly, as if sensing me before he saw me, and when his eyes landed on mine, his face lit up.

“Hey, you,” he said, his voice low and warm, his smile a perfect mixture of relief and affection. “How’re you holding up?”

I returned his smile, taking a deep breath as I reached his side. “Surviving. But I was starting to miss you,” I trailed my fingertips down his arm, my voice quiet and needy.

His eyes darkened slightly at the touch, a flicker of something deeper flashing across his face. He set his drink down and turned his full attention to me, his body angling just enough to block out the rest of the room. His lips curved into that soft, knowing smile I adored, and he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against my waist. “Were you?” he murmured, his tone teasing.

I nodded, leaning in slightly, letting the faint buzz of the party fade away. Mischievously, I looked around the room to see if anybody was looking our way as I placed my hands above Nicholas’s and moved them down from my waist for him to grip my ass.

His breath hitched slightly, clearing his throat, as his hands instinctively settled on my hips, his fingers covertly squeezing. He glanced around the room, making sure nobody was watching, before his gaze locked with mine, the air between us thickening with something far more intimate than the casual conversations happening all around us.

“(Y/N)," he whispered, voice dropping lower as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against my ear. "Here?”

A shiver ran down my spine at the sound of his voice, and I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. There was that spark — playful yet full of desire — and suddenly, the rest of the room didn't matter anymore.

“Mhmm,” I nodded my head, my gaze falling onto his lips. I was surprised at my sudden boldness, a mixture of excitement and nerves pushing me through. I just wanted to forget about the conflict inside me, any way I could.

Without missing a beat, Nicholas’s hand slid lower, a quiet promise of things to come, before he gently cupped my face, pulling me toward him for a kiss that was far deeper than the ones we’d shared earlier. This kiss was hungry, needy, and filled with a silent question: Are you sure? And I was. I kissed him back with equal intensity, giving into the moment, knowing that no matter how out of place I’d felt earlier, with him, I was exactly where I needed to be.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, Nicholas’s hand found mine again, his fingers curling around mine like they were meant to be there. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice low, laced with a quiet urgency.

I didn’t hesitate. At that moment, I wasn’t thinking about the awkwardness I’d felt earlier, or about the glossy crowd that surrounded us. I was only thinking about him, about us, and how we seemed to exist in a world of our own.

We navigated through the crowd, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses growing louder as we walked further into the house, finding an unoccupied bathroom. Nicholas pushed open the door to the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one was following us. As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, he turned to face me, his eyes dark with desire. Without a word, he closed the space between us, his hands finding my waist and pulling me closer.

My breath hitched as I felt the heat of his body pressing against mine. His lips captured mine again, this kiss more urgent, more possessive, as if he couldn't get enough. I responded in kind, my hands moving up to his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath his shirt. The moment felt charged, the world outside forgotten, just the two of us in this tiny, private space.

The cool bathroom air contrasted with the heat building between us as he moved me toward the sink. My pulse raced, the tension in the room palpable as he lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the countertop. The kiss deepened, our bodies coming together in a rush of heat and need. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection, for the feeling of his body pressed against mine. Nicholas groaned softly, his hands roaming up to tug at my hair, tilting my head back to kiss me with a newfound intensity that earned him a moan from my lips.

He pulled back for just a moment, his breath ragged. "We might get caught," his voice was hoarse, a tinge of amusement in his words.

I panted, smiling, “That didn’t stop you back at the hotel,” I spoke, tugging him closer by his collar.

Nicholas grinned at my boldness, his hands running up my back, pulling me closer as his lips found mine again. There was no hesitation now, no room for doubts or second thoughts. The faint sounds of the party drifted from the other side of the bathroom door, but in this small space, it felt like everything had fallen away. It was just us, lost in each other. 

His fingers brushed the hem of my dress, tugging it gently, as if asking for permission. I didn't need to think twice before lifting my arms, allowing him to slip it over my head, revealing the lacey set l had chosen to wear.

Nicholas's gaze darkened even more, his eyes tracing every inch of me as though he couldn't get enough. He stepped back slightly, his breath shallow as his eyes traveled up and down my body. I sat on the counter, loving the way he was admiring every inch of me with just his eyes. I could feel my heart racing, the pulse of excitement thrumming through my veins as he slowly lifted my leg toward him by the ankle, his touch trailing over my stocking, exploring upwards. His hands were deft and gentle, as if he was savoring the moment.

He made his way closer, settling between my knees and wrapping my legs around his waist, slipping his finger under the strap of my bra and snapping it against my skin, “God, you’re gorgeous.” His other hand grazed my underwear, tracing the lace detailing, “You wear this for me?”

I nodded, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric. I could sense how much he wanted me, and that only heightened the tension building between us. With a teasing smile, I slid my hands down to the waistband of his pants, slowly undoing the buckle and zipper, making sure to catch his eye the entire time.

"Every inch of me is for you, Nicholas," I whispered, my voice shaky with the intensity of the moment.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he just stood there, watching me. Then, with a low growl, he cupped my face, bringing me in for a kiss that was both desperate and possessive. He pulled back, brushing his thumb over my lips, watching me as my hands pushed his pants down just enough to free him. I softly sucked on his thumb, brushing my teeth against the tip of his finger.

His hands moved with purpose, each touch a promise, as his fingers brushed along the curve of my thigh, sending a jolt of heat through me. My body arched toward him instinctively, wanting more, needing more. I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him back up to meet my lips. "Now," I whispered, my voice barely audible but full of urgency. I needed him — needed to feel him close, connected in a way that words couldn't express.

He looked at me for a moment, eyes searching mine, and then, without a word, he pulled me by my waist toward the edge of the counter, and pulled off my underwear. He looked down at me, licking his hand and rubbing it against my throbbing self to prepare me, not that I needed it. I was plenty wet.

He didn't waste any time, his lips finding mine as he positioned himself between my legs. The tension in the room thickened as he entered me, slow at first, giving us both time to adjust. My breath hitched, and he groaned, his forehead resting against mine as we both struggled to hold onto control. Every inch of him was an overwhelming sensation.We both moved together, the rhythm building, faster, deeper, until there was nothing left in the world but us, lost in the heat and urgency of our bodies. The sound of our desperate breaths, the soft slap of skin, was all we could hear, the rest of the world long forgotten.

Though the music playing on the other side of the wall was somewhat loud, I’m sure anyone who could pass by would be able to hear us. I’m not sure I cared much, but still, I buried my head into his shoulder as he thrusted himself in me, trying to bite back my moans. So focused on being quiet, I accidentally nipped him near the skin of his collarbone. He groaned, tilting his head back, one hand threading into my hair as the other reached for the mirror behind me, bracing himself. Nicholas's breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling in sync with the movement of his body.

As his hand was still tangled in my hair, he pulled me closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he continued to thrust, whispering, "You feel so good around me, baby."

My fingers dug into his shoulders at his words, anchoring myself to him as the intensity of each thrust pushed me further into the edge of my own pleasure. I gasped in response, the sensation of him so deep, so close, that I couldn't form words. Every nerve in my body was on fire, and I wanted him even more. He seemed to know exactly what I needed, his movements becoming more deliberate, coaxing me closer to the edge.

"Nicholas..." I gasped, barely able to keep my voice steady. I moaned softly, my hands gripping him tighter as I felt the heat build between us.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine, steadying his upper body as his hips moved back and forth with urgency, and the pressure inside me intensified. I felt myself teetering on the brink, every inch of my body yearning for release. He intertwined his fingers with mine, pinning my hand against the mirror as he continued to fuck me.

Nicholas looked at me through his eyelashes, his eyebrows knitted together in pleasure, “I-” he started to say, his voice hoarse and raw, but stopping himself, instead closing his eyes.

Then, I opened my mouth to say something, maybe the words he was going to say, but before any words could spill out of me, he kissed me again, his lips devouring mine with a desperate urgency. The world seemed to stop, and I could feel myself falling further into him.

The tension in the room swelled again as I felt my body start to unravel, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. With one final, deep thrust, the tension in my body snapped. I closed my eyes and buried myself into Nicholas, letting go, and with a final, desperate cry, I let the world fade out as the release surged through me.

Nicholas followed shortly after, his name slipping from my lips, pushing the both of us up against the mirror over the counter as the intensity of the moment washed over both of us. He held me tightly against him, his breath ragged, his body still trembling as he pulled me in, kissing me softly, as if trying to anchor both of us in this small, fleeting moment.

For a moment, we stayed like that, tangled together on the edge of the countertop, the heat between us still lingering even as we both tried to catch our breath. It was quiet now, the sounds of the party outside muffled by the thick walls of the bathroom, but in that silence, there was something profound and comforting in the way we held each other.

When Nicholas pulled away slightly, he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his eyes filled with affection. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the vulnerability in his eyes mirrored by the overwhelming feeling in my own. A smile tugged at my lips as I leaned into his touch, pulling him in for a kiss. Nicholas kissed me back softly, pulling me in closer, his hands gently caressing my back as if grounding us both in the quiet intimacy of the moment. We didn't need to say anything more; everything was already spoken in the silence that enveloped us.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath still shallow, but steady. "We should probably get out of here before someone comes looking for us," he said with a small chuckle, but his voice was still laced with the same raw intensity as before. “We can continue this at home,” he whispered in my ear.

I nodded, my hands running over his chest once more, savoring the warmth of his body.

"Yeah," I whispered, reluctantly shifting off the counter. My legs felt a little weak, my knees buckling slightly, but I steadied myself by placing a hand on his shoulder.

We both took a moment to recompose ourselves, straightening our clothes and smoothing our hair, but even as we tried to act casual, I could feel the electric tension still sparking between us. The connection we shared was undeniable, and I was glad I was able to forget about all those badgering thoughts, even for a moment.

As we stepped out of the bathroom and back into the noise and bustle of the party, it felt almost surreal. The laughter and chatter resumed in the background, but Nicholas and I moved in sync. His arm never left my waist for the rest of the night, a small but constant reminder of what we had just shared.

