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blog-o-meter · 7 months ago

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Room To Breathe - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: (Y/N) and Nicholas’s relationship thrives despite the pressures of his work, but as the demands of his career escalate, (Y/N) starts to make small sacrifices that soon begin to pile on.

warnings: 18+, fingering, exhibitionism, binding, hair pulling, spanking, choking, biting, established relationship, dom/sub

required listening: Enjoy The Silence by Depeche Mode

word count: 29,523

a/n: yall this one rlly took so much out of me, im gonna have to take a break and really think abt what i can write for the next part ☠️ Maybe what i can do is instead of writing long parts with overarching plots, i can do little vignettes into their lives? idk pls let me know!! i would love to discuss, crying emoji

Room 5 (Part 1) | Making Room (Part 2) | Room On Fire (Part 3)

reblogs, likes, and replies are appreciated and lets me know if you'd like to see more!

It all felt like a dream at first. How couldn’t it? After years of losing myself in the fictional worlds of books and movies, wondering what my own life would be like if I were one of those characters, I suddenly found myself thrust into a whirlwind story of my own.

Within the past year, I’ve managed to do more things than I had done in a lifetime — one of those things having been following my boyfriend, Nicholas, to New York to see where what the world might have to show me outside the confines and expectations of my home, of what my mother told me my life should be like, of what I had grown accustomed to.

The cold air hit me first when we landed, but it was the weight of the city — the noise, the lights, the people — that left me breathless. Never did I picture myself becoming one of the countless droplets of water in the sea of strangers that was New York.

I felt Nicholas’s arm wrap around my waist as I stared out to the twinkling buildings in that moment, kissing my temple, the hot breath leaving his nostrils and enveloping my face in a visible whisper that left just as quickly as it appeared. “Thank you for coming back with me,” he whispered into the shell of my ear and rubbed my sides, warming me up.

I had been so overwhelmed with emotion then, scared but hopeful of the journey that lied ahead, that all I could then was lean into his touch and plant a soft, thankful kiss on his lips. I’d hoped it could convey all the words that were lodged at the back of my throat, what I couldn’t let out. Nicholas, the one I’d do anything for, understood completely, gently taking my hand then and leading us to the taxi that would take us to his rented apartment in the city.

That night, he was in no rush to share me with anybody else just yet. The city hummed outside, alive with a pulse that felt both foreign and thrilling, but inside the one-bedroom apartment, it was just us in the stillness. The world outside could wait.

His apartment wasn’t anything fancy like a double-height artist’s loft. In fact, it reminded me a lot of his apartment back in Los Angeles — functional but modestly stylish. It was just a little impersonal, as though it was waiting for someone to truly settle in and make it a home. And Nicholas did. There were stacks of scripts strewn about the coffee table, each of them with different color sticky notes sticking out of them, some open and written all over. There was a jacket or two draped across the brown leather sofa. And his gym bag was left forgotten near the front door, some dirty clothes spilling out of the top.

What had amused me the most were the types of art hanging on the exposed brick walls. They looked like cheesy 1980s watercolors, like the ones you’d find now in a roadside motel or the art section in a Goodwill. Clearly, Nicholas hadn’t picked them out. They clashed with the otherwise neutral, understated decor of the space, their bright, pastel hues seeming almost comical. But that was what made this space feel so temporary, like a stage set ready to be dismantled at a moment’s notice.

Nicholas helped me in removing my coat, carefully peeling it away, “Are you feeling takeout or home-cooked tonight?” He asked with a small smile.

I hesitated, looking around the apartment as I tugged my scarf down, hanging it on a hook by the door. The question was simple, but as I looked outside the large windows, out to the endless lights, I couldn’t help but feel the unspoken weight behind it. To him, the question was just about what food I wanted. To me, the question was about whether I would let myself fall completely into this new bustling city or continue to seek the comfort of my home.

I smiled softly, turning back to him. “Takeout,” I finally said, my voice steadier than I expected. “Something easy on the stomach.”

Nicholas nodded, his face lighting up with that easy grin that made my heart squeeze. “Takeout it is,” he said, pulling his phone out of his pocket.

I watched him for a moment as he scrolled through options, his brows furrowing slightly in concentration. It was such a small thing, but it grounded me — this reminder that even amidst the chaos of the city, there were still simple, familiar routines. Like ordering takeout on a bitter cold night in.

While he ordered, I took my luggage and wandered further into the apartment, letting my fingers trail over the back of the leather sofa. The soft creak of the material under my touch was oddly comforting, a tactile reminder that I was here, in this moment, in his space. My fingers traced over every surface it passed as I made my way over to Nicholas’s bedroom, setting my luggage down on the ground and kneeling before it.

Oddly enough, the ritual soothed me. I knew that by unzipping my luggage that it meant I could slow down and lord knows I needed that right now. I started to pull out all the items I needed for the night — my pajamas, my toiletries. I smoothed out the fabric of my pjs as I placed them on the edge of the bed, my fingers brushing against the soft linens. Surprisingly, Nicholas’s scent still lingered faintly in the room, even after being out of town for two weeks. It was a small comfort amidst the unfamiliarity of the city outside.

As I zipped my bag shut, I heard the soft shuffle of footsteps behind me. I turned to see Nicholas leaning against the doorframe, his arms crossed casually but his gaze warm and intent. He had peeled away his jacket and kicked off his shoes, and the sight of him like that, relaxed but still impossibly put-together, sent a flicker of warmth through me.

“Food’s gonna be here in twenty minutes,” he said, his voice low and easy.

I nodded, turning to face him, and was met with that boyish grin that still managed to catch me off guard every time. “Good,” I said, my voice lighter now. “I’m starving.”

His eyes flicked to the neatly folded pajamas on the bed, and a small smile tugged at his lips. He stepped closer, the faint creak of the floorboards under his weight breaking the silence, and pulled me up off the floor, his hands resting on my waist. “Settle in, ok?”

I felt my cheeks warm at his words, a flutter of something indescribable sparking in my chest. Indeed, I did have to settle in. This wasn’t just a weekend getaway. I had basically just moved in with my boyfriend of 10 months until further notice. The realization hit me as softly as his touch: this was it. This was my life now. The thought should have been daunting, but with Nicholas standing so close, his presence steady and reassuring, it felt… manageable. Maybe even exciting.

I nodded, murmuring in agreement as I let myself lean into him for a moment. His hands didn’t leave my waist, and I felt the faint press of his thumbs moving in lazy circles over the fabric of my sweater. It was a small gesture, but it grounded me, just like everything else about him seemed to.

“Okay, I’ll go shower in the meantime,” I spoke softly, my lips growing into a smile. I quickly kissed Nicholas and reached for the stuff I had laid out on the bed.

As I gathered my things, Nicholas’s hand brushed lightly against mine before he let me go, his warmth lingering even as I stepped away. There was something so natural about the ease in his movements, the way he leaned against the doorframe for just a moment longer before turning back toward the living room. It was a rhythm I was beginning to recognize, one that felt like it could become our own.

The bathroom was small but functional, with tiles that had seen better days and a mirror slightly fogged at the edges. It wasn’t glamorous, but it didn’t need to be. I turned on the shower, letting the steam rise and fill the room as I carefully laid my toiletries on the counter. The sound of water rushing was calming, a momentary escape from the whirlwind of thoughts that had been swirling in my mind since we’d left my house.

As I stepped under the hot stream, the tension in my shoulders began to melt away, replaced by a growing sense of calm. The warmth seeped into my skin, soothing the chill that had clung to me from the cold air outside. I let my mind wander, focusing on the simple act of washing away the day, and allowed myself to relax for the first time this entire day.

By the time I finished, the air in the bathroom was thick with steam, and my skin was warm and flushed. Wrapping a towel tightly around myself, I quickly dried my hair just enough to stop the water from dripping down my back, then slipped into my pajamas — a soft, oversized sweater and a pair of tight shorts.

I stepped back into the bedroom and caught the faint scent of food drifting through the air. I padded into the living room, where Nicholas was sitting cross-legged on the floor, unpacking containers of takeout and arranging them neatly on the coffee table. He looked up when he heard me, his smile easy and genuine, and motioned for me to join him.

“Food’s still warm,” he said, his tone light, as if everything about this moment was perfectly normal. And maybe it was — maybe this was what normal could look like for us now.

I sank down beside him, the smell of spices and soy sauce making my stomach growl. We ate together in comfortable silence at first, the clink of chopsticks against plastic containers punctuating the quiet. Then, little by little, the conversation started to flow — lighthearted jokes, stories from the flight, musings about the city outside the window. I caught him stealing glances at me between bites, his soft smile warming the space more than the radiator ever could. I teased him lightly, nudging his leg with my foot, and he laughed, the sound low and intimate in the small apartment. It was a simple meal, but it felt special in a way I couldn’t quite articulate. It reminded me of our time in Los Angeles, except we were 10 months older now, maybe just a tiny bit wiser, and it was winter in New York.

After we finished eating, Nicholas tidied up, gathering the empty containers and bringing them to the kitchen. I stayed on the floor for a moment, letting the contented haze settle over me before standing and wandering back to the window. The cityscape was mesmerizing, the lights reflecting against the glass like a living mosaic. My fingers rested lightly on the icy cold glass, sending a titillating chill up my spine. My breath fogged a small patch of the window as I leaned closer to take it all in.

Outside, the city stretched out endlessly, its lights twinkling like a thousand tiny stars in reverse. It was overwhelming and beautiful all at once, the sheer scale of it reminding me just how small I was in the grand scheme of things. It was so different from the quiet, predictable streets I had grown up on. It was intimidating and exciting all at the same time. I then felt Nicholas’s presence behind me, his warmth steady and grounding, and suddenly I didn’t feel so small.

He wrapped his arms around me, pressing a kiss against my temple. “You’ve been staring out there a while,” he murmured, his voice low and smooth. His lips brushed against the curve of my shoulder, sending a shiver down my spine despite the warmth that surrounded us.

I leaned back into his chest, letting his presence anchor me as my fingers lingered on the glass. The cold from the window contrasted sharply with the heat of his body, making the moment feel even more electric. My breath hitched slightly as his hands slid from my waist, his fingers tracing a slow, deliberate path over my hips.

“It’s mesmerizing,” I whispered, my voice barely audible, more to myself than to him. The city lights below sparkled like a never-ending galaxy, but all I could focus on was the way his touch sent waves of warmth through me, grounding me amidst the chaos outside. Suddenly, a cheeky grin grew on the corner of my lips. “Can that building across the way see us?”

Nicholas chuckled softly behind me, his lips brushing against the curve of my neck as he tightened his arms around me. “Probably,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing, the vibrations sending a thrill down my spine. His fingers trailed along the waistband of my shorts, deliberate but unhurried, as if daring me to push the moment further. “Does that bother you?”

I bit my lip, my gaze flickering between the glittering lights of the city and the faint silhouettes visible through the neighboring windows. The thought of being seen—of this intimate moment being observed by strangers—made my pulse quicken, a mix of exhilaration and nervousness coursing through me. “I don’t think I care. They seem so small,” I admitted, turning my head slightly to catch his gaze in the faint reflection on the glass. “What about you?”

Nicholas smirked, his eyes darkening with the kind of confidence that made my knees weak. “I think I can handle it,” he replied, his voice dropping to a husky whisper. His hands slid lower, settling firmly on my hips as he pressed his body closer to mine. The steady rhythm of his breathing against my back only heightened the tension simmering between us.

The city outside seemed to pulse in time with my heartbeat, the lights blurring slightly as I leaned my head against him. “Then do it,” I said, my voice bolder than I felt. “Right here. Against the window.”

For a moment, everything stilled. The air between us grew heavy, charged with the weight of my words. Then Nicholas’s hands tightened their grip on my hips, his fingers digging in just enough to send a spark of anticipation through me. “Are you sure?” he asked, his tone serious despite the clear hunger in his eyes.

I turned my head to glance at him, the smirk on my lips matching the fire in his gaze. “Absolutely.”

He smiled against the apple of my cheek, kissing the corner of my eye. “Whatever you want, baby,” he whispered, his hand splayed across my tummy and pushing me closer to him before letting his hand venture downward.

Nicholas’s movements were deliberate, every touch an unspoken promise. The anticipation coiled tightly in my stomach as his lips found the sensitive spot just below my ear, brushing featherlight kisses that made my breath hitch.

“Keep your eyes on the city, ok?” he murmured against my skin, his voice low and commanding, sending a shiver down my spine.

The words sent a flush of heat through me, pooling low in my belly as I pressed my palms flat against the window. The city lights twinkled below, an endless expanse of life and movement, but the only thing I could focus on was the tension building between us, the way his hands molded to my body like he was memorizing every curve.

His fingers found the hem of my shorts, teasing the fabric upward before slipping beneath, tracing slow, deliberate circles against my throbbing self. I exhaled sharply, my breath fogging the glass in front of me. Nicholas’s other hand slid up my sweater, his fingers grazing my nipple, setting fire to every nerve he touched.

I could feel my heartbeat pounding in my ears, echoing the rhythm of the city below. His fingers tugged my shorts down with agonizing slowness, the cool air against my thighs only heightening the heat radiating between us. The fabric pooled at my ankles, forgotten as he gripped my ass and pressed his hips against mine, pinning me lightly to the glass.

Nicholas’s hands roamed my body with purpose, one tracing the curve of my spine while the other dipped lower, coaxing soft gasps from my lips. He shifted behind me, his movements deliberate and slow, his body heat engulfing me as he leaned in closer. The glass was cold against my flushed skin, but Nicholas was everywhere else, his warmth, his strength, his presence anchoring me.

As his hand traveled further down, a quiet cry escaped me as I felt him insert his fingers inside me. Instinctively, I fluttered my eyes shut at the sensation and threw my head back onto Nicholas’s shoulder, whimpering.

“Nonono,” he spoke softly, carefully using his other hand to turn my chin back toward the window. “Keep looking out,” he whispered, his voice strained but full of control.

I obeyed, my gaze fixed on the sprawling skyline. The city stretched before me like an infinite tapestry of light and movement, a living, breathing thing that seemed to pulse in time with my rapid heartbeat. The glass beneath my palms was cool and unyielding, grounding me even as Nicholas’s touch sent me spiraling into a haze of sensation.

“Do you see it?” he murmured against my ear, his voice low and rich.

I fought back a moan, mustering up my energy to answer him. “I see it,” I whispered, my voice barely audible.

Nicholas smiled against my skin, his lips brushing lightly over the curve of my neck. “Good,” he murmured, his voice a blend of satisfaction and restraint. He continued to thrust his fingers, the wet sound and our breaths filling the space. “All of that…”

The city stretched before me, an endless canvas of glittering lights and moving shadows, but it was Nicholas’s voice grounding me, his words weaving into the hum of the city.

“It’s yours,” he said, his voice low and rough, a quiet command. His hand pressed against my lower stomach, his fingers inside me moving in a rhythm that felt synchronized with my pulse.

I pressed my forehead against the glass again, my breath creating soft, foggy patches that quickly faded. The cold surface was a sharp contrast to the fire building within me, and I couldn’t help but arch into Nicholas’s touch. His other hand traveled up, resting lightly on my shoulder before trailing down my arm, his fingers brushing against mine as they flattened against the window.

“Keep your hands there,” he murmured, his breath hot against the shell of my ear. “I want you to feel how far you’ve come, how high up you are right now.” His lips trailed down the side of my neck, and I shivered at the mixture of his warmth and the cool air brushing against my skin.

Each point of light blurred and sharpened as my focus shifted, but Nicholas never let me forget where I was. His hand moved from my stomach to tilt my chin up gently, guiding my gaze higher toward the horizon. “That’s all out there for you,” he whispered.

His words sent a rush of heat through me, tangling with the tension he built with his touch. I wanted to answer, but my voice caught in my throat, replaced by a soft moan as his fingers curled inside me, hitting a spot that made the world outside blur completely.

“Focus, baby,” he said, his voice both gentle and teasing. “Eyes on the city.”

I forced myself to steady my breath, to anchor my gaze on the skyline as Nicholas continued his deliberate rhythm. For a moment, I felt as though I were floating above it all, weightless and untouchable. The glass beneath my palms seemed to hum with the energy of the city, and I let that energy flow through me, blending with the pleasure Nicholas was building in waves.

“You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice thick with reverence. His free hand slid around to my waist, holding me steady as he pressed a kiss to the back of my shoulder. “You don’t even realize it yet, do you? How strong you are. How beautiful.”

I whimpered softly, his words pushing me further toward the edge. My reflection in the glass caught my eye, and for a moment, I saw myself as Nicholas seemed to see me — powerful, vibrant, alive. The flush in my cheeks and the wildness in my gaze mirrored the city’s intensity, and I felt a surge of something unfamiliar but thrilling: pride.

“Nicholas…” I managed, my voice breathless, more of a plea than a statement.

“I’ve got you,” he replied instantly, his hand tightening on my hip, his voice filled with steady reassurance. “I’ll always have you.” He kissed the side of my neck, his lips soft and deliberate, as though he were trying to leave a mark that went deeper than skin.

His touch grew more insistent, the tension inside me coiling tighter and tighter until I thought I might shatter. My eyes stayed locked on the skyline, the city’s pulse becoming my own, the boundary between me and the world outside blurring until there was nothing but light, heat, and movement.

And then, with one final, deliberate motion, Nicholas sent me spiraling. My body trembled against the glass as I cried out softly, my fingers curling into fists against the cold surface. The city outside seemed to explode with light, the skyline shimmering in my vision as every sensation crashed over me in waves. Nicholas’s hands stayed firm on my body, grounding me as I rode the high, his quiet murmurs of praise and reassurance the only sound that broke through the haze.

When I finally stilled, my breathing ragged and my legs trembling, Nicholas wrapped his arms around me fully, pulling me back against his chest. He kissed the top of my head, his lips lingering as though sealing the moment.

“You’re amazing,” he said softly, his voice filled with awe. “Never forget that.”

I let my head rest against his shoulder, my gaze drifting back to the skyline. The city still pulsed with life, but now it felt like a part of me, as though I’d claimed it, made it my own. And with Nicholas’s arms around me, his warmth and strength anchoring me, I knew I could face whatever came next.

And for a while I did.

While Nicholas started filming again, I still had a few days left of my holiday break before having to start remotely. I took advantage of that time to venture out into the city and explore places around the neighborhood. I didn’t keep track of time as I walked, letting my curiosity guide me. There was something freeing about having no responsibilities, at least not yet, in such a big city.

The neighborhood was a mix of old-world charm and modern chaos. Brownstones lined the quieter streets, their stoops decorated with potted plants that defied the winter chill. On the busier avenues, cafes and boutique shops jostled for space, their windows fogged up from the warmth inside. I ducked into one of them—a tiny coffee shop with mismatched furniture and the faint smell of cinnamon in the air.

The barista greeted me with a smile, and for a brief moment, I felt like a regular, as though I’d been here countless times before. I ordered a tea and found a spot by the window, watching the city outside. The people rushing by were a mix of hurried professionals, bundled-up families, and tourists clutching guidebooks. I sipped my coffee and let the scene wash over me.

The streets became less intimidating, their rhythm familiar as I mapped them in my mind. I passed a bookstore with a worn wooden sign hanging above the door, its display filled with second-hand novels that begged to be explored. A florist’s shop caught my eye, the bursts of color behind the glass a stark contrast to the gray skies outside. I promised myself I’d return to both places soon.

I stumbled upon a small park nestled between two buildings, its trees bare but still beautiful against the backdrop of the city. I sat on a bench for a while, letting the sounds of New York surround me — the distant honk of car horns, the chatter of people passing by, the hum of life moving forward.

By the time I returned to the apartment, Nicholas would already be home, sprawled out on the couch with a script in hand, his face lighting up the moment I’d walk through the door.

“How was your day?” he asked, setting the script aside as he stood to greet me. His arms wrapped around me, and I leaned into his warmth, the familiar scent of him instantly soothing.

“Perfect,” I said honestly, looking up at him. “I did so much,” the excitement in my voice was palpable as I removed my jacket and sat back down on the couch with Nicholas to tell him all about my day.

And that routine of me out exploring as if I had all the time in the world would continue through to the day I had to start work again, but I didn’t let that stop me.

I balanced my work with the thrill of exploring the city, and it felt like I had struck gold. My remote job gave me the freedom to pick any spot in New York as my office for the day. One morning, it was a cozy little café with. The next, it was a seat by the window at the bookstore, surrounded by the faint smell of old paper and whispers of passing customers. I was productive, inspired even, with the city humming around me like a constant companion. It felt like I had the world at my feet.

But the novelty didn’t last.

Soon, the bustling energy that had initially fueled me started to feel more like a distraction. The noise of steaming espresso machines and the chatter of strangers became harder to tune out. I’d catch myself staring out of the window for too long, watching people live their lives, while my own tasks piled up. Deadlines started to feel tighter, and my focus waned.

I decided to shift gears and work from home, thinking it might help. Nicholas’s apartment was quiet during the day while he was filming, and I figured I could finally focus without interruptions. At first, it was a relief. I didn’t have to worry about finding a seat in a crowded café or whether my laptop battery would last. I could just settle into the small desk in the corner of the apartment and get things done.

But that relief was short-lived, too.

The walls of the apartment that had once felt like a cozy retreat now felt confining. I’d look out the window and see the city stretching endlessly before me, a living, breathing organism, and I’d feel trapped. The hours bled into each other as I worked, the vibrant city outside reduced to background noise. I began skipping lunch breaks, telling myself I’d make up for it by exploring in the evenings, but by the time Nicholas came home, I was too drained to go anywhere, and so was he.

I started to dread opening my laptop in the mornings. The notifications blinking on the screen felt like tiny weights dragging me down. Projects that once felt manageable became daunting, and my to-do list seemed to grow faster than I could check things off. I’d sit at the desk for hours, the same desk where I’d once felt so confident about this new chapter in my life, and stare blankly at the screen. The apartment was silent, save for the occasional hum of the radiator or the muted sounds of the city filtering in through the windows.

Working remotely had sounded like a dream when I first took the job — freedom, flexibility, the chance to be anywhere in the world. But in practice, it had become suffocating. Without colleagues nearby to chat with or a change of scenery to break up the day, my motivation dwindled. The tasks blurred together, and the once-rewarding feeling of completing something gave way to an unrelenting sense of monotony.

The hours ticked by slower and slower. The same four walls that had once felt comforting now loomed over me, oppressive and inescapable. I would take breaks to stretch or make a cup of tea, but even those moments felt hollow. Quickly, I started to associate the apartment with work, and that was a dangerous concoction. I tried to convince myself it was just a phase, that I’d adjust, but the stress began to pile up.

Days started to blur together, and the isolation crept in slowly, like a shadow at the edges of my days. I’d hear the faint laughter of neighbors in the hallway or the hum of life outside the window and feel an ache in my chest. I was in one of the most exciting cities in the world, but I felt like I was missing out on everything. While the world moved at a breakneck pace outside, I was stuck behind my laptop, the glow of the screen my only connection to the world. Thankfully, though, I always had weekends off, which gave way for me to decompress for a day or two, until the cycle started again.

The city started to feel colder, too.

At first, the cold made me feel alive. I had loved the way it nipped at my cheeks as I walked briskly through the streets. The sharpness of the wind felt cleansing, like it was carving out a new version of me. The scarves and coats were comforting, a cocoon of warmth against the chill. I’d sip on steaming cups of coffee, the heat blooming in my hands as I watched the puffs of my breath mingle with the city air.

And the snow… Oh, the snow was so magical. I hadn’t seen snow since I was 4 years old. It was the first time it had snowed in my hometown in over 20 years. It wasn’t many inches, but It was enough to build a mud-covered snowman with grass sticking out of all the wrong places, and I enjoyed it all the same. So one night, when it started to snow while I was out exploring, I couldn’t contain my excitement. I quickly took as many photos and videos as I could, excitedly texting Nicholas what was happening. The snow was so romantic.

But over time, the cold began to wear me down.

It crept under my skin, turning the once-refreshing breeze into an icy bite that seemed to settle in my bones. The excitement of bundling up in layers gave way to frustration as I struggled with stiff zippers and gloves that never seemed to warm my fingers enough. Every trip outside felt like a chore, the gusts of wind slicing through my resolve. My lips became perpetually chapped, no matter how much balm I used, and my nose stung from the relentless chill.

The gray skies that had once seemed moody and poetic now felt oppressive. My skin craved the sun. The early sunsets cast the city in shadows before I’d even finished my work for the day. By the time I’d look up from my screen, the world outside would already be dark, the streets glistening with half-melted snow or slick patches of ice. Walking anywhere became a careful, hesitant shuffle, my focus on avoiding a fall instead of taking in the sights.

Even inside, the cold lingered. Nicholas’s apartment, though cozy, was drafty in places, and no amount of blankets seemed to chase away the chill that settled in the corners. I found myself sitting closer to the radiator, my legs tucked under me as I worked, but the heat felt suffocating after a while. It wasn’t the same warmth that had felt so romantic in those first few days — it was stale, stifling, like a reminder of how much time I was spending indoors.

The cold became another reminder of what I was missing. It made the city feel distant, uninviting. I’d scroll through photos online, seeing people from back home smiling and even enjoying the beach whenever the cold front would die down, basking in sunlight. Sometimes, I swore I could feel the warmth of my hometown kiss me through the screen.

One day, as I sat at the desk in the corner of the apartment, the pale winter light filtering through the window, I realized I hadn’t left the apartment in three days. The thought hit me like a slap, and I felt an overwhelming wave of guilt and frustration. This wasn’t who I wanted to be. I had come to New York for adventure, for a fresh start, for a life that was bigger than the one I had left behind. But the cold — the relentless, biting cold — had made me retreat into myself, had turned the city into something to be endured rather than embraced.

I stood up abruptly, the chair scraping against the floor, and grabbed my coat. The air outside was as harsh as ever, the wind cutting across my face the moment I stepped onto the sidewalk. I pulled my scarf tighter and shoved my hands deep into my pockets, forcing myself to walk down the block. The city was alive, bustling even in the dead of winter, but I felt disconnected from it, like a spectator watching through frosted glass.

I paused at the edge of the park I had visited when I first arrived, the one where the bare trees had seemed so starkly beautiful. Now, the branches looked brittle, almost lifeless, their dark silhouettes clawing at the gray sky. I shivered and turned back, heading home.

By the time I reached the apartment, I was exhausted — not from the walk, but from the effort it had taken to force myself out. Nicholas wasn’t home yet, and the apartment felt colder than ever despite the radiator hissing softly in the corner. I sank onto the couch, wrapping a blanket around my shoulders, and stared out the window at the city lights blinking in the distance.

And as much as I tried to immerse myself in the city, I couldn’t shake the loneliness of not knowing a single face. In my hometown, I had grown used to the small, comforting interactions that peppered my day: nodding at neighbors as I walked to my car, chatting with the barista at my regular coffee shop, bumping into an old high school friend at the grocery store. There was a familiarity to those moments, a feeling of being seen, of being part of a community.

Here, in New York, I felt invisible.

The sheer number of people I passed each day was staggering. Mornings were a blur of anonymous faces rushing to catch trains or hurrying into office buildings. Even when I ventured out during the quieter midday hours, the streets were still crowded. Everyone seemed to have somewhere to be, their focus fixed on their phones or their destinations. I had never seen so many people in one place, and yet I had never felt so alone.

When I first arrived, I found it exciting. The anonymity was freeing, in a way. I could be anyone, do anything, and no one would judge or remember. But as the weeks turned into months, that same anonymity began to feel like isolation. The faces blurred together, no longer individuals but part of the endless churn of the city.

It struck me one day as I sat in a café near the apartment. I watched a couple laughing over their coffee, their heads close together as they shared a joke. Across the room, a group of friends was chatting animatedly, their laughter cutting through the soft hum of conversation. And I realized I hadn’t had a conversation like that in weeks. Outside of Nicholas and the occasional video call with my family or coworkers, my interactions had dwindled to transactional exchanges: ordering food, paying for groceries, a polite thank-you as I stepped off the subway.

The truth was, I missed belonging. I missed walking into a place and being recognized. I missed the easy smiles of people who knew my name, the warmth of a community that had roots as deep as mine. In New York, I felt like I was floating — untethered, unnoticed, and unconnected.

And so, I retreated further into myself. The more I stayed inside, the harder it became to step out. The vibrant, bustling city that had once seemed so full of possibility now felt like a labyrinth I couldn’t navigate. The faces I passed each day became a blur, and I stopped looking at them altogether. It was easier that way, less painful than acknowledging how distant I felt from it all.

And then there were the days where Nicholas brought his work home with him, and I’m not talking about scripts. I started to notice it in small ways at first — the way Nicholas’s shoulders slumped just a little lower when he walked through the door, the slight hesitation before he smiled at me, the faraway look in his eyes even when we were talking.

And as the days turned into weeks, it became harder to ignore. He would come home later than usual, his scripts tucked under his arm and his face shadowed with exhaustion. Sometimes he’d sit on the couch, staring at the wall for what felt like hours, his expression unreadable. Other times, he’d go straight to the bathroom without a word, locking the door behind him. When I knocked to ask if he was okay, he’d tell me he was fine, his voice steady but distant.

I knew he wasn’t fine. I knew something was weighing on him, pulling him deeper into a space I couldn’t quite reach. And as much as I wanted to give him the space to process whatever he was going through, I couldn’t help but worry. Yes, I had known his filming was gruesome, but now that I was here in person, I had a chance to see how it actually was for him.

One night, after he’d come home particularly late, I decided I couldn’t just sit back and watch him unravel anymore. He had barely said a word to me since walking through the door, his body language tense and closed off. I waited until he’d gone to the bathroom to wash up, then quietly followed, knocking softly on the door before pushing it open.

“Nicholas?” I called gently, stepping into the bathroom. He was sitting on the edge of the tub, his head in his hands, his shoulders trembling slightly. My heart clenched at the sight.

He didn’t look up, but he didn’t tell me to leave, either. Taking that as permission, I knelt in front of him, placing my hands on his knees. “Hey,” I said softly, my voice steady even though my chest felt tight. “Talk to me.”

He finally looked at me, and the pain in his eyes hit me like a wave. “I don’t know if I can,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, understanding more than I could put into words. “Will you let me take care of you at least?”

He didn’t protest as I gently guided him to stand, helping him out of his shirt and pants before leading him to the tub. I turned on the water, adjusting the temperature until it was warm but not too hot, and added a few drops of lavender oil to help him relax. As the tub filled, I helped him settle into the water, his body sinking into the warmth like he was finally letting himself breathe.

I then removed my own clothes and slipping myself behind him. I grabbed a washcloth and soap, carefully lathering it before running it over his shoulders and back. He didn’t say a word, but I could feel the tension slowly melting away under my touch. I worked methodically, washing away the day’s weight as though I could scrub away the darkness that lingered in his mind.

When I was done, I set the cloth aside and poured warm water over his hair, my fingers massaging his scalp as I worked shampoo into a lather. His eyes fluttered shut, and for the first time in weeks, I saw a hint of peace on his face.

After the bath, I helped him dry off and led him to bed, where I wrapped him in blankets and held him close. He curled into me like a child seeking comfort, his head resting on my chest as I stroked his hair. I whispered soothing words, telling him how proud I was of him, how much I loved him, how strong he was. He didn’t respond, but his breathing evened out, and I felt his body relax against mine.

I cradled him late into the night, my arms never loosening their hold. And I would lay there awake for hours, sometimes into the early morning, listening to the sound of his breathing and feeling the steady beat of his heart. I would lose sleep over him, secretly praying that everything would turn out ok for him with his movie. And that ritual — bathing Nicholas, massaging out his stress, and cradling him at night while I lay awake, my eyes bloodshot from lack of sleep — would become the normal for a few days out of the week.

Still, as much as all the stress weighed on me, I refused to let it show when Nicholas came home. He didn’t deserve to carry my burdens on top of his own, especially when he had been nothing but supportive and kind. Every evening, I made a conscious effort to push aside the heaviness I felt and greet him with a smile. I didn’t want him to think I regretted following him to New York, because I didn’t — not for a second. This was a choice I had made with my whole heart. It was just… a lot. A big change that had happened so fast.

When I heard the sound of his key in the lock, it was like a switch flipped inside me. I’d smooth my hair, check my reflection in the mirror, and take a deep breath. No matter how drained or lost I felt during the day, I wanted him to come home to the same warm, loving partner he had left that morning. The last thing I wanted was for him to feel like he’d uprooted my life for nothing.

“Nicholas,” I’d call out brightly as he walked through the door, his arms full of whatever groceries or takeout he had picked up on his way home. “How was your day?”

He’d smile at me, the weariness in his eyes fading just a little at the sight of me. “Better now,” he’d say, letting out a tired sigh and setting everything down before pulling me into a hug. His arms wrapped around me like a shield, his warmth seeping into me as if he could chase away all the cold, both inside and out. Then, I’d remember that this hug was my favorite part of the day.

And there were so many moments like that — little things that made it all feel worth it, even when the weight of it all threatened to pull me under.

Like the nights we’d spend on the fire escape, bundled up in blankets with mugs of hot chocolate, looking out at the city lights. Nicholas would point out random buildings or make up stories about the people living inside them, his imagination as vivid as ever. “See that one?” he’d say softly, a little tiredness behind his voice from a day’s work, gesturing to a window with a faint glow. “That’s where the writer works. He’s been stuck on chapter three for weeks, but tonight’s the night he finally figures it out.” I’d laugh, the sound echoing into the crisp night air, and for a moment, it felt like the city was ours alone.

Or the Sunday mornings when we’d sleep in, the world outside quiet for once. I’d wake up to find him already awake, his hand lazily tracing patterns on my back. “Good morning,” he’d whisper, his voice warm and soft, and I’d bury my face in his chest, reluctant to leave the cocoon of warmth we’d created. We’d eventually drag ourselves out of bed and make pancakes in the kitchen, the smell of batter and syrup filling the small apartment as music played faintly in the background.

There were spontaneous adventures too. Like the time he surprised me with tickets to a Broadway show. “You can’t live in New York and not see a show,” he’d said, his grin mischievous as he handed me the tickets. I’d been hesitant at first, unsure about braving the crowded theater, but the moment the curtain rose and the actors took the stage, I forgot all my worries. Nicholas held my hand the entire time, his thumb brushing over my knuckles, and I found myself tearing up — not just at the story unfolding before us, but at the realization that I was living one of my own.

Even the quieter moments carried their own kind of magic. Like when we’d sit side by side at the kitchen table, him going over scripts while I worked on my laptop. The sound of his pencil scratching against the paper was oddly soothing, a steady rhythm that grounded me. Every now and then, he’d glance up and catch me staring at him, and his lips would curve into that boyish grin that never failed to make my heart skip a beat.

Then there were the rare evenings when he’d come home early, his arms full of groceries. “We’re cooking tonight,” he’d announce, refusing to let me lift a finger as he clumsily attempted to recreate a recipe he’d found online. The kitchen would inevitably end up a mess, with flour on the countertops and sauce splattered on the stove, but the laughter we shared made it all worth it. And somehow, the food always tasted perfect, even when it didn’t look like it.

Or the absolutely unforgettable sex we’d have. Like the time we had hooked up in the back of a town car on the way home from a rare fancy date during a particularly long stretch of traffic.

It had started innocently enough—just the two of us basking in the afterglow of an amazing night out. Nicholas had pulled out all the stops for the evening: a dinner reservation at an exclusive restaurant with dim lighting, soft music, and impeccable food, followed by drinks at a rooftop bar that offered a breathtaking view of the city. We’d laughed and flirted like it was our first date, the world outside momentarily forgotten.

By the time we slid into the backseat of the car, my cheeks were flushed from both the cocktails and the way Nicholas had been looking at me all night. His hand rested on my thigh, the warmth of his palm seeping through the thin fabric of my dress. At first, it was casual — fingers tracing lazy circles as we chatted about the night. But as the traffic crawled to a halt and the hum of the city surrounded us, the air between us shifted.

He leaned in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispered something that sent a shiver down my spine. I turned to meet his gaze, his eyes dark and filled with mischief, and before I could respond, he closed the distance, his lips capturing mine in a kiss that was anything but innocent. It was slow and deliberate, his hand sliding higher up my thigh as he deepened the kiss. The privacy partition was up, and the driver was oblivious to what was unfolding in the backseat.

I gasped as his lips trailed down my neck, his stubble grazing my skin in a way that made my toes curl. “Nicholas,” I whispered, half a plea and half a warning, though I wasn’t entirely sure what I was warning him against. He grinned against my collarbone, his hands firm as he pulled me onto his lap, the constraints of the small space forgotten as he claimed every inch of my attention.