We said our goodbyes to some of Nicholas’s friends. I was completely in a blissful daze as I watched him do a quick conversation. In that moment, with Nicholas beside me, I knew there was nowhere else I wanted to be. The doubts that had clouded my mind earlier seemed distant for now, but it was a distance I was sure to savor. I wanted to exist in that space as long as I could.

As he finished up a conversation with a friend, he squeezed my hand lightly, reminding me that we would leave in a bit and that he hadn’t forgotten. Once he bumped fists with them, he turned his attention to me, smiling.

He leaned down to whisper, “Let’s go, baby,” his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine, and led me toward the door.

We stepped out of the house and into the cool night air, I felt an almost giddy relief wash over me, grateful to finally be out of that house and be with Nicholas alone, without worrying about how I may present myself in front of his friends.

The muffled music and chatter of the party faded behind us, replaced by the quiet hum of the city in the distance. Nicholas kept his hand firmly intertwined with mine, his thumb brushing small circles against my skin as we walked to the car. He opened the door for me, always the gentleman, and waited until I was settled before rounding the car to the driver’s side. Once inside, he reached for my hand again, letting it rest between us as he started the engine. The drive home was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Every now and then, Nicholas would glance over at me, his lips curving into a soft smile that made my chest flutter. The city lights cast fleeting shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw and the quiet intensity in his eyes. It was hard not to stare.

When we pulled into the parking garage at his apartment complex, Nicholas cut the engine and turned to face me fully. For a moment, neither of us moved, the silence between us filled with unspoken words and lingering desire.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice low and inviting.

I leaned across the console, meeting him halfway as his hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me in for a slow, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed or urgent like before, but filled with an intimacy that made my heart ache in the best way.

When we finally broke apart, he smiled. “I have a surprise for you,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure. “C’mon,” he nodded his head out.

I nodded, already unbuckling my seatbelt.

The air between us buzzed with anticipation as we made our way up to his door, his hand finding mine as he unlocked it and led me inside. The door clicked shut behind us, and in the dim light of his entryway, Nicholas turned to face me, smiling, before continuing to lead me to his bedroom.

He motioned for me to sit on the edge while he walked over to his nightstand, pulling something out. He hid it behind his back and he turned around, sitting down next to me. “I was going to wait until our last day together, but tonight seems appropriate,” he quietly chuckled to himself as he brought whatever was behind his back in front of him.

He dangled the most beautiful and delicate gold chain in front of me. The chain sparkled softly in the warm light of the room, its delicate design catching my breath. A small charm dangled from the center — a tiny, flat heart with an N engraved on the back of it. It was elegant, understated, and undeniably beautiful.

“I saw this a while ago,” Nicholas began, his voice quiet, almost shy, “and it just… reminded me of you.” He smiled, his cheeks tinged with a faint pink.

My heart swelled, the words hitting me with a warmth that spread through my entire body. I reached out to gently touch the charm, my fingers brushing against his as I did. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I blinked rapidly, not wanting to cry but unable to stop the overwhelming rush of affection I felt for him. I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, his lips captured mine in a kiss that stole all my thoughts away. It was tender and deep, a perfect blend of passion and reassurance, and I melted into him, my hands finding their way to his chest

“Nic..." I whispered between kisses, my voice barely audible.

“Let me put it on you,” he said, unclasping the chain and gently turning me so my back faced him. His hands were warm and steady as he brushed my hair aside, the light touch sending shivers down my spine.

The necklace settled lightly against my skin, the charm resting just above my collarbone. He leaned forward, his lips grazing the back of my neck after he fastened it, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “So perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

I reached up, my fingers lightly brushing the charm as I turned back to face him. The way Nicholas looked at me in that moment made my chest tighten — like I was the only person in the world who mattered to him. His eyes held so much tenderness that it was almost overwhelming.

I leaned in, pressing my lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss, letting the thought of the three words I couldn’t quite bring myself to say float around in my head, debating if now was the right moment. The truth was, I wanted to say it then. I wanted to tell him everything I felt, that every moment with him made me feel more alive, more connected to something real. But the thought of allowing myself to fully fall, when I had never done so before with anybody else, was still holding me back.

His arms came around me, pulling me onto his thighs as if he couldn’t bear to be even an inch apart. I rested my forehead against his, my fingers tangling in his hair as my lips parted.

“Let me show you how much I really love it, Nic,” I whispered, my voice thick with desire.

I could feel the tension shift between us, the weight of the moment thick with anticipation. His hands tightened on my waist, his touch both grounding and electric as he looked up at me, his lips parted slightly, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Show me," he whispered, his voice low, almost pleading.

I leaned in slowly, brushing my lips against his, teasing him, savoring the way his breath caught and his fingers flexed against me. I kissed him, completely showering him with my love — the corner of his eye, the apple of his cheek, his lips, the edge of his jaw, the stubble under his chin. There wasn’t an inch I forgot to kiss. My lips moved to his neck, trailing kisses along the skin under his collar, tasting him, drawing soft groans from deep in his chest.

I delicately pushed him down against the bed as I unbuttoned his shirt, ripping it open and trailing my fingertips down the valleys of his muscles. His hand gently traced patterns on my back, the other reaching up to brush my hair away from my face, watching me intently.

I moved lower, taking my time, letting my lips explore every inch of his toned chest and abdomen. He let out a soft, approving hum, his eyes half-lidded but focused on me, absorbing every sensation. The softness of his skin under my lips, the way his breath hitched when I found a sensitive spot — it was exhilarating. As I continued, his hand drifted down to rest on my shoulder, a subtle encouragement, though his breathing told me he was trying to keep himself in check. I felt a thrill rush through me, knowing he was at my mercy.

I climbed off of him and continued to kiss him down his abdomen as I moved to kneel on the floor. Nicholas, curious, shifted to prop himself up by the shoulder, but I stopped him, pushing him back down on the bed before I continued to move to the floor.

Feeling the warmth of his skin and the subtle shivers beneath my touch, I lowered my lips to the place just above the waistband of his pants, kissing the hairs that sprinkled up toward his navel. His grip on my shoulder tightened.

"Mm," he squirmed, his voice a little hoarse, and I could hear the raw need in it.

His fingers threaded deeper through my hair, his chest rising and falling heavily as he struggled to keep his composure. It made me feel powerful, and I wanted to keep him on that edge for as long as I could. With a small smile, I pressed my lips just below his navel, feeling the way his muscles tensed under me. His lips curved into a smirk, though his eyes were smoldering, almost desperate. 

I brushed my fingers along his thighs, taking in the warmth radiating from under the fabric separating us, relishing in the way his breath hitched at my touch. I pressed a gentle kiss right above his belt buckle, feeling his muscles jump beneath me. He was barely holding it together, and I could see the tension building, the control slipping away as he let out a soft, helpless groan. His eyes met mine, and there was something different in them now — a quiet kind of surrender that made my heart race.

He hesitated to reach for his belt buckle, instead moving his hands to the bed sheets and clutching the fabric in his fists. Nicholas looked down at me, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, his face a perfect blend of desire and anticipation. I held his gaze, watching as his expression softened and his lips parted, almost as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

I reached for his belt, letting my fingertips brush against his skin just enough to make him squirm as I unbuckled the leather and undid the button of his pants. He shut his eyes and exhaled sharply, his breath quickening. I smiled, enjoying this rare sight of him being completely unguarded, just... waiting.

I unzipped and tugged down at his pants and briefs, pulling them to his ankles and pressing kisses all the way down his legs, slowly making my way up again. I felt him twitch the closer I got to his hard, throbbing member. I took my time, brushing my tongue against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, hovering over him.

Slowly, I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss along his length, feeling him pulse beneath my lips. His body tensed, and he bit down on his lip, stifling a groan as I continued my languid exploration, leaving a series of slow, teasing kisses, each one eliciting a sharper intake of breath.

He opened his eyes, looking at me with a hunger that made my stomach flip. "Please, (Y/N)," he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine. It was all the encouragement I needed.

With that, I spit on his length and took him fully into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip before pulling back slightly to suck gently. His head fell back against the bed, and I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a flame. I knew l had him right on the edge, and it made me feel invincible.

Nicholas's hands tangled in my hair, guiding me but never forcing me, a silent agreement that allowed him to enjoy the ride while still being lost in the moment. He breathed out deep, guttural sounds as I continued, moving with a slow rhythm that matched the way his body responded. I could feel him begin to lose control, his hips instinctively bucking into my mouth as I picked up the pace.

In that moment, I focused on every sensation — the warmth radiating from him, the soft, urgent sounds he made, the taste of him on my tongue, and the way his body reacted to my every move. I felt powerful, alive, and utterly consumed by him. As I picked up the rhythm, the intensity between us built to an almost unbearable pitch. Nicholas's breathing became erratic, and I could feel the tension coiling tightly in him. His eyes locked onto mine, filled with a raw need that made my heart race.

"I'm close," he warned, his voice a mix of desperation and pleasure, and I could see he was teetering on the brink.

With one last teasing swirl of my tongue, I pulled away just enough to let him feel the loss, a playful smile on my lips. "I know," I replied, leaning in to press soft kisses along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, relishing the way his body reacted to my touch.

He groaned at my words, his body trembling beneath me. "Nonono," he gasped, his hips shifting as he fought to hold on just a little longer, “Don’t stop,” he cried softly, clutching at the bedsheets. “Please, baby.”

I wrapped my hand around him once more, stroking him slowly as I looked into his eyes. With a low growl, his eyes darkened with need as he bucked his hips against my hand. I engulfed him again, taking him deeper into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him in a way I knew would send him over the edge.

"Fuck," he gasped, throwing his head back.

He shut his eyes closed, his voice trembling with pleasure. My hand was wrapped around his length as I bobbed my head, focused on my rhythm. I felt Nicholas’s fingers reach for my hand, intertwining his with mine as if I was the only thing tethering him to reality. As I picked up the pace, I felt him squeeze my hand tighter and tighter, his legs tensing on either side of me.

“(Y/N),” he groaned, like he was begging for mercy.

I pulled away quickly, kissing his tip with a smile before continuing and pressing his length to the back of my throat, taking him in completely. Nicholas's whole body jerked in response, his fingers gripping my hair as his breath grew more frantic. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he groaned deeply, his voice barely a whisper but filled with raw emotion.

"(Y/N), I can't... I..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, his hips jerking as he surrendered to the pleasure.

I didn't stop. Instead, I kept moving, feeling him quiver under my touch, savoring the moment as he fell apart in front of me. It felt like time had slowed, each second stretching into eternity as I took him deeper, giving him everything he wanted and more. I could sense his struggle to hold onto control, but I could also tell he was beyond the point of no return.

His breathing hitched one final time, his entire body tensing as he bucked up into me, the final wave of release crashing through him. I felt the warmth of him filling my mouth, a sensation that made me dizzy with desire. I drank him in, savoring every moment as he surrendered completely, letting the waves of pleasure wash over him.

As he finished, I pulled back slowly, licking my lips and looking up at him with a satisfied grin. Nicholas lay there, breathless and vulnerable, a stunned expression on his face as he tried to catch his breath. His grip on my hair loosened as he let out a long, ragged exhale.

Nicholas's chest heaved as he tried to steady himself, his hands trembling slightly as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The silence between us was heavy, filled with the aftermath of everything we had shared. He looked at me with a mixture of awe and something darker — a depth of feeling that made my heart race all over again.

I stood up from the floor and slowly removed my clothes, Nicholas watching intently. I felt vulnerable but all the more powerful under his scrutiny. Climbing back onto the bed and straddling him, I watched as he struggled to regain his breath, his eyes never leaving mine. I lowered myself, letting my new necklace dangle over his lips.

Nicholas's eyes locked onto the charm resting above his lips, his gaze soft but intense, like he was drinking in every moment. He reached up, his fingers brushing against the necklace, tracing the N with a reverence that made my chest tighten. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice low and filled with conviction, as though he was staking a claim, marking me as his in a way that went deeper than anything physical.

I leaned down more, the charm resting between his lips. Slowly, Nicholas parted his lips and let the charm fall between his teeth, biting the necklace and tugging me down to him, careful not to snap the chain off my neck. The act was both possessive and tender; I was mesmerized.

He softly spit out the charm from his mouth and pulled me in a deep kiss, hard and hungry, his hands roaming over my skin like he couldn't get enough of me. It wasn't the tenderness from earlier — this was raw, urgent, and driven by something deeper than mere desire.

"Tell me you're mine," he whispered, his lips brushing against mine, his voice a rasp of need.

I could barely catch my breath as I stared down at him, feeling his hands grip my sides as he leaned up, his body against mine. "I'm yours," I breathed, the words coming out almost like a plea. "I'm yours, Nicholas."

He kissed me again, this time slower, his lips lingering as if trying to memorize the taste of me. I felt his heart pounding beneath my palm, its rhythm matching my own. It was just us, tangled together, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating as one.

I felt his hand make his way between our groins, grabbing his shaft and slipping himself inside of me. I collapsed onto his chest as he entered me, feeling him slowly start to thrust.

His breath hitched as he eased into me, his grip on my hips tightening as if grounding himself in the moment. I gasped, the sensation of him filling me overwhelming, and yet all-consuming. My body molded to his, every movement drawing us closer, deeper, as though we were meant to fit together this way.

Nicholas's hands roamed my back, his touch gentle yet possessive, and the contrast sent shivers through me. "I’m yours," he murmured against my ear, his voice hoarse with emotion. His lips grazed my neck, leaving a trail of kisses that seemed to set my skin on fire.

I rolled my hips slowly, matching his rhythm, the intensity building between us. Each thrust sent a wave of pleasure coursing through me, and I couldn't hold back the soft moans spilling from my lips. The sound seemed to spur him on, his movements growing deeper, more deliberate.

His hands slid to my waist, guiding me as I rode him, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my heart race. "Look at me," he said softly, his voice a command and a plea all at once.

I obeyed, meeting his gaze, and what I saw there made my breath catch. It wasn't just desire; it was something deeper, something that made me feel raw and exposed in the best way.

"I’m yours," he said again, his words breaking through the haze of passion. "Yours."

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten, and I leaned down to kiss him, pouring every unspoken word into it. Our movements grew more desperate, more frenzied, as we climbed higher together, the room echoing with our shared breaths and muffled cries.

I felt the tension building within me, coiling tighter with each thrust, until it finally snapped, a wave of ecstasy washing over me. I cried out his name, my body trembling as I clung to him, the intensity of my release leaving me breathless.

Nicholas followed moments later, his grip on my hips almost bruising as he buried himself deep within me, his head falling back against the pillow as he groaned my name. His body shuddered beneath mine, and I could feel every tremor, every pulse as he found his own release.

We stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat and our breaths mingling in the stillness. Slowly, Nicholas rolled us gently, his body hovering over mine as his hand trailed down my side, sending shivers through me. His eyes never left mine, his gaze holding a mixture of adoration and desire that made me feel both cherished and wanted in a way l'd never experienced before. He lowered his head, pressing soft kisses along my jawline, down my neck, and across my collarbone, his lips worshipping every inch of my skin.

The necklace shifted slightly as he moved, the charm catching the faint light in the room, a reminder of the promise we had just exchanged. Nicholas's lips paused just above it, his warm breath grazing the delicate chain. He pressed a kiss over the charm before lying down next to me, caressing my cheek.

I turned my head to meet his gaze, his hand still cradling my face, his thumb gently tracing along my cheekbone. His expression was soft now, a stark contrast to the intensity from moments before. He looked at me like I was a masterpiece, something to be admired, protected, loved.

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, and I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was calming, grounding, as though the world outside didn’t exist anymore — just the two of us, tangled together in the quiet aftermath.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his fingers stroking lazily up and down my back. I smiled against his chest, feeling safe and cherished in a way I hadn’t thought possible.

We lay there in a comfortable silence, the only sounds the faint rustling of the sheets and our synchronized breathing. I tilted my head up to look at him, his eyes already on me.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” he asked, a hint of confusion crossing his features.

“For the necklace. For flying me out here,” I replied, my fingers trailing along his jawline.

Nicholas caught my hand in his, pressing a kiss to my palm. “I’d do anything for you,” he said, his voice steady and sure.

I felt my heart swell at his words, and I realized in that moment just how deeply I was falling for him — no, how deeply I’d already fallen. This wasn’t just passion or fleeting infatuation. This was something real, something profound, and it terrified me as much as it thrilled me.

He pulled the blanket over us, cocooning us in warmth, and held me closer, as if afraid I might slip away. As I drifted off to sleep in his arms, the necklace resting lightly against my skin, I knew this moment was why I was here. It was moments like these that so perfectly explained how I felt, even if my words couldn’t.

I stirred awake to the smell of freshly-brewed coffee, suddenly feeling the empty space next to me. Fluttering my eyes open, I shifted my arm in bed, searching for Nicholas to find he wasn’t there.

The faint murmur of activity came from outside the bedroom, a soft hum of life that felt both foreign and comforting. The smell of coffee was rich and inviting, and I stretched lazily, letting the memory of the night before wash over me like a warm wave. My lips curved into a smile as I turned onto my side, my hand brushing against the spot Nicholas had occupied just hours ago. It was still faintly warm, a lingering trace of him that made me ache to see him again.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me, savoring the comfort of the bed for a moment longer before finally deciding to get up. The necklace he’d given me lay cool against my skin, a constant reminder of the way he made me feel and how I made him feel. Running my fingers over the charm, I couldn’t help but grin like a fool.

Slipping out of bed, I grabbed one of Nicholas’s shirts draped over a nearby chair and slipped it on. The fabric hung loosely on me, his scent wrapping around me like a hug. Padding barefoot toward the kitchen, I followed the sound of soft music playing and the occasional clink of dishes.

When I stepped into the kitchen, my heart melted at the sight before me. Nicholas stood at the stove, his hair still tousled from sleep, wearing only a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His movements were fluid and relaxed as he flipped something in a pan, humming along to the music playing softly in the background.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice slightly raspy from sleep.

He turned at the sound of my voice, his face lighting up with a smile that felt like sunshine. “Morning, beautiful,” he replied, his voice warm and full of affection. He set the pan down and crossed the room in a few long strides, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest. He pulled away then, his eyes falling onto the necklace around my neck. He brushed his fingertips over the engraved charm, then down to the shirt draped over me, “You look sexy in that,” he said as he walked back over to the stove. “You should keep it.”

I laughed softly, tugging at the oversized hem of his shirt as I leaned against the counter. "Oh, don't worry. I was already planning on it.”

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder, smiling.

I watched him for a moment, the way the morning sunlight streamed through the windows, catching on his skin and making the whole scene feel like a dream. He looked so at ease, like this was the most natural thing in the world — us, together, sharing a quiet morning. My heart clenched with the realization of how much I wanted this, not just for today, but for always. It ached me to know how this time tomorrow, I would be back home without him in my arms.

Nicholas plated the last pancake and turned to me with a proud grin. He carried the plates to the small dining table, setting them down before pulling out a chair for me. I sat down, the simple gesture making my chest warm. He poured himself a cup of coffee and poured me a cup of tea, then settled across from me, watching as I took my first bite.

“I got us tickets to this super cool exhibit at the Academy Museum,” he spoke, taking a bite of his pancakes. “‘Color In Motion: Chromatic Explorations of Cinema,’” he recited dramatically.

I smiled, taking a sip of my tea, “Are you gonna act as my personal museum docent? Tell me every interesting fact about movies stored in that handsome head of yours?” I teased.

Nicholas chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Of course. But be warned, I might go a little overboard. I’ve got some serious movie trivia in here.” He tapped his temple with a playful grin.