“You’re irresistible,” he murmured, his voice low and full of promise. His hands roamed over my body, exploring as though he hadn’t memorized every curve a hundred times before. The lights of the city flickered through the tinted windows, casting shadows that danced across his sharp features, making him look even more devastatingly handsome.

I lost myself in him, in the way his lips moved against mine, in the quiet moans and gasps that filled the confined space. My dress slid higher, his hands moving with a confidence that made my pulse race. There was something thrilling about the moment — the intimacy of it mixed with the possibility of being caught, though I trusted Nicholas to keep everything discreet.

The world outside faded into a blur of lights and sounds, the only thing grounding me being the way his hands gripped my hips, the way he whispered my name like a prayer. Time seemed to stand still, and by the time we arrived at the apartment, I was breathless and flushed, my legs weak as we stumbled inside, unable to keep our hands off each other. It was wild, passionate, and completely us.

It was moments like those — the laughter, the warmth, the passion, the way he made even the most mundane things feel special — that reminded me why I had chosen this life. Why I had chosen him. After 10 months of long distance dating, this was all I ever wanted, to finally be able to have those moments in person, not through a screen. The stress, the loneliness, the cold — all of it faded into the background when I was with him. It was enough to just take it one day at a time. To hold onto the moments of warmth and connection we shared, even as the world outside felt colder and farther away. And when Nicholas kissed me goodnight, his voice soft as he told me he loved me, I told myself that alone was worth all of the stress.

Then, I saw a flash of light at the end of the tunnel.

Nicholas and I were lounging around at home, a rare moment of calm between his long days on set and my own struggles to find balance. The radiator hummed softly in the corner, the apartment dimly lit by the warm glow of a single lamp. Nicholas was sitting flipping through his script, his brow furrowed in concentration, while I laid across the couch with a book above my face, my head on his lap, stealing glances at him every so often.

His fingers absentmindedly traced small patterns on my scalp, his touch gentle yet grounding, like he was tethering himself to me without even realizing it. It was one of those rare, quiet moments where the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of us, a fragile bubble of calm amidst the chaos of our lives.

I wasn’t really reading. The words on the page blurred together. Instead, I stole glances at him, watching the way his brows knit together as he read his script. His lips moved faintly, mouthing lines as his pencil tapped against the armrest in a rhythm only he seemed to know. There was something captivating about seeing him like this — focused, immersed.

When he set the script down, I caught the way his shoulders eased, the tension melting away as he leaned back and let out a soft sigh. His tired smile tugged at the corners of his mouth, and I felt a pang in my chest—love mixed with a deep ache for how hard he’d been working.

His eyes met mine, warm and searching, as his hand brushed over my hair, fingers lingering for a moment before he spoke. “Guess what?”

“What?” I asked, pulling my book down and resting it on my tummy, giving him my full attention.

“Tomorrow’s the last day of filming,” he said, his voice carrying a mix of relief and excitement.

The words last day of filming hit me like a wave, and I could feel my heart swell with relief and joy for him. It was as though a curtain had been drawn back, revealing a glimpse of light after what felt like an endless stretch of shadow. He had been living with Patrick Bateman for months, carrying the weight of him, and I had seen how it had drained him piece by piece. But now, with just one more day to go, he was almost free.

I straightened up, my heart skipping a beat. “Really? That’s amazing, Nic!”

He smiled, reaching for my hand and giving it a gentle squeeze. “I was wondering if you wanted to come with me tomorrow. Be there for the last day of filming. And there’s a wrap party right after. I want you there for that, too. To celebrate,” he brushed his thumb across my jaw.

It wasn’t just about finishing the movie. It was about closing a chapter that had consumed so much of him, and having me there to witness it felt like a quiet, profound honor. Of course, I couldn’t deny the invitation.

My heart swelled, and for the first time in what felt like weeks, I felt a flicker of excitement that wasn’t tinged with worry. “I’d love to come,” I said, smiling up at him.

His face lit up with relief and joy, and he pulled me into a tight hug, his arms wrapping around me like he was anchoring himself. “Thank you,” he murmured against my hair. “You don’t know how much this means to me.”

I hugged him back just as tightly, feeling a weight lift from my chest.

The thought of seeing him on set, of finally understanding the world he’d been killing himself for, filled me with anticipation. It wasn’t just curiosity; it was a deep-seated desire to understand the world that had consumed him entirely. I wanted to see the passion that drove him, even when it seemed to break him at times. And the wrap party… well, it felt like the perfect way to close this chapter.

I hugged him back just as tightly, feeling a small weight lift from my chest.

The next day, I had woken up before Nicholas. Truthfully, I was so anxious that I could barely sleep a wink. I’m not sure why I felt anxious; maybe I was just anxious for Nicholas. He looked so peaceful, his chest rising and falling steadily, the tension he carried during his waking hours nowhere to be found. It made me ache to think of how much weight he’d been carrying, how much he’d given of himself to this role.

Today was his last day, and I wanted it to start with something good, something grounding. I slipped out of bed quietly, careful not to disturb him.

In the kitchen, I busied myself with breakfast, trying to shake off the restless energy that had kept me up most of the night. Pancakes seemed like the perfect choice. I whisked together the batter, the sound of the metal bowl and the sizzle of butter in the pan the only noise in the stillness. As I worked, I kept glancing at the clock, counting down the hours until we’d be on set.

By the time the pancakes were stacked high on a plate, golden and steaming, and the coffee brewed, I felt a little more settled. I set the table, placing everything just so, even adding a few berries and a drizzle of syrup to make it perfect. It was small, but it was something I could do for him, a way to remind him of the ordinary joys that existed outside of the roles he played.

When Nicholas finally emerged from the bedroom, his hair tousled and his movements slow with sleep, the sight of him softened me instantly. He rubbed at his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips as he noticed the table. “You didn’t have to do all this,” he said, his voice warm and raspy.

“I wanted to,” I replied, pulling out a chair for him.

He chuckled softly as he sat down, the sound low and genuine, and for the first time in a long time, I saw a flicker of lightness in him. As we ate, we didn’t talk much — just the occasional comment about the pancakes or a murmured thank you. But it was enough. The quiet was comfortable, the kind that didn’t need filling. Anyway, he still had a few more hours of being in that Bateman state of mind.

After breakfast, we both got ready, the routine familiar but laced with a quiet excitement. Nicholas dressed with care, slipping into a plain shirt and jeans. I opted for something understated, not wanting to draw attention to myself on set.

The car ride to the studio was quiet, his hand resting on my thigh as he gazed out the window, lost in thought. I didn’t press him to talk, sensing he needed the silence. As we pulled up, I felt a strange mix of awe and apprehension. The sprawling set was alive with activity, the air buzzing with anticipation for the final day of filming. Nicholas led me inside, his hand never leaving mine as he navigated the maze of departments and equipment.

First, he led us to the makeup department. The makeup department was a world of its own — a small, brightly lit space filled with mirrors surrounded by bulbs, shelves crammed with powders, brushes, and palettes of every shade imaginable. A team of artists buzzed around, their hands steady as they worked their magic on cast members. Nicholas greeted them with a quiet hello and a tired but genuine smile, clearly at ease in this environment, introducing me to the team that had been helping me transform for the past few months.

He led me to an empty chair in the corner, a spot out of the way where I could sit and observe. “I’ll just be a few minutes, baby,” he murmured, squeezing my hand before letting it go and taking his place in the main chair.

I watched as one of the makeup artists set to work, her hands quick and confident as she transformed Nicholas into Patrick Bateman for what would be the last time. The precision was mesmerizing. She worked on his hair, slicking it back until it gleamed under the lights, and applied the makeup that would give him that unnervingly perfect, plastic look. I couldn’t help but marvel at the detail, the way every brushstroke seemed to chip away at the Nicholas I knew and replace him with someone else entirely.

It struck me then, how much of himself he had to give away to embody this character. Every morning, he sat in this chair, shedding his own identity piece by piece, only to reclaim it at the end of the day. How exhausting that must be.

Once the transformation was complete, Nicholas turned to look at me briefly, his face now Bateman’s, his expression unreadable. He stood and caught my eye, his lips quirking into a small smile, almost as if to say, I’m still here.

“How do I look?” He asked, playfully cocking an eyebrow.

I stifled a chuckle, “Killer.”

Proudly, I took a few pictures of him to remember this momentous day. Perhaps he could use it in a photo dump on Instagram. He nodded toward the door, and I followed him back out into the bustling set.

The soundstage was even more chaotic now, filled with crew members shouting directions, adjusting lights, and moving equipment. Nicholas navigated it all effortlessly, exchanging brief greetings and pats on the back as we made our way to the scene they’d be shooting. I stayed behind him, not wanting to intrude, but I couldn’t stop my eyes from darting around, taking in every detail.

This was his world — the world he had worked so hard to be a part of, the world that demanded so much of him. Watching it unfold in real time felt like being let in on a secret, a glimpse into something sacred and grueling all at once.

The set was meticulously crafted, a cold, sterile replica of an upscale Manhattan apartment. The kind of place Patrick Bateman would inhabit — minimalist, sleek, and devoid of warmth. I stood behind a huddle of what I assumed to be assistant directors and the like watching from some monitors, my thumping out of my chest.

As they called for quiet on set, the noise of the soundstage faded into a tense hush. Nicholas stepped into the scene, his demeanor shifting entirely. It was immediate, like watching a mask fall into place. He moved differently now — stiffer, deliberate, exuding a calculated charm that was distinctly Bateman’s. Nicholas, as Bateman, was seated at a sleek, sterile desk under harsh lighting, his suit crisp and tailored, his tie knotted perfectly — a stark, menacing red. The man I had eaten pancakes with this morning had disappeared, replaced by a predator in a suit. The transformation was startling, even though I’d seen glimpses of it before. But here, in the heart of his performance, it was terrifyingly real, and I couldn’t take my eyes off him.

As the camera rolled, Nicholas leaned forward slightly, his elbows resting on the desk, his fingers steepled together. The moment Nicholas opened his mouth, the air shifted. His voice was measured, almost dispassionate, as he delivered Bateman’s chilling words:

“I feel lethal, on the verge of frenzy. I think my mask of sanity is about to slip. My nightly bloodlust has overflowed into my days. I feel my pulse quickening, my senses heightening as if I’m plunging into a void… and I’m afraid. Afraid that this is all there is. The numbness, the emptiness.”

The words hung in the air, stark and unrelenting. Nicholas delivered them with precision, his tone devoid of remorse but brimming with a chilling self-awareness. It was unsettling how easily he embodied Bateman’s descent, how his voice carried a weight that felt too personal.

“There is no catharsis,” he continued, his eyes narrowing as they fixed on some unseen point beyond the camera. “I gain no deeper knowledge of myself. No new depths are uncovered. I am simply not there. And I have to wonder… does anyone else see it? Or are we all just… pretending?”

My stomach twisted as I listened. The words felt like they resonated beyond the character, striking a chord I wasn’t prepared for. The loneliness in Bateman’s confession, masked by his indifference, echoed something I’d felt in the past few months — the struggle to connect, to feel like I belonged.

As he continued, Nicholas’s delivery sharpened, his voice rising ever so slightly as the monologue neared its end. “This confession has meant nothing,” he said, the finality in his tone like a door slamming shut.

Luca, the director, yelled, “Cut,” and the tension broke. “That’s a wrap!”

The room erupted into applause. Crew members cheered and clapped, some even whistling, but I stood rooted to the spot, my heart pounding. Nicholas didn’t move right away; he stayed in his chair, staring at the desk in front of him. Even as the set bustled back to life around him, he seemed distant, as though some part of him was still in that void Bateman had described.

It was only when Luca approached him, clapping him on the shoulder, that Nicholas finally stirred, blinking as though shaking off the last remnants of Patrick Bateman. He nodded at Luca, forcing a small smile, but as he stood, his movements were slow, heavy. He tugged at his tie, loosening it slightly, and ran a hand through his hair. The mask was gone, but the exhaustion he’d been hiding was clearer than ever.

Nicholas stood at the center of it all, accepting congratulations with quiet grace. He hugged the director, shook hands with the crew, and posed for photos, but there was a weariness to his smile — a quiet emptiness left behind by the months of grueling work.

I watched him approach me, his face softening as he met my eyes. He was Nicholas again — tired, drained, but mine. He didn’t say anything as he reached me, just leaned in and kissed my temple, a silent reassurance that he was okay. Or at least, he would be. Though, I could feel the tension still lingering in his body as he wrapped his arms around me.

“You were incredible, Nic,” I whispered against his chest, my voice thick with emotion.

He didn’t respond right away. When he finally pulled back, his eyes searched mine, as though looking for reassurance. “Thank you for being here, (Y/N),” he admitted quietly.

I nodded, my hand brushing against his cheek. “Always.”

The wrap party that followed was a whirlwind of energy, music, and champagne. Nicholas was at the center of it all, the undeniable star of the night, but he kept me close, his hand finding mine whenever he wasn’t shaking someone else’s. It was surreal to see him celebrated this way, to see how much respect and admiration he commanded. Yet, even in the midst of it all, I could see the tiredness that lingered beneath the surface.

As the night wore on, the party seemed to drain Nicholas more than energize him. He laughed at the right moments, posed for photos with his co-stars, and accepted compliments with a polite smile, but there was an unshakable weariness to his movements. It was the kind of exhaustion that ran deeper than physical fatigue, a heaviness that came from giving so much of himself for so long.

I watched him from across the room as he stood by a small group of producers, one hand in his pocket, the other loosely holding a glass of champagne. His posture was relaxed, his expression easy, but I knew better. His shoulders sagged slightly, and the faintest shadow lingered under his eyes, the telltale signs of a man who was running on fumes. Even his smiles felt thinner, like they didn’t quite reach his eyes.

At one point, a costumer from the crew approached me, a friendly woman I’d been introduced to earlier in the day. “You must be so proud of him,” she said, her voice warm. “He’s poured everything into this role. You can tell.”

I nodded, a faint smile tugging at my lips. “I am. He’s amazing.”

I’d seen how Bateman had clung to Nicholas, how it had seeped into him in ways I wasn’t sure he even realized. And now that filming was over, I wanted to help him shed that weight. To remind him that he wasn’t Bateman, that he was Nicholas, the man I loved. Just then, I had an idea.

I turned to the costumer, my voice quieter this time. “Would it be possible to get one of Bateman’s ties?”

She raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile creeping across her face. “A souvenir for him?”

“Something like that,” I admitted, feeling my cheeks warm.

The costumer seemed to understand. “Hold on,” she said, disappearing into the crowd. A few minutes later, she returned with a tie folded neatly in her hands. “Here,” she said, slipping it to me discreetly.

“Thank you,” I said, clutching the tie tightly. It was simple, sleek, and unmistakably Bateman. The color was a deep, commanding red, bold and almost… masochistic.

When Nicholas finally pulled me aside later in the evening, his exhaustion was impossible to miss. “Ready to go?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded, slipping the tie into my bag without a word. “Let’s get you home.”

The walk back to the apartment was quiet, his hand heavy in mine. When we finally stepped inside, he dropped onto the couch with a sigh, leaning his head back against the cushions. I sat beside him, pulling his legs into my lap, and he let out a contented hum as I started to rub his calves gently.

“You did it,” I said softly. “It’s over.”

He nodded, his eyes half-closed. “Yeah. It’s over.”

But as I watched him, I knew it wasn’t really over — not yet. He carried Bateman with him still, in the set of his shoulders, in the quiet moments when he thought no one was looking. But I had a plan — a way to remind him that he was more than this role, more than the weight it had left behind. Though, I wouldn’t be able to set the plan in motion until our one-year anniversary, which was right around the corner.

So for now, I focused on the man in front of me, the one who had given so much of himself to his craft and was finally ready to rest. I leaned forward, brushing a kiss to his temple. “I’m so proud of you,” I whispered, my voice steady.

And for the first time that night and maybe the last handful of weeks, Nicholas smiled — a real, unguarded smile that reached his eyes.

In the weeks following the wrap of filming, Nicholas threw himself into us completely, as if he were trying to make up for all the time the movie had stolen from us. He planned lazy mornings in bed, pulled me out of the apartment during lunch for weekday picnics in Central Park, and impromptu walks through the quieter streets of the city. He cooked dinners, insisted on movie marathons, and even picked up small gifts for me — a flower from a street vendor, books I’d had on my wishlist for a while, and various sweet treats.

It was sweet, thoughtful, and entirely Nicholas. But even as he smiled, kissed my forehead, and called me “baby” in that soft, low voice that melted me, there was something lingering beneath it all. A tension in his shoulders he couldn’t quite shrug off, a flicker in his eyes when he thought I wasn’t looking. Patrick Bateman still clung to him, like a shadow he hadn’t fully stepped out of.

I noticed it in the way his hand lingered too long on the back of his neck when he thought he was alone, or the slight hesitation in his laugh when he told a story about filming, or when he was just the tiniest bit rougher during sex. There were even nights when he woke up suddenly, his breathing uneven, his hand instinctively reaching for me as if to reassure himself that I was there. He never wanted to talk about it, brushing it off with a smile and a kiss. But I knew better.

I wanted to believe that time and love would be enough to help him leave Bateman behind, that with every breakfast we shared, every laugh we exchanged, and every quiet moment we spent together, he’d remember that he was Nicholas — kind, gentle, and so, so human. But as the days passed, I started to wonder if he needed more than that. If maybe he needed a way to reclaim himself, to take all the weight and intensity he’d poured into that character and channel it into something else. So when our anniversary rolled around, it was pretty much all I thought about.

And Nicholas had plans of his own for our anniversary — grand ones.

A week before the big day, he casually mentioned he had a surprise. “I want to make it special,” he said, his hand grazing my cheek as he leaned in close. “Something we’ll never forget.”

I smiled, intrigued, but he wouldn’t give me any details. It wasn’t until the day of that I finally understood what he meant.

The day started off innocent enough. He surprised me with breakfast in bed, a most glorious spread of tea and Italian crème croissants — the meal I had when we first met each other exactly one year ago on the beach.

As I sat up in bed, the sunlight streaming through the curtains, I couldn’t help but smile at the tray Nicholas placed carefully in front of me. The smell of warm croissants and the delicate aroma of tea instantly transported me back to that day on the beach when everything started.

“Do you remember?” he asked softly, sitting beside me and brushing a strand of hair from my face.

“Of course,” I murmured, my voice thick with emotion. “How could I forget?”

His lips curved into a smile, and for a moment, I saw the Nicholas I knew so well — the one unburdened by the shadows of his work. We lingered over breakfast, laughing about the titillating details of our first meeting and marveling at how far we’d come. It was easy, natural, and exactly what I needed.

But the day had only just begun.

After breakfast, Nicholas handed me a small envelope. Inside was a handwritten note with only a time written in the most elegant cursive: 7PM

“What’s this?” I asked, looking up at him.

“Your next clue,” he teased, his grin mischievous.

The rest of the day passed in a blur of anticipation. I couldn’t stop thinking about what he might have planned, his cryptic smile every time I asked only adding to my curiosity. When seven o’clock finally rolled around, I found myself standing in front of a sleek black car, Nicholas waiting with the door open, with a bouquet of peonies in hand, looking devastatingly handsome in a midnight blue suit with a dark red shirt underneath, the color combination absolutely stunning.

“You look devastating,” he smiled as he stepped closer, handing me the bouquet and passionately kissing me, even dipping me a bit. He pulled back, smiling down at me as he held me below him, his arms carrying my entire weight.

Smiling, I caressed my hand down his cheek, “And you look absolutely dashing,” I spoke softly.

My eyes fell on the collar of his red shirt, reminding me of the weight of the red tie I slipped into my purse for tonight, and suddenly the bag felt heavy.

He straightened us both, gently guiding me toward the car. His touch lingered on the small of my back, a gesture that spoke volumes without a single word. The peonies rested on my lap, their soft pink blooms a stark contrast to the sleek black interior of the car. I turned to him, curiosity lighting up my face, but he only smiled, his dark brown eyes glimmering with mischief.

“Not one hint?” I pressed as he slid in beside me, closing the door with a quiet click.

“Not a single one,” he replied, leaning back and stretching his arm along the seat behind me. His fingers found their way to my shoulder, tracing slow, lazy patterns. “But I promise, you’ll love it.”

I raised an eyebrow, but the warmth in his gaze made it impossible to do anything but smile. The car hummed softly as we pulled away from the curb, the city’s lights casting fleeting patterns of gold and silver across his face. I studied him in those moments — the sharp lines of his jaw, the way his lips twitched at the corners when he caught me staring. Even now, after everything, he still took my breath away.

Suddenly, cobblestones replaced asphalt, and boutique shops appeared in droves, quickly replacing the modern storefronts of midtown.

“SoHo?” I asked, smiling, looking back out the window.

The streets of SoHo blurred past the windows, a kaleidoscope of boutiques and brick facades, their festive lights twinkling against the evening sky. The drive was short, just long enough to feel like we’d stepped into our own little bubble away from the rest of the world. Nicholas’s hand slipped down to lace his fingers with mine, the simple gesture grounding me as we neared our destination.

The car slowed to a stop outside a boutique hotel, its façade understated yet elegant, the kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking for it. Nicholas stepped out first, offering his hand to help me out of the car.

The evening air was crisp, wrapping around me like a gentle embrace as I took in the sight before me. The hotel’s warm light spilled onto the sidewalk, casting a golden glow that felt almost magical. I glanced at Nicholas, my heart swelling at the sight of his quiet pride, the way he held the door open for me with a small, knowing smile.

“Ready?” he asked, his voice low and intimate, as though this moment was meant for just the two of us.

I nodded, slipping my hand into his. “Always.”

Inside, the lobby was cozy yet refined, with soft lighting and plush seating that hinted at the charm waiting just beyond. The receptionist greeted us warmly, handing Nicholas a key card with a nod and a knowing smile. My curiosity burned brighter, but I didn’t ask. I let him lead me, trusting him in a way that felt effortless.

The elevator ride was quiet, our hands still intertwined. I felt the weight of the red tie in my purse, already planning out the moment I could reveal it to Nicholas in a way that wouldn’t scare either of us.

When the elevator doors opened, Nicholas led me down a hallway to a corner room. He slid the key card in, the lock clicking softly before he turned to me. “Close your eyes,” he murmured.

I gave him a dubious look but obeyed, letting him guide me inside.

“Okay,” he whispered, his voice close to my ear. “Open.”

I opened my eyes to a lavish suite that looked like it had been plucked straight out of a 1920s dream. Gold accents gleamed in the soft candlelight, red velvet furniture begging to be touched. The room was covered in extravagant floral arrangements, peonies of all colors. The bed, covered in peony petals and draped in plush, cream-colored linens, beckoned invitingly with a bottle of massage oil by the bedside. There was a small dining table adorned with candles and two dome-covered plates, but I could already smell the delicious scent of a warm steak dinner wafting ever so slightly through the room’s scent of something woody and luxurious. A bottle of chilled champagne, a bowl of strawberries, and warmed chocolate, waited for us on a nearby bar cart.

I stepped inside, taking it all in, and turned to Nicholas, who was watching me with an expectant smile. “Nic, this is gorgeous,” I spoke, dropping my purse in the middle of the floor in complete awe.

“It’s all for you,” he replied, stepping closer and wrapping his arms around my waist. “I wanted tonight to be perfect. Just us, no distractions.”

I leaned into him, my heart swelling. “It’s beautiful, Nicholas.”

He kissed me again then, before taking my hand and leading me over to the king-sized bed that was covered in adorned in pink petals. There was a big, rectangular box resting on top, a huge black bow on the lid.

I glanced at it, then back at Nicholas, my eyebrows slightly furrowed in curiosity. “What’s this?”

“Open it and find out,” he said, his grin teasing as he gestured toward the bed.

I stood at the edge of the mattress, my fingers brushing over the smooth ribbon before carefully untying the bow. The lid lifted easily, revealing a dress nestled inside — sleek and utterly captivating. It was midnight blue, the same color as his suit, and it was the kind of fabric that shimmered with every movement, catching the light in the most mesmerizing way. The neckline dipped just enough to be daring without losing its elegance, and when I pulled it out to admire its entirety, noticing its plunging back, I saw a lingerie set underneath.

The lingerie set — stockings, a garter, a bra, and underwear — beneath the dress was breathtaking. Delicate lace in the same color as the dress, edged with shimmering gold thread that caught the light just enough to feel luxurious without being gaudy. It was the kind of thing that felt both daring and intimate, something designed to make me feel like the most beautiful woman in the world.

I looked up at Nicholas, my cheeks warming as his gaze met mine. There was something in his expression — admiration, anticipation, and maybe just a hint of nerves.

“You picked this out?” I teased, holding up the lingerie with a playful smile.

“Well, I know how much you love lace,” he whispered, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips. His confidence was evident, but there was a glimmer of vulnerability in his eyes that made my heart ache in the best way.

“Who doesn’t?” I asked with a laugh, setting the lingerie and dress back in the box to wrap my arms around his neck and devour him in a kiss. I pulled away after a moment and spoke softly, “It’s beautiful.”

Nicholas’s hands settled firmly on my waist, his thumbs brushing against my sides in a way that sent a shiver up my spine. “Not as beautiful as you,” he murmured, his voice low and reverent, like the words were meant for no one else but me.

I smiled, my cheeks warm as I leaned into him, resting my forehead against his. “You’re making it really hard not to jump you right now.”

Nicholas chuckled, his breath warm against my ear. “That’s the idea,” he murmured, his voice playful yet edged with a softness that made my heart flutter. His hands slid up my sides, his touch slow and deliberate. “But we have all night, baby. Let me spoil you first.”

I let out a soft laugh, my hands resting on his chest as I pushed him back just enough to meet his eyes. “You already are,” I whispered, my voice tinged with affection. “You always are.”

Nicholas gave me that smile — the one that always made my knees weak, the one that reminded me why I fell so hard for him in the first place. He stepped back, giving me space to stand, and gestured toward the en suite bathroom. “Why don’t you put that on for me, hmm?”

I nodded, unable to keep the giddy grin from my face as I carried the box with me. The bathroom was as opulent as the rest of the suite, with marble countertops, gilded fixtures, and a deep soaking tub that practically begged to be used. In fact, there were already candles set up all around the edge. But it was the full-length mirror that caught my attention as I set the lingerie and dress on the counter and took a moment to gather myself. My heart raced, not just from the anticipation of the night but from the overwhelming love I felt for Nicholas in that moment.

The lingerie fit perfectly, as if it had been made just for me. The lace clung to my curves in all the right ways. Because the dress had a pretty daring neckline and a plunging back, I decided against the bra, only putting on the stockings, underwear, and garter.

Once I was dressed, I slipped into the midnight blue gown, the shimmering fabric cascading down my body like liquid light. The lingerie beneath added an extra layer of allure, but the slit on the side revealed just enough of the garter to make me feel daring. My hands trembled slightly as I smoothed the fabric over my hips, taking a deep breath to steady myself before stepping back into the suite.

When I opened the door, Nicholas was waiting, leaning casually against the windowsill. His eyes lifted the moment he heard the soft click of the door, and the way his gaze swept over me stole the air from my lungs. He stood up straight, his Adam’s apple bobbing slightly as he swallowed, his eyes darkening with desire.

“Wow,” he breathed, his voice low and reverent. “You look… absolutely stunning.”

I felt my cheeks flush under his intense gaze, but I managed a playful smile. “I had a good stylist.”

Nicholas chuckled, closing the distance between us in a few slow, deliberate steps. His hands found my waist, his thumbs brushing against the silky fabric as he took me in. “I think I might be the luckiest man alive,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper.

My heart fluttered at his words, and I leaned into him, resting my hands on his chest. “I might be the luckiest girl alive,” I teased, my voice soft.

He grinned, his fingers gently tilting my chin up so our eyes met. “This night is just getting started, baby,” he said, his voice full of promise. Though, he himself didn’t know what I had in store for him either. “Shall we?”

Nicholas led me to the small table where the champagne, our dinner, and the strawberries waited. He pulled out a chair for me, always the gentleman, before making his way to the chair on the opposite side, but I motioned for him to pull the chair next to me, not wanting to be apart from him for a second.

Without hesitation, Nicholas moved his chair next to mine, his knee brushing against mine as he sat down. The intimacy of the moment wasn’t lost on either of us. He poured us each a glass of champagne, the golden liquid bubbling softly in the flutes.

As we clinked glasses, he held my gaze, the moment feeling both intimate and electric. “To us,” he murmured.

“To us,” I echoed, taking a sip. The crisp champagne fizzed against my tongue, and I set the glass down before leaning closer to him. My free hand found his knee, and I felt him tense slightly under my touch before relaxing.

Nicholas picked up the domes of our food, tossing them beneath the bar cart, and reached for the silver knife and began cutting into the perfectly cooked steak on my plate, slicing it into bite-sized pieces. His focus was precise, the candlelight flickering against his sharp jawline as he worked. Once he had a piece ready, he held it up with his fork, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips.

“Open up,” he teased, his tone warm and playful.

I laughed softly but complied, letting him feed me. The steak melted on my tongue, its rich, savory flavor making me hum in appreciation. “You’re spoiling me,” I said, covering my mouth as I spoke.

We ate quietly for a few moments, the atmosphere intimate and unhurried. I found myself watching him more than eating, wondering if under all of tonight’s charm he still was still carrying all the stress from filming and planning our anniversary on top of that.

As I chewed thoughtfully, my mind drifted back to the beginning — our beginning. It felt surreal to think how much had changed in just a year. That weekend on the beach was supposed to be nothing more than a getaway from my chaotic home, but it turned into the moment my life shifted completely.

“You looked so focused on that book,” Nicholas said suddenly, his voice pulling me out of my reminiscence. It was almost like he could read my mind. Could he? He cut another piece of steak, setting it gently on my plate.

I smiled, shaking my head at the memory. “I was trying to distract myself from the fact I heard my hotel room neighbor,” my eyes flicked to him, “having sex the night before.”

His laugh was low and warm, a sound that always made my heart skip. “As I recall, you were touching yourself to the sounds of my lovemaking.”

“And you deliberately sat next to me on the beach because you knew I could hear you.”

Nicholas smirked, his fork pausing midway to his plate. “Guilty,” he admitted, his voice rich with mischief. “But can you blame me?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to keep a straight face, but the smile playing at the corner of my lips betrayed me. “A little.”

He smiled, cutting another piece of steak with deliberate care, holding out the piece of meat in front of me. I rolled my eyes playfully before taking the bite, but the memory softened something in me. That weekend had been the start of everything — his teasing charm, my cautious curiosity. The stolen glances, the agonizing teasing on his part, the mind blowing sex. Us meeting… it almost felt inevitable.

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, watching me intently as I chewed the steak he’d just fed me. “We were inevitable,” he said softly, echoing my thoughts like he’d plucked them right out of my mind.

I raised an eyebrow, swallowing before speaking. “You sound very sure of yourself.”

“I am,” he replied simply, his gaze steady. “You and me, baby. It was always going to happen. Whether it was on that beach or somewhere else, it would’ve happened.”

His confidence should have been maddening, but instead, it made my chest ache in the best way. I reached out, tracing my fingers over the back of his hand where it rested on the table. “And you’re still this confident a year later?”

Nicholas chuckled, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “Especially now,” he murmured.

I smiled, shaking my head at him but unable to hide the warmth blooming in my chest. It was easy to believe him when he looked at me like that, like I was the only thing in the world that mattered.

He reached across the table, cupping my cheek in his hand. “You make me better,” he said, his words unhurried and deliberate. “And after everything, after these last two months…” He paused, his thumb brushing over my cheekbone. “I don’t ever want to go back to what life was like before you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I leaned into his touch, my hand covering his. “You don’t have to,” I whispered. “I’m here. Always.”

For a moment, the rest of the world fell away. It was just us, sitting at that candlelit table, the weight of the past year settling into something softer, something full of promise. Nicholas’s eyes searched mine, and I knew he felt it too.

“Happy anniversary,” he said softly, leaning in to press his forehead against mine.

“Happy anniversary,” I whispered back, my voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill over.

We stayed like that for a moment, the quiet hum of the room wrapping around us like a cocoon. Eventually, that sentimental moment had grown into a more light-hearted dinner with conversations about both of our jobs, what other iconic New York landmarks he could take me to, and future date plans.

The steak dinner ended as perfectly as it had started — intimate, unhurried, and brimming with unspoken affection. When the plates were finally cleared, and the champagne glasses topped off, the room seemed to shift slightly. It was time for dessert.

Not wanting to leave my side for a second, Nicholas pulled the bar cart of strawberries and warmed chocolate with the tip of his shoe. The cart held an artful arrangement: plump, glistening strawberries nestled in a bed of crushed ice and a ceramic pot of melted chocolate resting on a low flame, its surface shimmering and inviting. The chocolate was dark and rich, the kind that promised an indulgent bitterness softened by the sweetness of the fruit. As Nicholas carefully moved everything to the table in front of us, a faint curl of steam rose from the pot, carrying the decadent aroma of cocoa through the air.

Nicholas dipped the first strawberry, swirling it through the warm chocolate with deliberate slowness, as if savoring the act itself. The glossy coating clung to the fruit, the contrast between the deep brown of the chocolate and the vibrant red of the strawberry making it almost too beautiful to eat. Almost.

He held it out to me, a small smile tugging at his lips as his eyes met mine. “Taste,” he murmured, his voice low and teasing.

I leaned forward, biting into the strawberry. The warmth of the chocolate melted into the tart sweetness of the berry, the combination indulgent and utterly divine. I closed my eyes briefly, letting the flavors linger as I hummed in appreciation. Opening my eyes, I said, “Delicious,” licking a bit of chocolate off my lips.

His gaze lingered on my mouth for a moment longer than necessary, and I could see the tension in his jaw as he fought to keep his composure. Nicholas cleared his throat, but his eyes never left my lips.

His hand reached for another strawberry, dipping it deliberately in the chocolate before offering it to me again. “Have another.”

I hesitated for a moment, but the look in his eyes made me lean in. I bit into the strawberry, slower this time, the chocolate melting on my tongue. I didn’t mean to drag it out, but the flavors were too perfect not to savor. When I looked up at Nicholas, his jaw was clenched, his breathing slightly heavier than before.

His lips parted as if to say something, but he shook his head and smiled instead. But he couldn’t resist. He chuckled softly, running a hand through his hair. “Are you doing that on purpose?”

“What?” I asked with a smile but still a little confused.

“You’re eating those strawberries like…” He trailed off, laughing under his breath, his cheeks tinting ever so slightly. “You’re eating them like you’re trying to seduce me.”

I realized then what I must’ve looked like, slowly licking the chocolate off my lips, using the tip of my finger to swipe away any that was leftover. I stifled a laugh, “They’re just that good.”

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, shaking his head with an amused smirk, but his eyes were darker now, filled with something simmering just beneath the surface. “I don’t know if I believe you,” he murmured, his voice dropping to that low, gravelly tone that always sent a shiver through me.

“I’m serious,” I said, laughing softly, though I could feel the heat creeping up my neck. “I wasn’t trying to do anything.”

He leaned forward slightly, resting his forearm on the table, his face closer to mine. “That’s the problem,” he said, his gaze flickering down to my lips. “You’re not even trying, and I’m already losing my mind.”

I felt a rush of heat spread through me, my pulse quickening at the intensity in his eyes. “Well, maybe you should try one,” I said, reaching for another strawberry. “See if they’re as irresistible as I say.”

Nicholas raised an eyebrow, his smirk deepening as he leaned back in his chair, arms crossed over his chest. “Oh, no,” he said, shaking his head. “I think I’d rather watch you.”

I bit my lip, unable to stop the smile that spread across my face as I looked down at the strawberry in my hand. “Fine,” I said, holding it up. “But if I keep eating them, it’s on you.”

I took another bite, this time slower, more self-conscious under his watchful gaze. The chocolate and sweetness of the strawberry were almost too good to handle, and I couldn’t help the soft sighs that escaped me. When I glanced up at Nicholas, his jaw was clenched again, his hand gripping the arm of his chair as though it was the only thing keeping him grounded.

The tension in the room had shifted, thickening with every shared glance and teasing word. Nicholas’s eyes were fixed on me, dark and unwavering, his breath audibly slower as he tried to keep himself in check. The strawberry I had just finished left a faint trace of chocolate on my lips, and I instinctively ran my tongue over it, savoring the lingering sweetness. That small, unthinking gesture seemed to push him just a bit further toward the edge.

Without a word, Nicholas took me by the wrist and guided me onto his lap, the fluid grace of his movements betraying the coiled tension he was holding in. I let myself settle on his laps, sitting sideways over him and crossing my legs as my hand brushed through his hair.