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in a long time, “Don’t forget I do, too.”

He smiled, reaching for my hand and kissing my knuckles. The conversation flowed easily between us, each laugh and gentle tease cementing the comfort we’d found in each other.

As the meal stretched on, a quiet contentment settled between us, broken only by the occasional clink of utensils against plates or the soft notes of the music still playing in the background. The pancakes were light and fluffy, with just the right hint of sweetness, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly Nicholas seemed to make even the simplest things feel special.

I traced my finger around the rim of my mug absentmindedly, watching Nicholas’s fingers drum against the edge of the table in time with the song playing. I let myself relish the way his laughter echoed softly in the quiet kitchen, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he glanced up and caught me staring. I let myself memorize every detail — the way he absentmindedly brushed his hair back, the soft scrape of his fork against his plate, the way his thumb tapped against his mug in a steady rhythm.

As we finished eating, I reached across the table, brushing away a crumb from the corner of his mouth. His hand caught mine, lingering for a moment before pulling it to his lips. It was such a simple gesture, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

After breakfast, Nicholas stood and began clearing the plates, motioning for me to stay seated when I tried to help. “I’ve got this. You can relax,” he said with a wink. His effortless charm made me grin, but I couldn’t just sit still, so I grabbed our cups and brought them to the sink.

“I’m not just gonna watch you do all the work,” I said, nudging his arm playfully.

He stifled a chuckle, “You did enough work last night,” he teased, alluding to last night’s sex.

My cheeks flushed instantly, and I swatted at his arm, laughing. “Nicholas!” I scolded, though the grin on my face betrayed any attempt at mock outrage. He just smirked, clearly pleased with himself, as he continued rinsing the plates.

“What?” he asked innocently, glancing at me with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m just stating facts.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing a dish towel and bumping him with my hip. “If you don’t stop, you’re doing the dishes alone,” I warned, though we both knew I didn’t mean it.

Nicholas leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to that low, playful tone that always made my stomach flutter. “You wouldn’t leave me all alone, would you?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “Keep it up, and you’ll find out.”

He laughed, the sound warm and infectious, as he finished the last plate and set it aside. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Good,” I replied with mock sternness, folding the dish towel neatly and setting it on the counter. “Now, let’s get ready for our last full day together,” I pouted, pulling him in by his hips and planting a kiss on his lips.

Nicholas nodded, pulling his hands out from under the running water and resting them on my hips, the wet feeling sending a shiver up my sides, “I’ll let you have the bathroom first,” he said.

“Such a gentleman,” I teased, heading to the bathroom to freshen up.

Once inside, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the necklace Nicholas had given me catching the light. I touched the charm absentmindedly, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest. There was something so effortless about him, about us. I wasn’t used to this kind of connection, this kind of intimacy that made me feel like I could fall apart and be held together all at once; I wasn’t used to it at all.

I barely recognized the person staring back at me. There was a softness in my expression that hadn’t been there before. Being with Nicholas wasn’t just different; it was a tectonic shift. He saw me — really saw me — in a way no one else ever had, and instead of running away, he leaned in. That terrified me.

The way he looked at me, spoke to me, touched me — it all felt so natural, like it had always been meant to be this way. But it was uncharted territory for me. I’d never let anyone hold me the way he did. And now, standing here in his shirt, wearing his necklace, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d opened myself up to something that could break me, and the more days I spent in Los Angeles, the more plausible that possibility became.

It wasn’t that I doubted his feelings for me; I knew he cared deeply. It was more that I doubted my ability to keep up. The way I barely held myself together at that party took everything out of me. And if Nicholas and I continued to see each other, then that would mean more parties, more events, each bigger and more important where it would matter even more how I presented myself in front of all those strangers. I’m not sure I was built for that.

I turned the faucet on, splashing cold water onto my face to shake off the rising tide of doubts. Today wasn’t the day to dwell on what-ifs. Today was about us.

“I changed my mind. Mind if I join you?” Nicholas’s voice came from the doorway, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned to see him leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a playful grin on his lips.

His ability to show up at just the right time was something to be admired. It’s like he could sense whenever I was too in my head about something and knew nothing would be able to soothe my thoughts except his presence.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to mask how the sight of him made my heart skip a beat. “Bold of you to assume I’d say yes.”

He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me, his grin widening. “Oh, I think you will,” he teased, wrapping his arms around my waist and nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my spine as he pulled his shirt off my body.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” I said, though my voice betrayed the smile I was trying to suppress.

“And yet, here you are, unable to resist me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t protest as he reached over to turn on the shower, steam quickly filling the bathroom. Nicholas peeled off his sweatpants, leaving him in nothing. He moved with the kind of confidence that seemed effortless, yet somehow never arrogant. He stepped into the shower, holding his hand out for me as I slipped off my underwear and followed him in, the warm water cascading over us and the steam embracing us.

Nicholas’s hands were gentle as he reached for the shampoo, lathering it into my hair with a care that melted away the last of my hesitation. His touch wasn’t rushed or mechanical; it was deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment of this closeness.

"You spoil me," I murmured.

"That's kind of the point of this whole trip," he replied with a soft chuckle.

He rinsed the suds out slowly, his fingers massaging my scalp in a way that felt impossibly intimate, making me close my eyes leaning into his touch. He didn't rush to speak or fill the silence with meaningless words; he simply allowed the quiet between us to be filled with the weight of unspoken understanding.

Nicholas gently guided me back under the water, his hands now resting lightly on my shoulders, grounding me. His lips brushed against the edge of my jaw, a soft, fleeting touch that left a trail of heat behind. The steam swirled around us, but it was nothing compared to the warmth that spread between us. His body pressed against mine, the water beating down around us,

Without a word, he reached for the body wash, lathering it onto the wash cloth before softly gliding it over my skin. His touch was slow, reverent, as though he were tracing the lines of a masterpiece. Every part of me seemed to come alive under his hands, not just physically, but emotionally, in a way that was overwhelming. There was a depth to his care, a patience in the way he worked his hands over my skin, leaving trails of warmth wherever he touched.

I let myself sink into it, into him, closing my eyes as his hands moved with deliberate intent. His touch was steady, as though he knew exactly what I needed, what I was afraid to ask for. And when his hands slid to my back, his thumbs gently working the tension out of my muscles, I could feel my breath deepen, slow, as if I were finally learning to relax into this space with him.

The soft pressure of his hands on my lower back, his fingers drawing delicate patterns, made me want to lean in closer, press against him. He continued to lather every crevice of my body with soap, working his way down. When his hand slipped between my thighs, I clutched at his shoulder, my abdomen twitching as he cleaned me.

I knew this moment was too tender to turn sexual, and that’s exactly why my body twitched at his touch. Nobody had ever touched me down there outside of a sexual context. Suddenly, I felt a bubble of emotions puddle at the back of my throat.

His hand paused, sensing the shift in my energy, his touch lightening as he let his fingertips graze over the sensitive skin, careful not to press too hard. I didn’t have to say anything. Nicholas immediately understood, and there was no need for words. He simply adjusted, moving his hand down to my legs, holding me steady as the warm water continued to rain over us.

When he came back up, his hands lingered on my waist, searching my eyes. He parted his lips to say something, but I interrupted him, wanting to show him the tenderness he had shown me this entire weekend.

“Can I clean you?” I asked quietly.

His look softened at the question, subtly nodding his head. I reached for the shampoo and motioned for him to turn around, squirting a dollop and emulsifying it a bit in my hands before running it through his hair, gently beginning to scrub at his scalp.

I knew I wasn't quite as skilled at this kind of intimacy, but I wanted to try. I wanted him to feel the same care he had given me, to show him that I could be just as present for him, even if I wasn't sure I knew how.

As my fingers worked through his hair, I focused on the feel of him beneath my hands, trying to capture the essence of his gentleness and patience. I wanted to mirror that feeling for him, to make him feel as safe and cared for as he had made me feel in his presence.

I could tell by the way he leaned into my touch that he was allowing himself to sink into this moment with me. His breath slowed as I massaged the shampoo into his hair, and I felt a quiet, shared understanding pass between us. I worked the shampoo into his hair more thoroughly, my fingertips pressing gently into his scalp, sweeping through the soft strands, and rinsing them out with the same reverence he had shown me. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back slightly, a soft exhale escaping him as if he was letting go of something, something that had been building up.

I carefully turned him around and guided him under the stream of water, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, running over the lines of his body as I rinsed away the suds and reached for the body wash and wash cloth.

I lathered the body wash onto the cloth, the fragrance of it filling the steam-heavy air. I could feel Nicholas's gaze, steady and trusting, as he let me care for him. His silence wasn't a void; it was an invitation, an unspoken message that he was allowing me to be present in a way I hadn't fully realized I could be. The soft touch of the cloth against his skin felt almost sacred, and as I traced the lines of his chest, I realized how much I needed this intimacy, this giving and receiving.

Gently, I scrubbed at the back of his ears, the back of his neck, his collarbones. My hands slid down his torso, the warmth of his skin against the cool washcloth making my heart race a little faster. I moved slower, allowing my hands to glide over his sides, the muscles there softening under my touch.

I moved down to his legs, my hands careful and gentle as I washed the tension from his muscles. Nicholas stood still, his head tilted back slightly, his expression relaxed, as if he had given himself completely to me, trusting that I would show him the same care he had shown me. I wondered if he knew how deeply this was affecting me, how his willingness to let me into these moments of quiet intimacy made me feel like I could do the same for him.

When I finished, I moved back up to his chest, my hands lingering there as I rinsed away the suds. He opened his eyes slowly, meeting mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. It wasn't necessary. The silence felt full, the unspoken emotions passing between us more powerful than words could convey.

He reached up and cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing over my cheeks. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice low and warm, like the feeling of the water cascading over us.

I shook my head, smiling softly. "No, thank you," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine, the steam swirling around us, but somehow, it felt like time stood still. His lips found mine in a slow, tender kiss, and I melted into him.

"Pull away before we miss the exhibit, too," I murmured against his lips, my mouth growing into a smile.

Nicholas chuckled softly, his breath warm against my lips as he pulled back just enough to look at me. "We wouldn't want that, would we?" he said, his voice hushed.

I smiled up at him, a mix of affection and a quiet thrill filling me. "No," I agreed, "we wouldn't."

He reached up to turn off the water, the last of the steam hanging in the air around us like a tangible presence. As the water stopped pouring over us, the sudden silence felt almost sacred. I stepped back, my skin prickling from the cool air that replaced the warmth of the shower. Nicholas reached for a towel, wrapping it around his waist and stepping out first. He then wrapped me in a towel and guided me out of the shower.

We each moved to our corners of the room, each of us picking our outfits. Nicholas settled on a simple black T-shirt and jeans, his typical laid-back style, though I noticed the way his movements had softened, a certain calmness in his demeanor. I couldn’t help but smile as I reached for my clothes.

I opted for a loose, white blouse and a pair of dark jeans, casual but comfortable. As I slipped on my shoes, I caught a glimpse of Nicholas watching me with that same soft expression, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just affection; it was something deeper, something that made my chest tighten in the best possible way. And for a beat, I braced myself, thinking this could be the moment he might say ‘I love you.’ But it wasn’t.

“You look stunning,” he said, his voice thick with admiration.

“Thanks,” I replied, trying to hide the flush on my cheeks.

He gave a dramatic bow, his hand outstretched toward the bedroom door as if introducing a grand performance. “Shall we?” Nicholas asked, holding out his arm.

I rolled my eyes, laughing, and grabbed my purse from the bed. Nicholas adjusted his watch and checked his phone, a soft furrow appearing between his brows as he glanced at the screen. He quickly tucked it back into his pocket, a slight tension in his jaw that I couldn't quite place.

"Everything okay?" I asked, taking a step toward him.

He gave me a smile, nodding. "Yeah, all good. Just checking some things. Let's get going," he said, brushing it off.

We gathered our things, making our way out the door and down to his car, the excitement of the day still fresh between us. Nicholas took my hand as we walked, a light, refreshing breeze brushing against our skin.

As we drove toward the museum, the city unfolded before us, but my mind kept drifting back to the quiet moments we'd shared earlier — to the warmth of his smile, the softness of his voice, and the way his presence felt like home. I wish I could stay longer. I didn’t want this weekend to end at all. I wanted to drive in forever; I wanted to be buried in it.

The museum loomed ahead, sleek and modern, with glass windows that glistened in the sunlight. Nicholas parked the car, and as we walked toward the entrance, my heart gave a little flutter of anticipation. It wasn't just the exhibit that I was excited about — it was spending this day with him, seeing the world through his eyes, and getting lost in the little moments that would make today unforgettable.

"Ready for the best museum date of your life?" he asked, flashing me that grin that made everything feel right.

I nodded, feeling the same excitement twinkle in my chest. We walked through the doors together, hand in hand, ready to dive into the day we'd planned — a perfect balance of art, laughter, and just being in each other's company. Nicholas had our digital tickets scanned from his phone, flashing that signature smile of his at the ticket booth attendant. It wasn't until we stepped past security and began walking toward the exhibit that Nicholas's phone buzzed in his pocket.

He glanced at it quickly, his brows furrowing as he pulled it out. I could see the shift in his posture — the way his shoulders tensed, the way his smile faltered.

"Who is it?" I asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

He glanced at me, his expression apologetic.

"It's my agent," he said, his tone strained. "I… I’m sorry, babe, I have to take this." He stepped to the side, his voice dropping as he answered the call.

I watched him for a moment, wanting to see what the call might be about but I eventually decided to give him his space and walked a few steps ahead, distracting myself with the graphics on the walls introducing the exhibit. As he turned his back slightly to finish the call, I felt a pang of discomfort. There was a sinking feeling in my chest that I couldn't ignore; I’m not sure why.

Nicholas hung up the phone and caught up with me, his eyes wide. I could practically feel his heart racing. "That was my agent; apparently, somebody dropped out of the new American Psycho movie, and they want me to come in and read for them,” he spoke with contagious excitement.

Of course, I was excited for him. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. The exponential rise that could happen to Nicholas if he got this role… it would catapult his career!

My initial reaction was pure joy for him. “Nicholas! That’s incredible!” I said, bringing him in for a hug.

He was smiling from ear to ear, but he reluctantly pulled away, his excitement tempered by something else. His hands rested on my shoulders, the look in his eye sympathetic, “They want to see me in an hour,” his eyes flickered to the exhibit behind me. “I’d have to prepare.”

I felt the weight of his words settle over me. I glanced around the museum, the excitement I’d felt moments ago replaced with a bittersweet ache, but I couldn’t protest. This was an important moment for Nicholas, and I didn’t want to cause any problems that might hinder his audition.

He wouldn’t say it, so I did for him, “Well, then, you have to go,” I smiled.

Nicholas hesitated, his hand lingering on my shoulder for a moment longer than necessary. I could tell he hated the idea of leaving me, but I also knew how important his career was to him. He had worked too hard to get where he was, and I didn't want to hold him back.

“Are you sure?” He asked gently, studying my face, as if trying to gauge how I really felt. “Leaving you here alone is the last thing I want.”

I furiously nodded my head, though my heart was sinking. “Totally. I mean, I have my pamphlet,” I shook the paper in my hand, “I can handle the exhibit by myself.”

His lips curved into a grateful smile, “You’re amazing, you know that?” Nicholas pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me with a warmth that felt like he was trying to convey all the words he couldn’t say. “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured into my hair. “Dinner tonight, okay? I’ll call you.”

I nodded against his chest, “Good luck, baby.” 

When we pulled apart, he kissed my forehead, his lips lingering just a moment longer than usual. Then he was gone. I stood there for a moment, watching him go, my heart feeling heavier with each step he took away from me, watching him disappear through the glass doors. The museum suddenly felt much larger without him by my side. It now seemed like an endless maze of galleries and rooms that would only remind me of how alone I felt in that moment.

Taking a deep breath, I reached for the charm dangling from my neck and decided I wouldn’t let this ruin my day. Nicholas was chasing a dream, and I couldn’t be upset about that. I had always been independent; I had a life before Nicholas, and I would make the most of the time I had. Even without him by my side, I refused to let the day go to waste. I clutched the museum pamphlet in my hand, trying to focus on the descriptions of the galleries instead of the lingering ache in my chest.

Seeing some of the incredible pieces distracted me for a bit. There were some vintage technicolor cameras on display, some costume pieces, original film cels, and color study models, all from various movies known for their iconic use of colors. The collection pulled me in, piece by piece, each display weaving its own story. I found myself lingering in front of a glass case showcasing the red jacket Jack Nicholson wore in ‘The Shining.’ At that moment, I imagined what Nicholas might’ve said if he were here. He’d probably point out that Jack Nicholson had hand-picked the jacket himself, and I’d pretend I didn’t know that fact already.

I moved on, immersing myself in the exhibit. A few film projectors whirred softly in the background, casting multiple different shots of iconic movies — Moonlight, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and Vertigo. I let the sound soothe me, letting myself get lost in the moving pictures. But every few steps, I caught myself glancing at my phone, hoping for a text or an update from him. My mind raced with questions: Was he preparing? Was he already at the audition? Was he feeling confident? And, selfishly, when would he come back?

I shook off the thoughts and let my gaze settle on a new display: a costume worn by Kim Novak in Vertigo. The emerald green dress was striking, its fabric shimmering faintly under the museum’s soft lights. A placard detailed its significance, describing how the color symbolized envy, obsession, and unattainable perfection in Hitchcock’s masterpiece. I traced the delicate beading on the hem with my eyes, letting the thought of those themes sink in.

Was I envious? Not of Nicholas’s opportunity, but maybe of the people who got to see him more often, of the way his world always seemed to be pulling him away from mine. Was I obsessed? Addicted might be the more precise word for my feelings toward Nicholas. After so much time alone, now knowing what it felt to be with someone, to be loved, I couldn’t take the feeling of not having that 24/7. I longed for that closeness every second of the day. Was I forcing this relationship to be perfect when life never was? I pushed the thought aside. This wasn’t the time to spiral — ha!

I moved through the exhibit, pausing at each piece and trying to fully absorb the stories behind them. There was something oddly comforting about the quiet of the museum, the hum of distant conversations, and the gentle tap of footsteps on the polished floors. Still, my phone felt heavy in my pocket, a constant reminder of how much I wanted to hear from him.

The hours seemed to pass by achingly slow. One…. Two…. I wasn’t privy to how long the audition process takes, but I started to become anxious. Was he auditioning right now? Did he get the part? Would he call me right after to share the good news? Or would I hear nothing until later tonight? The uncertainty gnawed at me, making it impossible to focus. My stomach started to growl, and I realized it had been hours since breakfast.

I kept moving through the museum, my mind wandering between thoughts of Nicholas and food. That’s when I saw possibly the best piece in this entire exhibit — Dorothy’s iconic red slippers from The Wizard of Oz. They shimmered under the museum lights, the sequins catching every glint and throwing it back in a kaleidoscope of ruby-red sparkles. The shoes were smaller than I imagined, delicate but sturdy, their charm undeniable even after decades. A small plaque beside them recounted their history — one of several pairs made for the film, each with subtle differences. These, it seemed, were the pair worn during the famous “there’s no place like home” scene.

I leaned in, studying the intricate beadwork and scuffed soles. I know that Dorothy’s whole story was about yearning for something greater, only to realize the value of what she already had, but I stared at those heels, and all I could think about was putting them on and transporting myself back home — my home, my bed, where I could bury myself under the covers and shut the world out. The ache in my chest was too loud to ignore, and for the first time all day, I felt the sharp sting of loneliness settle in.