Nicholas’s hands traced up my legs, savoring the stocking’s material. His touch was slow and deliberate, his fingers trailing along the lace edge of the garter where it met my thigh. The warmth of his palms seeped through the delicate fabric, and I felt a tremor run through me as he took his time, savoring every inch of exposed skin. His gaze followed the path of his hands, dark and focused, as though he was committing the moment to memory. Just then, I could feel Bateman’s tie burning a hole through my purse.

“I have something for you,” I whispered.

Nicholas paused, his fingers stilling on my thigh as his eyes met mine, curiosity flickering in his gaze. “Something for me?” he asked softly, his voice low and steady.

I left his hold, walking over to where I had abandoned my bag. I pulled the tie out of my bag, my eyes tracing its shape one last time before hiding it behind me as I walked back over toward Nicholas, grabbing him by the hand and leading him to the red velvet chair near the window, motioning for him to sit and settling back into his lap, revealing what I had for him. The deep crimson fabric seemed to gleam in the dim light, a reminder of the character that had lingered in the shadows of our lives for weeks — months — now. I held it up, letting it dangle between us.

Nicholas’s expression shifted immediately. His jaw tightened, and a flicker of something unreadable crossed his face. “You have that?” he asked, his voice a mix of surprise and something heavier — something darker.

I nodded, my fingers brushing over the silk as I met his gaze. “I thought it might help,” I said gently. “Filming’s been done for a few weeks now, but I know how much you’re still carrying, Nic.”

Nicholas’s gaze dropped to the tie, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. His hands rested on my hips, tightening slightly as though anchoring himself.

I leaned in closer, cradling his face with one hand. My thumb brushed over his cheek, tracing the strong line of his jaw. “I know it’s not easy to let go of something so intense,” I said softly, my eyes searching his.

His lips parted as if to speak, but I pressed a gentle kiss there, silencing him. When I pulled back, I held the tie between us again. “I want to help you release it,” I murmured. “All of it. Whatever’s left lingering inside you, whatever you’re holding on to… I want you to let it go. With me.”

Nicholas stared at the tie, his jaw tight. He exhaled slowly, his hands sliding up my sides, his touch steady but hesitant. “Why would you want this? Why would you—”

“Because I love you,” I interrupted, my voice resolute. “Because I see what it’s doing to you, keeping it all bottled up. And because I want to be the one who helps you let go. You don’t have to carry it alone anymore.”

Nicholas looked at me then, truly looked at me, his eyes searching mine for any sign of doubt or fear. When he found none, something in his expression softened. He reached up, taking the tie from my hand, the crimson silk slipping through his fingers.

“You’re sure?” he asked one last time, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, my breath hitching as I whispered, “I trust you. Completely. And I want you to trust me, too.” I spoke softly, my voice steady despite the tremor of anticipation running through me.

He studied the tie for a moment, his fingers tightening around it before his gaze shifted back to me. The hesitation was still there, but it was mingled with something darker now, something raw and unguarded.

I slid off his lap then, standing a few paces in front of him as he stayed anchored to the chair. Slowly, I started to pull away at my dress straps. Nicholas’s gaze darkened as he watched me and his legs parted slightly, his hands gripping the arms of the chair tightly, knuckles whitening as if bracing himself. The silky straps of my dress slid off my shoulders with ease, the fabric cascading down my body until it pooled at my feet. The midnight blue lace lingerie beneath shimmered in the low light, accentuating every curve of my waist, hips, and legs while my chest laid bare.

His breath hitched, his eyes raking over me with a raw intensity before he closed his eyes, clutching the masochistically red tie in his fist and resting his lips on it, his jaw tight as if he was still deciding what to do. When his eyes met mine, I saw the storm raging within him — the hesitation, the desire, the lingering weight of what he’d been carrying for far too long. I took exactly one step closer, emboldened by the way his restraint felt like a taut wire ready to snap and to let him know that I was okay.

My heart raced as I stood, the anticipation building with every second that passed. The red velvet chair framed him like a king on his throne, and the way his gaze raked over me made my pulse quicken. He was all sharp lines and quiet command, his fingers drumming once against the armrest before stilling, his body humming with restrained energy. He tilted his head slightly, beckoning me over to him. I made my way over to him, taking several steps, but with the subtle lift of his finger, I stopped dead in my tracks.

Nicholas’s breath was heavy, his gaze flicking between the crimson tie in his hand and my face. Slowly, he stood, towering over me. The tension in his body was palpable, his hands shaking slightly as he reached out to cup my face, his touch gentle despite the turmoil within him. I tilted my head into his hand, holding his gaze with unwavering resolve.

His thumb brushed over my cheekbone, his eyes scanning my face as if searching for any trace of fear. When he found none, the tension in his shoulders seemed to ease, replaced by something darker, more primal.

“If I go too far, you stop me,” he said, his tone firm but laced with concern. “You say the word, and I stop. Do you understand?”

I nodded, my breath catching as I stepped closer. “I understand,” I whispered, my voice steady despite the rapid beat of my heart.

He stared at me for a long moment, his breathing shallow. Then, with a deliberate slowness, he let out a long sigh, removing his blue jacket. “Turn around,” he quietly commanded.

I hesitated for only a fraction of a second before obeying, the weight of his words sinking in. Slowly, I turned, my back to him, feeling the intensity of his gaze as it swept over me. Every nerve in my body was on edge, the anticipation coiling tightly in my chest. I heard the faint rustle of fabric as Nicholas adjusted his grip on the tie, the silk slipping through his fingers like a whispered promise.

“Put your hands behind your back,” he murmured, his voice lower now, rougher.

I did as he said, crossing my wrists behind me. A moment later, the cool silk of the tie brushed against my skin as Nicholas wound it around my wrists with a precision that was almost clinical. The knot tightened but it was loose enough for me to wriggle my wrists around easily, as if he was too afraid to tighten it further. If I tried, I could let myself slip away, but I didn’t want to.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” he muttered, his voice barely audible. His hands lingered for a moment, his fingertips brushing the curve of my waist before he stepped back. I could feel the space between us, the charged air thick with the tension of what was to come.

“Walk to the bed,” Nicholas ordered, his tone sharper now, his earlier hesitation replaced by a commanding presence that sent a thrill through me.

I started toward the bed, the weight of his gaze following me. The click of my heels was silenced the moment I walked across the plush carpet, and I felt hyperaware of every movement, every breath. When I reached the foot of the bed, I paused, facing the plush mattress with my back to him, unsure of what he wanted next.

A beat passed, and I felt him behind me, close enough for his warmth to ghost over my bare shoulders but not touching. The silence stretched, thick with anticipation, as if he were letting the moment linger on purpose, testing the limits of my patience. My breath hitched when his fingertips finally brushed against the nape of my neck, tracing a line down my spine. The slow, deliberate touch sent a shiver rippling through me, my bound hands twitching slightly behind me.

Slowly, he stepped closer and closer, pinning me between him and the bed until I was forced to bend over, my upper body landing on the bed with a soft bounce while my feet stayed stuck to the floor.

Nicholas’s presence was overwhelming, a physical force pressing against me as he loomed behind, his weight commanding without even a word. The tie around my wrists tightened slightly, the silk unyielding as he pulled it just enough to remind me of his control. The cool air of the room kissed the exposed skin of my back, and I couldn’t suppress the shiver that coursed through me.

His hands slid over my sides, slow and deliberate, his fingers digging slightly into my skin as though marking his territory. One hand gripped my waist firmly, holding me in place as he leaned down, his breath hot against the back of my neck. The sensation sent a jolt through me, and I arched slightly, seeking more contact, but he didn’t give it to me — at least, not yet.

Instead, his lips grazed my shoulder, soft and teasing, before his teeth sank in sharply, leaving a sting that lingered. I gasped, my body jerking reflexively against the restraints. Nicholas’s low growl rumbled against my skin, his hands tightening their hold as though to steady me. His nails dragged down my sides, deliberate enough to leave faint trails that burned with the contrast of pleasure and pain.

“Stay still,” he murmured, his voice low and edged with authority. There was no mistaking the command in his tone, and it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling in my stomach.

I did my best to obey, my breaths coming faster as he worked his way down my back, alternating between soft kisses and bites that left marks I knew would linger. Each press of his teeth was sharp, calculated, a reminder of the control he held. His hands roamed freely, exploring every inch of me with a possessive intensity that left me trembling.

When his hand finally slid around to the front of my throat, I let out a soft whimper, my head tilting back instinctively to allow him access. His fingers wrapped around my neck, firm but not constricting, just enough pressure to remind me who was in charge. He held me there, his thumb brushing over the hollow of my throat in a way that sent shivers racing through my body.

The other hand trailed lower, gliding over the lace of my lingerie before delivering a sharp smack to the curve of my hip. The sound echoed in the quiet room, followed by the sting that bloomed across my skin. I gasped, my body jolting against the bed, but the silk tie held firm. Nicholas’s grip on my throat tightened slightly, his lips brushing against my ear as he murmured, “Good girl.”

The praise sent a fresh wave of heat through me, and I felt myself melt further into his hold. His hand moved again, this time skimming the edge of my garter before slipping beneath it. His nails dragged lightly against the sensitive skin of my thigh, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Just when I thought I couldn’t take any more, his hand came down again, harder this time, the sound and sensation rippling through me.

“Look at you,” he muttered, his voice rough and filled with a dark satisfaction. “So perfect like this.”

His hand returned to my neck, his grip steady as he pulled me back slightly, forcing me to arch against him. The contrast between the roughness of his hold and the softness of the bed beneath me was dizzying, and I could feel the heat radiating off his body as he pressed closer.

Nicholas’s teeth found the curve of my shoulder again, biting down harder this time, drawing a sharp whimper from me. His free hand slid over my stomach, teasing the edge of the lace before dipping lower, his touch deliberate and teasing. He didn’t rush, didn’t give me what I wanted right away, instead drawing out the tension until every nerve in my body felt like it was on fire.

The next smack landed harder, this time on the curve of my backside, the sting sharp and immediate. My breath hitched, and I twisted slightly against the restraints, lifting my hips up toward him the tiniest bit, my body aching for more. Nicholas chuckled darkly, his grip on my neck tightening just enough to hold me still.

“You like that, don’t you?” he murmured, his voice a low growl. His hand slid over the sting, soothing the ache with a gentleness that was almost cruel in its contrast to the sharpness of his earlier touch.

I couldn’t speak, couldn’t think, my body trembling with a heady mix of anticipation and surrender. Nicholas didn’t need an answer; he could feel it in the way I responded to his touch, in the way my body arched into him despite the restraints.

He tugged on the tie, pulling me upright so my back pressed flush against his chest. His hand slipped from my neck to my jaw, tilting my head back so he could claim my mouth in a kiss that was anything but gentle. It was rough, demanding, his teeth grazing my bottom lip before he bit down just hard enough to make me gasp.

The silk of the tie bit into my wrists as I struggled slightly, not to get away but to feel more, to push against the limits he’d set. Nicholas’s grip on my jaw tightened, holding me in place as his other hand trailed lower, the tip of his finger trailed achingly down the valley between my breasts all the way to the edge of the lace underwear he had picked out for me. My entire body shivered at the sensation, earning a shaky moan out of me.

“Stay still,” he growled again, his voice a warning and a promise all at once.

The command hung in the air, heavy and electrifying, rooting me in place as his touch sent waves of fire through me. I nodded, barely able to form coherent words, my breathing uneven as Nicholas’s finger traced the lace’s edge, teasing but never quite giving me what I craved. The deliberate slowness was maddening, every nerve in my body tuned to the rhythm of his movements.

Nicholas didn’t hold back. His fingers curled into the lace, tugging just enough to make the fabric strain against my skin. The sound of the delicate material stretching filled the air, blending with the sound of my rapid breathing. His hand returned to my jaw, gripping firmly as he tilted my head to the side, his lips brushing against my neck.

“I told you to stay still,” he growled against my skin, his voice raw, dark, and dripping with control. “But you keep testing me. Do you want me to break you tonight?”

The words were sharp and unapologetic, carrying a heat that burned through me. My knees nearly buckled under the weight of his command, and I gasped, my body trembling as he pushed me forward again, pressing me into the bed. The tie around my wrists tightened with a calculated pull, reminding me just how restrained I was — and just how much power he held.

“Answer me,” he demanded, his palm coming down hard on my ass. The sting rippled through me, sharp and thrilling, making me bite my lip to suppress the cry that bubbled up.

“Yes,” I whispered, my voice trembling but sure. “Yes, Nicholas.”

A low growl of satisfaction escaped him, and he leaned in close, his lips brushing my ear. “Then don’t hold back,” he commanded, his hand gripping my waist roughly as his other hand tugged on the tie, arching my back just the way he wanted. “I want to hear you. I want to feel you.”

His words pushed me further into the haze of surrender, and when his teeth sank into the curve of my shoulder, harder than before, I cried out, my body trembling under the onslaught of sensation. His free hand slipped beneath the lace, his fingers pressing firmly, rougher than his earlier teasing. There was no hesitation now, no softness — just raw, unapologetic desire that left me breathless.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice low and thick with satisfaction as he felt the way I responded to him. “So perfect for me.”

The roughness in his touch was intoxicating, the way his hands explored every inch of me, leaving no part untouched. He alternated between sharp, biting smacks that left my skin burning and soothing caresses that only served to heighten the anticipation. The contrast made my head spin, my body caught in the push and pull of his control.

Nicholas pulled me up again, forcing me to meet his eyes. His gaze was dark, burning with a possessive intensity that made my heart race. “You’re mine,” he said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “Say it.”

“I’m yours,” I breathed, the words spilling out without hesitation.

He nodded, satisfied, and his hand gripped my jaw tighter. “Don’t forget it,” he growled before claiming my mouth in a kiss that was fierce and punishing, leaving no doubt of who I belonged to. His teeth nipped at my bottom lip, pulling until I gasped, and he took full advantage, deepening the kiss until I was left dizzy and desperate for more.

When he finally pulled back, his chest heaved with his own labored breathing, but his grip on me never wavered. “Get on the bed,” he ordered, releasing me just long enough to watch as I struggled to move with my wrists still bound. “Face down.”

I obeyed, my body trembling with anticipation as I crawled onto the bed, the silk tie tugging slightly against my wrists with every movement. The plush linens were cool against my overheated skin, a stark contrast to the fire Nicholas had ignited in me.

His weight shifted the bed as he climbed on behind me, and I felt his hands on my hips, pulling me into position with a roughness that left no room for resistance. “Now, let’s see how much you can take.”

Nicholas didn’t waste a moment. His hands gripped my hips firmly, his fingers digging into the delicate lace of the lingerie, pulling me back toward him with a strength that sent shivers through my entire body. The air was thick with tension, my heartbeat pounding in my ears as he leaned down, his lips grazing the sensitive skin of my lower back before his teeth nipped sharply.

I gasped, the sting blooming into heat, and he chuckled darkly, his voice rough and unapologetic. “You’re trembling already,” he murmured, his hands roaming up my sides before tugging at the tie around my wrists, forcing me to arch even further. “I haven’t even started yet.”

The words sent a thrill through me, and I whimpered softly, every nerve in my body on high alert as his hands slid over the curve of my butt. His movements were slow, deliberate, as if he was savoring every second, but there was an undercurrent of barely restrained energy in him, a coiled tension that threatened to snap at any moment.

Without warning, his hand came down hard against me, the sharp crack of the impact echoing through the room. The sting was immediate, radiating heat through my skin, and I cried out, my body jolting forward against the restraints.

“That’s it,” Nicholas growled, his hand smoothing over the spot he’d just marked before delivering another sharp slap. “Don’t hold back, baby. Let me hear you.”

I couldn’t stop the sounds that escaped me, a mix of gasps and moans as he alternated between soothing caresses and punishing strikes. Each smack was harder than the last, the sting sharper, and my body arched instinctively, caught in the overwhelming mix of pain and pleasure.

I then felt Nicholas tug down at my underwear, unbuckling my garter to slip it out from under my feet. I shivered at the feeling of the room’s cool air nip at my slick heat. Then, the bed became lighter when he left my side. Desperate for him, I peeked over my shoulder.

Nicholas stood at the edge of the bed, his gaze dark and commanding as he looked down at me. The red silk tie still bound my wrists behind my back, leaving me exposed and vulnerable in a way that sent another wave of heat coursing through me. He took his time, letting his eyes travel over every inch of me, his expression a mix of satisfaction and anticipation.

“Stay just like that,” he murmured, his voice low and rough, filled with an authority that left no room for argument.

I bit my lip, nodding as I turned my head back to rest against the bed. The cool sheets contrasted sharply with the fire burning inside me, and every second of his silence only heightened the anticipation. I could hear the faint rustle of fabric behind me, and my mind raced, imagining what he was doing, what he was planning. The air seemed to shift as he moved closer again, his presence as commanding as ever.

The mattress dipped under his weight as he climbed back onto the bed, his hands sliding over my legs, spreading them apart forcefully. The cool air kissed my most sensitive spots, and I gasped softly, my body trembling under his touch. His hands were steady, firm, as they gripped my hips, pulling me back slightly to align with him.

There was a pause, a beat of silence that seemed to stretch on forever, and then I felt his lips on my lower back, warm and teasing as they trailed upward. He took his time, alternating between soft kisses and rough nips that left my skin tingling.

When his lips reached the nape of my neck, he leaned down, his breath warm against my ear. “Ready?” he murmured.

I nodded, my voice lost to the haze of anticipation that enveloped me. My body felt like it was strung tight, every nerve attuned to the subtle shifts in the air, the warmth of Nicholas’s breath against my skin, the firm grip of his hands on my hips.

He quickly settled between my legs and without warning, inserted himself. I let out a sharp cry, fluttering my eyes shut as he started to thrust, deeply and powerfully. I buried my face into the sheets, muffling my own cries, but Nicholas wasn’t having it. He brushed his fingers through my hair, clutching a fistful and pulling my head back toward him.

“Don’t hide from me,” he growled, his voice low and rough, filled with a commanding edge that sent shivers coursing through me.

Nicholas’s grip on my hair was firm but not painful, his fingers tangling in the strands as he pulled me upright. My back arched, the silk tie biting into my wrists as I gasped, the sound raw and unrestrained as his movements deepened, each thrust sending waves of sensation through me.

I whimpered, my body trembling as his free hand trailed down my side, his touch possessive as he explored every curve. The heat of his body against mine was overwhelming, each movement deliberate and precise as he drove me further into the haze of pleasure. My head tilted back against his shoulder, the sharp pull of his grip keeping me in place as he murmured against my ear, his breath hot and electrifying.

I focused my gaze on him then, noticing the tight furrow of his brows, not of anger but of concern. His eyes searched mine for any sign of discomfort, but I felt none. I encouraged him to continue by leaning into his hold and letting out unrestrained moans.

His movements faltered for a brief moment, as he seemed to process the permission I had given him. Then, as if a dam had broken, he growled low in his throat, his pace quickening as he let go of my hair and threw me back down against the bed.

The intensity of his thrusts left no room for thought, only sensation, my body responding to his every move as he guided me to the edge and back again. Nicholas’s grip on my hips tightened, his hands steadying me as he buried himself deeper and deeper, his breathing ragged as he chased the same release building within me.

He pinned me down against the bed with his arm, resting his forearm across the back of my shoulders and letting his full weight fall on me as he continued his powerful movements. I let out shuddering whimpers, trying to catch my breath as best as I could and at times it felt like I couldn’t breathe, but it felt all the more exhilarating. The way Nicholas was thrusting in and out of me, completely unrestrained and unguarded, was intoxicating.

He lowered his face next to mine, planting a light kiss behind my ear before he buried his face completely into the back of my shoulder, focusing on his thrusts becoming more intense. His breathing became more ragged, breathier.

“No—“ I heard him strain out a whimper as his movements continued.

Nicholas’s movements were relentless, his body pressed tightly against mine as the tension between us built to an almost unbearable peak. The room seemed to pulse with the intensity of the moment, his breaths hot and ragged against the back of my neck. Each powerful thrust sent shivers through me, my body trembling as I let out a cry and surrendered completely to the overwhelming sensation, reaching climax.

But then, I felt the weight of Nicholas’s arm on my back falter, his pace slowing, becoming uneven, as he rode out his own high and buried himself against my back. His breathing grew heavier, almost strained, and I realized it wasn’t just exertion — it was something deeper, more vulnerable.

“Nic?” I whispered, my voice shaky from the intensity of it all. I turned my head slightly, just enough to catch a glimpse of his face, and what I saw made my heart clench.

He was clutching onto me, not with any roughness, but as if he was afraid I might leave him alone. A quiet, pained whimper escaped his lips as his shoulders shuddered. That’s when I felt the light sensation of a tear fall onto my back.

Nicholas was crying.

Panic flashed through me as the realization hit. I stilled beneath him, my body still trembling from the aftermath of what we’d just shared. The tie around my wrists suddenly felt too tight, too restrictive. I wriggled against it, desperate to free myself and reach him.

“Nic,” I whispered, trying to get his attention. His grip on my hips loosened slightly, and I took the chance to twist my wrists, managing to slip one hand free. The silk tie fell away as I quickly turned under him, catching his face in my hands.

His eyes were squeezed shut, his jaw clenched tight, and silent tears streaked down his face. He was trying so hard to hold it in, to keep it together, but his body betrayed him — his shoulders trembled, and his breath hitched uncontrollably.

“Nicholas, look at me,” I urged, my voice soft but firm.

He shook his head, his hands coming up to cover his face as if he couldn’t bear to let me see him like this. “I’m sorry,” he choked out, his voice thick and broken. “I don’t— I didn’t mean to—”

“Stop,” I interrupted gently, prying his hands away from his face. “You don’t have to apologize. Let it out; it’s ok.”

His watery eyes met mine then, the raw vulnerability in his gaze cutting straight to my soul. “It’s just…,” he whispered hoarsely. “Filming, the pressure, trying to make this perfect for you… And then… you… I just…” He trailed off, his voice breaking as another tear slipped down his cheek.

“Oh, Nic,” I murmured, my heart breaking for him. I shifted closer, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him against me. He resisted for a moment, but when I whispered, “I’m here. I’ve got you,” he collapsed into me, his head resting against my shoulder as the sobs he’d been trying to suppress finally broke free.

I held him tightly, my fingers running through his damp hair as he clung to me, his body trembling against mine. “Let it out,” I whispered, pressing a kiss to the side of his head.

Nicholas buried his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot and uneven against my skin. “I’m sorry,” he kept repeating, his voice muffled and thick with emotion.

“Shh,” I soothed, my hands moving in slow, comforting strokes over his back. “You did nothing wrong. This is what I wanted — for you to let everything go, to not hold back.”

He stayed like that for what felt like an eternity, letting everything out while I held him, whispering soft reassurances and pressing gentle kisses to his temple. Slowly, his breathing began to even out, his grip on me loosening as the storm within him started to calm.

When he finally pulled back, his eyes were red, his face tear-streaked, but there was a lightness to him now — a sense of release that hadn’t been there before. “Thank you,” he whispered, his voice raw but sincere. “I needed all of that.”

I cupped his face in my hands, brushing my thumbs over his cheeks. “You don’t have to thank me,” I said softly. “I’m here for you, Nic. Always.”

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning into my touch as he let out a shaky breath. When he opened them again, there was something different in his gaze — a vulnerability, yes, but also a deep, unspoken gratitude and love that made my chest ache.

“I love you,” he said, the words weighted with everything he couldn’t put into words.

“I love you, too,” I replied, my voice steady despite the tears threatening to spill over.

“Come with me,” I murmured, gently guiding him to his feet. His brows furrowed in confusion, but he followed my lead as I led him toward the bathroom. The warm glow of the dimmed lights reflected off the marble, the inviting expanse of the oversized bathtub waiting for us.

The bathroom was bathed in a golden glow, the soft lights reflecting off the pristine marble tiles. I turned on the faucet, letting the hot water rush into the oversized tub as steam began to curl into the air. I added a handful of eucalyptus bath salts, their fresh, calming scent filling the room. Nicholas stood behind me, watching silently, his arms crossed over his chest as he leaned against the doorframe

Once the tub was half-filled, I turned back to him, offering a gentle smile. “Come on, Nic,” I said softly, I reached for him.

He hesitated, his gaze flickering between the bath and me. “You’ve done enough for me tonight,” he said quietly, his voice still thick with emotion. “It’s my turn to take care of you.”

I shook my head, stepping closer to him. “You don’t have to do that. Tonight is about you letting go.”

Nicholas’s brows furrowed, and he reached out, his fingers brushing over my bare shoulder. His touch was light, almost hesitant. “(Y/N)… look at yourself.” His voice was filled with a quiet anguish as his gaze dropped to the faint red marks and bruises forming along my arms and hips. His fingers ghosted over a particularly dark mark on my thigh, and he swallowed hard.

I glanced down, suddenly aware of the evidence of our earlier intensity written across my skin. I had been too focused on him to notice, and now, seeing his reaction, my heart ached. “It’s okay,” I said gently, placing my hand over his. “I wanted that. I wanted to give you whatever you needed.”

Nicholas shook his head, his jaw tightening as guilt flickered across his face. “You shouldn’t have to carry the weight of my frustration like that,” he said, his voice low but firm. “You gave me everything tonight, and I—” His voice broke, and he closed his eyes briefly, taking a deep breath to steady himself. When he looked at me again, his gaze was filled with determination. “Let me take care of you now. Please.”

I opened my mouth to argue, but the earnestness in his eyes stopped me. He needed this — not just for me, but for himself, to reconcile the roughness he’d shown. Slowly, I nodded, stepping back toward the tub. “Okay,” I said softly. “But we’ll take care of each other.”

Nicholas’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he stepped forward, his hands steady and deliberate as he helped me into the warm water. The heat enveloped me, soothing my tired muscles as I sank into the tub. He climbed in behind me, his legs settling on either side of me.

The warmth of the water surrounded us, the eucalyptus scent filling the air as Nicholas’s strong arms wrapped around me. He pulled me close, his chest against my back, and for a moment, neither of us spoke. The sound of the water gently lapping against the edges of the tub was the only noise in the room, a soothing backdrop to the weight of the moment.

Nicholas’s fingers brushed against my shoulders, tracing the faint red marks his grip had left earlier. His touch was featherlight, almost hesitant, as though he was afraid to hurt me again.

I reached up, placing my hand over his before he could even have the chance to speak, intertwining our fingers. “Nic, I wanted those marks. Every moment of it, I wanted it.” My voice was soft but firm, willing him to understand.

He didn’t reply immediately. Instead, he leaned down, pressing his lips to the top of my head in a lingering kiss. “Even so,” he whispered, his breath warm against my hair. “We had never done anything like that before.”

“I know,” I said, turning my head slightly to meet his gaze. His brown eyes were filled with a vulnerability that tugged at my heart. “But I think it was something we had to do.”

His jaw tightened, and his free hand reached for the sponge resting on the side of the tub. He dipped it into the warm water and squeezed a bit of the hotel body wash onto it, squeezing it gently before running it over my shoulders and collarbone. His touch was slow, deliberate, as though he were trying to erase the marks with every careful stroke.

The sponge glided down my arms, and Nicholas paused as his gaze settled on the faint red marks around my wrists where the tie had been. His fingers brushed over them, his brow furrowing deeply. “I tied you too tight,” he muttered, his voice laced with self-recrimination. “I should’ve checked—”

“Nic.” I turned in his arms, cupping his face with both hands. The water rippled around us as I shifted. “Listen to me,” I said firmly, holding his gaze. “You didn’t hurt me. I wanted to surrender to you, to trust you completely. And I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

His hands settled on my hips, his grip gentle but steady. “I just… I need to make sure you’re okay,” he said softly. “Because the thought of hurting you—”

“You didn’t,” I interrupted, leaning forward to press my forehead against his. “You gave me everything I needed, Nic. And now, I’m giving you the chance to let go of that guilt. Let it go, just like you let go earlier. We’re in this together, remember?”

His eyes closed for a moment, and I felt him exhale, his breath warm against my lips. “Together,” he repeated, his voice a quiet promise.

I leaned back slightly, giving him space to continue. His hands moved again, the sponge tracing over my chest and down my sides with a care that made my heart ache. For the rest of the bath, Nicholas’s touch remained gentle and reverent, his movements slow as he cared for me with an intensity that spoke louder than any words could.

As he continued, my gaze turned toward the open door of the bathroom. I looked at Bateman’s tie that had been left abandoned on the bed, strewn like it was nothing. In my head, I thanked it for the purpose it served.

Patrick Bateman was someone that had been looming over our relationship since Nicholas had taken the role. At times, the energy worked in our favor when Nicholas felt emboldened and riskier whenever we had sex, which were beautiful memories. Other times, though, he was this pestering dark cloud that followed Nicholas around, not letting him fully out of his grasp, even when he was at home.

Tonight, though, we used something of his — his iconic red tie — to channel all of that energy into something cathartic, something I thought could help free us from his clutches. So, believe me when I say that I thought that would be the last I saw of Bateman. Imagine my surprise when the press tour for American Psycho began and he was all I saw.

This time around, though, Bateman’s energy didn’t cling to Nicholas — not at all. After our anniversary, Nicholas was as lively as ever, back to his old self before he had ever decided to take on the role, and if any traits of Bateman’s lingered in him, it was his love of control, which Nicholas channeled in a tender and, most importantly, consensual manner. He was no longer ashamed of having been consumed by the character; he was open and honest about it. He shed him completely.

No, Bateman had somehow managed to cling onto me. Not in the way it had clung to Nicholas, but I just couldn’t escape him anywhere we went. I had hoped that after Nicholas had finished filming that our lives would slow down a little bit and give me a chance to breathe and readjust, hoping maybe then I could feel a little less stressed about moving to the city, but it only seemed to ramp up as the months passed.

That’s when all the invitations started to roll in. Interviews, parties, early screenings, events — they were piling on and on. And Nicholas was just so enthusiastic about attending them all, asking if I wanted to accompany him. I said yes every time, of course. How could I not? His excitement was contagious, his joy palpable after months of emotional turmoil.

And I couldn’t deny the excitement of accompanying him to an industry event. It was something I was afraid of throwing myself into way back when I visited him in Los Angeles, but now I had the emotional maturity of not caring what others thought of me. I was floating through these parties without a care in the world, excited to be sharing such joyous occasions with Nicholas.

Slowly, but surely, I started to miss more and more days of my remote job. I told myself I’d be able to catch up, and at first, I was. I would meet all my deadlines and I wouldn’t miss a meeting for anything in the world. However, the more events Nicholas was invited to, the more planes we had to take, and the less time I found to be able to catch up on work.

The look in Nicholas’s eyes whenever I’d agree to go with him, his excitement when he talked about the events, or the way his face lit up when he introduced me as his partner — it was worth everything. There were nights where I would stay up late into the early morning losing sleep trying to meet deadlines just so I wouldn’t have to tell him no.

As much as I didn’t like the fact that my job had me tethered to a laptop inside our apartment in a bustling city like New York, it was also a tether to my independence. Losing sleep was one thing; losing that tether was another entirely.

So, I tried to juggle both as best I could, even when we moved back to his apartment in Los Angeles, but eventually, my performance at work started to suffer. I would miss deadlines — not by much, but I had never missed one before. There would be rookie mistakes on documents, ones that were so small but I still couldn’t believe I had missed, especially when I had been working for a few years now. It had gotten to the point where my absolutely understanding boss had emailed to check up on me. He was such a sweetheart about everything, even giving me a few days off so I could decompress and come back swinging. Though, that didn’t work much; my performance never really bounced back.

Nicholas caught me at a particularly vulnerable time for him to ask a monumental question. It was one of those rare mornings when the sunlight filtered through the windows just right, casting a warm glow over our bedroom. Nicholas sat cross-legged at the foot of the bed, scrolling through his phone with a faint smile tugging at his lips. I was sprawled on the bed, still in my pajamas, half-heartedly sipping my tea while trying not to think about the email draft I had written the night before.

“Hey, babe,” Nicholas said suddenly, his voice cutting through the stillness of the room. I glanced over, raising an eyebrow. He looked up from his phone, his brown eyes sparkling with excitement. “I have something to ask you.”

I set my mug down on the nightstand, already wary of the energy radiating off him. “Okay,” I said slowly, sitting up straighter. “What’s up?”

He leaned forward, placing his phone down and clasping his hands together like he was about to pitch me the idea of a lifetime. “So, you know how the global press tour for American Psycho starts next month, right?”

I nodded, already feeling the nerves creep into my stomach. He’d mentioned it before in passing, but I hadn’t really thought much about it. It was the last thing on my mind.

“Well,” he continued, his voice softening, “I was talking to my team yesterday, and if you’re up for it…” he grinned, “I want you to be my plus one.”

My stomach dropped. “You want me to go with you?” I asked, my voice more breathless than I intended.

He nodded eagerly, reaching out to take my hand. “Yes. I mean, I’d get to show you so many incredible places — London, Paris, Tokyo, Sydney, Mexico, then back to New York for the American premiere. I can show you what the world has in store for you.”

It warmed my heart to have him remember the sentiment that had pushed me to follow him to New York in the first place. The thought of traveling the world with Nicholas, sharing in his success, was undeniably tempting. But the reality of what it would mean hit me like a freight train. If I said yes, I’d have to fully commit — no half-hearted attempts to juggle work and this tour. I’d have to quit my job, officially severing the last thread of independence I had. And unfortunately, Nicholas caught me at just the right moment.

I shifted closer to him, planting a kiss on his lips and hoping my smile didn’t come off as tired. “I’d love to go with you,” I whispered.

He grew giddy, embracing me in a tight hug before pulling away and kissing me again. He grabbed his phone and stood up from the bed, already tapping away, “I’ll let my team know.” He left the room with his phone up to his ear, smiling widely.

As soon as he was out of the room, I grabbed my own phone, opening the Mail app and tapping over to the email I had drafted the night before. It stared back at me, almost daring me.

Subject: Two Weeks Notice

Dear Mr. Lee,

I am writing to formally resign from my position, effective in two weeks from the day this email is sent.

This decision wasn’t easy, but I believe it’s the right step for my personal growth. I’m grateful for the opportunities you have given me during my time working, and I truly value the experiences and knowledge I’ve gained.

Thank you again for everything, and I wish you and your company continued success.

Best regards,

(Y/N) (Y/L/N)

The words “right step” mocked me. I’m not sure I believed my own words, but I had to make a decision and I wanted to be there for Nicholas. So… I hit send.

As soon as I did, I felt a strange mix of emotions wash over me — relief, fear, and an unsettling sense of finality. The email disappeared into the ether, and for a moment, I just sat there, staring at my phone. The “sent” notification blinked back at me, a confirmation that there was no turning back now.

I set the phone down and leaned back against the headboard, taking a deep breath. My heart pounded in my chest, and I pressed a hand to it, as though I could somehow calm the storm brewing inside me. This was it. I had made my choice. There would be no more juggling deadlines on planes or late-night cram sessions after events.

Nicholas reappeared in the doorway, his grin still firmly in place. “They’re thrilled,” he announced, stepping back into the room. He dropped his phone on the nightstand and crawled back onto the bed, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me close. “You have no idea how happy this makes me. I get to share everything with you.”

I tried to match his enthusiasm, forcing a smile as I hugged him back. “I’m happy too,” I murmured, and in some ways, I was. But the unease lingered, coiling in the back of my mind.

He pulled back slightly to look at me, his hands cradling my face. “You won’t regret this,” he said earnestly, his eyes searching mine.

I wanted to believe that this was the right decision, that this sacrifice would be worth it in the end. But as Nicholas held me close, excitement radiating off him in waves, I couldn’t help but feel the faintest flicker of doubt. However, that feeling was quickly pushed aside with excitement as we touched down at all the different cities.

The following weeks blurred into a whirlwind of airports, hotel rooms, and bustling cities. The excitement of the tour swept me up, and for a while, it was easy to ignore the lingering doubt that had settled in the back of my mind. Nicholas was in his element, thriving in the spotlight as he charmed his way through interviews and red carpets. Watching him come alive like this, seeing the passion he had for his work, made me forget everything else.

Our first stop was London. The city was a blur of cobblestone streets, red carpets, and late-night drinks at posh hotel bars. The press schedule was packed, with interviews at iconic landmarks like the London Eye and Tower Bridge. I watched Nicholas charm every journalist he met, his smile as bright as the city’s twinkling lights. He was in his element here — confident, captivating, and utterly magnetic.