But then, wasn’t this what I signed up for? I knew Nicholas was an actor, a rising star at that. He had a life, and I had my own. There would be moments like this where he’d have to go to last minute reads or leave for months on end to whatever destination the production called for. I knew that sometimes our schedules wouldn’t align, no matter how hard we tried. That thought cut deeper than I wanted to admit, but that was the plight of long-distance.

I felt my stomach grumble, more-so from hunger than anxiety. I straightened up, refusing to let myself spiral further. As much as I was fond of Nicholas, I was not going to wait to hear from him to go eat something. I needed something now, before I passed out in the middle of the gallery.

I pulled out my phone, finding a sushi place about a 20-minute walk away. I took one final pass of the exhibit before making my way out and following the directions my phone gave me.

On the walk over, a block away from my destination, I saw the sign to a familiar fancy health food store that I didn’t know existed until yesterday — Erewhon. I replayed the conversation I had with Nicholas’s friends in my head. What was so special about this store that I was basically laughed at for not knowing what it was?

Curious, I stopped in my tracks and walked in. The cool blast of air-conditioning greeted me as I stepped into the store. The sleek aisles of meticulously arranged organic products stretched before me, the air tinged with the faint aroma of freshly pressed juices and artisanal baked goods. It was the kind of place that seemed to mock my modest budget.

I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. The sterile whiteness of the store, with its glowing lights and polished floors, felt like an alien landscape to me. I picked up a bottle of cold-pressed juice, squinting at the price tag — $14.99. For a tiny bottle of juice? I put it back quickly, feeling a strange sense of inadequacy settle in my chest.

I glanced at the people around me, their perfect hair, their effortlessly chic outfits, as if they stepped out of a Vogue magazine. And here I was trying to blend in but feeling like I was swimming against the current. I glanced at the shelf stocked with multi-grain crackers that cost more than I could justify. The feeling that had been nagging at me yesterday — the sense of being out of my depth, of not quite measuring up — crept back in. Was I enough for Nicholas? Was I ever going to be able to step into the life he was building for himself without feeling like an outsider?

I could almost hear his friends’ laughter from yesterday echoing in my ears: You don’t know what Erewhon is? It was the kind of question that seemed almost patronizing. Like they knew something I didn’t, like I was out of the loop in a city that thrived on exclusivity and trends. But none of that was really the problem, was it? It wasn’t about the store or the prices or the fancy health food or his friends. It was about the unspoken divide between Nicholas’s world and mine, my inability to fully embrace the promise of a possible future with him without retreating into my comfortable bubble whenever something dared to challenge me.

I turned quickly, leaving the aisles behind and heading toward the exit. As I stepped back out onto the street, the weight of everything seemed to crash down on me all at once. The crazy part was that Nicholas and I weren’t even public yet. Could you imagine the scrutiny he’d be under — I’d be under — once we did? But perhaps I was getting ahead of myself on that front.

I swallowed hard, shaking off the sting of self-doubt, and pulled up my map to find the sushi place. Maybe my hunger pangs were just amplifying my doubts. I made my way to the sushi place down the street, trying to push everything out of my head, but the thoughts clung to me like shadows. When I finally arrived and sat down at a small table, the bustling atmosphere of the restaurant felt like a quiet refuge compared to the overwhelming thoughts swirling in my mind.

I ordered something simple — salmon nigiri, miso soup, and a seaweed salad. As I waited for my food, I glanced out the window, the reflection of my face in the glass now blending with the city’s chaotic energy outside.

The conversation with Nicholas’s friends kept replaying in my head. The looks they gave me when I didn’t know what Erewhon was, like I’d failed some unspoken test. It wasn’t like I hadn’t experienced moments like that before, feeling a step behind in certain circles, but with Nicholas, it felt different.

I was used to feeling out of place. But with him, I wanted to feel like I belonged. I wanted to fit in his world, even if I didn’t always understand it. He had his acting career, his glitzy events, and his friends, while I had my life back home, simple but mine. He could easily carve out a space for himself in my life; why was it so hard for me to do the same with his?

The waiter brought my food, setting it down in front of me with a soft smile. I nodded my thanks, trying to shake off the heaviness. The entire time I ate, I waited for Nicholas’s name to pop up on my phone screen, to let me know he finished his audition and he would come join me, but it never did. Not when I finished my appetizer, not when I finished my entree, and not when I waited for the food to settle in my stomach before deciding to pay and leave. I paid the bill, the weight of my phone still sitting heavily in my pocket, and stepped out of the restaurant. 

Tired and craving the comfort of a bed, I ordered an Uber to Nicholas’s apartment. As the Uber drove me back to Nicholas’s apartment, the city lights outside the window seemed to blur into a sea of colors. My mind was still racing with everything that had happened — the excitement, the frustration, the loneliness. I couldn’t stop replaying the day. When did I become so codependent in this?

In fact, I was so distracted by my thoughts that when the Uber dropped me off in front of his building, I completely forgot the fact that I didn’t even have a key to Nicholas’s place. Resigned to the idea that I wouldn’t be able to cocoon myself in bed like I had wanted to in this moment, I pressed my forehead against the locked door to his building, closing my eyes and trying to fight back the tears that were starting to form, though I quickly wiped my eyes, embarrassed by how vulnerable I was feeling in that moment.

I contemplated calling Nicholas to ask when he’d be back, but he said he would call me. I had no way of knowing if he was still auditioning or maybe having an important conversation with the producers. I didn’t want to interrupt him. Sighing, I picked my head up and looked around, my eyes falling onto the quaint coffee shop across the street. I carefully scampered over, making my way inside and appreciating its calm atmosphere. I ordered a hot cup of tea and took my order to the table that faced the tv hung on the wall. 

I took a sip of my tea, letting the warmth settle in, trying to calm my racing thoughts. The TV on the wall was showing a news segment, but my mind was elsewhere. After today, a part of me was grateful I would be flying back home tomorrow morning. I would get to be in the comfort of my own home, my own bed, and I wouldn’t have to pay $13 for a bottled smoothie.

As the minutes ticked by, I felt my phone repeatedly buzz in my pocket. I pulled my phone out, Nicholas’s face taking up the entire screen. I answered his call, quietly peeping a, “Hey.”

His voice came through clear and warm, his excitement palpable and cutting through the tension I hadn’t realized had built up inside me. “Hey, I just finished up. Are you still at the museum? Are you down for dinner?”

I awkwardly glanced around the room, reluctantly telling him my current location, “No, actually I’m at the coffee shop across your building,” I spoke, part of me afraid of his reaction and the other part of me trying to come up with a believable excuse.

Nicholas’s tone softened immediately, as if sensing the hesitation in my voice. “What? Why? Did something happen?” His tone shifted to concern.

“No, nothing like that,” I skirted around the truth behind the situation, “My feet were just killing me, and I had already ordered an Uber before remembering I didn’t have a key to your building, so I just came to the coffee shop to unwind.” In a way, I wasn’t lying, I was just omitting a lot.

Nicholas’s voice returned, horrified. “Oh, my god, (Y/N); I’m so sorry. I should’ve thought about that. Babe, I feel absolutely terrible,” I could hear the guilt in his voice, and it made my chest tighten. It wasn’t his fault. I didn’t want him to feel bad for something that was honestly so small in the grand scheme of things.

I quickly reassured him, trying to soften the mood. “No, don’t be, Nic. I wasn’t waiting for too long; I just wanted a place to rest my feet,” I stifled a chuckle, thinking if it might have sounded insincere. “I’m drinking a cup of tea and watching the tv here, which is what I would’ve been doing at your place anyway.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before he spoke again, the warmth in his voice returning. “Still, I should’ve been more considerate. I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?”

I smiled into the phone, appreciating the sincerity in his words, even though I didn’t want him to feel bad. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

“I’ll be there in 10.”

As soon as I hung up, I let out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. The universe just had a cruel way of humbling me, didn’t it? I sighed, counting down the minutes for Nicholas to get here so I’d be in his place, gathering up my things for tomorrow’s flight, showered, and ready to lay down in bed after today’s cruel jokes.

Just as I thought I may need to order a second cup of tea, the door to the coffee shop opened, and I looked up instinctively. And there he was — Nicholas, looking a little disheveled but with that familiar, bright smile on his face as he spotted me from across the room.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice gentle but filled with relief as he made his way over to me, his strides long and hurried.

“Hey yourself,” I replied with a grin, feeling the tension in my body slowly ease as he pulled up a seat next to me and immediately met me in a tight, warm hug. I tried so hard to not cry on his shoulder right then and there.

I leaned into his embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne, and for a moment, the world outside the coffee shop disappeared. Nicholas’s arms around me felt like the only thing that could anchor me, the only thing that could stop the whirlwind of doubts and insecurities I’d been fighting all day.

He pulled back slightly, enough to look me in the eyes, but still close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body. “I’m so sorry you had to wait. I didn’t realize…” He trailed off, searching for the right words.

I gave him a small smile, trying to push aside the emotions that had been threatening to overflow. “It’s fine, really.” I didn’t want to say any more, fearing I might say more than I mean. “Can we go home? My feet are killing me,” I stifled a laugh, trying to lighten the mood, mostly for my sake.

He nodded his head, “Of course,” quickly standing up from the chair and holding his hand out for me.

I followed him out of the coffee shop and across the street to his building, the cool night air brushing against my face. When we reached the building, Nicholas held the door open for me, a small, tender gesture that made me smile. we made our way over to his door in silence. I wasn’t sure if he could sense the tension, too.

As we stepped into his apartment, I immediately felt a sense of relief. Without saying a word, I kicked off my shoes and made my way over to Nicholas’s bedroom, opening my luggage and pulling out my pajamas and toiletries.

With his eyebrows knitted together, Nicholas stood in the doorway of his bedroom, watching. “Hey, are you okay?” He asked, concerned.

I halted myself, mustering up the last of my energy to flash a smile as I looked back at him, “Yeah, why?”

He stepped inside his room, “I just feel like you’re not telling me something.”

I shook my head, “Just thinking about tomorrow’s flight, I suppose,” stepping closer to Nicholas and planting a kiss on his cheek before retreating to the bathroom to soothe my thoughts with a quick, hot shower.

The warm water from the shower poured over me, soothing the knots in my shoulders that had accumulated throughout the day. I closed my eyes and let the steam fill the small bathroom, hoping it would help me clear my head. It was just a rough day, I kept reminding myself. The uncertainty, the insecurities, the loneliness — it was all temporary. Once I got back home tomorrow, I’d have some space to breathe and refocus.

But as the water cascaded down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Nicholas had been so kind, so understanding, but he didn’t know half of what was going on inside my head. And I didn’t know how to tell him without sounding needy or like I was asking for something I wasn’t sure I deserved.

After a few minutes, I turned off the water and dried myself off with the towel and changing into my pajamas, stepping out of the bathroom. Nicholas was sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze soft as he watched me fiddle with my luggage.

“Feel better?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded, trying to mask the emotional exhaustion that still lingered in my chest. “Yeah, much.” I forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look too disingenuous.

He watched me for a moment, his gaze searching. He clearly wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he reached over for my hand, “You want to talk about it?”

For the first time, I pulled my hand away from him, continuing to organize my stuff in my carry-on. “I’m fine, really,” I said, my voice a little quieter than I intended, occasionally glancing up at him. “I didn’t even ask how your audition went. What did they say?”

Nicholas seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze lingering on me. I could tell he was sensing the distance I was putting between us, but instead of pushing, he leaned back against the headboard of the bed and sighed. “It went well,” he said, his voice soft but still laced with that familiar enthusiasm. “They said they’ll let me know by tomorrow if I’m in, but I felt good about it. I think they liked me. He couldn’t fight the grin growing on his face, and neither could I.

“Oh, my god, Nic, that’s incredible!” I excitedly clapped my hands, grateful to still have some energy left in me to celebrate Nicholas’s victory. I stepped closer to him and cupped his face in my hands. I intended to speak with a clear and gentle tone, but my voice started to crack when I said, “You, Nicholas Chavez, are going to be a movie star.” The tears forming at the corners of my eyes betrayed the smile on my face.

Nicholas’s grin softened when he saw the tears in my eyes, and for a moment, it felt like the whole room stood still. I could tell he knew that my tears weren’t for joy. He studied me for a long moment, and I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he processed the situation. I didn’t want to drag him into this, didn’t want to burden him with my insecurities. He had his own life, his own career, and I was proud of him — I really was. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, a whisper of doubt kept clawing its way to the surface: Am I enough for him?

As if sensing the undercurrent of my thoughts, Nicholas reached up and gently brushed a tear from my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice filled with understanding. “What’s wrong?”

I froze at his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand grounding me, but also amplifying the distance that seemed to grow with every passing second. His voice was gentle, full of concern, but it only made me more aware of the wall I had been trying so hard to keep up. 

I took a deep breath, trying to collect my scattered thoughts. I could feel him waiting for an answer, his presence making the silence between us more intense than the loudest words.

“Nic…” I started, “I’m not sure I can keep up with your life.”

He froze at the words, nervously stifling a chuckle and moving his hands to cup my face. “W-what are you saying?” He asked, his voice frantic, his eyes flicking between both of mine.

I felt my throat tighten as I looked into his eyes, searching for the words that had been building up all weekend. The weight of everything I had been hiding was pressing down on me, and now, finally, I couldn’t keep it in any longer.

I closed my eyes, a tear unintentionally falling as I did so. I wiped the tears from my eyes, “I need you to listen to me without interrupting, okay? I need to say everything that’s on my mind, even if I don’t like saying it.”

He silently nodded his head. I breathed deeply, reaching out to close his eyes with the tips of my fingers, my hand lingering on his cheek as I articulated my feelings out loud, watching him fight the urge to open his eyes.

“Nicholas,” I started, my voice trembling, “I love you. So much,” I let out a frustrated chuckle. I saw his jaw tense. He shut his eyes tighter, his lips starting to quiver, like he was fighting back tears. “I’ve never felt like this before toward anybody else. I’m so in love with you, Nic, that I don’t recognize the person I become when I’m not with you.” I paused, struggling to find the right words as I felt the weight of everything I hadn’t been saying crash down on me. “And that’s what scares me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I feel like I’m holding on too tight, afraid I won’t be able to keep up with you in your world otherwise, and that’s not okay — for anybody.”

The words felt like they were ripping themselves from my chest, and I couldn’t stop them. I’d never admitted this to anyone before, not even to myself. The thought of codependency made me feel weak, pathetic even. But I couldn’t deny it anymore — my attachment to him was consuming me. Nicholas’s expression softened, fluttering his eyes open, but there was an undeniable sadness in his eyes. He didn’t speak right away, as if giving me the space to breathe, to feel whatever it was that had been weighing so heavily on me. I could feel my chest tightening with each passing second, the vulnerability making me feel exposed, like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, just waiting to fall.

“Nic, I’m scared that I’m not enough for you at this point in your life. You need someone who’s sure of themselves, who truly deserves to be treated the way you treat me,” I pressed my hand against his chest, his heart thumping under my touch. “ And I know that makes me sound like a needy person, but I just can’t keep pretending that I can keep up in a place like this,” I looked out the window to watch the glittering lights. “I just—” My breath hitched as the words got caught in my throat. I burst into tears as I spoke, “I don’t want to hold you back; it’s not fair,” I cried as I buried my face in my hands.

Nicholas was quick to move, his arms wrapping around me tightly as he pulled me into his chest. His touch, gentle but firm, was a balm to the chaos I felt swirling inside me. I could feel him shiver under me, his chest pounding as he breathed into my hair. Was he crying?

His arms tightened around me, his hold steady and unwavering, as if he could somehow absorb all of my fear and self-doubt into his chest. His hand gently rubbed my back in slow, soothing motions, his voice soft and full of tenderness as he croaked into my hair. “Baby, stop.” His words were barely audible, but they held so much weight, and they stilled me for a moment. "(Y/N), look at me."

I pulled away, wiping at my tear-streaked face, my chest still heaving from the release. He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze unwavering.

"You're not holding me back. You're just not, okay?" His words were soft but filled with conviction. I shook my head, trying to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. “No, listen to me,” he interrupted, his voice stronger now, as if he needed me to hear him above the noise in my head. Nicholas’s gaze softened, his hands now cupping my face, his thumb grazing my cheek gently as he spoke again, but this time, there was an undeniable sincerity to his voice. “You are more than enough, (Y/N),” he poked his finger at my chest forcefully, as if to really drive his point home, his gaze into my eyes intense, as if he was disappointed in himself that I even managed to feel this way with him, “You’re more than enough for me. I don’t want anyone else, and I don’t need anyone else. I don’t need you to be anything more than what you already are,” he let out a soft, exasperated laugh, “I love you, (Y/N).”

The words hung in the air between us, and I froze, my breath catching in my throat. It was the first time he’d said it, and the weight of it made my chest tighten. I searched his face, looking for any hint of doubt, but all I saw was sincerity.

The three words were everything I didn’t know I needed to hear. They were like the magic bandaid to every doubt in my head. I had skirted around that particular phrase the last four months possibly because I was afraid. I was afraid he wouldn’t feel the same; I was afraid of saying them over the phone, fearing he might not take it as seriously. But now, hearing Nicholas say those words… it was like I could finally let myself go of every doubt. He loved me.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice steady and sure. “I know you’re scared, but please, don’t push me away.”

I rested my forehead against his, his breath mingling with mine. "Say it again," I whispered, my voice low.

He didn't need to ask what I had meant. He knew. He placed his hands on either side of my face, his thumbs brushing along the apples of my cheeks as he looked into my eyes. "I love you, (Y/N)," he said softly, letting every ounce of truth and emotion he felt pour into the words. "I'm so in love with you."

My eyes closed for a moment, as if I was letting the words wash over me, and when I opened them again, the intensity in his gaze was overwhelming. My tears came harder now, but they weren’t from sadness anymore. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to respond, so I just nodded, burying my face in his chest as he held me tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of my head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time all day, the knot in my chest began to loosen. In his arms, the noise of the world outside seemed to fade, and all that was left was the steady beat of his heart against mine.

As I rested in his embrace, a quiet realization began to form within me. I had become so caught up in my own thoughts and nonexistent expectations, that I had lost part of myself during that spiral. I didn’t need to be perfect. I didn’t need to have everything figured out. I didn’t need to match his pace or mold myself to fit his world. At that moment, I understood something crucial. Love, true love, wasn’t about perfection or fitting into a certain mold. It was about vulnerability. It was about showing up as you are, flaws and all, and trusting that the person who truly cares for you will see you — not as someone to fix or improve, but as someone worth loving exactly as you are.

I pulled back slightly, looking into Nicholas’s eyes once more. His gaze was still soft, still steady, and I felt a small but powerful sense of peace settle within me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, barely audible, but enough for him to hear. “For everything.”

He smiled, brushing a stray tear from my cheek. He reached for the charm resting on my collarbones, “I’m here for you, always, even when I’m not.”

The next morning, I found myself at the airport, the quiet hum of early-morning travelers around me. I had a new sense of calm, the kind that only comes after a storm has passed. My flight was in a few hours, and I was heading back to my life, but something had shifted. I wasn’t just returning home physically; I was coming back with a renewed sense of self, thanks to Nicholas’s reassurance.

I’d always been so afraid of feeling weak, of needing someone — maybe that was the true reason none of those fruitless conversations on dating apps went anywhere. But now I saw that allowing myself to lean on someone, on Nicholas, didn’t make me less of who I was. It made me stronger. I was allowed to have my doubts and insecurities, but I also had the right to trust in the love we shared — a love that didn’t demand perfection

I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I thought of his words, the warmth of his touch still lingering on my skin, and the certainty in his voice when he’d told me that I was enough. I hadn’t truly understood it until now, but I finally realized that love wasn’t something that should add pressure to my life. It should bring peace, acceptance, and the feeling that I wasn’t alone in the chaos. Nicholas had shown me that.