One night, we snuck away from the glamour, hand in hand, to a quiet pub on the outskirts of town. Over pints of ale and baskets of chips, he leaned across the table, his eyes soft as he murmured, “This is the best part of it all — just being with you.”

My favorite stop was Paris. The city was as magical as I’d imagined, with its cobblestone streets and golden sunsets over the Seine. Nicholas made a point to steal moments away from the tour schedule to show me the city. We spent an afternoon at the Louvre, getting lost in the endless halls of art, and one evening, he surprised me with a private dinner on a boat that floated along the river, the Eiffel Tower sparkling in the background. I couldn’t take my eyes off the hunk of metal at all.

“Can you believe we’re here?” he whispered that night, his fingers laced with mine as the boat glided across the water.

I smiled, leaning my head against his shoulder. “It feels like a dream.”

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. “You’re the only thing that makes this real for me.”

The sweetness of his words carried me through Tokyo, where the neon lights of Shibuya Crossing cast a kaleidoscope of colors over our late-night ramen adventures. It was there that I saw a side of Nicholas I hadn’t seen ever — carefree, almost childlike in his wonder as he marveled at the vending machines and arcades. He pulled me into a photo booth one night, laughing as we struggled to time our poses with the flashing lights. The photo strip, with our silly faces and unfiltered joy, became a cherished souvenir.

By the time we reached Sydney, I had almost convinced myself that I had made the right choice. The harbor sparkled under the summer sun, and Nicholas’s excitement was infectious as we climbed the Sydney Harbour Bridge together. He insisted on holding my hand the entire way up, even when I teased him about how sweaty our palms were getting.

“You’re stuck with me,” he said, grinning as we reached the top. “Sweaty palms and all.”

I laughed, leaning into him as the wind whipped around us. “Good thing I don’t mind.”

Things didn’t come to a head until we reached Mexico, the last stop before the American movie premiere in New York.

The vibrant energy of Mexico City enveloped us as soon as we arrived. The streets buzzed with life, the colors were extra vibrant, and the air filled with the tantalizing scent of street food. Nicholas was in awe, snapping pictures on his phone, pulling me along with an excitement I couldn’t help but mirror at first. But as the day wore on, I found myself retreating inward, the hum of the city blending into a distant background noise.

We strolled through Chapultepec Park, its lush greenery offering a serene escape from the bustling streets. Nicholas chatted animatedly about everything, from the architecture to the way the city pulsed with history and culture. His enthusiasm was infectious, and I smiled when he paused to admire a local artist’s work, but my smiles felt faint, like they didn’t quite reach my eyes.

“You okay?” Nicholas asked at one point, his voice laced with concern. He had stopped to buy us horchata from a street vendor, handing me a cup as he studied me.

I hesitated, sipping the sweet drink and avoiding his gaze. “Yeah, just tired,” I said, my voice lighter than I felt.

His brow furrowed slightly, but he didn’t press. “Alright,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “Just a few more hours until I have to do my interview, and then we can go to the hotel, okay?”

I nodded, forcing another smile, “Okay.”

Nicholas’s hand slipped into mine, his grip gentle but reassuring, and he led me toward the Museo Nacional de Antropología. The exhibits were stunning, the artifacts rich with history and culture, but my mind felt foggy, unable to fully engage. I found myself trailing behind Nicholas, nodding when he pointed out something he found fascinating, but my responses were automatic, disconnected.

For our last stop, we arrived at some studio for his interview, Nicholas was whisked off by a flurry of assistants and makeup artists. I found myself standing in the corner of the room, out of the way but still close enough to see him. He looked relaxed, poised, and entirely in his element as he laughed and chatted with the crew.

I watched him through the chaos, feeling both proud and slightly detached. This was his moment — the culmination of months of hard work. But as I stood there, arms crossed over my chest, I couldn’t shake the nagging thought that while he was flourishing, I felt like I was wilting.

The interview began, the host effusive in their praise for the movie and Nicholas’s performance. They asked him questions about his process, the challenges of stepping into Patrick Bateman’s shoes, and what he hoped audiences would take away from the film. Nicholas answered each question with the kind of eloquence and charm that made me fall for him in the first place. His passion was undeniable, his smile magnetic.

But then it happened. Toward the end of the interview, the host reached under their desk and pulled out a promotional poster of Patrick Bateman. It was a close-up of Nicholas as Bateman, his expression cold and unyielding, blood splattered across his face. The room buzzed with admiration as the host praised the poster’s “brilliant intensity.”

For me, though, it was like a punch to the gut. I couldn’t escape him. He followed us from city to city, always there. Billboards, promotional posters glued to fences, on the sides of city buses, even when I tried to take a break and scroll through social media on my phone, there he always was. Every promotional photo of him I’d see, he would smile back at me as if he knew he had won, and he became this reminder of what I had sacrificed — myself. Seeing it then, when I felt at my lowest, with everyone smiling and clapping, made something inside me snap.

By the time we returned to the hotel that evening, I felt like a shell of myself. The day had been beautiful, filled with moments that should’ve felt magical, but instead, I felt like I was watching it all from a distance, unable to fully participate. Nicholas held my hand as we stepped into the elevator, his thumb brushing over my knuckles absentmindedly. I could feel his gaze flicking toward me, searching for something I wasn’t ready to give.

When we reached our room, I barely made it through the door before the tears started to fall. I tried to stifle them, turning my back to Nicholas as I set my bag down on the chair and made my way to the bedroom. But the weight of everything — the months of running on empty, the sacrifices I’d made without fully realizing their cost, the suffocating presence of Patrick Bateman in every city, every billboard — it all came crashing down.

Nicholas was quietly going on about what we could do few our last few days in Mexico. I could hear his voice carrying on in the other room, his enthusiasm unwavering, but all I wanted was silence. I sat on the edge of the bed, my hands trembling as I tried to catch my breath, the weight of everything pressing down on me. By the time Nicholas joined me, I was curled up, tears silently streaming down my face. I really didn’t mean for him to see me this way, but I just couldn’t keep it in anymore.

He froze in the doorway, his smile faltering as he took in my crumpled form. “(Y/N),” he said softly, crossing the room in a few quick strides. “What’s wrong? Talk to me.”

I shook my head, unable to find the words to explain the storm inside me. He crouched down beside me, his hands gently cupping my face as he wiped away my tears with his thumbs. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice full of concern. “You’re scaring me. What’s going on?”

“I… I can’t do this anymore, Nic,” I finally choked out, my voice breaking. “I thought I could handle it, but I can’t. It’s too much. I feel like I’ve lost myself completely.”

His brows furrowed, his grip on my face tightening slightly as if to anchor me. “What do you mean?”

“I gave up everything to be here with you,” I said, my words tumbling out in a rush. “My job, my independence, my sense of who I am. I wanted to support you, but I feel like I’ve disappeared in the process. And it’s not your fault — it’s mine. I’m the one that let this happen.”

Nicholas’s face crumpled, guilt washing over his features. “No, it’s not your fault. I should’ve seen how much this was weighing on you. I should’ve—”

“Stop,” I interrupted, my voice shaky. “This isn’t about blame. I just… I need a break from everything. From the tour, from all of this.”

The words hung heavy in the air, and I could see the panic rising in Nicholas’s eyes. “A break?” he echoed, his voice tinged with desperation. “What kind of break?”

“I don’t know,” I admitted, my hands twisting in my lap. “I just know I can’t keep going, not like this.”

As his eyes desperately flicked between both of mine, a flicker of an idea sparked in his eyes. “Wait here,” he said, his voice steady but determined.

I sat up, my feet dangling off the foot of the bed as I watched him stand on his feet and walk over to his suitcase. He rummaged through the piles of clothing , pulling something out from under. I didn’t know what it was, but it was something that made his body tense. He turned around then, slowly walking back over and kneeling down in front of me.

Carefully, he held out that damned red tie in front of me. “You gave me this when I was breaking down. You let me let go of everything.”

I stared at the tie, my breath hitching as I realized what he was asking. “Nic—”

“Please,” he interrupted, his voice cracking with urgency. He knelt closer, holding the tie out like it was some kind of salvation. “You let me fall apart when I needed it most. You didn’t judge me, and you helped me through it. Now… now I want to do the same for you. Use this. Use me. Whatever you’re holding onto, whatever you’re feeling — anger, frustration, resentment — let it out. Tie me up, hit me, scream, I don’t care. Just… don’t hold it in anymore.”

I stared at him, the tie trembling slightly in his hands. My chest tightened, and I shook my head, trying to form words through the lump in my throat. “Nic, this isn’t the same.”

His shoulders dropped slightly, but his hands remained steady, holding the tie out to me like a lifeline. “You don’t know that,” he said softly, his voice laced with desperation. “You’ve carried so much for me, for us. You don’t have to be strong all the time. Let me take it.”

Against my better judgment, I took the tie from his hands, my fingers trembling as I ran them over the familiar silk. It felt heavier than it should, like it carried all the unspoken words and emotions between us. I clutched it tightly, my knuckles white, as I looked down at him. He was kneeling there, his wrists offered to me, his gaze unwavering despite the vulnerability etched into his features.

“Do whatever you need to do,” he said softly, his brown eyes full of vulnerability.

I waved away his wrists, my hands trembling as I brought the tie up to his head, tying it around his eyes. Nicholas’s breath hitched as I slipped the tie around his head, his body tensing beneath my touch. I could see his chest rise and fall with every heavy breath as he clasped his hands behind his back. Even blindfolded, he exuded trust, surrendering himself entirely to me in a way that both broke my heart and made it swell.

He whispered softly, “I trust you.”

Those words pushed a lump into my throat, and I struggled to keep my composure. I knelt down in front of him, carefully placing my hands on his chest to feel the steady thump of his heartbeat beneath my palms. My fingers curled into fists, and I gave him a soft thump against his chest.

It wasn’t anything at all, but it made his head tilt slightly, his lips parting as if he could hear the weight behind the gesture. “Good. Do it again,” he murmured.

I bit my lip, the frustration and confusion swirling inside me like a storm. I struck his chest again, a little harder this time, but it still felt wrong. “Nic,” I said, my voice shaky, “I don’t think I can…”

I wanted to be angry, to release all the frustration I had bottled up for months, but the truth was, it wasn’t anger I felt anymore. It was sadness. Exhaustion. A bone-deep ache that no amount of hitting or yelling could cure.

“Yes, you can,” he urged, his voice gentle yet firm. “Whatever you’re feeling, let it out. Don’t hold back. I can take it.”

He could take it, but could I?

I tried again, my hands pressing into his chest with a tremor of force, but then my arms fell limp. The tears came hard and fast, spilling over as I crumpled forward, burying my face into Nicholas’s chest, sobbing fully into his chest.

“I can’t,” I choked out between sobs. “I can’t do this, Nic.”

In an instant, I felt his arms wrap around me, holding me tightly as I cried against his chest. “I’m sorry,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. “I just — I don’t know what else to do. I don’t want to lose you.”

I cried harder then, and I could feel him start to cry, too.

We stayed like that, crumpled together on the floor, our emotions spilling over, mixing and melding into one shared, raw moment. Nicholas’s arms wrapped around me tighter, as if he feared that letting go would mean losing me entirely. His tears soaked into my shoulder, his breaths ragged against my neck. He was holding me together even as he fell apart himself.

“Tell me what you need,” he choked through his cries, “I’ll do anything, please.”

My hands clutched his bare chest, holding onto him as though he was the only thing anchoring me to reality. “I want to go home,” I cried.

The words felt heavy, like an admission of defeat, but it felt like a weight that I had been carrying for the past 6 months had finally lifted.

I didn’t end up going home. At least, not to my parents’ house. I thought about it, but the idea of retreating to my childhood bedroom felt wrong. It wasn’t the place to sort through my feelings, and I didn’t want my mom to have the satisfaction of being right. Instead, I ended up going to a place near and dear to my heart — the island. It was exactly as I remembered it, and the perfect place for me to shut myself away from the world.

Every day, the waves greeted me like an old friend, their steady crashes lulling me into a sense of calm I hadn’t felt in months. I walked the beach for hours, dragging my feet through the warm sand, letting the tide pull me closer and further away, as if it understood the push and pull I felt within myself. Here, time didn’t matter. The sun rose and set, the tide ebbed and flowed, and I let myself simply be. It was exactly what I needed.

Returning to this beach — this island — where my journey with Nicholas had begun, felt bittersweet. I thought about the person I’d been back then — wide-eyed, hesitant, yet eager to explore the unknown. And now, here I was, trying to find my footing again.

I sat on the sand overlooking the shoreline, hugging my knees to my chest, letting the salty breeze wash over me. The sound of the waves was the only thing grounding me in that moment, pulling me away from the whirlwind of memories threatening to overwhelm me.

I thought about Nicholas, the way his eyes had filled with desperation and pain when I told him I needed to leave. I thought about his touch, the way he always tried to anchor me when I felt like I was drifting. And I thought about his smile, the one that could light up an entire room and make me believe that maybe, just maybe, everything would be okay.

I hadn’t talked to him since I left him alone at the hotel in Mexico seven days ago. There were moments I thought about calling him, just to hear his voice, but I couldn’t bring myself to do it. He needed to focus on the press junkets, and I needed to focus on myself. Still, every night as I lay in the crisp white sheets of my hotel bed, I wondered if he was thinking about me too.

It was the day of the American Psycho movie premiere, and while Nicholas was getting his suit steamed and getting his hair brushed back, I was here at The End of The Road staring out into the horizon. I made sure to send him a message, short and simple: Good luck tonight. I’m so proud of you <3. I didn’t expect a response, but it didn’t matter. I just wanted him to know that, no matter what, I was proud of him. He had come so far in so little time, how could I not be proud of him?

But why couldn’t I feel that same pride for myself? I had come so far, too. I met my first real love, I stood up to my mom, I moved out of the house and across the country, I saw the world… I had done so much, but somewhere along the way, pieces of me had been chipped away.

I used to think finding myself would be this grand, transformative moment, like flipping a switch and suddenly knowing exactly who I was and what I wanted. But now, sitting here with the sand sticking to my legs and the breeze tugging at my sweater, I realized that maybe finding myself was less about grand revelations and more about rediscovering those little pieces I’d lost along the way.

Back then, before Nicholas, I’d had a rhythm to my life. It wasn’t perfect, but it was mine. I had a job that, while not exactly fulfilling, gave me independence. I had hobbies, passions. I loved Nicholas with all my heart — that was never the question. But somewhere between following him to New York, quitting my job, and boarding planes to cities I’d only dreamed of visiting, I’d let my identity become tied to his.

It wasn’t his fault, not really. He never asked me to give up those parts of myself. If anything, he encouraged me to hold onto them, to keep my sense of self intact. But I had let my eagerness to support him, to be the perfect partner, overtake everything else. I had wanted so badly to prove I could handle his world, that I could fit into it without losing myself, that I hadn’t noticed the slow erosion of my boundaries until there was almost nothing left.

As I stared at the waves, I thought about what I wanted now. Not just in this moment, but for my future. I wanted to feel like me again. I wanted to wake up in the morning and feel proud of the choices I was making, the life I was building.

But how?

I couldn’t go back to the person I was before Nicholas — I didn’t want to. That version of me hadn’t experienced the highs and lows of our relationship, hadn’t grown through the challenges we’d faced together. But I could start piecing together a new version of myself, one that combined the person I used to be with the person I was becoming.

Maybe that meant finding a new job — one that still felt meaningful. Maybe it meant setting boundaries, learning to say no to events or trips that drained me, even if it disappointed Nicholas. Maybe it meant carving out time and space for my own passions, whether that was painting or even writing a book just because I could.

It also meant having a real conversation with Nicholas. He had been so open with me in Mexico, so willing to take responsibility for his part in our imbalance. But it wasn’t just on him. I needed to own up to the ways I had let myself slip away, the times I had said yes when I should have said no, the ways I had failed to advocate for what I needed.

And even though all these thoughts and solutions were racing around in my head, I realized I didn’t need to have all the answers at that moment. For the first time in a long time, I felt like I was giving myself permission to not have everything figured out. To just exist, to just… breathe.

By then, the sun had already set and stars slowly started to populate the inky sky. Having reflected enough for the day, I walked over to my car and drove back to the hotel.

The drive back was quiet, the hum of the tires on the road almost meditative. The stars above twinkled faintly through the windshield, a reminder that even the vastness of the sky could hold light in its darkest corners. The heaviness in my chest was still there, but it felt a little less suffocating after my time by the ocean. I didn’t have all the answers, but at least I felt a sense of clarity — a place to start.

When I pushed open the door to my room, 5 — trust me, the irony wasn’t lost on me — the soft glow of the bedside lamp greeted me. The room was untouched, everything exactly as I’d left it. My sandals hit the floor with a quiet thud as I walked to the bed, sitting down on the edge and letting out a quiet yawn.

I sat there, the room feeling cavernous despite its cozy size. The faint hum of the air conditioning filled the silence, but my mind was anything but quiet. Then, suddenly, a knock sounded through the door.

It wasn’t tentative or demanding, just a steady knock, but I thought I had just imagined until again, a knock came through. My breath hitched, my pulse quickening as I stood and crossed the room. My hand paused on the handle, hesitating for a moment before I pulled it open.

It was Nicholas.

“Nic,” I whispered, my voice barely audible as I stumbled back. I couldn’t believe my eyes.

He stood there, still dressed in his premiere outfit. His tuxedo jacket was perfectly tailored, but the bow tie around his neck was slightly undone, hanging loose against the crisp blue shirt. His eyes, however, were what caught me. They were filled with a quiet intensity, a mix of exhaustion, worry, and something softer — understanding. His chest was rising and falling, like he had just run up the stairs coming up here.

“W-what are you doing here?” I questioned. “Why aren’t you at the movie premiere?”

He didn’t say anything at first, just stepped inside, quietly closing the door behind him. The soft click echoed in the room, and suddenly the air felt heavier. He stood there, only a few feet away, his gaze fixed on mine.

He swallowed his breath, slowly making his way across the room, “I walked the carpet, I posed for the cameras… but none of it mattered.” He spun around, his eyes intense, “None of it mattered because I couldn’t take another day being away from you.”

I blinked, my throat tightening. “Nicholas,” I said softly, my voice cracking under the weight of his words. “You shouldn’t have left — this is your moment. The premiere, your hard work—”

“It doesn’t mean a damn thing without you,” he interrupted, his voice low but steady. He stood just a few feet away now, his hands clenched at his sides, as though holding himself back from closing the distance completely. “I didn’t come here to argue or try to convince you to come back. I came because… I wanted you to know that I understand.”

I froze, his words hitting me harder than I expected. He stepped closer, his movements slow and deliberate, his expression softening as he continued.

“You’ve been carrying so much, (Y/N). Not just your struggles, but mine too. All of it. I let you carry the weight of my world while you were still trying to figure out your own. And I didn’t see it — not the way I should have.” He exhaled, running a hand through his disheveled hair. “I see it now.”

My chest tightened, tears threatening to spill over again. “Nic, it’s not your fault. I—”

“No,” he cut in gently, his voice firm but filled with tenderness. “Let me say this.” He took another step forward, his gaze locked on mine. “You gave up so much for me. Your job, your independence, your time. You supported me through every milestone, every success these last six months, and I got so caught up in all of it that I didn’t stop to ask if you were okay. And the fact that I wasn’t there for you the way you were for me all of those restless nights… it breaks my heart, because that’s not what I had promised you.”

Tears stung my eyes, and I blinked them back. “I chose this, Nic. I wanted to be there for you.”

“And I love you for that,” he said, his voice softening. “But I should’ve made sure you were taking care of yourself too.”

His words broke something inside me, and I couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. They spilled over, hot and heavy, as I pressed a hand to my mouth. Nicholas stepped closer, finally closing the gap between us. He cupped my face gently, his thumbs wiping away the tears that refused to stop.

“I don’t want you to feel like you have to give up who you are to be with me,” he whispered, his voice trembling. “I love you for you — for everything that makes you who you are. And I want to build a balance together, one where neither of us has to sacrifice our identity for the other. You shouldn’t have to disappear for me to shine, and I’m so sorry for letting that happen.”

A sob escaped me, and I leaned into him, my arms wrapping around his waist. He held me close, as though he was trying to fuse us together. I felt his warmth. It felt like home.

His fingers gently stroked my hair, and I let out a shaky breath, leaning into him as if he was the only thing tethering me to the moment. Nicholas stepped back slightly, his hands settling on my shoulders as he studied my face, his own expression pained but resolute.

“There’s something I need to do,” he said softly, his voice steady even as his hands trembled.

I looked at him, confused, as he reached into the inside pocket of his tuxedo jacket. For a moment, I thought he was about to pull out some very grand gesture that would’ve been way too early of a step in our relationship, but instead, he held out something that made my breath catch in my throat.

The red tie.

Patrick Bateman’s tie.

The sight of it sent a wave of emotion crashing over me. It was as though everything I’d been holding back, every silent frustration, every unspoken word, was encapsulated in that piece of fabric. My chest tightened, but before I could say anything, Nicholas spoke.

“This,” he said, holding the tie between his fingers like it was something poisonous, “has been a symbol of everything I let take over my life. Everything I let hurt us.” His voice wavered, but his gaze was firm as he looked at me. “I thought us keeping it would be a reminder of what we’d overcome, but it’s only become a weight. On me, on us.”

I watched, frozen, as he walked toward the window, his movements deliberate. He unlocked the latch and pushed the window open, letting the cool sea breeze fill the room.

Nicholas held the tie out over the edge, his fingers gripping it tightly as he looked back at me. “We don’t need this anymore. Not in my pocket, not in our life.”

Before I could respond, he let it go. The tie fluttered in the breeze, a streak of crimson against the night sky, before disappearing into the distance. My heart felt like it stopped for a moment as I watched it vanish, and then, like the rush of air after holding your breath too long, I felt something inside me loosen.

Nicholas turned back to me, his face soft but serious. “I can’t erase what this role has done, what it’s taken from us. But I can promise you that moving forward, we rebuild together. On our terms, and neither of our work is going to disrupt that.”

Tears streamed down my face, but for the first time in what felt like weeks, they weren’t tears of exhaustion or frustration. They were tears of release, of relief. I crossed the room to him, wrapping my arms around his neck as he held me close.

“I love you,” I whispered against his shoulder, my voice trembling but sure. “So much.”

He pulled back just enough to look at me, his forehead pressing gently against mine. “I love you, too. And I’m not letting us slip away, ever, ever again.”

The weight I’d been carrying — the exhaustion, the compromises, the slow erosion of my sense of self — seemed to ease, replaced by the warmth of his arms around me. Nicholas held me tightly, like he was anchoring us both to something real, something steady.

The red tie, Bateman, all the chaos of the past year — it was gone now, fluttering somewhere out there in the night, where it belonged. What remained was just us: the boy I met on the beach, the man who made me laugh even when I didn’t want to, the one who followed me across the country because he refused to let me go.

I pulled back slightly, just enough to meet his gaze. There was no trace of Bateman in his eyes now, only Nicholas — kind, unguarded, a little broken but still standing. And me? I wasn’t fixed, not yet. There were still pieces of myself I needed to find again, pieces I wanted to rebuild on my own. But for the first time, I felt like I could tell him that without fear because through all the noise and the shadows, we’d made it here, to this quiet, honest moment. It was ours. Not his, not mine — ours.

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aventurineswife · 6 days ago

Note

imagine reader x separate aventurine, Ratio and Gallagher ok im craving hsr fics

so like, reader died, (how they died is up to you) and charscter keeps a memory of reader's item

If u can, PLZ PLZ PLZZZ add backstory of the item too!

A Remnant of You

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Gallagher x Reader, Angst, Grief, Loss, Emotional Exploration, Memory & Legacy, Unresolved Feelings, Survivor's Guilt (Aventurine, Gallagher), Intellectual Conflict (Ratio), Healing Through Objects, Subtle Romance.

Warnings: Character Death (Reader), Trauma and Grief, Mentions of Violence (Gallagher's part), Mentions of Betrayal (Aventurine's part), Emotional Distress, Loss of Loved One, Survivor’s Guilt (Aventurine, Gallagher), Potentially Triggering Content Related to Bereavement.

It had been a simple gamble that sealed your fate. You were always too careful, too calculating. Your mind had seen the odds, and yet, fate chose to stack them against you. The memory of that day was seared into Aventurine’s mind, but it wasn’t the thrill of the high-stakes gamble that lingered. It was the moment you were lost—vanished from this world with no way to undo the bet that had gone awry.

When Aventurine had first met you, you had worn a peculiar ring—an iridescent, opalescent band that shimmered like the colors of the sky at twilight. It wasn’t an expensive ring, not something born of wealth or material opulence, but something infinitely more valuable: a token of defiance. You had explained, in your usual understated manner, that it was given to you by someone you loved who had died, a symbol of their belief that fate could be defied if one was clever enough. You hadn’t said much more, but the warmth in your eyes as you spoke of them told Aventurine everything.

After the gamble, after you were gone, he found himself running his fingers over the ring, now firmly wrapped around his own finger, the once light shimmer now darkened by grief. He could never bring himself to part with it. The ring was a symbol of everything you stood for—your belief in luck, in defiance, in the idea that even the gods themselves couldn’t predict your every move.

In the quiet moments, in the dead of night, Aventurine would sit by his window, staring at the moon, your ring reflecting the dim light, the only remnant of you he had left. Every time he looked at it, he felt the sting of the past, the weight of the risk that had led to your death. It haunted him more than any victory he had ever won. No strategy could have saved you that day. It was a game, a gamble, and this was the price of playing.

But in his heart, in the fragments of his soul that remained unshattered by years of manipulation and deceit, Aventurine still clung to the idea you had left him with—that maybe, just maybe, fate could be tricked.

And so, he wore the ring. As a reminder. A reminder that even the greatest strategists couldn’t predict everything. A reminder of the one person who had dared to teach him that.

Ratio never imagined he would find himself standing in the echoing halls of the Intelligentsia Guild’s deepest archives, staring at an item that he could not understand. Yet, there it was, a forgotten relic on a pedestal: a single notebook. The cover was worn, the pages yellowing, but the content within was far more extraordinary. It was yours.

He had always admired your mind—your sharpness, your wit. The way you would challenge him with questions, the way your intellect didn’t bow to convention. It was precisely why he had chosen you to be his closest confidante, why he had spent countless hours engaging with you in debates that stretched the limits of knowledge itself. In the beginning, your notebook had been a simple curiosity. You had asked him, at one point, to borrow one of his ancient texts on logic. “Perhaps it will help,” you’d said, with that wry smile, “in case I get lost.”

You had no idea how profoundly your words would impact him. Over the years, the two of you had traded books, theories, and insights, shaping each other’s understanding of the universe. But after your death—after everything had come to an abrupt halt—your notebook was all that remained.

Ratio never truly believed in the concept of "loss." Knowledge, after all, was infinite, and once shared, it never truly left. Yet as he flipped through the pages of your notebook, he found an emptiness that no amount of intellect could fill. Each word you had written echoed in his mind, each thought you had expressed now a lifeline to the past.

There was one passage that stood out, a line that had never left his thoughts:

"Knowledge is not the pursuit of power, but the pursuit of understanding. And understanding, my dear Ratio, is what we must cherish above all."

He closed the notebook, pressing it to his chest for a moment before he placed it gently in a glass case. It was as much a part of him now as any of his own writings. If knowledge could truly defy death, then perhaps it was through your words that he could preserve your legacy.

And so, Ratio kept your notebook close, a silent monument to a mind that once challenged his own, a testament to the brilliance that had been extinguished too soon. He would carry it with him forever, hoping that, through its pages, you would continue to guide him.

The scar on Gallagher’s face was a constant reminder. A reminder of battles fought, friends lost, and promises broken. But the true weight of his past—the loss that had fractured his soul—was not etched on his skin. It was on the worn flask that hung from his waist, a gift from you.

You had given it to him on a night when the world had seemed particularly heavy. The Bloodhound Family was on the brink of collapse, and Gallagher had poured all his frustration into a bottle of whiskey, trying to numb the thoughts that kept him up at night. It was during that dark hour that you had appeared, a soft presence in the chaos. You had silently handed him the flask, your face unreadable.

“I thought you might need something more than just the drink,” you had said quietly.

Gallagher had taken the flask from you without a word, only to notice the small engraving on the cap: a dog’s paw print, intertwined with the name of someone long forgotten—a mark of the family, a mark of loyalty. You had never said why you had chosen that specific design, but Gallagher knew the significance. You understood the weight of his duty, the burden of responsibility that came with being a protector of the Bloodhound Family. The flask, like you, had been a quiet anchor in his life, a symbol of stability in a world that had long since stopped making sense.

When you died—when the world lost you—Gallagher didn’t know how to keep going. He still drank from the flask, but it tasted empty. The warmth that had once been there was gone, replaced by a cold bitterness. The scar on his face seemed to mock him, a reminder of his survival, of how he had endured everything but had failed to protect you.

But the flask... the flask was something he could never part with. Even as time wore on and the pain of your loss dulled, he never allowed himself to let go of that small, unremarkable object. It was the last part of you that he could hold on to, a memory frozen in time, a quiet piece of his soul that would forever be tied to you.

And so, with each day that passed, Gallagher continued his work, the flask at his side, knowing that no matter how many battles he fought, no matter how many times he had to face his past, that small, simple item would always remind him of you. It would remind him that even in the darkest moments, you had been there, offering him a bit of comfort, a bit of understanding. A bit of home.

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01zfan · 1 year ago

Text

three’s a crowd

husband!shotaro x wonbin x wife!reader | 6.9k words

the anon who requested wontaro threesome im sorry if you were expecting something normal the parasite in my brain made me go rogue.

contains: cuckolding, hooking up with strangers from the bar, and voyeurism

when shotaro initially told you about his fantasy you thought it was a joke. it was less than a week ago, laying on the very same bed you and wonbin sat now. too many times shotaro had avoided your question, and you thought that night would be no different. you were smiling, eyes bright with a simple smile when you asked shotaro to describe a sexual fantasy of his. your husband was red in the face when you were finally able to coax an answer out of him. he was rubbing the back of his neck and avoiding your gaze when he said the word, meek and quiet as he shrugged his shoulders.

“cuckolding?” you tried to not sound too surprised, afraid that a strong reaction would cause shotaro to become closed off. “you’re into that?” you asked.

shotaro shrugged his shoulders a second time, the red that started from his neck reached the tip of his ears. he shook his head slightly, telling you that he had no explanation. something about being able to see everything happening and you knowing had shotaro shaking his head again as he went deeper underneath the covers. seeing shotaro so shy made you feel confident enough to dig deeper, to pry more. you didn’t hide your amusement seeing shotaro’s pupils shake when you started asking about details of his fantasy.

“would you join in?”

“wouldn’t you get jealous?”

“would you even be able to handle it?”

“would it be with someone we know?”

shotaro gulped and shrugged his shoulders at each question. the timid head shakes were anything but convincing, you knew shotaro better than that. it was rare that he didn’t have a plan or a vision of something, especially if it was something he’s thought of for awhile.

regardless, you let him off easy. you went back to your phone while shotaro pretended to read his book, trying to silently gauge how you felt about his deepest darkest fantasy. shotaro let the vanilla veil of his sexual desires fall to your feet. he felt exposed even though he was underneath the blankets and he felt naked despite being fully clothed.

in the silence, you let yourself think about the image of shotaro watching someone fuck you. you wonder if he’d get that dark tint in his eye, if he’d sit still and watch or get antsy and come over to you. you wonder if shotaro would pull down his pants and jerk off to the sight, if he’d coo at you in that same sweet voice or be mean when there was someone else around. the more you thought about it the more intrigued you were—the scandal of it all made thrill churn in your stomach.

but who would it be? your mind ran through the list of people in shotaro’s life, if any of them were viable options. shotaro told you about sungchan’s terrible habit of getting attached, and you knew eunseok would never agree to it. your mind went to anton and sohee briefly, but sohee’s personality was too defiant and anton would be too nervous. before you knew it the potential list for your third was empty, nothing seemed to work logically. you knew your husband was more possessive than he cared to admit. inviting one of his friends could potentially cause their friendship to fall apart.

your mind in its haste and fog thought about you and shotaro going out and finding someone. it was a simple solution, if no one in shotaro’s life could do it you two would come together to find the one. the perfect suitor found in the crowd at a bar—someone who would be you and shotaro’s little secret and treat for the night.

you shuffled on the bed, turning to your side to turn off the lamp. you felt your own sexual fantasies come to light as you looked up at shotaro with a smile on your face. he looked down at you back against the headboard, fingers on the same page of his book.

“it would have to be someone we don’t know, i think.” you said simply.

shotaro’s eyes went wide, the embarrassment he was able to get under control was returning with a vengeance.

“maybe someone at that bar downtown. we could find someone there, don’t you think?” you ask.

shotaro nods, the fact that you are humoring his sick and dirty fantasy has him gripping the corners of his book. he clears his throat, pushing up his glasses before going back to the pages.

“on thursdays the crowd is pretty lively.” he says casually before turning the page.

you hide your smile underneath the covers, pulling them up to your nose while you nod at your husband. it’s too obvious that he has the situation planned out in his head down to the minute, but he wants you to come to your own conclusion about it. even in the midst of his own sexual desires shotaro wants to make sure you plan the bulk of it and you are in charge.

so you took the figurative reigns shotaro handed to you and planned out the night up to getting back to the house. that’s why you and shotaro were inside an irish bar past your bedtime scanning the thursday crowd. you thought about other people’s view of you and shotaro, a couple standing silently at the table with drinks in hand constantly scanning the crowd. the pub was lively for a thursday, people constantly passed into your line of sight while you canvased the area.

you were silent while shotaro pointed at men he think would be practical options. shotaro must’ve asked what about him nearly twenty times, each time you shook your head no. anyone who came into your line of sight would do something that turned you off. you needed someone who would match or compliment the dynamic of you and your husband in bed—not someone who was a sloppy drunk or who yelled obnoxiously when the team on the television scored a goal.

when shotaro flicked his head towards a man coming out of the bathroom, you found him immediately. you don’t know how you missed him coming in, but once you say him you couldn’t look away. he navigated through the crowd of people seamlessly, nimble on his feet as he made his way to the bar. you don’t think the man with inky black locks said a single word to anybody, not an excuse me or behind you, he simply just squeezed between people where his small frame could fit. he was beautiful, with his medium length hair and eyes the size of the moon. he looked gentle—he looked like a good listener.

“him?” shotaro turned to talk to speak directly in your ear.

you nodded and turned to shotaro, raising your voice slightly to be heard over the music.

“he looks like he’d be alot of fun.” you say.

shotaro looks at the man across the bar, he looks him up and down before turning to you again. you two watch the man meander around the small space, going to the bar to order a drink before walking around and circling back to the bartender. he looks like he came with a big group of people, but he ended up splitting off just to be by himself. he casts looks at the group in a separate room where the noise was overwhelming even being halfway across the pub. when their voices boom you see the man visibly cringe before going back to face the bartender. his elbows rest on the top of the wood as he stands off to the side, waiting for his drink. you look at shotaro and your husband looks back at you.

the smirk on your lips is sinister as you talk to shotaro directly.

“he looks lost.” you lean in closer, until your lips are almost touching the shell of shotaro’s ear. “maybe you should go help him.” you say.

shotaro nods quickly, downing the rest of his drink before shaking his hands. he gives you one last look, an excited smile on his lips as you nod to him encouragingly. he’s slow rounding the small curve of your table but he approaches the man calmly. shotaro says excuse me as he walks through the tightly packed crowd.

the man at the bar is still unaware as shotaro approaches him. with his head in his hands and the hair cascading down his face he almost looks like a damsel in distress, waiting for someone to save him from another boring night at the bar. maybe it’s the truth, maybe it’s a lie you tell yourself to try and comprehend what’s happening right in front of you. whatever you tell yourself it works, because you nod to shotaro again when he looks back at you one final time.

shotaro taps the mans shoulder first. the man looks at him quickly, head still resting on top of his hands as he does a double take of shotaro. your glass is held securely in your hand as you watch closely, wishing you could read lips. all you can see is shotaro lean in to talk in the mans ear, and the man leans into shotaro so he can hear him clearly. you almost start shaking when the man’s eyes flicker through the crowd until he finds you. his gaze is hard, it causes you to straighten your posture and hold your glass a little tighter. his eyes stay on you while shotaro continues to talk into his ear. you wish you knew what your husband was saying, maybe you’d have an explanation as to why the man started smirking while looking at you.

when shotaro pulled away the man had the same smirk, looking your husband up and down. he still had his head resting on top of his hands, smiling at the bartender as he hands him his drink. the man takes his hands off the table to reach for his wallet but shotaro is faster, putting down cash on the bar. you recognize his motions for closing the tab, and the man at the bar’s smirk only grows. maybe you two were biting off more than you could chew. maybe shotaro was about to get his drink thrown in his face and called a pervert. millions of things that could’ve gone wrong rushed through your head before you saw the man nod. you could feel shotaro’s smile from your spot across the bar, how he shook the man’s head before leaning in one last time. shotaro left the man at the bar and stayed walking back towards you with a smile on his face.

when shotaro came back to you he immediately went to your ear, speaking quickly.