“I’ll miss having you in my bed,” Nicholas smiled as he pulled me in toward him by my hips, smiling.

“Sleeping or… not sleeping?” I asked, teasingly.

Nicholas chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Both, actually,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “But I’ll survive, I guess. You’ll be back before I know it.”

His words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, but there was a bittersweet edge to them. I could feel the tug of my heart at the thought of leaving, of returning home, even though I so desperately wanted to return just the day before. But that was before Nicholas and I had shared our feelings to each other. Right now, leaving was the last thing I wanted.

I stepped back lightly, flabbergasted at his words. “Uh-uh. It’s your turn to visit me now.”

Nicholas’s grin widened, a playful spark dancing in his eyes. “Just tell me when you’re free, and I’ll be there,” he said, stepping closer again, his hand gently resting on my waist. “I’d love to meet your family,” he chuckled.

I laughed, “Trust me, I think you’d run in the opposite direction.”

“Then we’ll just have to see then, won’t we?” He smirked, kissing me on the forehead.

His words left me breathless for a second. This wasn’t some flippant comment. He was serious. He wanted to be part of my life, to be present in a way that went beyond the physical, beyond the fleeting weekends. But that idea scared me, not because I was afraid of letting him meet my family but because I was afraid of letting my family meet him.

“Call me when you land?” He asked.

“Of course,” I said softly, my voice catching as I looked up at him. “You’ll probably hear from me before I even get out of the airport.”

“Good,” Nicholas replied with a small smile, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek. “Because I’ll be counting the minutes.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he said, his grin widening, a mix of confidence and tenderness in his expression.

I didn’t deny it. Instead, I leaned into him one last time, savoring the warmth of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek. This moment — this man — felt like home in a way I hadn’t expected, and it gave me the strength I needed to step away.

“I really have to go,” I murmured reluctantly, my hands lingering on his chest.

Nicholas sighed, his grip tightening for a brief moment before he let me go. “I know. Maybe I’ll get a chance to visit you before production starts.”

My eyes widened at his words, the realization washing over me. I yelped in excitement, quickly covering my mouth, “Oh, my god, you got the part?!”

Nicholas nodded his head rapidly, “I did,” he smiled.

I pulled him in for the tightest hug I could give him. “That’s incredible!” I exclaimed, my voice muffled against his chest. I was practically jumping for joy. “When does it start?”

“I think around the holidays,” Nicholas calmly answered, a tinge of giddiness under his words.

I flashed him an approving smile, “I’m so proud of you, Nicholas,” I said, giving him one last hug. “You can tell me more about it once I call. I have a plane to catch.”

He reached out for my hand, pulling me into one last unforgettable kiss to tide me over until our next reunion. Nicholas’s hand slid up to cradle my cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along my jaw as he leaned in. His lips brushed mine gently at first, as though he was savoring every second of this moment. Then the kiss deepened, his other hand finding the small of my back and pulling me closer. There was something different about this kiss, something raw and unspoken. It wasn’t just a goodbye; it was a promise. A promise that no matter the miles between us, no matter how long it took, we’d find our way back to each other.

I felt my knees weaken, and I clung to him, desperate to hold onto this connection for just a moment longer. His fingers tangled briefly in my hair as his lips lingered on mine, slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to memorize every curve and contour. When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“‘So we beat on,’” he whispered, smiling.

I looked up at him through my eyelashes, “‘boats against the current.’”

With one last lingering look, I turned and walked toward the security line, forcing myself not to glance back even though every fiber of my being screamed to do so. When I finally reached the checkpoint, I glanced over my shoulder and found him still standing there, his hands in his pockets, watching me with that same soft, steady smile that had anchored me through so much.

And as I made my way over to the terminal, I felt a quiet certainty settle over me — I’m so fucked if he visits my family during the holidays.

[gay-dorito-dust]

You should 100% write a viktor x reader fic, doesn’t matter if it’s long or not just Fluff after these last episodes 🙁🙏

Viktor didn’t need to even look up from his book that he had been reading to know that you had something concealed within your jacket the moment you opened the door, drenched in rainwater but yet smiling down at whatever you thought you had snuck in so effortlessly. It was humorous to say the least and didn’t fail to bring a smile to his lips but still the question remained that he finally spoke aloud.

‘What’s hiding in the jacket my dear?’ He asks, seeing you stiffen almost immediately.

‘Nothing.’ You replied but you knew Viktor wasn’t someone so easily fooled, especially not when he could easily read you like the book he had in his hands, he knew your heart far too well to be duped now.

‘If it was nothing then you wouldn’t be smiling so hard down at it, whispering sweet nothings and walking through this kind of downpour with a half zipped jacket.’ Viktor then said sarcastically as he sets aside his book to look at you with his amber eyes, filled with a familiar playfulness and warmth that you loved so much, and a small smile played on his lips. ‘You are hiding something, so why don’t you let the poor thing free and roam its new accommodation.’

‘Fine. Let’s get you out of here little buddy.’ You pouted as you gingerly brought out a cat from your jacket and setting them on the floor.

The poor cat’s chestnut fur was completely soaked to the bone as though it had been left out for some time in the downpour before you had got to them, the cat also looked to be slightly on the malnourished side also, meaning it had possibly been neglected for long periods of time as the poor thing could hardly stand on it own legs. However that wasn’t the only thing Viktor noticed about them as his sharp eyes were quick to spot that it was missing its left leg.

The cat was clearly abandoned due to its missing limb by their previous owner and Viktor couldn’t help but see himself in the cat as it got to familiarise its new home, yet it still looked back at you frequently to make sure that you were nearby, for you were the one thing the cat could consider as safe in unfamiliar territory. ‘It’s okay sweetheart.’ You said to the cat as it waited for you to finish hanging up your jacket and join it as you gestured towards Viktor. ‘Viktor’s friendly, I’m sure you’ll grow to love him more than me but I can’t blame you, he’s impossible not to love.’ You then add as you gave him a wink.

The cat only mewled at you before looking over at Viktor, who only looked back at the cat with a looked he hoped was warm and welcoming. This wasn’t the first time you had brought a stray home, you hated leaving a defenceless animal on their own, especially in weathers such as this but you hated the people who abandoned them even more as you cradled them to your chest. You didn’t care if you were soaking wet or had gotten hurt trying to reassure the animal you were rescuing that you were safe, you would do anything in your power to get them somewhere warm and dry for the time being.

Viktor couldn’t help but love this part of you deeply and wish that there were more people like you to do similar things. He still remembers the injured bird that you both had nursed back to health months ago when it had fallen out of the nest that had been destroyed during the fall. It still came back now and then and whenever it did, Viktor would only stand back and watch you beam with happiness when the bird showed you the family it made during your time apart. It only served as a reminder of the kind and gentle heart that you possessed, a reminder that unconditional love and compassion did exist and Viktor found it in abundance when he was with you, and he couldn’t be happier to have found such a person who saw him as perfect and worth the admiration within your eyes.

For to be cradled within your appreciative hands as though he was the most precious being in all of existence to you was a blessing Viktor would never give up for the life of him. You saw him as something more then he saw in himself, looking at him as though he was your god given solace as you pressed kisses into his skin, all the while praising every aspect of him; you called him beautiful beyond compare, for to you nothing could compare to your beautiful and more important than your Viktor.

Viktor was then brought out of his mind when he heard a cat’s mewl before then feeling the cat carefully being put onto his lap, and sure enough he was face to face with the chestnut cat with the three legs with you sitting on the arm of his chair, looking down at them with a softness he’s seen countless times before but could never get enough of how ethereal you looked. ‘I think they like you.’ You lightly teased as you kissed the side of his head, eyes never tearing away from the cat, who had now made his lap their personal resting place as Viktor saw the relaxed rise and fall of their rather small body as it began its descent into peaceful sleep.

‘Where did you find them?’ Viktor asks softly as not to disturb the cat.

‘On the outskirts of Piltover,’ you replied, ‘poor thing was crying out when I came across them-‘

‘Calling out to their owners.’ Viktor adds and you only hum in agreement as you leaned into him, both of your hearts ached for the cat but also raged against the people who dared left this beautiful creature alone in the worst circumstances possible. ‘I couldn’t leave them Viktor.’ You told him as you reached to hold his hand in yours for strength. ‘I just couldn’t I-‘

‘I know my love, I know.’ Viktor shushes you as he raises your joint hands and kissing the back of yours, hoping to give you some comfort and peace. ‘You did a good thing, a very good thing in gifting them shelter.’ He tells you. ‘Your heart is pure as the purest gold and I couldn’t be more proud of my lover.’ He adds with a smile as he moves his hand from yours to the back of your neck, gently guiding you to pressing your forehead against his, an act of affection amongst the people of the Zaun.

You breathed out a sigh of relief before felling a laugh fall effortlessly for your lips, leaving Viktor a tad confused as to what he had sad to make you laugh, only to not have to wait long as you looked back at the cat on his lap. ‘You’re now not allowed to leave this place unless you want our little buddy to wake up grumpy at you.’ You say barely above a whisper and Viktor finds himself smiling down at the chestnut cat, reaching out to gently stroke its back, before looking back at you with a glint in his eyes.

‘Then that means you must accompany me in keeping them well rested.’ He then said playfully as you shrugged. ‘More time with my beloved Viktor and our little guest?’ You rhetorically say with a face of faux thought, mind having already been made up the moment you saw the poor cat lost and scared amidst the heavy downpour. You then stole a kiss from Viktor’s lips, lingering against them even as you pull away to murmur, ‘it would be an insult to ever reject a piece of heaven when it is offered to me like this?’ And stayed like that you and Viktor did as the rain only lulled you both into the easiest slumber either of you ever had thus far.