“his name is wonbin. he said yes. i told him i’ll call a cab for him out to our place and then get him a cab home.” he says.

now it’s your turn to look at wonbin. he still stands at the end of the bar, this time he moves like he knows people are watching him. he’s casual about it, the way he looks at the time and carefully sips on his drink.

“we should go home now.” shotaro grabs your coat from the back of the chair and puts it on your shoulders. “to prepare for our guest.” he says.

you finish your drink in a few gulps, baring your teeth at how the alcohol goes down. you nod to your husband and spare one more look at wonbin, smiling and waving when you catch his eye.

shotaro nearly speeds home, running through the house putting pictures of family face down. he’s quickly moving while you’re relaxed, trying to not let the nerves overtake you. you kick off your heels and hang your coat on the rack beside the door. while shotaro tidies up the already clean house, you count your breaths while walking to the bedroom.

“just wait in there for me, pretty.” shotaro says while clearing pieces of mail from the kitchen island. “he’ll be here soon.” he says.

you hum in acknowledgement before walking past the doorframe into the bedroom. you close the door behind you, waiting until you hear the satisfying click of it shutting. you debate on taking off your dress and laying on the bed to show your new set of lingerie shotaro bought just for this occasion. but you sit on the edge of the bed while your red dress rides up your thighs, waiting for your husband and your treat to come to you.

the longer you sit the more antsy you feel. before you know it your legs become restless, bouncing off the ground causing your dress to ride up more. the feeling of waiting is daunting, the thought of fucking a stranger causes you to feel unsteady. but you think about wonbin who looked at you from across the bar, and the chair that sits in the corner of your bedroom that wasn’t there before. shotaro’s lamp was moved to the dresser beside the chair, causing the lighting in your room to change. you could see the shadow of your body casted on the wall in front of you. you turned around—your lamp was still on behind you.

your eyes stopped wandering around the room when you heard the front door open. through your closed door it was hard to make out what was said, only the low murmur of the two mens voices could be heard. you imagined shotaro walking through the house while wonbin followed, trying to figure out what type of people he agreed to see tonight. your mind started moving miles every minute trying to figure out how to present yourself. the sound of their footsteps got closer to the bedroom door, you found yourself leaning back on your arms before going back to sitting upright. you grabbed the wooden frame of the bed and slouched, then gripped the sheets while lifting a leg up. nothing felt natural, you just let your feet dangle over the edge when you heard a knock at the door.

“can we come in?” you heard shotaro’s gentle voice on the other side.

“yeah.” you swallowed to try and mend your dry voice. “yeah, come in.” you said sweetly.

shotaro opened the door slowly, peaking through first to smile at you. he let the door drift open slowly, and your eyes went from your husband to look at wonbin who still stood in the doorframe. you couldn’t stop your eyes from widening, this was real and it was happening right now. shotaro felt it instantly, coming to stand in front of you to rub your chin.

“just relax.” shotaro’s other hand rubbed your tense shoulders down. “he is going to take good care of you.” he assured.

you nodded your head, still looking at wonbin who stood in the doorway. he seemed to be nervous too, he didn’t come fully in until shotaro motioned to the spot in bed next to you. wonbin crossed the threshold in a few steps approaching the edge of the bed where you sat.

you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding when you felt the bed dip beside you. you two waited silently, too nervous to move an inch.

“no marking.” shotaro said.

both you and wonbin looked up to shotaro. he was standing between the two of you, the light from your bedside lamp casted his shadow on the wall behind him. shotaro was no longer shy or whispering to you like he didn’t when he first mentioned his fantasy. he was upfront, blunt, and serious as he addressed you and wonbin. he looked to each of you after stating each rule, waiting for your nods of acknowledgment.

“no tongue kissing. you are going to wear a condom and no cumming inside.” shotaro added.

shotaro maintaining eye contact even when you both bashfully tried to turn away. shotaro put a gentle hand under both of your chins, squeezing your necks affectionately before pulling away. wonbin looked to you to see how he should react. when he saw you nod slowly he did too, easing further onto the bed.

shotaro looked to both of you one last time. the big smile on his face was warm, like he was so proud of the you two. both of you turned your heads to follow shotaro as he made his way to the dark corner of the room. he was almost unseeable from his little spot until he turned on the lamp beside him. the artificial light only made the top half of shotaro visible, anything below his torso was left to your imagination. your mind filled in the gaps, you imagine shotaro sinking into the chair as he rested his arm on the sides of the chair.

“if it’s too much or you want to stop, just say the word and it’ll be done.” shotaro said from his seat.

after that, shotaro said nothing else. it was completely silent in the room as both you and wonbin fidgeted on top of the bed. your restless leg started bouncing again and you saw wonbin pick at his nail beds. you were in over your head you thought. neither you or the man sitting next to you made a move, just sitting on the bed letting the awkward atmosphere settle over you both.

“wonbin, why don’t you help with her dress.” shotaro looked amused as he watched you both squirm from the tension. he did an unzipping motion calmly when wonbin looked to him. “there’s a zipper in the back, right baby?” shotaro asked.

you nodded, turning your body until your back was facing wonbin and your front was pointed towards shotaro. he was looking at you intensely, leaning back into his chair satisfied when he saw wonbin’s timid hands move towards your zipper.

he was slow, the sound of the metal dragging down filled the space between you both. you were still nervous, your nails digging into the flesh of your knee. you looked down as the zipper got lower, focusing on the view of shotaro’s legs. wonbin shuffled a little closer to your body, his breath fanning the newly exposed skin of your neck and back as he spoke.

“is this okay?” wonbin asked.

you looked up to shotaro almost expecting him to answer for you. he only looked at you expectantly, waiting for you.

“yes. it’s okay.” you said.

wonbin helped you push your dress off your shoulders, you went the rest of the way to take it off your top half. your new lacy bra was exposed, and you pulled the dress down further until it was bunched at your hips. wonbin ran his fingers over the strap, carefully slipping his fingers underneath to press into your skin. you shivered from wonbin’s touch, not used to feeling anyone’s hands that weren’t shotaro’s. wonbin’s hand were bigger than shotaro’s a little rougher even though he only gave you touches light as a feather. wonbin worked his way up your shoulders then down your arms, squeezing you occasionally. the ministrations did calm you down, you felt more relaxed by the time wonbin’s hands clasped over yours.

“wonbinnie wants you to look at him.” shotaro said sweetly.

you slowly turned in your place to look at wonbin, facing him fully. his eyes drifted down to your chest immediately, the hands that were over yours traced up the sides of your body. he looked to you for approval, and when you nodded wonbin moved his hands to cup your chest. he kneaded your skin over the fabric of your bra, pressing carefully as you let out tiny sighs of approval. wonbin’s look of wonder transformed into a confident stare, he leaned in close and pressed a kiss over your collarbone.

“whose idea was it?” wonbin asked when he pulled away from your chest.

one of your hands went to wonbin’s shoulder when he leaned down to press another kiss. it was wet, the air cooled your skin when he pulled away. the sound of shotaro moving in his chair behind you reminded you of the question he asked.

“his.” you breathed.

“who picked me?” wonbin asked. he blew cold air on another sloppy kiss.

“me.” you answered.

you felt wonbin’s smile against your skin. with your turned body obstructing shotaro’s view of wonbin he took his chances, slightly sinking his teeth into the skin of your chest. you gasped and fisted the fabric of wonbin’s shirt in your hands.

“no marking.” shotaro said sternly from his seat.

the orders made you straighten your arched back, feeling like you were the one that got in trouble. wonbin on the other hand showed no remorse, only muttering a quick sorry over your shoulder.

his hands wrapped around to your back to undo the clasp of your bra. you were still as wonbin splayed his hands across your back, bringing you closer to him. you planted your foot on the ground to push yourself into him, hands on the cups of your bra preparing to grab it.

“she likes when you ask nicely for things.” shotaro said sweetly.

when wonbin unclasped your bra you pressed your chest into his, trying to work yourself up to fully taking it off. you thought about the man behind you, how he’s the only one who has seen you naked in god knows how long. you were too bashful to look behind you to see what shotaro was doing now, you only focused on wonbin in front of you. his hands went to your shoulder and squeezed you gently before whispering into your hair.

“can i see?” he pushed your shoulders back gently until your back rested on the bed. “please?” he asked.

you obliged, taking your loose bra from your chest. wonbin helped, pulling your straps off your outstretched arms and throwing it over the bed towards shotaro.

he wasted no time squeezing and teasing your chest, reveling in the way you spilled out between his fingers. wonbin was the same as shotaro, blowing cold air on your nipples to see them harden, and he rolled them between his fingers to hear your little mewls. your eyes were closed from the sensation when you started pulling at the fabric of his shirt.

“take your shirt off.” you said breathlessly.

wonbin pulled away from your body to pull his shirt over his head. he threw his shirt towards shotaro too before looking at your husband. you did the same, looking at shotaro in his chair. he wasn’t as relaxed as he was before, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. you almost thought shotaro was a few seconds from calling it off then and there, the pensive look on his face hidden behind his hands. even with wonbin hovering back over your body, you only looked to shotaro.

his gaze went from wonbin to you, and shotaro went back to leaning against the chair. his hands fell away to reveal his part lips, and his legs that spread further revealed the tent in his dress pants. as your own lips parted wonbin got closer to you, and his lips began pressing sloppy kisses to the crook of your neck. everything was already too much, the view of shotaro beside you and the feeling of wonbin above you. your hands went to wonbin’s back to press flat hands against his shoulder blades. wonbin had to prop himself up on his arm, leaning to the side to see your whole face. you were already becoming flushed, breathing labored from absolutely nothing happening. wonbin was amused, a smirk across his face as he looked to you and then shotaro.

“you guys are sick.” wonbin laughed to himself and you impulsively arched your back at his words. he laughed again, his hand was confident as he traced your jawline. his touch was still light he travelled down, squeezing at your neck gently the same way shotaro did earlier. wonbin smiled at the breath that caught in your throat before he lifted his body away from you completely.

when wonbin stood in front of you off of the bed you propped yourself up on your elbows. your chest heaved, and you nervously flexed your hands to try and feel some control. he watched, hands still traveling down your body. wonbin looked to shotaro in his chair as he pressed his hands deep into your stomach. it pulled a groan from you, something light and airy as you tried maintaining some dignity. wonbin looked back to you when his hands settled on your hips, flashing you a quick smile before he pulled you quickly to the edge of the bed.

the pull caught you off guard, temporarily turning you into wonbin’s ragdoll. before you could comprehend his strength you felt his fingers press into your clothed clit. instantly your knees closed in on eachother, causing wonbin to put a hand on a knee to pry them apart.

he continued pressing deeper into your slit, not letting up until you squirmed and repeatedly tapped the mattress. wonbin looked to shotaro sitting in his chair then back to you.

“she likes being fingered but she likes being fucked from behind the most.” wonbin looked to you with wide eyes as shotaro continued. “isn’t that right baby?” shotaro asked.

you nodded your head at shotaro, then turned too look up at wonbin.

“i like it alot.” you whined

wonbin nodded his head, smirking as both of his hands wrapped around the waistband of your matching panties. he pulled them up to your bent knees then back down, looking at you the whole time. you felt shy underneath his stares, your cheeks getting warm when wonbin lifted your legs to pull your panties off your ankles. as if mocking shotaro he threw that towards him too, letting your clothes rest in a haphazardly made pile.

any attempt to hide your core was futile when wonbin put his hand on your knee. he pushed it apart lightly, and you didn’t add any resistance. some sick part of you wanted the stranger in front of you to see it all, just like your husband intended. you could hear a pen drop when wonbin wrapped his large hand around your ankle. he was slow and deliberate, looking you straight in the eye while he pulled your leg upwards until your ankle rested on his shoulder. he still pushed your legs apart by a hand on your bent knee and you didn’t stop spreading until wonbin was satisfied. when he was, his fingers grazed down your knee, leaving goosebumps in their wake.

shotaro put his hand over the tent in his pants the same time wonbin put his fingers to your heat. you were warm and wet on his fingertips, the pads rubbing together to really feel you. wonbin’s dick hardened in the constraints of his pants as he thought about making a mess of you on the bed you and your husband made. when wonbin felt your hole clench around air he knew you felt it too. so wonbin wasted no time plunging two fingers into your heat and pressing a finger to your tongue when your lips parted.

“wonbin—oh my god.” you sighed after he pulled his fingers out just to push them right back in.

“so wet.” wonbin bent his fingers to emphasize the wet lewd sounds your cunt made. “you always this wet for other men?” he asked.

you shook your head bashfully, turning to shotaro when wonbin kissed the skin surrounding your ankle. he bent his body closer to yours, making your leg stretch as he came closer. he picked up the speed of his fingers and your hand reached down to dig into his wrist. wonbin looked from your heat to your face, then back down as he added another finger. your arch off the bed put you on display for wonbin and he suddenly partially understood the man shrouded in shadows who watched. while wonbin understood something as pretty as you should be shared with others, he was far to jealous to let anyone else have you. maybe it was a character flaw—maybe self preservation. all wonbin knew was that he wanted to keep drawing those sounds out of you and feel you clench around his fingers. so he added his thumb to the mix of his digits, pressing into your clit that protruded towards him. instantly you were squirming off the bed to preen closer into wonbin’s hand, muttering pitifully about how something feels so good. wonbin needed more, so he leaned even closer to you as your straightened leg came with him.

“what feels good?” wonbin said it lowly, breath fanning your skin. when you hesitated he pressed his finger roughly against your bundle of nerves. “c’mon tell me. tell me right in front of your husband.” he teased.

“your fingers. they’re so good.” wonbin bent his knuckles inside of you and your arch off the bed got bigger. “so so good.” you repeated.

at your answer, wonbin gave you a reward. he increased his pace, and you spread your legs so far you heard a bone pop. shotaro laughed from his corner, like he did everytime your creaky bones talked during sex.

“that means she’s close.” shotaro joked.

“oh yeah?” wonbin replied.

although shotaro’s tone was light, he was not wrong. you needed more and you were so close. you started swiveling your hips, pushing them deeper to try and get more. your moans become frequent, high pitched pants as wonbin continues to piston his fingers inside of you. your hand clenches the sheets, something to ground yourself as your feet flex.

just when before you feel it wash over you, wonbin pulls away. even shotaro straightens in his seat, as if he was the one being denied. instantly you pout, the pants turn into whines as wonbin takes his fingers out of your spasming heat.

“put them back in. please.” you beg.

any shame you had dissipated a long time ago. the worried shy girl is gone as you beg for the stranger in front of you to keep fucking you while your husband watches. the only reprieve you get is when wonbin uses the hands that were on you to go to his pants.

“grab binnie a condom honey.” shotaro guides you sweetly as wonbin hastily works at his button and zipper.

instantly you move further onto the bed, turning on your stomach to crawl to shotaro’s bedside table. both of you are rushed—you open the drawer quickly to pull out a foil packet and wonbin almost stumbles as he pulls his legs from his pants.

before you can even turn around to hand the packet to wonbin he clambers on the bed behind you hands pressing to your ass and you lower your upper half to the bed on instinct.

it’s another bout of silence as wonbin examines you from this view. he grabs handfuls of your flesh, moving your ass as you become malleable in his grasp. he lightly smacks your ass just to see the recoil, wishing he could slap harder to leave a mark.

“can i fuck you from back here?” wonbin asks, half focused on how soft you are.

“yes.” you say immediately.

“wanna look at your husband while i do it?” he asks.

too embarrassed to say yes, you start moving you body until you face shotaro. wonbin stays slotted behind you as he puts on the condom, letting his dick slap against your ass when he’s done. he fixes your position, moving your body to the side slightly as he straddles one of your legs.

he taps your ass slightly and when you look behind you the view of wonbin letting a glob of spit fall to his dick. you can hear the wet sound of him jerking off, and then you feel his dick slap your ass again. you let your ass wiggle in the air as wonbin gets closer to you. his hands part your ass and you feel spit land on the swell, you shiver from the feeling.

“you’re messy.” shotaro chides.

wonbin lines himself up at your entrance and you can feel the prod as the ball of yarn starts tangling again.

“you have no idea.” wonbin says.

you lean back further, and suck in a breath. the anticipation makes you dizzy, almost spotting your vision as you look at shotaro in his chair. neither of you break eye contact as wonbin slowly slides in, and when you open your mouth in ecstasy shotaro mirrors you. you try to keep the eye contact, but you fail when wonbin pulls all the way out to thrust harshly back in. your head falls to the mattress as you let out a muffled yell.

“not too much, right?”

you lift your head from the mattress to follow the voice talking to you. it lead you to shotaro as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. he leaned back in his chair legs spread with his head balancing on his fist. you only caught a glimpse of his other hand, how it palmed himself over his dress pants. before you could moan a response, you were interrupted.

“feels good.” the voice behind you huffed.

you can barely see anything else in the room except for shotaro. you stopped being able to see wonbin a long time ago, but you can feel him everywhere. the dip from his weight pressing into the bed. his leg straddling one of yours as he drove his hips forward. his two hands spreading your ass so he could go deeper. his breath fanning your arched sweaty back. you felt wonbin all around you as he thrusted into you again, knocking the words right out of your mind. you can only moan into the sheets you have a white knuckle grip on. wonbin grips your ass with the same force, his nails dig into the plush of your ass as he defies shotaro’s rules again.

“no marking.” shotaro says from his seat.

wonbin huffs, you swear you can imagine him roll his eyes at the order. regardless, you feel the grip on your ass loosen as wonbin comes close to you until his chest presses into your back.

“your husband is bossy.” wonbin whispered in your ear.

“i can hear you.” shotaro says.

he’s still upbeat as he talks, the two men are playful as you feel like you’re coming to your wits end. the new angle wonbin takes causes him to rut into you quickly instead of the deep slow thrusts. your moans become high-pitched and frequent as he picks up the speed. you turn your head so your moans are no longer muffled by the sheets, you let them ring out as you helplessly look to shotaro. one of wonbin’s hands goes to your hair, slightly pulling at your scalp until your head is lifted off the mattress.

“can you hear her?” wonbin remarks.

“mhm.” shotaro is unaffected by wonbin’s teasing and you can see his hand press deeper into his lap. “you sound so pretty baby.” he compliments.

you can’t speak before wonbin draws his hips back all the way before driving back in. the thrust makes you go back to being face down in the sheets, and some of your upper arms slide over the edge of the bed. wonbin doesn’t stop, he does the same thing again as he plants his hand on the bed next to your head. wonbin slides perfectly inside of you, each time he bottoms out you nearly cry out. your hands dangling over the edge of the bed and you reach towards shotaro sitting down.

“taro.” you whine weakly.

he sits up in his chair, and you see the metal of his belt reflect the light as he opens up his pants. shotaro is still slow as he puts his hand underneath his layer of clothes, completely opposite from wonbin’s quick thrusts that leave your body trembling.

even if you whine for shotaro, wonbin is unaffected. maybe he doesn’t notice. he’s drowning in the feeling of you, his snide remarks turned into moans as he continued thrusting into you. he pulls away from your back to plant one of his feet on the mattress. one of his hands wraps around your waist, pulling you up with him. with his hand across your chest gripping your shoulder, wonbin forces your entire front to be exposed to shotaro. shotaro’s eyes travel up and down your body, settling on your face as his hand in his pants picks up the speed. he looks over your shoulder, staring at wonbin who placing wet kisses to your shoulder. if he can’t leave a mark he will at the very least be messy.

“you like that?” wonbin asks.

he talks to you but when you turn your head to kiss him, you see wonbin focused on shotaro. he continues staring at shotaro as you bring him in for a sloppy kiss, both of your minds on other things than kissing. wonbin looks to you only after he pulls away, keeping your head in place with a hand while he begins rutting his hips against yours. you look into wonbin’s blown out eyes, his black hair that sticks to his forehead. you kiss the bottom of his nose on instinct, just like you do with shotaro. you move your eyes to try and take a peak at your husband, following the distinct sound of his belt buckle clanking in the air. when your eyes flicker to shotaro wonbin clicks his tongue, bringing your focus back to him.

“look at me.” wonbin says it low, almost a grunt as his hips kiss your ass again. “let him watch.”

you can only nod your head, swallowing deeply as you continue looking into wonbin’s eyes. they’re dark and all consuming, you swear drool slinks past your lips as you continue staring into them.

“she’s close, wonbin.” shotaro’s tone becomes bothered as he continues jerking himself in his pants.

in his fantasy he always watched, never giving in and never speaking a word. but he couldn’t stop himself when he became uncomfortably hard in his slacks, seeing you experience pleasure at the hands of someone else. he watched you become pliable for another man, going into positions without a second thought. he thought the palm of his hand would be enough, but as he continued watching it wasn’t enough. the only relief came from sticking his hand in his underwear, his precum already seeping through the thin material. shotaro’s tight hand on his tip forced him to bite his lip to hold back his moans.

“you close, baby?” wonbin looked down at your lips, smiling as you quickly nodded your head.

“so close.” you answered.

“go on.” wonbin kissed the wet apple of your cheek before looking at shotaro. “give your husband a show.”

wonbin lets your body fall back down to the mattress and wonbin wasted no time slotting himself between your legs. he instantly picked a brusingly fast pace, and when you reached back your hand wonbin grabbed it, pinning both of your hands to the small of your back. you looked up to shotaro, still watching you with such fascination. shotaro’s nod and the slow hand in his pants was the final pull on the ball of tension in your stomach that caused you to unravel.

you clenched around wonbin the same time shotaro withdrew his hands from his pants to dig his nails into the armrest of his chair. he watched you whine pitiful, and saw wonbin slow down as he emptied into his condom. shotaro didn’t cum but that wasn’t what he needed. the edging was torturous, depriving himself of finishing while you completely indulged in it brought shotaro something far greater than an orgasm. so he watched intently as your legs started sliding out from underneath you as wonbin tilted his head back to gain his bearings. the hand you had pointed towards shotaro even went limp as you let your head rest against the mattress. shotaro’s heavy pants matched yours, and wonbin fell back on his ass as he caught his breath too. shotaro saw it all, and before you two could come back to your senses he stood up.

your head turned weakly towards shotaro as he came closer to you on the bed. he squatted down next to you, placing a kiss on your forehead before traveling down to your lips. shotaro brought you in for a passionate kiss, fingers underneath your chin as he tilted your head to the perfect angle. instantly his tongue slipped past your lips, as if he was trying to prove he tasted better than wonbin. you let out a heavy sigh when shotaro pulled away, a single thin string of spit connecting your lips. shotaro led your head gently back down to the mattress and you turned over. wonbin was still on his ass, legs spread as he watched you two. shotaro smirked, getting up from his crouching position to hand wonbin his shirt. wonbin took it with the same smirk, putting the white tee over his head slowly.

“wasn’t that fun?”

#01zfan: shotaro #01zfan: wonbin #riize smut #shotaro smut #wonbin smut

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koifsssh · 2 years ago

Text

The Greaser Au!

(oh goodie! it's here!)

bwah, where to start?

long, long, long rambles below! (Beware!)

Wally! I'll start with Wally!

As you can imagine, Wally is the little leader of the group! Promptly dubbed after his last name, "The Darlings"! (how darling they are indeed!)

Wally had grown a fascination with the trend, though he didn't quite understand the need to act so tough and mean, so he decided to make his own group! (with the help of Barnaby!)

Motorcycles, catchy tunes, being free on the road is something everyone should enjoy! So who cares if you're big or small, or if you like the color pink? Anyone can be a greaser as long as they got a jacket and a bike to go along with it!

At least, that what he believes anyway!

Speaking of a certain beagle...

Barnaby!

Barnaby of course wanted to join in on the fun, and he very publicly advertised Wally's gang at his little comedy nights! (It did catch a certain blonde's attention!)

it did garner attention, with the way the beagle so affectionately told of Wally's endearingly comedic actions from their day to day life. Barnaby also helped Wally organize the entire set up, helping him get paint and base jackets for the painter to personalize! (He also suggested Poppy's diner as a hangout spot! He had it all thought out!)

Plus, it made his best friend happy! Who could ask for more? Well... maybe Barnaby would ask for a hotdog or two.

Julie!

Julie is a seasoned hair stylist! She owns her own hair salon! She's excellent at her job, however more often than not she gets a unpleasant customer.

Stress can pile up unfortunately, and when she attended a comedy show one evening she couldn't help but be ecstatic at such an idea of being free on the road. It felt like the perfect destresser!

Talking on the phone with Frank was great and all, but nothing compares to feeling the rush of wind in her hair... So she jumped at such an opportunity! And of course, Julie doesn't go anywhere without a certain frowny bookworm!

Frank!

Frank is an entomologist! (and a part-time librarian during the summertime!) A dream job really, but every dream comes with its hurdles! Similar to Julie, Frank found themself stressed. Usually books were able to decompress them, but lately they've been growing frustrated, the one thing they hate the most is incompetent writing!

It took a lot of convincing to get Frank to even consider the idea of being a greaser, let alone get on a motorcycle... but Julie can be very insistent when she wishes to be! Not even a week passed before they begged Julie to stop her nagging, but in exchange they had to at least go with her once on a motorcycle...

how mortifying.

However! the thrill of being on the open road at a high speed was something they never knew they needed! Needless to say, after that, they were hooked!

Sally!

Sally was the last member to join! and she took her spot quite quickly!

Sally had been in Poppy's diner when she saw The Darling's walk in, she was in awe! Colorful motorcycles? Matching jackets? They all looked marvelous! The star couldn't help herself when she walked up to them, simply starstruck at such a group!

They all looked to be having such fun... she wanted to take part!

When Sally asked if there was a spot left for her, Wally softly smiled at her and stated, "Anyone and everyone can join!"

She was content that day, and from then on, it really was the best group of friends she could ever ask for!

---

whew! im done!

(this is my second time typing this... i had lost it all the first time. bwah. but it's here!!!)

im quite happy how everything turned out! I think i'll use this as a master post of sorts, just so you don't have to dig through my stuff just to find anything specific!

I'll leave Poppy's & Howdy's explanations here! (Just know those designs are old! All the designs in this post are the ones i will be using!)

Poppy's Diner!

additionally! I will give you everyone's closeups!

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ahqkas · 10 months ago

Note

if you taking request can u make sumn with mattheo and the reader is just like Rory Gilmore studying all the time and he prod of her or sumn and thank you AND IM LOVE YOUR WRITING

NOTES! fem!reader, i’ve never watched gilmore girls in my life so that’s just my interpretation of rory gilmore from what i’ve seen on tiktok 🥹

THE LIBRARY AT HOGWARTS HAD ALWAYS BEEN YOUR SAFE PLACE. the quiet rustle of parchment, the soft scratch of quills, and the muted footsteps of other students as they moved between aisles — these were the sounds that surrounded you as you pored over your notes, your quill gliding smoothly across the page.

you had always been studious, a trait that had earned you more than a few comparisons to the infamous ravenclaw stereotype, but you didn’t mind. knowledge was your passion, your escape, and you dove into your studies with the same enthusiasm that others reserved for quidditch or wizard chess. you enjoyed the challenge of a difficult spell, the satisfaction of mastering a complex potion, and the thrill of discovering a new piece of magical / muggle theory.

and mattheo noticed.

he had been watching you for weeks now, his dark eyes often drifting toward your usual spot in the library when he was supposed to be focusing on his own work. it had become a habit, really — one that he found both endearing and a little worrying. while others were out enjoying the spring weather, laughing with friends, or practicing on the quidditch pitch, you were here, nose buried in a book, fingers ink-stained from hours of scribbling notes.

it wasn’t that mattheo didn’t understand your drive. on the contrary, he admired it. he had seen the way your eyes lit up when you finally understood a difficult concept, the way you would smile to yourself after writing an essay you were particularly proud of. it was one of the things he loved about you — how your passion for learning was as fierce and unyielding as any fire. but he also worried about you, about how much you pushed yourself, how often you skipped meals and sacrificed your sleep or lost track of time because you were so absorbed in your studies.

today was no different. as he approached the library, he wasn’t surprised to see you sitting in your usual spot by the window, the late afternoon light casting a golden glow over your figure. you were hunched over a particularly thick textbook, your brow furrowed in concentration as you chewed absentmindedly on the end of your quill, a cozy sweater enveloping your focused figure.

mattheo leaned against a bookshelf for a moment, just watching you. there was something about the way you worked, the quiet determination that radiated from you, that filled him with an odd sense of pride. you were relentless in your pursuit of knowledge, always pushing yourself to be better, to know more. it was inspiring, really — how someone could be so dedicated, so passionate. and though he wasn’t the best with words, he wanted you to know how much he appreciated that about you.

pushing off the doorframe, mattheo made his way over to your table, the soft sound of his footsteps alerting you to his presence. you looked up, surprised, your quill pausing mid-sentence as you took in the sight of him standing there, hands in his pockets, a small, affectionate smile playing on his lips.

“hey,” you greeted softly, setting your quill down as you stretched out your fingers that have been writing for hours now. “what brings you here?”

mattheo shrugged, his eyes flicking over the array of books spread out before you. “just wanted to see how you’re doing. you’ve been at it for hours.”

a sheepish smile tugged at your lips as you glanced at the library clock, realizing he was right. “i guess i lost track of time, sorry.”

“again,” the slytherin boy added, his tone teasing but laced with genuine concern. he pulled out the chair next to you and sat down, his knee brushing against yours under the table. “you know, it’s okay to take a break sometimes. the world won’t end if you don’t finish that chapter tonight. ”

you sighed, leaning back in your chair as you looked at him. “i know, but there’s just so much to do. exams are coming up, and i want to make sure i’m ready.”

mattheo reached out, taking one of your hands in his. his thumb brushed over the ink stains on your fingers, a small smile appearing on his lips. “you’re always ready. you’ve been studying harder than anyone else i know. but you don’t have to do it all at once, okay? you’re allowed to take care of yourself too.”

“who cares if i’m pretty if i fail my finals?”

“you’re so much more than that. and you’re not going to fail, love. but you need to listen to me.”

his words, though simple, hit you with a warmth that spread through your chest. it wasn’t that you didn’t know he cared — it was in the little things he did, the way he always brought you coffee when he knew you’d been up late, or the way he would sit with you in the library even if he had no work of his own, just to keep you company. but hearing it out loud, the way he expressed his concern for you, made your heart swell.

“okay,” glancing at the stack of book in front of you that still needed attention, you hesitated for a bit. but when you saw the expression on his face, you made up your mind. “let’s take a short brake.”

“that’s my clever girl.”

you let your boyfriend lead you out of the comfort of the school library, his slender fingers sneakily intertwining with yours to keep you close to him. the cool air hit your face the moment you stepped outside, and for the first time in hours, you felt like you could breathe again. the tension in your system began to slowly disappear as you leaned closer to mattheo’s side, his warmth enveloping you in a new kind of comfort.

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wangxianficfinder · 11 months ago

Text

I'm in the mood for...

Aug 21st

~*~

1. hii! ITMF fics where the cultivation world finds out the truth about the Wen remnants in burial mounds either through a memory viewing/array spying thing at a discussion conference or someone personally visiting the burial mounds and sees the truth for themselves. Some of the fics I've enjoyed that has this: A Step in the Wrong Direction by pupeez4eva, Revealing Truth by DreamNightmare, The Path by Seastar98, Green-gege Saves a lot of Lives by Eternal_writes, Righteous at a Cost by thunderwear

Teen Project to Change the World by animeloverhomura (Not Rated, WIP, 841k, WangXian, JYL/JZX, Watching the Show, With a bit of the Manhua and Book thrown in, BAMF WWX, Fix-It, JGS is his own warning, Attractive WWX, Homophobia, disturbing imagery)

Misunderstood by Silver_Flame_2724 (M, 250k, WIP, WangXian, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Heavy Angst, Suicidal Thoughts, Canon-Typical Violence, Self-Worth Issues)

Discordant Rhapsody by nirejseki (T, 49k, LQR & WWX, wangxian, JC & WWX, WQ & WWX & WN, LWJ & LQR & LXC, canon divergence, fix-it, hurt/comfort, trauma, politics, protective LQR, protective LWJ, protective WWX, LQR centric, whump, angst)

Grave dirt by esama (T, 92k, WangXian, canon divergence, yiling wei sect au, demonic cultivation, farming, found family, pre-slash, politics, fix-it of sorts)

while covered in mud by merthurlin (T, 12k, NHS & WWX, NHS & NMJ, NHS & Wen remnants, mentioned wangxian, canon divergence, fix-it, NHS goes farming and Hates It)

~*~

2. Hi! I could have sworn there were reaction fics where both the older wangxian and younger wangxian were there but I can't find any right now, could you help me?

~*~

3. Hi!!!!! Itmf request for any fics where LWJ is uber powerful and pampers the hell out of WWX but the focus isn't on smut? I don't mind sex being included,I just don't want it to be 90% of the fic or the driving plot point! Thank you!!! <3

我的皇后是農民 | sowing seeds in the cold palace by sweetlolixo (E, 84k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Imperial Consort WWX, Farmer WWX, Angst, Romance, Wingman LJY, Wife-chasing-LWJ, Arranged Marriage, Best Boy A-Yuan)

願陛下 | by his majesty's decree by sweetlolixo (E, 40k, WangXian, Imperial Palace, Emperor LWJ, Concubine WWX, Harems, Pining LWJ, LWJ is not a dragon in this one but he descended from them :), Childhood Sweethearts (sort of), Romance, minimal angst, Happy Ending, NHS & WWX are concubine BFFs, LWJ has NO EYES for anyone besides WWX don’t worry the harem is only for the plot setting, Fantasy, Pregnant WWX, Possessive LWJ, Fluff)

To Deliver an Heir by cerbykerby (E, 49k, WangXian, slight dubcon/noncon but wangxian are into it, A/B/O, Alpha LWJ, Omega WWX, Heat Sex, Knotting, Royalty Medical, Emperor LWJ, Physician WWX, Mpreg, Postpartum Depression, Breeding, Creampie, LWJ literally cannot stop himself from coming in WWX, Breastfeeding)

~*~

4. Any good outside pov fics? ITMF any fic where a character sees wangxian's bond or is surprised at how much wwx can get away with irt the rules with lwj. Just... Idrc about the plot, I just wanna see some reactions to wangxian lol! Preferably not a modern or no cultivation au tho, I love the canon universe too much!!

pitfalls of greed by glitteringmoonlight (T, 3k, WangXian, POV Outsider, BAMF WWX, Kidnapping, Violence, YLLZ WWX, not exactly but the vibes are there, Post-Canon)

The following are time travel fics but involve outsiders being astonished by Wei Wuxian & Lan Wangji's behavior towards each other

trouble with time by cloudpd (T, 5k, WangXian, Time Travel, Cloud Recesses Study Arc, POV Outsider, Humor, POV JC, he's so fed up with wangxian, rightfully so, wangxian are shameless, kind of crack, JC's inner dialogue for this whole fic is just: what the fuck, POV LXC, because LXC deserves to be subjected to gross wangxian as well!!, the third chapter is LJY going "WWX rights!!", and that's all im going to say about that, horny wangxian time travel: the thrilling conclusion)

Wait, What? by MarbleGlove (G, 1k, WangXian, Time Travel, POV Outsider)

the world is but a stage for the two of us by MandMandM (Not Rated, 10k, WIP, WangXian, Time Travel, Established Relationship, Shameless WangXian)

~*~

5. Hello, can i get wangxian fic recs where meng yao is a good guy and close friends with wei wuxian? canonverse, modern day, etc doesn't matter. I'd also love wangxian recs where they adopt jingyi please <3

Meng Yao becomes more like a brother to Wei Ying than a close friend so I hope these are okay:

what builds a home by Stratisphyre (T, 45k, WangXian, MY & WWX, Canon Divergence, Adopted WWX, POV Multiple, warning for JGS behaving exactly as expected, child endangerment, Brother Feels, Minor Character Death, [Podfic] Cold read of "what builds a home" by Stratisphyre by KeriArentikaiPods (KeriArentikai))

and

Debts of a Child Part 2 by Hauntcats (M, 111k, WangXian, YZY Bashing, Not Jiang Family Friendly, Angst and Feels, lots of anger, JC Bashing, not Jiang friendly, Angst with a Happy Ending, Content warning for icky spiders in later chapters., hurt no comfort for Jiang siblings.) (link in 8C)

Meng Yao vs. the Board of the Homeowner's Association Series by Ariaste (M/T, 119k, WIP, XiYao, WangXian, Modern AU, Established Relationship, xiyao and wangxian are both already married, Family Feels, Domestic Fluff, Family Bonding, Slice of Life, Discussions of Past Trauma, wwx's canonical kinks, HOAverse)

~*~

6. Hello! I finished reading Digging Graves by nirejseki so i am itmf any fics where someone asks/begs wei wuxian to bring someone back to life/turn someone they loved who died into a fierce corpse. Thanks :D

some good mistakes by Lise (T, 18k, WangXian, JC & WWX, Post-Canon, Road trips, rescue Missions, Hurt/Comfort, Awkward Conversations, Yunmeng Bros Reconciliation, [Podfic] some good mistakes by kisahawklin)

~*~

7. Hi! for the next itmf, i was wondering if there are any fics where wei wuxian gets his core back after giving it to jiang cheng? not him cultivating a new core but getting his original core back

i just find that idea fascinating. thank you for your help always!!

A Child’s Wish by Hauntcats (Not rated, 13k, wangxian, WWX & Wen remnants, Celestial meddling, Not JC Friendly, Fix-It, Canon Divergence, Angst with a Happy Ending, Everyone gets what they deserve, Age Regression/De-Aging, Child LWJ)

💖 Return to Sender by Thesaurus_with_no_words (M, 73k, WIP, WangXian, Canon Divergence, BAMF WWX , WangXian Get a Happy Ending, YLLZ WWX, Golden Core Transfer Fix-It, Not Everyone Dies, canon JC characteristics, Temporary Amnesia, Partial Memory Loss, Literal Emotional Manipulation, Unreliable Narrator, Unreliable Narrator WWX, they are all unreliable ok, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Canon-Typical Violence, Canon typical horror and gore, Slow Burn)

The Core Issue by Hauntcats (T, 21k, WangXian, Angst with a Happy Ending, Not JC Friendly, Canon Divergence)

Can’t Tell Me Nothin by natacup82 (T, 35k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Everybody Lives, Family Feels, Communication, BAMF Women)

~*~

8. Hello! itmf these three types of fics:

A) canonverse, Madam Lan lives, wangxian (i didnt know madam lan lives was a tag now I need to see how her existence in canon can change the storyline and wangxian as a whole)

B) Yiling Wei Sect fics (could be wangxian or other wei wuxian M/M ships)

C) Fics where Wei Wuxian takes disciples (whether as Yiling Wei sect Yiling Patriarch or any other reason... preferably xue yang or mo xuanyo)

8A)

💖 An Unexpected Visitor by Hauntcats (G, 8k, QHJ/Madam Lan, wangxian, fix-it of sorts, not Jiang friendly, not jin friendly, happy ending)

Every Mother's Son by Chrononautical (T, 11k, WangXian, Madam Lán Lives, Madam Lán Deserves Better, Madam Lán Leaves Cloud Recesses, Madam Lan rescues women from abusive husbands in feudal Japan and honestly that's so valid of her, mentions of rape/non-con between Madam Lan & Qingheng-Jun)

no step had trodden black by Stratisphyre (T, 32k, wangxian, LQR & WWX, JYL/JZX, canon divergence, madam lan lives, past rape, golden core reveal, hurt/Comfort, referenced to attempted suicide & suicidal thoughts, canon-typical violence)

8B)

🔒 a star called sun by thelastdboy (E, 120k, wangxian, SL/XXC, JC & JYL & WWX, JYL & LWJ, WWX & WN & WQ, JYL/JZX, Canon Divergence after Xuanwu Cave, Fall of Lotus Pier, But worse!, Power Imbalance, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Not Everyone Dies AU, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Canon-Typical Violence, Sunshot Campaign, Miscommunication, Heavy Angst with a Happy Ending, Slow Burn, Major Character Injury, Loss of Limbs, Chronic Illness, Seizures, WWX’s Three Months in the Burial Mounds, Wēn Remnants Live, Wēn Remnants Deserve Better, WWX Creates a Sect | Yílíng Wèi Sect, Additional Warnings In Author’s Note, Hurt/Comfort, Selectively Mute LWJ, Service Animals, Crows)

body and soul by TooSel (E, 41k, wangxian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Marriage Proposal, Everyone Lives AU, Cultivation Sect Politics, Yílíng Wèi Sect AU, Adoption, Smut, Friends to Lovers, Angst with a Happy Ending)

Grave dirt by esama (T, 92k, WangXian, canon divergence, yiling wei sect au, demonic cultivation, farming, found family, pre-slash, politics, fix-it of sorts)

💖🔒 love, in fire and blood by cicer (E, 360k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, Arranged Marriage, political scheming, Gratuitous Domesticity, Mutual Pining, EXTREME SLOWBURN, the inherent eroticism of the forehead ribbon, The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Known, neither wwx nor lwj want to be Perceived, but sorry kids! it’s gonna happen!, rated E but the the NSFW stuff doesn’t begin until chapter 19!, bottom LWJ in chapter 20 and 27, Mojo’s post)

Run Off The World by Sapphire_Roses (M, 302k, wangxian, JYL/JZX, SL/XXC, WIP, Not Everyone Dies AU, Canon Divergence, Wen Remnants Live, Flashbacks, YLLZ WWX, WWX Creates a Sect | Yiling Wei Sect, Sect Leader WWX, Married WangXian, OCs, POV Outsider, Morally Grey Characters, (Do Take That Tag Seriously), Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Family Feels, Developing Friendships, Fluff, Attempt at Humor, Yunmeng Siblings Feels, Gusu Siblings Feels, Sibling Bonding, Pining, Character Study, Tenderness, Mild Smut, POV Alternating, It Gets Worse Before It Gets Better, Minor Character Death) link in #8C

the sea meets the moon-blanched land by rkivees (G, 44k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, YLLZ WWX, Canon-Typical Violence, Developing Relationship, Childhood Trauma, Sect Leader WWX, BAMF WWX, BAMF LWJ, BAMF WQ, Good Parent LQR, First Love, Love Confessions, minor jiang sibs appearance, Mentioned LXC, Past Child Abuse, Drunken Shenanigans, Past Violence, No Golden Core Transfer, Non-Linear Narrative)

8C)

🔒necromancy is a valid career path! Series by coslyons, Skadiseven (T, 41k, WangXian, XY & WWX & WN & WQ, Modern with Magic AU, Seattle, Necromancy, Found Family, Food as a Metaphor for Love, Gardens & Gardening, Mathematics, Running, Growing up)

~*~

9. Heyo, this is for ITMF!

Can you rec any fics that have WWX return to his old body? Can be post-canon or during canon after his resurrection. I wanna see how people react to him being in his Glorious Beautiful Sexy self :>

Transcend by covalentbonds (not rated, 7k, WIP, WangXian, Post-Canon, Fluff and Humor, Smut, YLLZ WWX is prettiest fight me) features Wei Ying transforming into his original body and being lusted after.

Tripped at Every Step by brooklinegirl (E, 28k, WangXian) These

the hidden source is the watchful heart by o_honeybees (E, 10k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Getting Together, Domesticity, Touch-Starved, Grief/Mourning, Misunderstandings, Non-Sexual Intimacy, Unresolved Sexual Tension,Eventual Smut, reflections on selfishness and selflessness) fics

This House of Ill Repute by Jo Lasalle (Jo_Lasalle) (M, 13k, WangXian, First Time, Post-Canon, Getting Together) also have Wei Ying in his original body but it's not the focus of the story

Saw My Life in a Stranger's Face by timetoboldlygo (T, 27k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Established Relationship, Married Life, Domestic Fluff, Light Angst, wwx's face changes post-canon to look like his original face, Slight Panic Attack, because lwj doesn't recognize his husband, the mortifying ordeal of not knowing your own body, the terrifying inevitability of change, taller!wwx theory)

~*~

10. hello! thank you for the work you do.. do you have recs for novel canon only (no cql) fics?

~*~

11. hello this is for itmf! do you have any fics where sizhui remembers wei wuxian after the fever/doesn't lose his early memories, or lan wangji making the effort to talk about wei wuxian to sizhui? thank you!

although my mind is young, it is not gentle by everythingispoetry ( T, 27k, Canon Divergence, Hurt/Comfort, Disability, Parenthood, Growing Up, Family Dynamics, Character Study, Self-Discovery) Sizhui doesn't really know who he remembers about but there are moments of him remembering wei wuxian through dreams

~*~

12. I was rewatching the show recently and got to the scene where the Lan juniors and LWJ all stood in front of WWX when Jin Ling approached him in the caves after the stabbing. I was wondering for ITMF if there were any fics where the juniors are protective of WWX? Preferably if Sizhui is a prominent character in the fics, but I'll take any junior being protective tbh. Thank you!

🧡 the stone-filled sea by yukla (T, 9k, WangXian, LSZ & WWX, Post-Canon, senior wei defense squad, a study of the way prejudice and injustice and anger trickle down from generation to generation)

bespoke by cafecliche (G, 3k, WangXian, Post-Canon, Fluff, LSZ is a very good boy, which is specifically a tag for the fic but also just true in general, mostly novel-compliant but could easily be CQL-compliant too)

🔒 The Absolutely True Story of the Yiling Patriarch: A Manifesto in Many Parts by aubreyli (T, 19k, WangXian, In-Universe RPF, Romance Novel, LJY’s sense of justice, OYZZ’s sense of romance, Featuring a surprise appearance by WWX’s oft-absent sense of shame, Look the ducklings just want their sort-of dads to be happy okay?, And it’s not like WWX or LWJ are doing a good job of ensuring their own happiness, LJY rejects canon reality and substitutes his own, highly relatable actually, Post-Canon Fix-It, primarily drama-canon with cameos from novel-canon, Podfic Available, Russian Translation Available)

one of our own by glitteringmoonlight (G, 7k, WangXian, Post-Canon, POV Outsider, 5+1 Things) has Lan Jingyi, as well as other Lans, standing up for Wei Ying.

~*~

13. Wwx as royal prince with hidden identity

~*~

14. Wwx gets badly hurt while protecting jzx during jl 100 day celebration

the breaking of your soul (upon my lips) by sunsandships (M, 40k, WangXian, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Mutual Pining, Golden Core Reveal, Happy Ending) Wei Ying gets badly injured at Qiongqi Path while protecting Jin Zixuan in chapter 8 but Wei Ying was escorting betrothal gifts from the Jin, rather than attending Jin Ling's celebration.

Cradle by Dragonesque (T, 196k, WIP, Canon Divergenc, Adopted children, Yiling Wei Sect, BAMF WWX) Wwx gets badly hurt while protecting jzx during jl 100 day celebration - cradle by dragonesque on ao3 (and its inspiration fic) both feature wwx getting badly hurt and origins of yiling wei sect

~*~

15. I finished reading a wangxian oneshot in which lan xichen tries to get wei wuxian in his bed but fails and so...itmf lan xichen/wei wuxian, nie mingjue/wei wuxian, wen ruohan/wei wuxian fic recs. Preferably complete with bottom wei wuxian if they have smut. Thank you!!

The Joke of Fate by ShallChair (E, 357k, LXC/WWX, Canon Divergence, Marriage First Love Later, Love at First Sleep, Smut, First Time, First Kiss, the Flower Banquet's timeline is before Baifeng Mountain hunt so, Comedy, a little bit humor in the lines, Fix-It of Sorts, Fluff, The man who succeeds in both Love and Career-LXC, Dark LXC, Dark LWJ, The Dark side mean "Fuck off Cultivation World!", The Exchange of Fate, LXC-centric, DoubleJade centric, The one who stands against the world-LXC; A/B/O, Alpha LXC, Omega WWX, Alpha LWJ, Mpreg, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Mating Bites, Scenting, Historical, Royalty, Arranged Marriage, Slight Drama, Bad Parent YZY, Cultivation Empire, Alpha NHS, Older NHS, The flustered Alpha and the handsome Omega, Half Lime Half Plot, YLLZ era, YLLZ WWX, The Thirsty LXC, Martial Arts AU, Wuxia AU, General WWX, Emperor LXC, Qianyuan, Kunze, Zhongyong, Enemy to lover, Concubine WWX, BAMF WWX, Precognitive Dream, the Second elopement, Wen Remnants Live, Burial Mounds Settlement Days, Intervention From the Outside World, Teleportation, Sunshot Campaign, Those Days When LXC Chased After YLLZ All Over the Central Plain)

~*~

16. itmf some wwx & jzx bonding similar to 'watch what we'll become' by glitteringmoonlight modern/canon/au it doesn't matter just give me that sweet sweet friendship/brotherly bonding

🧡 Stunted, Starving Juvenility by TomatenMark (E, 828k, WangXian, WIP, Fix-it of sorts, Talisman master WWX, Not JFM Friendly, Study Arc, Getting together, Fluff and Angst, Engagement)

atlas in his sleepin’ by anatheme (E, 48k, WangXian, XuanLi, Canon Divergence, Fix-It, Reincarnation, Family Reunions, Dimension Travel, temporary transmigration, Transmigrator!LWJ, Yunmeng Shuangjie Reconciliation, jzx motherhenning wwx, First Time, Sharing Clothes, Angst with a Happy Ending, Somebody Lives/Not Everyone Dies)

~*~

17. itmf a fic where wangxian get horny about "ruining" a hole. You know, there's penetration, or a lot of penetration, and the body is different afterwards. Idc who bottoms, omegaverse, consent, whatever. But no underage please. Thanks!

~*~

If you didn’t get an answer to your ask here, don’t forget to make use of @mdzs-kinkmeme and MDZS KINK MEME on Dreamwidth. Authors actually do use them for ideas. You may get what you order!***Your prompt doesn’t have to be kink! Fluff, crack, whatever - it’s all good!***

#wangxian #mdzs #wangxian fic recs #i'm in the mood for a fic #the untamed #wangxian fic search #wangxianficfinder #long post

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sailorholly · 1 year ago

Text

Between Us Pt 8

Summary: You and Spencer had a casual relationship. A misunderstanding ruins it all.

Pairing: Spencer Reid × F. BAU Reader

Warnings: Friends with benefits. Pregnancy.

Part 7

See my Masterlist Here

Three Months Later

A white frosted cake decorated with a hand drawn baby on it sat in front of you. Penelope was thrilled to be god mother to your baby, and she wanted to do a gender reveal party. You didn't mind and she was excited, so you and Spencer let her plan this little get together at Rossi's.

You held the knife alongside Spencer, bringing it down to slice the cake. When the piece was cut, you held a plate as he placed the cake on it, revealing pink bread. Penelope squealed "It's a girl!" Spencer hugged you, "I told you." He said, beaming. You had been convinced you were having a boy, but Spencer said he had a feeling the baby was a girl.

"About time we had a girl in the family! She will have all these boys wrapped around her finger in no time." JJ hugged you, nodding towards Jack and Henry running around the yard. Everyone congratulated you while the cake was being served. You were finally starting to show, your baby bump looked huge in your normal clothes. But in the maternity clothes you bought a few days ago, it looked small.

Spencer took you shopping over the weekend when he found you crying because your jeans wouldn't button anymore. He went all out, splurging on a new wardrobe. He even got you two pairs of shoes because your feet were starting to swell especially after work.

Tears welled in your eyes as you watched your coworkers interact with each other. You really loved them like family. Well, everyone except for Ashley who was noticeably absent tonight. You heard a rumor she wasn't happy at the BAU and was looking to transfer. You hoped it was true. She had been nicer to you after her talk with Hotch when she pushed you. You still didn't like her, only tolerating her because you had too.

It was getting late, and you were tired, so you went to take a small nap on Rossi's sofa. You found Penelope sitting there playing on her phone. She told you to lay your head in her lap while she shopped. She was already ordering the baby frilly dresses and matching headbands. You closed your eyes, drifting off pretty quickly.

When you woke up, Morgan was carrying you to the car. You and Spencer had been staying the night with each other for months. You fell back into your old situationship. The pregnancy hormones made you insatiable. Spencer was happy to help you, but you didn't want to get too close to him again. He had hurt you, and you were still offended that he only wanted to be with you because you were pregnant. He tried to argue, but you know that's what it was.

When you got back to Spencer's apartment, you took a quick shower. A new episode of your favorite show was coming on soon. You and Spencer cuddled on the couch watching it. When it was over, he took you to bed, making love to you twice before work the next morning.

A/N: If you have any ideas for a baby name, let me know!! ♥️

Tags

@cindylynn @wheredafandomat @loz-3 @megharat-barnes-reid @kats72 @mochie85 @cakesandtom @spenciesprincess @kimm4710 @tmilover1993 @nomajdetective @cynbx @comboboo @134340ona @wannabewolf @weirdothatwritess @silver-tongue-taken-to-bed @freegardenbanananeck @lover-of-books-and-tea @maybe-not-this @drewsandsebastianswife @lamentis-10 @lizzyk137 @hypotheticallyspeakingwitch @rosylnsworld @amortencjja @ah-blossom @dreamsarebig @khxna @diasnohibng @nommingonfood @sp3ncelle @pleasantwitchgarden @isakslilsmile @lavvylove @creaming4daddy @justdianaz @aubs444 @im-this-girl @xblueriddlex @spencerreidsgf420 @witchsbitchestime @lovelyygirl8 @chonkybonky @prentissesredtanktop @ill-be-okay-soon-enough @ilikw @theoraekenslover @queenshu

#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid x you #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x self insert #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid x fanfiction #between us

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manicpixiefelix · 1 year ago

Text

head, heart, hand. {Felix Catton/Reader/Oliver Quick}

Part 13.

Summary: As you promised, you spend the morning with Farleigh as moral support for Oliver's upcoming visit. Perhaps getting reasonably high and discussing your sex life wasn't the best move, all things considered, but it definitely seemed like a good idea at the time.

{ masterpost }

Need to Know: They/Them. Explicitly NB Reader. FWB!Reader/Felix. Reader is from a well off family but has pretty much been adopted by the Cattons.

Warnings: suggestive themes, kind of explicit discussions about sex, reader gets high and is high for the second half of the chapter (based on my experiences & understanding of weed)

A/N: 6673 words. OH WE ARE SO BACK. we get to spend more time with farleigh this chapter, i love him so very much omg. also the reader's experiences/behaviour while stoned is definitely reflective of my experience, and everyone experiences these things differently so that's that. also felix being down So Bad for the reader when they're high because of how fucking adorable he thinks they are??? man is In Love. but please, leave a comment letting me know how we're feeling about getting back into it after a break for some AU and oneshot shenanigans! next chapter will be from oliver's POV and im THRILLED about it.

TAGLIST IN COMMENTS!! // TAGLIST ALWAYS OPEN ! (just message or comment to be added)

----

On your first morning back at Saltburn, you wake to the smell of cigarette smoke. Felix is beside you, sitting up against his headboard, cigarette in one hand and book in the other. Groggily you lean over, bumping your forehead to his lowered elbow, and he smiles down at you. In the morning light, Felix is ethereal; at Saltburn, in his element, completely relaxed and at home, he glows.

You'd lost count of how many times you'd woken up next to him, it feels like hundreds, possibly thousands at this point, but something about this, the thousand and first, is different. Is better. Soon enough this dream-space will be broken by the idea of breakfast, and the anticipation of Oliver arriving, but right now you bask in this one, tiny piece of perfect.

Your room.

"My Felix," you mumble mostly to yourself in the morning light. It's more like a sigh, like a dreamy reminder of the Summer to come. Felix goes pink, which you don't even see, eyes closed and wearing a blissful, sleepy expression, half pressed to the pillow by his side.

You'll never be entirely privy to the ongoing thoughts of Felix Catton, no matter how well it may seem that you can read them. But you've always wondered. Sometimes you ask, and you know he wouldn't lie to you, but you always find yourself curious about the things he leaves unsaid. Not now, of course, now you're falling back asleep, but it's moments like this, moments you wonder about how he perceives the vague, offhand possessiveness - or overt possessiveness, if that afternoon you'd spent meticulously marking him said anything - you so frequently display. It's not always intentional. You wonder if he's ever found it off-putting.

It's never been a conversation the two of you have outright had; why not me? Why not only me? It's never had to be asked; beautiful, fanciful people should not be confined. What a shallow answer. Because you are the home I will always come back to, I promise, I promise, I promise. But there's no way to say that out loud. There never has been, even if you've both known it for years.

But none of that plagues you now; the bed and the early morning are both pleasantly warm. The heat from Felix sitting beside you is as comforting and familiar as is the smell of his cigarette amongst the fresh air from the open window. You're drifting back off for what little more sleep you could capture before the day begins, and you don't see the way Felix is watching you in this moment.

There are no eyes on Felix now, no-one to watch, no-one to judge. No-one else who knows how you smile when you sleep next to him.

Breakfast has everyone else in the house buzzing. Venetia's hungry-eyed across the table from Farleigh, her food practically untouched as she demanded as much information from him as possible after complaining about you and Felix being stubbornly tight-lipped. As you hear them gossip, you and Felix share an exasperated look at the edge of the room, you with two plates of food and him with two steaming mugs, before you both head back to the table.

"Y/N, dear," Elspeth cuts over Farleigh's sarcastic remarks about Oliver's fashion choices the minute you settle yourself down. Looking to her with a polite smile, as was custom, she smiles back, "Duncan has put together our Summer event schedule for you, would you still like it to be left in the lilac study?" You nod, quiet and grateful, trying to start on your breakfast before she adds, "as always we've made particular note of the events which your parents have been included as part of the guest list for, so please do just let us know ahead of time whether you plan to be in attendance also -"

"Mum," Felix hissed, to which Elspeth looked rather confused and startled, as if she couldn't understand what she'd done wrong. Pamela, as ginger as you'd ever seen her, and clearly having come back to the house despite not having been here over Christmas, looks to you with that doe-eyed softness that she always seem to have.

"Darling, I didn't know you had parents," she mused with her trademark far-away tone of voice. Her words, however, set off both Farleigh and Venetia, who couldn't help but laugh, and even Felix was grinning behind his mug.

"Of course they have parents, Pamela," Elspeth whispered loudly to her, clearly embarrassed on the woman's behalf, while you just tried to enjoy breakfast, and the absurdity of it all.

"No, I always thought-" Pamela frowned for a minute, looking between Elspeth and Sir James, "aren't they one of yours?" Her gaze turning back upon you, then to Felix next to you, "I recall something about you two being twins, isn't that right?"

"No, dear, that's not -" Elspeth is desperately trying to salvage the conversation despite Venetia all but crying with laughter. Both yourself and Felix, after sharing a vaguely horrified look about the whole situation, try to focus on your breakfasts, even as Elspeth continues, "Pamela please don't say something so crass at the table."

"What's crass about the idea of Y/N and Felix being twins, Auntie Elspeth?" Farleigh asks, wearing a smile that's all teeth as his Aunt freezes momentarily. Venetia's laughing has gone past the point of being audible.

Felix chokes on the coffee he's been trying to hide behind, right as your eggs go down your windpipe and send you into a coughing fit.

"When was Oliver set to arrive again?" Sir James asks like he's absolutely oblivious to the situation that has arisen at his breakfast table, instead lowering his paper to smile brightly at his son.

"Um," Felix takes half a moment to compose himself once more, before levelling a weak smile at his father, "I believe his train gets in at three."

"Wonderful," ever enthusiastic, James nods, "we'll have a car sent out and waiting for him." As if the Cattons have ever made anyone catch a taxi if they didn't have a town car of their own. Forever eager to be the perfect hosts.

"Do you think he even knows what a town car is?" Farleigh asks disdainfully, which sets Elspeth off and cooing about the sorry state of their upcoming guest, while you attempted to swat Farleigh's arm for his comment.

"Hey, no," he leans out of your reach, all but oozing contempt at the reminder of Oliver's impending arrival, "you're my ally in this today, you promised; no being bitchy about my opinions just because I don't want to save a horse, ride a pauper like you do -" even as you snap at him, the eyes of most of the table are on you in an instant.

"Farleigh," you snarled under your breath, feeling yourself growing flustered.

"You're a dreadful fucking pest," Felix frowns at his cousin around you, but Farleigh merely shrugged without even a shred of remorse. Several pairs of newly intrigued eyes are still fixed on you.

"Felix had mentioned that you were fond of Oliver, pet, isn't that right?" Elspeth began tentatively. You kind of wished your chair would spontaneously collapse beneath you, if only to give everyone something else to talk about. Alas, it remained sturdy, and you remained pinned like a butterfly beneath Elspeth and Venetia's gazes, "I never really thought to ask what you thought of the boy, which is foolish of me, he's your friend too, is he not?"

"Clearly," Venetia said, smile surprisingly wolfish.

Oliver's constantly searching eyes shine blue as the sky in your mind. Everything Oliver Quick says, does, and is, seems so deliberate; he's constantly a man with more thoughts than words, so you know that what he chooses to say always has meaning. You love that he's capable of directness that so many others will shy away from, but is able to chatter through small talk if it's to be had. He can read a room and let it affect his approach without feeling the need to change himself; that's why so many of your friends back at Oxford found him so off-putting. It's one of the things you loved about him.

Oliver is Oliver at the club, at the pub, walking to class, in the grocery store listening to you and Felix argue about pasta sauce, in your bed, smiling at you and kissing you and murmuring the kinds of things to you that none's ever taken the time to say, the kinds of things that makes your heart beat hard against your ribs and in your throat in a way that you don't get from people who aren't Felix anymore -

"Uh, yeah, he's a good friend," you shrug and try to seem as nonplussed about the discussion as you're able to, while your eyes are all but burning holes into your plate, "he's really quite lovely, and he's got such a beautiful, unique face; I think you'll be very charmed by him, Elspeth." Beside you, Felix coughs very deliberately to cover a laugh.

Chancing a glance at him, you're both pleased and vaguely mortified to see, not the jealousy you would have seen perhaps a week ago during a discussion like this where he is privy to far too much information about your feelings regarding Oliver. Instead, you see your best friend trying not to laugh at your casual act knowing your casual 'he's a good friend' and 'he's really quite lovely' actual means 'I've been absolutely railed by the young gentleman coming to stay at our house, so yes you could say I adore him'. This is much better than the jealousy. This is one of the many reasons you love having Felix as a best friend. You also desperately wished you weren't at the breakfast table with the entire rest of his family.

Elspeth, however, seems pleased enough by the answer to let you finish your breakfast in peace. Felix does too, but he's wearing this amused little knowing smile the entire time. Okay, if it means Felix isn't being weird and jealous about it, you'll take it.

After breakfast, you allow Farleigh to pull you outside to the picnic table you'd had installed in the middle of your favourite flower garden. He'd asked you to paint his nails, promising to return the favour, claiming to desperately want to spend his last hours of freedom surrounded by beauty while he could.

"You're mad at me," he says bluntly as you're concentrating on painting the nails on his left hand black. Like Freddy Mercury used to, he'd told you.

"No..." you murmured distractedly, trying to wipe carefully at where you'd gotten a bit on his skin.

"You don't have to be here," Farleigh could be heard rolling his eyes, and as you dipped the brush back into the bottle, you paused for a moment, looking up at him in genuine confusion.

"You asked me to spend time with you today," like it's the simplest thing in the world.

"You are aware that you're not actually a robot, right?" It surprises you how genuinely concerned he looks in this moment, leaning forwards, as if proximity would better impart the importance of his words, "you don't have to do just what everyone says; you have free will."

Looking down at the bottle, as if to continue your work and not to hide your expression, you once again tell him that you know. You move onto the next nail, and Farleigh falls silent.

It is beautiful out here. The garden itself that you found yourselves in was actually considered to be yours. It had been a birthday gift from James and Elspeth after hearing some of your idle musings as a late teen. It was an overwhelming offer, one you'd tried to turn down countless times; there were books about the Saltburn Estate as it was, they shouldn't allow you to alter it in any way! But they'd been terribly insistent. Our home is your home. You won't even lie; you started crying on the spot at that.

They'd asked you if you wanted to hire people to get it all taken care of, and while you'd accepted in part, the actual planting and initial maintaining of the garden itself was something you put an entire Summer into.

A circular design with a beautiful vine-covered arch as it's entrance, two thick rows of flowers in various shades of pinks, blues, purples, and whites bordering the outside, with a bubbling stream separating them. Smooth stones lead through the arch to a circular opening of lush, green grass, itself encircled by another small stream. The picnic bench sat at the back of the inner circle, while several small white chairs and benches with ornate tables between them sat either side, still leaving a generous patch of grass that you'd often had picnics on in the years since it's creation.

When you had come back over the following break after the garden had been completed, you see that a single statue had been placed flush against the back of the picnic table, between it and the edge of the stream, fitting perfectly. Far more understated than most of the other statues littering the Saltburn estate, it was of a young woman, her hair tied back and looking even to be quite short if you looked at it the right way, in a surprisingly shapeless toga, arm raised, hand poise to her mouth as if she's about to eat whatever's in her hand. Four large seeds. The figure looks gleeful at the prospect of eating them. The figure kind of almost looks like you. But you've always brushed it off; you're not that vain.

The Cattons have always had loved their mythology.

The family called it the Fairy Ring Garden, and Elspeth especially enjoyed hosting gatherings there.

Now, it was peaceful, just as Farleigh had hoped, smelling sweet even when the flowers weren't all in their full bloom. You cap the bottle, reaching for the top coat.

"They're not going to kick you out," Farleigh breaks the silence as you're shaking up the formula and waiting for his nails to dry. But his words have you stopping dead.

"I never said I thought they would..." you say slowly, while something uncomfortable begins to gnaw at your stomach. Farleigh's expression, while unimpressed at what he knows is a lie, is still full of that concern.

"But you do think it."

Logically, rationally, you know they won't. But you also know that you can't even bring yourself to say it in a way that was believable. Farleigh's looking at you like you're a puzzle he can't even being to solve, a friend with a problem he doesn't know how to talk through. So you ignore the comment altogether.

"I am mad at you," you say instead, looking up at him with a humourless smile.

"About... this?" He frowns.

"About implying that I have the hots for Oliver at the breakfast table, you dick," and you got back to shaking the nail polish as Farleigh laughs in that sharp and familiar way that breaks all the rest of the tension.

"I was not expecting breakfast to be such a shitshow," he wheezes with laughter, his free hand coming to rest on his chest as he kept his hand with it's black nails still on the table for you, "Pamela is a riot, God I love her."

"Where did she get the impression that Fi and I were twins?" You crows with amusement, which just set Farleigh off again, "and Elspeth's horror at the thought - did you see her face?!"

"I'm not even lying to you, I didn't realise she like, actually knew you and Felix were boning until she made that comment to Pamela -" Farleigh grinned with a scandalous little gasp.

"I hardly did either, except yesterday she got all weird about Fi and I officially sharing a room while Oliver was here, and it was clearly because she knew we sleep together; I have no idea how much she knows, or how long she's known, but she definitely knows," you offered with a smirk, while Farleigh ate up the gossip with glee.

As your focus returned to your work on the final layer of polish on his fingers, the conversation died down for several, serene minutes.

"Felix is going to show Oliver to his room when he arrives -" Farleigh's voice was unfortunately once more laced with disdain.

"Can I ask what your genuine problem is with him?"

It's quiet, but there's a distinct, irate hum from across the table after half a minute. Farleigh, when you glance up at him, is frowning down at his fingers, at you painting the final one, carefully cultivating his thoughts.

"There is an inherent unwillingness to engage in the stylistic aspects of, well, everything, despite how he is a constant, lurking watcher of the world, and must still see the value that is placed on it, that I find... off-putting," he says very carefully, and the minutes you've finished his nails, he picks up the base coat from the table and starts shaking it, waiting for you to present your hands for him to return the favour. "He acts like this weak, little mouse, but he's the cat, always watching every fucking thing, judging all of us but pretending like he's not and he's innocent. He's like you, but at least you're upfront about it," it's not a surprise when he finishes your first hand and looks up to gauge your reaction.

It's the second time someone's compared you to Oliver. Somehow you think you like this comparison better. Still, it feels strange to hear. Farleigh only waits for half a second, however, before he starts on the next hand.

"You..." you too carefully pick your next words, "have clearly put some thought into this."

"Adriana is going to hear a lot about Oliver tomorrow in our session; I'm trying to put some of the work in before I get there," he says flatly, though you can't help but genuinely smile.

"Adriana?"

"Therapist; phone session scheduled for tomorrow. Organised it before I knew about yours and Felix's little coup of my Summer, but I'm more than glad for it now."

"You're still going to those sessions? Good for you, man."

"Yeah, mom and Uncle James thought it might help me stick it out at Oxford," he sucks his teeth loudly for a second, "guess they were right." Then, without even looking up, "she still think you need therapy too," he practically sings, and you hum noncommittally. Farleigh's mentioned once or twice that the few times he'd brought you up in his own sessions, his therapist had seemed reasonably concerned about you. You had chosen to ignore it before, and you would continue ignoring it now.

"You brought weed, right?" That was the other thing about the Fairy Circle Garden, it was tradition to get high if it was any combination of the four of you children. Farleigh grins as he finishes off your left hand, both because your obvious attempt to dodge his statement, and because yeah, obviously.

"Let me finish your nails first; did you bring your iPod?"

"Of course."

You'd chosen a pale, gold polish, something almost close to a cream colour, that sparkled in the light, and spent the entire time Farleigh was furiously searching his pockets for his lighter admiring them.

In the afternoon sun, you and Farleigh lay in the grass of the Fairy Circle Garden, sharing a joint and listen to a shuffled mix of Queen songs. Elspeth had put one of their albums on after dinner, which the whole family let themselves enjoy, and it had been on all your minds ever since.

"Can I ask you something?" Farleigh mumbles, holding his hand up to the sky to admire the shiny, black polish adorning his nails.

"My dearest Fars," you grinned widely at him, "you can ask me anything ever in the world; it's me, you know this, but -" you turn faux serious, though only for a second, taking back the almost finished joint, "now you can ask me anything." And you breathe deeply, letting the smoke sit in your lungs, passing the last of it back to Farleigh. He takes his time, however, and your head swirls the longer you let the smoke settle in your lungs.

"I genuinely cannot picture Oliver being any fucking good in bed," he blurts out, and turns to you; unfortunately there's a look in his eyes that's genuine rather than disdainful, "granted," he amends, seemingly actually reasonable about this, "sometimes my mind does replace him with the puppet version of Pinocchio, from the cartoon - I'm actually not trying to be mean here, my brain just does that -" while you're actually rolling on the grass with laughter, both from his apparent situation, but also because the weed has definitely already hit you.

"Farleigh, oh my god -"

"Stop it," he's starting to sound genuinely distressed, "I've had sex with you, I know what you've got going on down there; I can't stop vividly imagining you getting puppet dick!" Your attempts to comfort him aren't particularly successful when you're still cackling even as you try and hug him. At least he accepts it, returns your hug despite sulking at your continued laughter. Then, and you can actually hear him getting over his distressed bit as he adds, "it's wooden, right? And it grows like his nose?"

It takes you a full five minutes to calm down from your laughter once more, but at least this time Farleigh's laughing too.

"Christ, Fars -" you're wiping tears of laughter from your eyes, sitting up, your legs crossed. Farleigh is still stretched out, lounging on his side and propped up on his elbow, "I'm never going to be able to watch Pinocchio again."

"Now you know how I feel," he shrugs, "and that was before I knew you'd -"

"Whatever weird, possible puppet-based euphemism -"

"Oh, you know me so well," he smirked, though the look in his eyes is warm.

"- I'll pass on," a lull comes in the conversation, and you lay yourself back once more. Checking your watch, you're surprised that there's still quite some time before lunch, "why would I lie?" You lower your arm, and prop your hands behind your head. Farleigh makes a confused noise, "about Oliver; do you think I'm lying?"

"My dearest Y/N," he echoes your tone and affection from minutes earlier, before sliding to his more familiar cadence, "you can, will, and have gotten in bed with every person who's caught your fancy. I have watched you transcend sexuality literally all over the globe, and I know from countless personal experiences - thank you by the way - that you rate sex by how good you can make your partner feel," he looks up at you for just a moment where he's laying on his back like he's remembering those countless personal experiences and you do not have the self restraint to not roll onto your side to face him, to watch him. Farleigh both knows what you're doing, while also finally making his point; "I don't think Oliver Quick is good in bed, I think you just made that man find God."

It's quite the compliment, and if it were anyone else, he'd probably be right.

"Fars-" your smile widens bashfully, and he has to close his eyes for a moment, shaking his head.

"Don't say my name like that, you're derailing the conversation," he mumbles, sounding rather bashful.

"Like what?"

"The way you do when you're high," he huffs an embarrassed breath, cracking an eye open to look at you. You hadn't realised that there was any special way that you would say it, but you apologise faintly, shifting yourself to lay at an angle, your head on his chest, facing him. Farleigh closes his eyes again, wearing a faint smile as he runs his fingertips up and down your arm in a soothing, repetitive gesture. Which does nothing but feel like teasing in your current state.

"Why do you care so much about Oliver's dick-game?" You try and focus. It catches Farleigh off guard, judging by his bark of laughter.

"As you have so thoroughly pointed out at least twice by now, the man has a limited number of features that would be arguably hot on someone with a better personality -"

"Oh, right," you nodded, "your repressed crush on my poor friend who you hate," tone flat, you brace for whatever response you know you will get, but still yelp when you receive a hard pinch on the arm. "Those are some big words, by the way; Adriana should give you a gold star - ow! Fine!" You pout, doing your best to cross your arms despite not actually moving yourself from Farleigh. It takes a few beats, but you hear the faintest laugh echo in Farleigh's chest, and moments later he returns to idly running his fingers up and down your arm.

The moment settles around you both, and you let your eyes fall closed. This moment of contentment almost mirrors the one from this morning, but your head swirls too much for it to be entirely perfect.

"I'm not lying," you finally say. Farleigh makes a noise of interest. Eyes still closed, you're kind of willing to bet his are too, "you said so yourself; Oliver's like me, he... watches," you wet your lips, hesitating for a moment, "he listens."

"But you listen," Farleigh says like the equation isn't adding up in his mind. God why did you have to talk about this in the first place, now all you can think about is Oliver, Oliver, Oliver -

Harder, he'd actually listened. Hold me here. Listened. This angle. You can bend me like this. Pull. Bite. Move. Fuck.

You had to open your eyes; Farleigh is watching you, half seemingly aroused by whatever picture he has in his head, half still relatively confused. Every sensation in your mind feels tenfold right now, you could have said any number of things to prove your point, but there's one that sticks. Slowly, you sit up, half bracing yourself over Farleigh, hands planted in the grass either side of him as your silhouette blocks the sun from his face.

"Fars," you've already forgotten that there's something about that nickname that always gets him, even soft and serious like this, "Ollie's the first person outside of Felix who's made me cum before they've gotten the chance to finish in my entire memory."

Farleigh, who'd been grinning up at you, gently running his fingertips across your cheek and down your jaw, actually looks a little stunned.

"That can't be right." He mutters faintly. Your answering expression is grim and telling, "oh my god," with the exact tone of someone discovering shocking, world altering news about situations far less trivial, but the apology in his eyes and faint horror in his voice is rather amusing.

"Doomed to the life of a - what did you call me that one time?" You grinned despite yourself, sitting back a little, "a service bottom?"

"Oh my god I definitely did!" Farleigh lights up at the memory, glad too for the breaking of tension once more, and you rather eagerly add.

"So it was nice to be, you know, be listened to, taken care of the way I kind of take care of people?" You try to put it to words, "but I still- uh, I think I was just a regular- um -"

"Oliver Quick; service top," Farleigh muses like it's of great importance, which is enough to make you laugh once more. But your arms are getting tired of holding you up, and your self restraint is worn past the point of no return, so finally you lean down to kiss him. Farleigh grins against your lips, "hey."

"Hi," you murmur, everything about you radiating a syrupy kind of fondness, "I'm not mad at you."

"Clearly," Farleigh chuckles faintly, pulling you back in. The second day of Summer and it feels like freedom already, and of Summers long passed. Getting high and making out in the Fairy Circle Garden is not an unfamiliar experience, and you'd always considered it a good way to pass the time. In your mind, it seems like a great idea at the time to share another joint together; you end up with Farleigh's knee between your thighs by the time you realise that you're almost late for lunch.

"Oh my god, Fars, they're going to kill us," you couldn't contain your laughter as you briskly made your way back to the house.

"Wait, wait, wait!" Farleigh called out from a few feet behind, and you stopped, looking at him with concern for his urgent tone. Instead, he swooped in with a grin to give you one more kiss before passing you, "they're not going to care," he adds.

"They're so going to care!" You hissed, voice a guilty mix of concerned and amused as you stepped into the house. Then, after a moment, "I care if they know!"

"That is not something I can help you with, pet," Farleigh shrugged, "but I think they might care about the grass stains on our clothes." And with that he swans away, radiating a bright confidence that you can't help but be endeared by in this moment, that distracts you, if only for a second, from your nerves.

Back in your room, the nerves set in tenfold when you find Felix to be there as well.

"How's Farleigh coping?" He asks with a pleasant smile.

Be totally cool and stealthy and not high right before Oliver's meant to arrive. You can do this.

"Surprisingly well," you responded cheerfully, raising your hands to show off your nails, "we listened to Queen," maybe a non sequitur, but not an incriminating one, you tell yourself, "and..." frowning for a moment, you pull at the shoulder of your shirt, trying to examine it for the grassy faux par Farleigh had been accusing you of. As you're trying to figure out if you really do need to change, it appears that your mouth takes on a mind of it's own, adding, distractedly, "... grass stains. Fi-" you look to him with sudden intensity, not having realised that in your attempt to see the back of your shirt, you'd tried to turn to get a better look, like a dog chasing it's own tail, "Fi, is there grass on me?"

Felix, taking you by the shoulders to steady you, is giving you a truly bemused look. It's enough for you to already be pulling away from him, stripping off your shirt to look in your drawers.

"I'm going to kill Farleigh," but you can hear his exasperation is highly coloured with amusement. He chuckles faintly, "and you, probably."

"Ooh~" you mused mostly to yourself, "see, I told Farleigh this would happen," you clicked your tongue as you squinted into the drawer for the perfect replacement. Then, very suddenly, you processed all of what Felix had said; "and boo, don't kill me," you pout, pulling out a button down and taking a few moments to check the size on the tag to see if it was yours or Felix's, "I'm capable of a great many things, Felix," you tell him matter-of-factly as you pull the shirt on. Satisfied with your change in wardrobe, you look to see him sitting on the end of the bed, looking thankfully endeared by your antics, "and we're late to lunch, almost," despite how you strode over to him with purpose, standing yourself between his legs, arms draped around his neck, "poor form showing up late, covered in blood, and with a dead friend in the other room;" he can't help himself, he laughs, wrapping his arms around your waist, looking up at you with the most loving exasperation in his eyes. However the sound of his laughter is absolutely what you would consider a victory, "see, don't kill me I'm occasionally funny."

"You're so fucking high." He laughed a little helplessly. Drat. At least he seemed to find it funny, leaning forward to press his face against your chest for a long moment as he let out a faint sigh. Felix is warm, his breath on your skin through the fibres of your shirt, his arms around you, knees pressed against your legs; Summer is sweltering, and if he were anyone else you'd be extracting yourself in an instant, but you want to melt into him in this moment.

"Shh," you stage whispered, petting his head, "don't tell Felix, we've got an important guest arriving today," and he looks up to see the apologetic smile you wear as you run your fingers through his hair. You drop the bit, "it seemed like a good idea at the time, then I..." you hummed for a moment, frowning, "lost track of... it. Time."

Felix's gaze softens as he looks at you, eyes shiny and pupils blown wide, holding him so tenderly. Does he even know that he looks at you like that? Does he know how much it means to you?

"You make it frustratingly difficult to - we have lunch-" he has to firmly remind you, even though he is grinning and endeared by your antics, as you bring one leg up over his, knee settling beside him on the bed. Your smile is only guilty because you know it should be, not because you feel any kind of actual guilt. You bring your knee off the bed, but are now straddling his thigh.

"We have lunch," you parrot back with a nod. But Felix's hands are still on you, still wrapped around you and holding you to him, watching you with this look like he's endeared, like he's almost mesmerised by you in this moment; you, who keeps echoing 'we have lunch' until it starts to lose all meaning, and you kind of forget that you're still just standing in your room with Felix, until you're chanting those three words under your breath like a little song that you're bopping along to. Any real thoughts had absolutely left your head about a minute ago.

Felix is watching you with that look in his eyes like he's never loved anyone more in his life.

"I am so hungry," you finally broke out of your little, strange trace, before lighting up, "oh my god we have lunch!" Suddenly enthused, as if you'd forgotten the entire few minutes that had just passed, you step back. Taking Felix's hands, you pull him to his feet as he laughs sweetly, "come on," tugging him through the halls, he lets you lead him by the hand, "once we finish lunch it means its almost time to see Ollie, and we love Ollie!"

Very suddenly three rooms away from the dining hall, you stop. The pace you'd set was eager, so Felix practically crashes into you without a warning, and has to catch you both on a doorframe. You've got your hands flat on his chest, the airy, pale linen shirt he'd chosen for the warm day, staring at them as he's braced over you. Then, very suddenly, your focused expression breaks into a smile like the sun from behind a cloud, looking up at him with absolute joy.

"We match."

He looks down; your nails, his shirt, almost identical shades, though your nails still sparkle faintly.

"I should have said I was stopping," you added, though neither of you had moved. You were still looking at your hands; "I should say more of the things that I think in my head out loud." Then, after a long few moments, and Felix continuing to indulge you, he hears you mutter, "I can feel your heartbeat in my hands."

You should definitely move and go to lunch and not stand here and be close to Felix for an infinite amount of time even if you know that Felix loves you and would definitely indulge you and would let you stay in this space and this moment and this close to him forever and ever if you asked. None of which you say out loud. Instead, what comes out is -

"I like that we match," and you drag your hands down his chest to take the hem of his shirt between your fingers, momentarily tugging on it as Felix finally stepped back.

"You're an absolute terror," he says fondly, taking your hand.

"Yes, but I'm your terror, fuck-o," you tell him with a childish kind of glee, and Felix was rather glad you couldn't see the way the silly little sentiment had made him melt.

As much as he adored the way you became overwhelmingly talkative, loving, and bold whilst high, he still had to stop you both outside of the dining hall to remind you to tone it down.

"Mum and dad can't know," Felix insisted, and you nodded very seriously.

"Mum and dad can't know," you agreed in a whisper, collecting your composure as best you could. For the record, you did pretty good; you didn't serve yourself an ungodly amount of food despite how hungry you were, you used the correct knives and forks even if it took you about twenty seconds of squinting to identify which would be best, and you made a point to be pretty much monosyllabic in conversation. It was working. For the most part.

"It's such a wonderful day, such a lovely omen," Sir James cheerfully gazed through the large windows in the dining hall, clearly glad for the sun.

"Yes, I forgot how beautiful it is to see you all taking advantage of the grounds on days like today," Elspeth added, "I think I saw you two heading out there," looking up, you see her gesturing to yourself and Farleigh with a polite smile, "how was it?"

"A beautiful place to cope with Oliver's impending arrival," Farleigh says through a humourless smile. Venetia leaned over her plate to leer at you both.

"Fucking in the Fairy Garden again?"

"No," you replied arguably too forcefully, mouth half full of food and gaze focused on your plate, terrified of giving away your state right now. Pamela, across the table, spluttered into her tea.

"Venetia," Elspeth admonished, scandalised. However, as much as you were trying to act normal, considering your relationship with three of the individuals at the table, it didn't register until it was too late that your normal may not be everyone's normal at the table -

"It's the middle of the day, Ven, I have a sense of propriety when the sun can see me," then, clearly losing your grip on self restraint while Venetia grins upon seeing her mother's exasperated face momentarily in her hands, you leaned a touch closer to Farleigh, "oh, and Felix is going to kill you."

"I'll add it to my calendar," Farleigh rolls his eyes with a smirk.

"I'm going to kill you both," Felix himself chimes in blithely.

"See, I told you so," you again leaned in to Farleigh, who just gave you a fond, amused smile in response.

"What?" Comes Elspeth in the lull, unsurprisingly befuddled, "Felix, darling, why are you killing your cousin and Y/N?"

"No reason!" You respond jauntily with a sincere, sweet smile. It seems like Elspeth's trying to decide if she should be concerned or not. After a long moment, she decides to accept that it's a joke.

"Well don't do it where I can see," she sits back primly, "or if you must, I request it not be bloody."

"I'll exsanguinate myself in preparation," Farleigh says flatly without missing a beat. No-one at the table had been expecting anything like that, and the mood breaks, turning as light as the sky outside, with the sound of everyone's laughter.

#felix catton x reader x oliver quick #felix catton x reader #saltburn x reader #saltburn imagine #felix catton imagine #felix catton x y/n #felix catton x you #oliver quick x reader #farleigh start x reader #farleigh start imagine #oliver quick imagine #oliver quick x y/n #oliver quick x you #head heart hand fic #manic writer

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differentpostrebel · 10 months ago

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Lost and Found: A Pirate’s Promise

Chapter 10: Navigating the Unknown: Destination Punk Hazard

Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 (Here)

AN: Chapter 10 is finally here! Im not gonna lie Im inspired to continue to write more so Chapter 11 might get dropped early today! This is a relatively short chapter. But its needed for the plot. Like always the chapters are all linked! And without further ado, heres chapter 10.

Y/N is an established pirate and a formidable warrior, with the third highest bounty in the Straw Hat crew. She's not just another member; her strength and skills have earned her a respected spot among the crew.

Sanji, our favorite lovesick cook, falls head over heels for Y/N almost immediately. True to his nature, he tries every trick in the book to catch her attention, from cooking her favorite meals to showering her with compliments. On the other hand, Y/N may have a small crush on Sanji, but she’s cautious and focused on her goals as a pirate.

As the story progresses, that small crush gradually blossoms into something more profound, but their journey together won't be easy. With the chaos of the New World looming, the dangers they face will test their bond and loyalty to each other. Will their love be strong enough to survive the trials ahead, or will the perils of their pirate life tear them apart?

Get ready for an emotional rollercoaster filled with angst, action, and a dash of romance. I'm thrilled to take you on this adventure with Y/N, Sanji, and the rest of the Straw Hat crew!

Word Count: 2.8K

Sanji x Y/N, OP X Reader, Sanji x Reader

Chapter 10: Navigating the Unknown: Destination Punk Hazard

Our journey to Fishman Island was both rewarding and crucial, as we uncovered key information that will shape our adventure ahead. The island faced a major upheaval as an anti-human faction of fishmen, led by Hordy Jones, ignited a rebellion to stop cooperation between merfolk and humans. Fortunately, Luffy managed to defeat Hordy, and we took down the New Fishman Pirates, restoring peace to the island.

Robin discovered a crucial Poneglyph that revealed the tale of Joy Boy and his ancient promise to the royal family of Fishman Island. It also spoke of Poseidon, an ancient weapon, which turned out to be none other than Princess Shirahoshi herself, possessing the incredible power to command the Sea Kings.

After the dust settled, Luffy offered Jimbei a spot in our crew, but Jimbei declined, explaining his need to first sever ties with the Big Mom. Meanwhile, the rebellion had caused significant damage, including the destruction of the candy factory, which left Fishman Island unable to fulfill its monthly candy quota to Big Mom. In response, Luffy stepped in to protect the island from her wrath. When Big Mom herself made contact, Luffy boldly declared, "I'm ready to kick your ass!" and hung up the transponder snail with confidence. I placed a hand on his shoulder and told him, "This is going to be a good fight, Captain."

After freeing Fishman Island from Hordy’s grip, Neptune and the royal family threw us a grand celebratory banquet. But, I know what some of you are wondering—what about me and Sanji? Well, the truth is, Sanji didn't exactly live up to his promise. Not only did he flirt with almost every mermaid in sight, but he also went as far as turning to stone for the Princess herself!

Sanji was pulling his usual stunts on all the women, completely forgetting the promise he made to me. I had to pull him aside and tell him, "Sanji, it's clear you can't control yourself. Maybe it's better if we just stay friends instead of being in a relationship."

Sanji, of course, wasn't thrilled with that idea. He looked at me, his eyes wide with shock. "But Y/N, I— I can change! Please, just give me another chance."

I sighed, trying to keep my voice calm. "Sanji, it's not about changing who you are. But if you can prove to me that you can control yourself, that you can keep your promises... then maybe, just maybe, I'll give you another chance."

Sanji's eyes lit up with a glimmer of hope. "You mean it, Y/N? I'll do whatever it takes, I swear."

I nodded, though there was a part of me that remained cautious. "Actions speak louder than words, Sanji. Show me that you can keep your word, and we'll see where things go."

Sanji opened his mouth to say something else but I could tell this decision weighed heavily on him.

Now, as we set sail for Punk Hazard, I find myself sitting with Zoro, sharing some sake and venting about what happened with Sanji.

"I just don’t get it, Zoro," I say, taking a swig from my cup. "He promised, you know? But then he went right back to his old ways like it didn’t mean anything."

Zoro smirks, his eyes sharp as he refills our cups. "That's just how the cook is. Can't keep his nose out of trouble, especially when it comes to women. But if you ask me, you’re better off not getting tangled up in all that."

I nod, appreciating his straightforwardness. "Yeah, maybe you're right. Just feels like a mess, you know?"

Zoro takes a long sip, his gaze shifting to the horizon. "Stick to what matters—fighting and getting stronger. Everything else is just noise. Besides, you deserve someone who won’t make you feel like an idiot, Y/N."

His words hit me harder than I expected, leaving me momentarily speechless. I looked at him, but he just stared ahead, as if what he said was the most obvious thing in the world.

I let his words settle in, the truth of them resonating deeply. Maybe he was right. Maybe I did deserve better—someone who wouldn't make me second-guess myself, someone who wouldn't break promises. I stayed quiet, just letting what Zoro said stay with me as we sailed onward toward whatever challenges awaited us at Punk Hazard.

Just then, I overhear Nami on the other end of the ship, her voice tinged with concern as she talks to Franky. “There’s something seriously wrong about this place. The fish are dead!” she says, her tone rising with alarm. “They’re all bone!”

Brook, ever the optimist, chimes in with his usual humor. “And what’s wrong with that, hmmm?” He laughs, his skeletal form perfectly matching the description. The absurdity of the situation makes me chuckle, and I was about to take another sip of the sake when a distressing sound interrupts us—a cry of someone in distress.

“You guys, check this out!” Luffy’s voice echoes through the hall, filled with curiosity. “Looks like the transponder snail picked up a signal,” says Sanji, who had just walked in. He notices me entering with Zoro beside me and quickly looks away, his earlier bravado deflated.

“What’s wrong, buddy?” Luffy asks the transponder snail, already itching to take action. “Should I pick it up and see if they need help?”

“Wait, Luffy,” Robin interjects, her voice calm but firm. “This is often a trick used by the Navy to lure pirates. Once you pick up, they can pinpoint your signal and launch a surprise attack.”

But, in true Luffy fashion, he doesn’t hesitate. Before anyone can stop him, he picks up the call, leaving all of us stunned. “My name is Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m going to be King of the Pirates!” he declares with unwavering determination.

Usopp and Nami immediately smack him on the head, yelling in unison, “Don’t tell them all that!”

The voice on the other end of the transponder snail is weak and filled with desperation. “Someone help! Please, it’s cold! We need Boss! My friends are getting cut down! One after another! The Samurai is going to kill us!”

“Where are you?” Luffy demands, his concern evident as he grips the snail tighter.

“Please, hurry! We’re on the island… Punk Hazard,” the voice continues, before it ends in a chilling scream, followed by the sickening sound of gurgling blood.

The room falls silent as we all process what we just heard. I exchange a glance with Zoro, my heart racing.

Luffy, now hanging up the call, says with a grin, "Hmm, sounds like trouble is brewing out there."

Usopp’s face pales as he waves his hands frantically. "What do you mean, trouble?! He’s dead! That scream... it wasn't acting!"

Robin crosses her arms, her expression calm yet cautious. "Maybe he was acting, and this could be a trap. The Navy isn’t above using desperate measures to catch pirates."

"Whatever it is, it doesn't seem good," I add, glancing at the group. The uneasy atmosphere is palpable as we all look towards the flames rising from the distant island, the seawater connected to an icy landscape. The contrast is eerie, foreboding.

"The guy mentioned Punk Hazard," Franky speaks up, his mechanical eye zooming in on the island. "You think this is the place?"

Robin nods, her gaze fixed on the distant shore. "Most definitely. Those transponder snails have limited range, so it’s likely we’re close."

“Let’s fight through the fire and help him!” Luffy cheers, already fired up for the challenge ahead.

I glance around, seeing the worry etched on everyone’s faces. The unknown is always the scariest part, but Luffy’s infectious energy makes it hard not to feel a bit braver. Despite the fear in the air, Luffy just laughs, confident as ever, as we approach the ominous island of Punk Hazard.

But as we near the island, none of us could have known that another enemy was also making their way to Punk Hazard

Marine G-5:

“My name is Monkey D. Luffy, and I’m going to be King of the Pirates!” “Dont tell him that!” “Were on the island.. Punk Hazard!! We dont have much time left!”

Tashigi’s eyes widened as she recognized the voice. “That’s Luffy!” she exclaimed, her hand tightening on the hilt of her sword.

“Punk Hazard, huh?” Vice-Admiral Smoker muttered, looking down at his log pose. His face was serious, but there was a flicker of something close to satisfaction in his eyes. “Damn, not the most ideal place, but at least we know where the Straw Hats ended up.”

He paused, thinking back to the recent events. “Makes sense, considering the battle at Fishman Island. But the real question is: did they answer that call for help, or did they move on?”

Tashigi looked up at him, awaiting orders. Smoker’s expression hardened as he made his decision. “Tashigi, set course for Punk Hazard.”

Smoker turned to his men, his voice booming with authority. “Alright, men! Get ready—we’re heading to Punk Hazard!

Back to the Thousand Sunny:

Sanji lit a cigarette, exhaling slowly as he addressed the group. "So… how many of us are going to the island? We don’t know what we’re dealing with, so some of us should stay and guard the ship."

Luffy, always eager for adventure, turned to Franky. "Franky, I need the Mini Merry!"

Franky gave a thumbs up, grinning. "Gotcha, Luffy!"

Nami, however, wasn’t having it. "Are you crazy?! You aren’t going alone!"

“I agree with Nami,” you chimed in, giving Luffy a concerned look. “You can’t go by yourself, Luffy.”

Luffy, unbothered, looked around and caught your eye. “You want to come, Y/N? That’s fine with me.”

Before you could answer, Sanji cut in, his tone sharper than usual. "No!" Everyone turned to look at him, surprised by his outburst. He quickly cleared his throat, trying to play it off. "I mean, if we let Captain Belly Warmer over here"—he pointed at Zoro—"go with Luffy, they’d be lost for days."

Zoro shot Sanji a glare. "What did you say, Curly-brow? At least I’m not some lovesick cook who can’t focus when there’s a pretty face around!"

Sanji’s eyebrow twitched in irritation. "Oh yeah? Say that again, Mosshead, and I’ll kick you all the way to the island myself!"

The two of them started bickering, getting right in each other’s faces, neither one willing to back down. It was the usual heated exchange, with insults flying back and forth as if it was a sport.

Nami, rolling her eyes, decided to put an end to the chaos. "I knew it would come to this. Everybody, draw straws!"

With that, she pulled out a bundle of straws, each with a single red line on one of them. Everyone gathered around, drawing their straws one by one. You pulled yours out and looked at it—no red line.

"Man, I really wanted to go too," you pouted, disappointed.

Zoro smirked, leaning back with his arms crossed. "You’re going to miss out on the fun!"

Robin, standing nearby, gave a small, mysterious smile. "This should be fun indeed," she said, her eyes glinting with curiosity and amusement.

Usopp, on the other hand, looked like he was already regretting his luck, holding the straw with the red line. "Why is it always me?!" he groaned, clearly not as excited about the upcoming adventure as the others.

Luffy, completely unfazed by the tension and excitement, just laughed. "Alright, let’s go! Adventure awaits!"

As the Mini Merry was prepared, the crew made their final checks, each one gearing up for whatever awaited them on Punk Hazard. You waved them goodbye, a mix of excitement and concern in your expression. "Good luck out there! And try not to die!"

Nami nodded in agreement, her usual worry showing through. "Yeah, don’t do anything reckless!"

Chopper chimed in, waving both of his tiny hooves. "Be careful! And make sure to come back in one piece!"

Franky, with his usual enthusiasm, gave them a hearty thumbs-up. "You guys got this! Just remember, the Mini Merry is SUPER, so take care of her!"

Brook, ever the optimist, added with a laugh, "Come back alive, everyone! Yohohoho!"

And Sanji, standing beside you, looked back at the departing Mini Merry with a soft smile. "Goodbye, everyone. Stay safe out there!

As the Mini Merry began to disappear into the flames, you could feel the heat intensifying, and your cropped shirt was starting to cling uncomfortably to your skin. Turning to Nami, you asked, "Do you have anything cooler to wear? It’s getting pretty hot out here."

Nami glanced at you with a knowing smirk. "Yes, I do. Come with me!"

Sanji, who had been nearby, looked over with an enthusiastic grin. "Sanji, can you get us something cool to drink?" you requested.

Sanji swooned dramatically. "Of course, ladies! I’ll whip up something refreshing!" He headed toward the kitchen with his usual flair.

Nami led you to her room, where she handed you a light blue mini corset that left little to the imagination. You hesitated for a moment but then put it on, feeling the coolness of the fabric against your skin. You decided to stick with your skirt and ankle boots, opting to create a tight ponytail to keep your hair from sticking to your sweaty neck.

When you and Nami reappeared in the common area, Sanji emerged from the kitchen with a tray of drinks. His eyes widened as he saw you in the new attire, and he stopped mid-sentence. "Ladies, I bring you a nice cool, delicious—" He trailed off, clearly taken aback by your appearance.

Nami chuckled softly beside you. "Looks like Sanji’s lost his words."

Sanji quickly regained his composure, though his cheeks were slightly flushed. "Uh, right, right. Here are the drinks! They should help you cool off."

You took the offered drink, trying to ignore the heat on your cheeks from both the weather and the attention. "Thanks, Sanji. This is just what we needed."

As you and Nami shared a drink with Chopper, the conversation shifted to the unusual clouds in the sky.

"You guys see that?" Nami asked, her gaze fixed upwards.

Chopper squinted. "I don’t see anything."

"Yeah, what about the clouds?" you chimed in, your curiosity piqued. "Something seems off."

Just then, a strange, chemical smell hit you, causing you to wrinkle your nose. "You guys smell that?" you asked, struggling to stay conscious.

"Yeah, it's making me a bit sleepy," Chopper admitted, his voice growing drowsy.

Before you could react further, your vision started to blur, and you felt an overwhelming wave of fatigue. You crumpled to the ground, unable to keep your eyes open. Sanji tried to reach you, but soon he, along with Brook, Franky, Nami, and Chopper, were all succumbing to the same mysterious force.

As darkness closed in, you caught a glimpse of men in suits with hazmat gloves and masks approaching. One of them crouched down beside you and spoke softly, "Master, we found the intruders. We are taking them to the base now."

With those final words echoing in your ears, you felt the last vestiges of consciousness slip away, and the world faded into darkness.

We have now entered Punk Hazard!!! Sanji and Y/N decided to not pursue anything after Fishman island. But don't you guys worry our favorite lovesick cook will redeem himself! I have faith! Gotta trust the process! But the upcoming chapters will be cooking! Once we hit Whole Cake Island along with Wano!! Ohh the plans that I have! But for now Sanji has to prove himself! And Zoro coming in with advice like that (Hmmm wonder why?! heheheh) I'm actually going to start on chapter 11 tonight because I'm on a roll with these chapters. Who knows there might be a surprise drop tonight also… Thank you guys for following along! Along with sharing, liking and interacting! I hope you guys are enjoying it as much as I love writing it!. The next chapter tho (we have a few surprise guests) ;) again all is fair in love and war…

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nattyluvs · 2 years ago

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things you love about bf!skz

pairing: boyfriend!skz x gn!reader

warnings: fluff, drabbles cursing(?), mentions of being a princess

wordcount: 1.3k

bang chan

out of the year or so you two have dated, you haven't failed to notice how observant chan is. even if its something very small thats different about you, he will always point it out.

"there's a bruise on the side of your thigh, what happened?" he would ask, concerningly.

even when you get new clothes, he notices. "are those pants new? they look good on you" he says with a grin on his face. you're starting to believe his brain has yo enter new data everytime theres something different about your appearance.

or the time where you had come back from hanging out with your friends, and the next morning he said "did you get a new piercing? your ear has an extra hole."

chan would point out. this specific scenario ended up with your reply, "channie, how did you even notice...? i took the piercing out already." which thoughtfully, he responded "what can i say, the longer i look at your the more i notice"

lee know

when someone says "dont judge a book by its cover" it definetly applies to people, especially lee know. before getting to know him, he was a completely different person. he cares more than you'd think, almost too much you'd feel like a burden.

like the one time you went out to a private club to celebrate a friend's birthday. you had gotten a little more than tipsy, accidently calling lee know to tell him "how much you miss your boyfriend" and "i need a hug from my boyfriend right now" which gave him the signal to drive his car out to pick you and your friends up, even letting them stay the night at your house.

everytime your mood even changes slightly, he gets worried. even if nothing had even happened to you. he always asks "are you okay love?" and makes sure to take over cooking for that night (and cook very well, mind you) he just wants to make sure you're always happy, because if you're sad, he's sad.

changbin

one thing about changbin is that he's always worried about you. especially for your safety. sometimes it gets a little out of hand, he freaked out when you tripped while you were walking after your date.

you were wearing a new pair of shoes you hadn't gotten used to.

of course, you hadn't fallen to the ground. you kept your balance before you could fall. although, with his quick reflexes he grabbed your waist to pull you back up. (even though you werent going to fall)

changbin being the person he is, proceeded to say, "i know we just went on a date, but dont hurt yourself falling for me sweetheart." you lightly shoved him, annoyed at the cheesy line and embarassed at the petname. to make sure you didnt hurt yourself again, he kept one of his hands on your back, as if he was guiding the way.

hyunjin

no matter how many people are in a room, hyunjin is always looking at you. you first noticed this a little after you had first met. your roomate had invited jisung over, which led to hyunjin coming too. you were all having a conversation at the dinner table, but the only thing you could focus on was the way

hyunjin was looking at you so intensely.

later when you two had eventually starting dating, you had come to discover that was his "im interested in this thing infront of me" face. like how he stared at paintings in an art gallery he found interesting, he stared at you in the same amazement.

another time was after you decided to become a trainee. you and 7 other nee friends were going to perform a cover of one of stray kids' songs. this was a few years after they debuted, and since you two began dating before his debut, obviously he was thrilled when you were on stage covering his song. you could see him in the vip area, embarassingly blowing kisses and hearts at you. he had on a "disguise" but you could tell it was him from a mile away.

han jisung

jisung is overly thoughtful. he likes to express his love for you through words, and tries to do it regularly, as if you're going to forget he loves you. one of the ways he expresses this undying love for you is through sticky notes. specifically, he bought different colors for everyday of the week.

for the days you came back from work late, he left a note on the kitchen counter, usually resulting in seeing him asleep on the couch with the tv playing. you felt bad he tried to stay awake in order to see you when you got home, but his effort was appreciated. the notes usually consisted or something like, "y/n! i hope you had a good day at work, even if you didnt i'm still proud of you. theres food in the fridge for you! - love hannie"

the other way he expressed his love for you was through his music. you went to the studio to suprise him one time, and overheard on a conversation including chan and changbin. they were complaining about how all of the songs han wrote were love songs. you could tell they appreciated it, but an entire album can't be love songs. it was even more embarassing for han when you had accidently heard one of his unreleased songs, a sweet love song, lyrics flowing perfectly with his voice.

felix

one habit felix will never get out of is touching. even before you dated, you could tell he was a skinship person. no matter what, he feels the need to touch you at all times. whether its a hug, holding hands, or even touching your fingers. you don't mind of course. you think its sweet.

he even admitted that theres this feeling of uneasy-ness when he isn't near you. even if you are near eachother, he has the urge to do something in order to be touching you, like a sense of overprotecting.

even doing simple things, like while making dinner, he has to be hugging you from the back. or while you're cutting up some vegatables, he feels the need to guide your hand while you cut, as if it was the first time you picked up a knife. whenever you walk side by side, hands are always entertwined. sitting down at the dinner table? his hand is on your thigh, or ontop of your hand.

seungmin

seungmin thinks about you alot, even if he doesnt admit it to your face. something you've realized is how much attention he pays when you speak, always remembering small things you tell him.

like the time you were on lunch break at work, scrolling through whatever social media app, you sent him a desert recipe you wanted to try sometime. a day or so later, you got home and he had followed tbe recipe in order to make it, even if it wasn't perfect. he wants to make you happy and keep it that way.

or how when he asked to be your boyfriend, he got you and him matching necklaces. because beforehand you had told him about your friend and their boyfriend, and how they got matching bracelets and they were so cure. saying how "you'd love to have a matching item with someone"

jeongin

he loves spoiling you, no matter how much you refuse and try to repay him. he always says "your happiness and love is the only payment i need" with a smile on his face. he was so sweet, but you wanted to make sure he was happy too sometimes.

if you see something through the window of a store you like? hes already at the counter getting ready to pay. It would take 3 hands to count the amount of times he had to fight for the bill, not wanting to make you pay for it. you felt bad not paying for your portion of the meal, no matter how much he reassured you.

he makes sure to give you princess treatment if you're feeling even the slightest bit down. when you had a bad day at work, he immediately out everything else he was supposed to do aside, and planned a relaxing spa evening at home for you. together, you did skincare, massages, and he even let you paint his nails.

likes and reblogs are appreciated!

taglist form

a/n: sorry a few of them are longer than the other ones, thinking of writing a fic based off of one of these tbh...also yes i am stalling for my smau rn u caught me

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thecomfywriter · 28 days ago

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hi hello how are you?

it’s 2:07am and i don’t wanna sleep quite yet because im restless and pacing around. so yap time!

i feel like i rarely yap about my books unprompted (on tumblr). when it comes to the “good morning plebeian” posts, those are most often about myself vs my books.

not that i’m going to yap about them right now. lol.

or maybe i will. i don’t know yet. i’m kinda just word vomiting all my thoughts.

chemistry is lowkey stressing me out a bit because bruh… why do i even need to know about how to make an alkene from an alkyne dawg???? why????

i know why, but still. >:(

my walks have been super fun, but i wanna start biking again. but i keep having to delay it because it’a been SO hot holy shit i nearly passed out today oop-

i didnt, luckily, but that’s besides the point. the point is, i was feeling hot and dehydrated and on the cusp of being a victorian child. like helloooooo can we prove that i am worthy of my melanin??? what is this weak behaviour in heated conditions? bro i started discombobulating 💀

regardless, i have two chapters to add to cos in terms of the rewrite, and four to rewrite / edit before i order the proof copy and edit on the pages. i’m acc so hyped for it wowowow. i also really wanna work on the gotn cover but idk ive been feeling so uninspired when it comes to art recently. :/ no bueno.

okay imma yap about tis and tcal for a second. tread lightly, because there may be spoilers.

so when it came to the rewrite, i wanted to sort out the timeline of events so it was better understood for ME on when things happened and why. and can i just say…

alan is too mwah mwah RAHHHH (🤡) for me to put him through the amount of shit that i do.

ACTUALLY TOPIC CHANGE WOMP WOMP I HAVE SOMETHING ELSE I WANNA TALK ABOUT

i cant understand when people say they enjoy making their ocs suffer. the derived pleasure from their pain. i remember a point in time in my life where i did (angsty teenager core lol), but even then, it was more the thrill of watching them overcome the adversity as opposed to the pain they felt in the moment itself. it’s a big reason why i loved eoj more than anything. evan goes through OOFFF in that book, but it wasn’t the fact that he went cold that got me hyped. it was watching him thaw out again.

i don’t know. i just can’t seem to wrap my head around the idea of making my ocs go through so much pain so unnecessarily. i understand it happening as a necessary plot point, but the traumatic backstory just because has never really clicked for me. i just don’t get it. i’m trying to, but it just confuses me.

maybe i just need to hear it from the other pov tbh. because im not familiar with the idea of it. it could just be there’s a sense of intrigue in watching someone from such a rough background be so resilient as to survive. in not sure. but i’ve never understood it, and yet it seems so common in writing spaces, to hurt ocs and put them through the absolute most.

womp womp. not me yambling about something completely new.

okay, final thoughts in this post (which implies i may start a new one to continue yambling 👾👾). i like the difference in magic systems i’ve clarified between tis and tov. tbh, i found myself blurring the lines between the two worlds sometimes, but now that ive outlined some of the eras in tis, the magic system is making more sense to me, and it explains a LOT of why their world operates the way that it does.

okay! cheerios! happy writing!

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mikashisus · 6 months ago

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THUS ALWAYS TO TYRANTS

02.5. my heart knew the weight

notes. ITS FINALLY HEREEEE!!! the chapter i spent 8 long and grueling months writing, revising, and getting frustrated over is finally here!!! i put my blood, sweat, and tears into this to make it as enjoyable and eerie as possible! if some scenes with barbatos don’t make sense, dw bc the plot will all unfold in the next few chapters! this fic is supposed to be confusing. barbatos and the mc r both unreliable narrators in their own ways - and that means u shouldn’t trust what they say, but the ppl around them (cough rukkhadevata and jean cough). the plot rlly picks up in this chapter so im super excited to see how u guys react hehe

taglist. @wystiix @pneumosia @kazuinvocation @daydreaming-paradies @gl4di0lus @pixelcafe-network

word count. 11.2k

masterlist | prev. | next

“So let me get this straight…“ Gwen said, shuffling around on the tabletop, “you and my brother went to the library together?”

She grabbed a piece of cheese from the plate resting by her thigh and popped it into her mouth, a small smirk beginning to form on her lips. “And afterwards, he showed off and offered to teach you how to wield a sword?”

You let out a small huff. “He didn’t ‘show off’, per say…” you trailed off, a smile pulling at your lips, “he was just clearing monsters from our path.”

Gwen rolled her eyes. “Same thing! I know my brother, so he was definitely showing off! After all, he was the best swordsman in Cairnfelle!”

Quirking a brow, you leaned forward, about to ask about this ‘Cairnfelle’ she mentioned, when she suddenly clapped her hands together. “So! What’d you find?” She rested her hands on her knees, dangling her foot off the edge of the table.

“Well, there wasn’t a whole lot. I ended up checking out four books. I already read through three, and so far, nothing.” You explained, thinking back to the journal you found.

There wasn’t a single thing about Barbatos in that journal. Two of the other books were origin stories— one being how Barbatos taught the birds of the world how to fly. The other book had been a written biography about Barbatos and Queen Catalina’s adventures. Although it was a thrilling read packed to the brim with suspense and laughter that made your stomach ache, it wasn’t enough.

None of the books were giving you what you wanted: information on who Barbatos really was. All the books you checked out had told of his exploits after Decarabian’s fall. There was next to nothing regarding his life before the rebellion; It was as if he hadn’t existed until recently.

And quite frankly, you were beginning to get a little frustrated. The red strings on your mental investigation board were going nowhere, connecting to nothing.

Gwen hummed thoughtfully. “So, you read through the first three. What about the last one? Any luck?”

“I haven’t read it yet.”

“How about you bring it to our home tomorrow? We can read it together!” She smiled, bright and genuine.

The proposition was an intriguing one, though you preferred to handle this crisis on your own. Gwen, as far as you were concerned, was a devout worshipper of Barbatos.

The most you told her about why you had gone to the library was that you were gathering information on a historical figure. You didn’t know the depth of her loyalty to Barbatos, and you weren’t willing to test it by explaining your true motives.

She was a kind soul, that much was true, but she could have been reminiscent of the utterly devoted nuns from the church.

(And when faced with doubtful questions about their god, they were a force to be reckoned with— an annoying pest that wouldn’t go away. A headache inducing interaction.)

Her offer was from the heart, you knew it was. That, paired with her dazzling smile, made a pool of guilt settle in your stomach. You couldn’t possibly say no, especially not to someone so kindhearted as her.

With a silent sigh, you returned her smile and nodded.

She clapped her hands together again and hopped off the table. “Great! Hopefully we luck out this time! Right?” She grabbed her now empty plate and glass and retreated back behind the bar.

The last book was a worn, battered thing that looked much older than the journal you found. An archaic symbol was etched into the front, and the pages were yellowed and ripped in some spots.

A name was inscribed into the back cover in elegant calligraphy, though part of it was smudged by a stain and you could only make out three letters.

You hadn't opened the book yet. You didn't want to— not without Gwen. After all, the whole reason you were here, sitting on a plush couch in a cozy oceanside cabin, was because she had suggested you read through the book together. However, it seemed as though she had forgotten about that proposal, as when you arrived at her home, she was nowhere to be seen.

Arbor had been the one to welcome you in. He was outside at the time, tearing some hay-filled dummies to shreds with a rickety old wooden sword that has seen better days. His skin, a warm tawny, orange-brown, glowed as the sun beat down on his figure. Sweat hung from his brow and slithered down his fully toned chest and abdomen, and you couldn't help the way your eyes trailed him for a moment, entranced.

He caught sight of you and nodded curtly, gathering up his previously discarded white shirt and wiping the sweat from his face. His auburn hair was messy, sticking up in some places. He opened the gate leading into the garden and led you into the cabin his family called home. Now, you were waiting as he fetched you a lemonade from the kitchen.

The Blair family's house was a humble old home, with paintings lining the walls and fun little knick knacks littered around on tables and shelves. There was a wall listing the entire family's achievements— from joining the royal guard, their contributions in war, rising to the ranks of elite soldiers labeled as "The Archangel Knights," and their feats during the rebellion and rebuilding of Mondstadt. It was clear to you that this family was a family of heroes.

The first floor of the house was composed of three rooms: the kitchen, the common space, and a small storage closet. The kitchen and common space were connected, the walls open and the ceilings somewhat high. A series of plants lined the windowsills and some hung from the ceiling. Flower pots filled with cecilias and windwheel asters occupied the table in front of you.

A set of stairs leading up to the second floor of the house sat to your right, with garland wrapping snugly around the banister. A faded red banner hung from one of the walls, the symbol on it unfamiliar to you. Another sat next to it, this one a newer, bright seafoam blue with a cecilia flower in the middle and gold lining the edges. Gold tassels hung from the ends, and the banner billowed gently as a passive breeze filtered in through a nearby window. All the windows were covered with white, partially see-through curtains that allowed a considerable amount of sunlight to filter through, igniting the whole house with a dazzling warmth and a lively atmosphere.

In the corner of the common space, behind the couch you were sitting on, was a rack filled with six swords, all of them varying in color, size, and shape. All six had a different colored piece of cloth tied around the hilts.

A fluffy quilt laid across the back of the couch, its colors a bright yellow, red, and blue. The pattern on it was foreign, most likely from another nation.

Arbor returned from the kitchen, placing two glasses on the low table in front of you, one yours and one his. A plate of sweet potato fritters with cinnamon sugar was placed in the middle of the table for the both of you to share. He took a seat next to you and popped one of the fritters into his mouth.

"I deeply apologize on behalf of my sister," he began, shaking his head, "honestly. She needs to learn to keep her word."

A breathless chuckle escaped your lips. "It's alright. Where is she, anyway?"

He let out a sigh. "She's on church duty today. Unfortunately, she won't be back until later in the afternoon. If you want to stay here until then, you're more than welcome to—"

You politely turned down his offer. "That's quite alright. If it's no trouble, I can come back another day."

He raised a brow and glanced at the book in your hands. You had told him when you arrived that Gwen offered to read through this final book with you. Though, now that you knew she wasn't here and had forgotten your plans in the midst of her busy schedule, the only thing you could do was return back to the city.

Arbor's eyes trailed elsewhere, calculating. His jaw was clenched and he looked deep in thought. A few moments of awkward silence passed between you before he spoke up. "I could read it with you in her stead."

That certainly wasn't an offer you were expecting, especially from him. Though, you supposed after he volunteered to go to the library with you the other day, it wasn't that surprising.

"Afterwards, we can start your lessons in swordsmanship... if that sounds enticing to you."

It did.

You nodded, a smile on your face as you opened the book and shuffled a bit closer to him. He stayed put, allowing you to enter his space a little as you placed the book between the two of you.

‘In the epic days of yore, a few thousand years ago, the heavens sprang to life and opened. The divine angels sang a magnificent choir, and trumpets announced the birth of a deity from the high heavens. This deity that would later come to be known as an influential figure in the formation of Mondstadt as a nation— the god of memories herself, ELIGOS; or more commonly known by her mortal name, Queen Catalina.

Her fascination with humans led to what many referred to as “the great mindscape,” or rather, a period of time when she had entered the minds of mortals and sifted through their memories to gain a better understanding of humans. Her fascination exceeded humans and even reached other gods…’

With furrowed brows, you stopped reading. It seemed as if this was another book to be discarded. So far, it hadn’t mentioned Barbatos at all. Though, judging by the pointed look on Arbor's face, you decided to keep reading.

It was then that you noticed how close the two of you had gotten.

This close, you could see his features better. Focused, striking gray eyes with lavender bags underneath that you hadn’t noticed before, a hooked nose, smooth pink lips that were pursed together, and a perfectly sculpted jawline. The light filtering in from the window touched his skin, casting an ethereal glow upon him.

He looked like a god.

You had never seen a real god in your entire life up until you arrived in this era. Witnessing what true divinity looked like right before your very eyes had stirred something within you. It was revitalizing in a way you couldn’t fully describe nor understand.

And now, as you looked at Arbor, you could feel your heart beating just a little faster and your breath get caught in your throat. It wasn’t the same feeling you experienced when you saw Barbatos for the first time, but it sure was similar.

Small movement directed your attention away from his face and down to your hands. His fingers were brushing over yours as he brought the book closer. You swallowed the lump that formed in your throat and tried to focus on the words on the page rather than his fingers enveloping yours.

It was a difficult feat, but you recovered.

Maybe the Anemo Archon was mentioned somewhere in this book— perhaps in a later chapter.

The two of you continued to read about the adventures and origins of the previous god that had once ruled over the eastern side of Mondstadt. As it turned out, Catalina had been the first god to ever step foot into Mondstadt, with Andrius following close behind, and Decarabian invading upon their territory some hundreds of years later.

The tale of Catalina's life was filled with wonder and a bit of sorrow. The Ruler of Time had once again been brought up, mentioned briefly in a few paragraphs describing how she was a mentor to Catalina. It made sense to you. After all, Catalina was the god of memories and the Ruler of Time was just that: a god of time. Memories and time were closely intertwined. It was no surprise that two gods who commanded both were also in close association with the other.

Finally, what you had been searching for stared you right in the face. A whole entire chapter on Barbatos. Although this book turned out to be a biography of another god, you were more than happy to get at least a little information on the Anemo Archon, no matter how brief it could be.

You turned the page, and the entire section on his origins was smudged out, worn by time. A curse fell from your lips, and you had the sudden urge to throw the book across the room. Arbor steadied you, placing a comforting hand on your shoulder. He took the book from your hands and flipped until he came across a fully legible page. It wasn't about the origins of Barbatos, but it outlined his history with the gods of memories and time.

It was short, but informative.

‘The spirit that calls himself Barbatos and the Queen of the North Wind were two entities closely entwined. After (...), they were considered close allies and even closer friends. The mortals who looked upon their astounding companionship once spoke of how fond the two appeared to be of each other.

Some even questioned the Queen quietly, wondering if such companionship was a step towards something greater. Although the two gods have never spoken forthright about this matter, thus is apparent: they share something that is unequivocally whole, transcending that of mortal comprehension. It is a bond that could never be severed. It is to be admired.’

You've read enough history books in your life to know what those words meant. The meaning was there in bold letters on a neon flashing sign. However, Catalina was long dead. Whatever relationship she harbored with the Anemo Archon died with her, that much you were certain of— even if you never knew of her existence until recently.

Arbor hummed. "This book is right. The Queen and Barbatos were once close… closer than any mortal could ever hope to be with another. It was truly fascinating."

It was, but you had more than a few questions; The first being how this book was outlining such recent events when it looked as if it had been run through the mud ten times over. It looked as if it was from a time in the far past— a past that was way before the Archon War. The events recorded in the first half of its pages could only be known for so long before being forgotten.

Your second question, following up your previous one, was: just who wrote this? Surely whoever wrote it was as old as the book itself. It only made sense. Only someone immortal could remember and record these events with such vivid detail.

Instead of staying afterwards like you originally planned, you quickly left the Blair family’s home, taking a few fritters along with you at the behest of Arbor.

“It’s rare to see you here, Barbatos.”

Rukkhadevata was quick to exit the Sanctuary of Surasthana as soon as the matra had informed her of the Anemo Archon’s abrupt visit. Although unexpected and sudden, she welcomed him with open arms.

Her smile was soft and kind, and her verdant eyes were warm and inviting. She towered over him as she ushered him closer, her arms spread wide. “Welcome, finally, to Sumeru.”

The younger god returned her smile, descending to the stone floor with a final flap of his wings. He brushed off his feathers before his wings folded behind him. “It was about time I paid you a visit, my friend.”

Rukkhadevata’s smile faltered a little, her eyes scanning him with a knowing look. “You are not here for a simple sightseeing trip, are you?”

He hated how well she could see through him. With a sigh, he nodded. Without another word, she motioned towards the Sanctuary. He began to follow her as she hovered a hand over his lower back. Inside the Sanctuary, he could feel the thrum of life spiraling through its walls and floors.

He shivered at the coldness beneath his bare feet. Despite that, a warmth enveloped him from every angle as small, almost imperceivable green particles floated in the air. It was as if the entire building was breathing, providing a comforting, cozy atmosphere for those within.

In the middle of the bridge sat some sort of device he had never seen before. He eyed it curiously, watching silently as the Dendro Archon walked up to it. It slithered and recoiled, like a set of retreating vines, disappearing up into the high ceilings above.

A couch made out of vines was fashioned at the Dendro Archon’s will, and she ushered him forth with a smile. “Come. Sit. Would you like anything to eat or drink?”

He shook his head. Moving forward hesitantly, he sat upon the makeshift couch, crossing his legs together. Rukkhadevata hummed a soft tune, one that matched the eerie choir that resonated through the thrumming of the semi-sentient walls. She sat down, a cup of herbal tea in her hands.

“You are here for a number of reasons, but one of those is more important than the rest. What troubles you, my dear friend?”

As always, she knew. She always did.

He chuckled softly. “You always seem to know what I’m thinking, so… Wanna take a guess?”

She thought long and hard for a moment, her eyes closing. For a minute, it was silent, except for the faint choir resounding all around him.

The longer he stayed in the Sanctuary, the more out of place he felt. It was different— much different than what he was used to. Back in Mondstadt, places belonging to divinity were cold and biting. They didn’t breathe with the life force of nature. They sang like the howling winds. The cold was uninviting and cruel, pushing out anyone who did not belong. It sent intruders packing.

But here, it was the opposite. It was filled with warmth and comfort, drawing him in and enveloping him like a hug. There was no wind that sang, and no cold to whistle through his veins. There was a numbing hotness about the air, filled with the life force of nature.

Yes… it was much different than Mondstadt.

Rukkhadevata’s eyes fluttered open, glowing and full of knowledge. Her lips drew together in a tight frown. “I see. You wish to know if it is possible to alter time, even after recent events.” Her eyes dimmed back to their normal color, the divinity seemingly fading away.

He looked away. “I know it’s strange,” he began, “after all, I’m more than capable of doing it myself… but…”

“Messing with time can cause great catastrophes.” She finished, sighing heavily. “Not only that, but it is extremely difficult to alter Irminsul’s memories. Surely she had told you that.”

With great restraint, he stopped himself from sending her a harsh glare. He gritted his teeth, his tone venomous. “Don’t—” his expression softened as he met her eyes, and he swallowed, “yes. Altering memories— and time, especially in regards to Irminsul, is risky. I know that, but I wanted to at least do something good this time around…”

She studied him for a moment. Standing up, she brought up a holographic screen. “No one in history has ever entered Irminsul. No one in history has altered Irminsul… except for them.”

A white hot rage filled his veins at the mention of the Heavenly Principles. He pushed it aside and focused on Rukkhadevata’s words.

“However, that was until our little time traveler showed up.” She zoomed in on the screen, and he assumed she was looking at Irminsul. “In the course of a week, she altered fate on an unprecedented scale. I felt the shift in Irminsul— the pull of memories shifting around, convulsing, new ones appearing and replacing the old ones.”

She was silent for a moment, her brows drawn together in thought as she stared at what looked like various tree branches and nerves. “No one has ever changed fate like this… except for a god.”

He perked up at that, his surprise evident on his face. He opened his mouth to ask who, when she turned to him, her lips pursed tightly together.

“Barbatos… that god was you.”

His blood ran cold.

“Me?”

“Many millennia ago, at the start of this world— the beginning of Teyvat’s formation, the Ruler of Time created the Thousand Winds.” She expanded the screen, making it impossibly large. With her fingers, she moved some images around on the screen, showing a perfectly normal tree with only a few branches.

“From those Winds, a lone son wandered too far from his mother, and despite her orders, passed through the fractured barrier in spacetime, creating what we now regard as the ‘Barrier of Ikairo.’ It was an event that was never meant to happen. It was a stain on the Heavenly Principles— an act of disobedience.”

The tree shifted along with the events of the story. Its trunk twisted as thousands upon thousands of long, spindly branches appeared.

“As his punishment, Celestia forced him to partake in the Archon War and slay the person he cared for most. With her gone, he was awarded the title of Anemo Archon and appointed to the position of barrier guardian by strict order from the Ruler of Time.”

He sat there, his head down, shame filling his entire being. He hadn’t meant to cross the barrier. He hadn’t meant to put a dent in Irminsul. He hadn’t meant to cause such a disturbance nor change fate. And now, to pay for such unforgivable crimes, he was charged with immortality— a lifetime, chained, bound by duty. Not only as the Anemo Archon with a stolen authority from the ancient sovereigns, but a guardian of the barrier. And already, he had failed in his duty.

“Another… more soul crushing punishment was decreed just this week.”

He was aware. He had heard the trumpets, he had witnessed the trial, he had sat upon the physical manifestation of his throne and accepted the punishment. After all, he had no choice. Whatever the Heavenly Principles decreed was law. It was sacred scripture. It was carved into Irminsul, and there was no way of ever breaking free from these shackles.

He had let out a snort then. How ironic for the god of freedom to be chained. To be bound by duty, never actually— truly free. The shackles were there, invisible but there. He felt their weight in his heart and on his mind.

A hand gently grabbed his chin and lifted his now tear-stained face. Rukkhadevata, in all her tenderness and grace, peered back at him with a sorrowful look in her eyes. She knelt before him, softly rubbing her thumb over his cheek, swiping away his tears. Her other hand came up to rest on the back of his head.

She reminded him so similarly of his mother, but with more love and care wrapped in her heart. Maybe it had been because she was connected to the heart of the world— Irminsul.

With a hesitant motion, she pulled him towards her, enveloping him in a warm hug that he so desperately needed. He wrapped his arms around her, his head falling limp between her neck and collarbone. His body fell forward into her lap, and she cradled him in her arms as if he was a baby bird. His cries resounded through the Sanctuary, his tears staining her yellow-brown skin.

She rested her head upon his, bringing him in tighter, her brows furrowing together. They stayed that way for a while as the walls thrummed sadly, imitating the slow beat of a harrowed heart.

It had been a full two months since your first visit to the Blair family home. Upon realizing she accidentally bailed on you, Gwen invited you over for dinner the day after. That one night turned into two, and two turned into three, and so on and so forth until you were spending every night with them.

They were a jovial family, always playing music and regaling you with tales of adventures and old legends. Gwen would run off and grab an instrument, only to bring it down to the living room. She’d jump onto the coffee table and begin to sing, her voice filling the cabin with an exuberant atmosphere. Klaus and August would join in as Arbor stood from his seat and offered you a hand, bowing as if he was some prince asking a princess to dance.

He’d smile as he pulled you from your chair and wrapped an arm around your waist. You’d return his smile as you placed a hand on his shoulder. “Just follow my lead,” he’d tell you, and you did your best to match his steps as he twirled you around the room. Laughter pierced the air and wafted out through the open windows.

In those moments, you were able to forget everything and truly live in the moment.

Over the course of those two months, you learned how to wield a sword. Arbor was a ruthless teacher. His methods were quite… odd, but they were effective, so you didn’t question him. If it worked, then who were you to judge?

During those training sessions, you learned more about each other. His favorite color was a deep seafoam, akin to the ocean near his home. His favorite meal was schnitzel with warm potato salad. He loved sunsets, music, and to your surprise, graffiti art. He had a special ability to make every cat love him, no matter how feral one could be. He was a real momma’s boy before his mother died— always helping her out when needed and pledging his life to keeping her safe. He never admitted it, but you could see on his face that he blamed himself for his mother’s death.

You confided in him as he did you. You told him of the two men that felt like brothers to you— Diluc and Kaeya. You told him about your childhood, your family and how they’d host Oktoberfest in their house every year and the whole neighborhood would show up. You told him what your favorite meals and pastries were, and eventually, he started making them for you without prior notice.

You choked on air as your back hit the ground. Your sword flew out of your hands, landing elsewhere as you coughed and tried to regain your breathing.

Arbor hadn’t even broken a sweat. He stood above you, his body blocking your view of the sun as you stared up at the sky in defeat. He adjusted his grip on his sword and inhaled. “Get up.” He spat, nudging your thigh with his foot. “We’re not done yet. Not until you disarm me. Let’s go. The sooner you disarm me, the sooner we can go inside and have dinner.”

“Are you cooking tonight?” You questioned, your voice hoarse from your dry throat and the lack of oxygen.

He looked away. Uh oh. “It’s Gwen’s turn.”

You whined. Although the girl was an exceptional baker, she couldn’t cook for her life. If she was stranded on a deserted island by herself, she’d surely die within the first day. She was an incredible fighter— you knew that from the one time Arbor invited her to a training session. She disarmed you and had you on the ground begging for mercy before you could even blink. That had been the first and last time you allowed her to join.

(You even considered her a far more ruthless teacher than her brother.)

Even though all she harbored was kindness and love in her heart and a friendly smile was always present on her lips, she sure didn’t play when it came to combat. Her entire personality shifted, and suddenly you were face to face with a seasoned soldier. It was downright horrifying.

With a small groan, you hauled yourself up off the grass and grabbed your sword. Arbor was already in a fighting stance when you turned around. Not giving you the chance to take a breath, he dashed forward with that same grace and elegance he always possessed. Your reflexes— which had improved over the course of two months —acted quickly, and you raised your sword to block the oncoming attack.

Gritting your teeth at the force, you pushed on your blade, attempting to knock him back. He pulled away and for a moment, you thought he was going on the defensive, when suddenly he adjusted his grip, and you knew what that meant.

Swallowing, you readied yourself, despite the dread creeping up your spine. He leapt forward, his movements fast and precise, aiming for each and every weak spot you had. You blocked attack after attack, ducking just in time as he swung towards your head. You swiped at his feet, and he jumped effortlessly over your blade. You knelt and rolled, avoiding his midair attack.

You were too slow to your feet, unable to deflect the next blow as you turned. You were knocked back, slamming right into a nearby boulder. The force from the blow knocked the air from your lungs. You coughed harshly, a wheeze escaping your lips. Your entire back was aching, though it wasn’t nearly as bad as the beating he put you through the day prior during your hand-to-hand combat training.

As usual, there wasn’t a single drop of sweat coating his body. How the hell? Was he some sort of indestructible immortal being?

He approached you, raising his sword once more as you painfully stood. Your shoulders were heaving, and your entire body was coated in a fine layer of sweat. Your hair stuck to your neck and forehead, and you wiped the sweat from your brow with the collar of your shirt.

“Again. That was pitiful. I’ve taught you better.”

Did he have an off button?

With a huff, you ran at him, and he sighed deeply. “This is your problem.”

“What is?” You scowled, beginning to get tired of his attitude.

He aimed for your chest and you jumped back just in time. His frown deepened. “Find it yourself.” He discarded his blade.

“Wha—” You paused for a moment. Big mistake. He hit your jaw, and you stumbled backwards.

“What have I told you? Don’t halt for a second. The drop of a weapon does not equate to surrender. The moment you hesitate is the moment you die.”

You scoffed. “If I die, it’s because you beat me to death!”

“No, if you die, it’s because of your own stupidity!”

He landed a punch right on your cheek, knocking you back once more. You skidded along the grass, dazed. He stood over you with a disappointed frown. “You’re weak still. You hesitate. You don’t channel anger. You fight with no purpose. That is your problem.”

You stared up at him, returning his glare. You couldn’t deny that his words hurt a little, if not a lot. Couldn’t he see you were trying your best? Couldn’t he see that you were putting your all into this training? You never skipped a lesson, and you always took them seriously. You listened when he corrected you and you were taking all of his advice to heart. Because of him, your reflexes and focus had improved, and you were reading your opponent’s movements at a rapid pace.

“Arbor.” A firm, cold voice called.

Both of you looked up to see Gwen standing in the distance, her brows furrowed and her lips drawn into a tight line. She was livid.

“Enough. She’s not like us. She’s not like Mother.” She remarked. “She wasn’t born from wrath. You can’t expect her to be the same when she’s…” she trailed off, her eyes flickering to you before fixing on her brother again. “Stop expecting so much of her. Results will come with time.”

He kept quiet, knowing better than to argue with her when she was so painfully right. With a huff, he made a beeline in her direction, his fists curled and his shoulders tense. She met his fierce expression with a challenging one of her own.

“She will fail if she continues like this,” he muttered bitterly, “she is nothing but a sorry excuse for a student.”

The look in Gwen’s eyes flashed to one of pure rage. She gritted her teeth. “Just because she’s not advancing at the speed you want does not mean she’s weak. Do you not see her trying her hardest to match you!? She’s learning quick for someone so inexperienced. For a mortal—”

You couldn’t hear what they were saying, but it was clear to you that they were arguing.

“I disarmed Lowen within my tenth training session. It was brief, but I did it. There is no reason she cannot do the same after two months.” He contested. “It doesn’t matter what she is. My teaching has been accelerated this whole time.”

Her eye twitched. “Arbor, you’ll break her if you continue like this—”

“This conversation is over.” He stormed off towards the coastline, ignoring Gwen’s anxious calls of his name.

“Why don’t you come inside?” Gwen questioned after letting out a sigh. “I came out here to let you both know that dinner is ready, anyway.”

You stood from your place on the grass, wincing at the ache that was present in every bone in your body. As you moved, your brows scrunched together, and she smiled apologetically.

“I’m sorry about him… he’s always been like that— hard on people, I mean.” Her gaze was distant as she followed the outline of his form on the coastline. “Our mother was the same way. He picked up more than a few of their habits…”

‘Their’?

Instead of prying, you followed her gaze. “Will he be okay? He seemed pretty angry.”

She scoffed. “He’ll be fine. It’s me that you should worry about,” she told you as she turned to head inside, “as soon as he gets back, I’m giving him a piece of my mind.”

You hesitated for a moment, your eyes lingering on Arbor’s shirtless form in the distance. From what you could see, he was knee deep in the ocean waves, his arms crossed over his chest. From here, you couldn’t make out the expression on his face. His back was somewhat turned to you.

You wondered how he must be feeling. You knew he was impatient and hard on you, but it was only because he wanted you to improve. Did you really meet his standards, though, if you kept failing?

You weren’t a fool. You could tell that his argument with Gwen had been about you and your progress. Although you couldn’t hear what they were saying, it was clear as day because of the way he had spoken to you before she arrived.

With a long sigh, you followed Gwen into the house.

With a swipe of her sleeve over her sweaty forehead, Gwen sighed heavily. That had been the last of the boxes that needed to be moved.

A man clapped his hands together, wiping off the dust and grime. He turned to Gwen with a grateful smile.

“Thank you so much for your help, Lord Guinevere,” the man said, giving a swift bow, “without your help, we wouldn’t have been able to move all this wood by sunset.”

She shook her head, returning his smile. “It was no trouble. And seriously, Arnold, you don’t have to call me that anymore.” She looked down. “Cairnfelle is gone…”

“Nonsense!” Arnold exclaimed. “Cairnfelle hasn’t fallen yet. You and Arbor are still with us, which means you carry its legacy.”

“I appreciate your loyalty, but…” she trailed off, unable to find the right words. She stared at the ground, unsure of what to say.

This was the first time she had been at a loss for words. What does one even respond to that with, anyway? Cairnfelle was gone. It died with its Queen. The winds had changed.

She took a deep breath and looked up. “A-Anyways— I will always be at your service.” She saluted him. “The Blair family will always be willing to help others, no matter what.”

Arnold nodded curtly, his gaze softening. He ruffled her oak brown hair, causing her to laugh under her breath. “The Blair family has done much for Mondstadt. Our thanks could never equate to the thousands of years of grace you’ve shown us.”

She crossed her arms over her chest. “Stop getting all formal on me! You know I’ve never done formalities! Also, it’s Gwen. Not Guinevere, and definitely not ‘Lord Guinevere.’”

He laughed, loud and full of mirth. He tipped his hat and nodded. “You got it, Gwen.”

“That’s more like it!” She smiled brightly at him, waving goodbye with a hand raised high above her head. “See ya! Don’t throw your back out while I’m gone!”

The trek back home from Springvale was a lengthy one. The Blair family home was tucked far beneath Starsnatch Cliff, right along the coastline. It was not only a far walk from Springvale, but a far trip from the city as well.

If the land was still intact from before Barbatos’ sudden urge to purge the entire nation of its mountaintops, maybe the original Blair home would still be tucked away in the mountains.

Oftentimes, she found herself missing the comfort and harmony of the mountainous slopes and the chilling, howling winds. They wrapped around the entire kingdom like a safety net, protecting them from the outside world. It was a paradise, a haven for all. A place of peace and prosperity for not only Mondstadtians, but others from around the continent as well.

Instead of going back home like she planned, she took a last minute detour. The sun was fading steadily over the horizon, and making the journey up to the far northern borders would take more than a few days on foot.

This only meant one thing.

She let out a heavy sigh and braced herself for the pain. From her back, hollow bones sprouted, tearing the skin apart. A thin layer of muscle pulled itself over the bone, followed by glistening ivory that danced along the muscle and tapered down, down, down. Brilliant wings stretched high behind her, a burst of feathers filling the air. They fluttered to the ground, only to shoot back up again as she dashed into the sky.

The trip was shorter, thanks to her newfound way of transportation. She stumbled back onto the ground, tripping over her own feet.

It had been such a long time since she had flown like that. It was as if she was a baby bird just learning how to fly.

She caught herself, only to get the wind knocked out of her lungs as a heavy weight collapsed onto her back.

She cried out in pain, her wings still sensitive from just sprouting again after what felt like millennia of being hidden from sight. A groan left her lips as she sat up, gazing behind her only to see a heap of tangled limbs and messy navy hair.

“Lord Barbatos!?”

She didn’t mean for it to come out as a shriek. Quickly pulling him into her arms, she inspected his torn up wings. It was a sorry sight— dried blood coating his feathers and bones sticking out in some places. She winced as she placed him flat on his stomach.

“What happened to you?” She muttered, her brows furrowing as she laid his wings out as far as she could. “This is too much… even for me.”

With this much damage, there was no way she could heal him. It would have to take some sort of miracle. Yet, he was a god. Miracles came naturally to him. With just a snap of his fingers, he could fix this…

Or could he?

What if the damage was irreparable? Would he be cursed to a fate of having clipped wings?

She was already aware of the secrets he harbored and the burdens he carried. First, chained. Then, duty-bound. Now?

…Never to fly again, it seemed.

With a determined huff, she shifted onto her knees and hovered her hands over where feathers met skin. Maybe she couldn’t fix him wholly, but she could very well try her damndest to do something; even if it was as small as clearing the blood and ceasing the pain.

“Hang in there, My Lord.”

An hour passed, and her energy was still intact. She kept up as the sun fully passed over the horizon, replaced with a lone moon shining brightly in the sky.

Another few hours passed. The blood was completely gone now, though she knew that her level of healing could only do so much on a god. It couldn’t heal his broken wings.

At this point, she had no choice but to involve the other divine.

She picked him up, as gently as she could with the little strength she had left after expending her abilities for so long. Carefully, she took him into the abandoned cathedral that still loomed on a cliffside. The ornate roof was long gone, snapped off during the great terraforming process. And yet, that ethereal, sacred feeling of stepping onto holy ground filled her heart and mind.

A familiar power thrummed beneath the marble floors, and a small smile tugged at her lips as it swirled around her, greeting her with a soft breeze.

She carried the broken god up to the altar and laid him down. Pressing a hand over his heart, she closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Her own heart was beating erratically in her chest, threatening to break free from its cage.

With a bowed head, she began the sacred prayer to the North Winds.

“Mögen die Winde deine Erinnerungen streifen und deine Seele durchdringen.

Mögen die Winde dich segnen und dich vom Bösen befreien.

Mögen Wahrheit und Aufrichtigkeit dein Fundament sein. Mögen Vertrauen und Treue dich leiten.

Mögen die Erinnerungen an die Vergangenheit, die Gegenwart und die Zukunft dein Herz sein.

Mögen deine Lippen stets von der Kälte des Nordens berührt werden und deine Zunge von den Feuern der Entschlossenheit entflammt sein.

Mögen die Winde die Seele und ihre Erinnerungen weitertragen, wenn sie gegangen ist, und den Körper von seinem Schmerz und seinem Leid befreien.”

For a moment, nothing happened.

Until…

A burst of blinding aqua light emerged from the altar. A whirlwind followed closely in its stead. The force sent her tumbling back, her back roughly hitting a stone pillar.

She groaned in pain, hearing a small crack erupt from one of her wings. She cursed under her breath and fell forward onto the marble floor. Small stones and tiny pebbles cascaded around her as the ground shook with enough force to topple the entire cathedral.

Then, the light disappeared, and the rumbling stopped. The whipping winds fizzled out into soft, murmuring breezes, and the air went cold with suspense.

A whimper sounded. Her head flew up, and sure enough, Barbatos was waking.

She stumbled to her feet, clutching onto the pillar for support before making a beeline for the altar.

Barbatos sat up, rubbing his temple as his vision slowly cleared. The ringing in his ears ceased, and his breathing evened. He looked up, cerulean eyes gazing up at the endless sea of stars above his head.

Where was he?

He had no time to process as the breath was knocked from his lungs and he was catapulted off the altar and onto the ground below a tall statue just behind it. The two figures tumbled to the ground, their backs hitting the base of the statue and causing it to shake slightly.

He huffed, attempting to catch his breath again. He looked down, only to see the familiar sight of brown and platinum hair. He blinked, his eyes widening in surprise.

How long had it been since he’d last seen her?

She was tightly hugging his middle, her head dug into his chest. It was then he noticed she was holding on for dear life, scared he might disappear from her grasp. Hesitantly, he brought a hand up to rest on her head, and the other to rest around her shoulders.

He laid his head upon hers, smiling as he sighed in content.

“So… You wish to know how to change fate?” Egeria looked down on him in mock disdain. “And why have you come to me for this matter? Why not Buer?”

He chewed his lip.

Egeria, as gentle and adoring as she was at her core, could also be merciless and judgmental like the raging tides of the nation she oversought. Her piercing gaze was enough to send a shiver down his spine.

The reason he hadn’t gone to Rukkhadevata was simply because he wasn’t sure whether she could provide him with an answer. He was positive that none of the Archons would— except for one. One, who’s successor was already thinking of a way to change the fate of all Fontainians.

Maybe, if he could speak with her—

Egeria sighed long and hard, her striking blue eyes boring holes into the pristine blue floor. The air was filled with a tense silence as she pondered over his request.

None have ever changed fate before. The only person who had was a mortal, and even then, they had no knowledge of ever doing so, nor how they did so. Even the gods weren’t aware how someone so insignificant had the power to change their fate around.

She sat up straight, snapping her fingers. One of her oceanid familiars rushed forward, kneeling at the steps leading up to her gold and blue throne. She slammed the end of her trident onto the floor, the sound reverberating off the glass walls.

“Fetch Focalors.”

“Right away, Lady Egeria!”

Egeria leaned forward, beckoning Barbatos closer with a perfectly manicured finger. He slowly walked up the steps until he was face to face with her.

“My Focalors has not changed fate,” she began, “but she has been mulling ideas over on the ocean floor for many years. If anyone could help you, it is her. Or perhaps… you’ve considered someone else?”

She raised a brow, the knowing look in her eyes saying it all. You know someone who deals in fate. Why waste your time here?

He took a deep breath. “Cousin,” he regarded her in confidence, “I seek a trustworthy ally. Someone who will handle this mortal’s fate carefully.”

With an intrigued hum, she stroked her chin. So that’s why he came to her. Not because Rukkhadevata was not in the know, but because the dealer-in-fate he already knew was someone he could not trust as far as he could throw them. Which, as the Anemo Archon, was pretty damn far.

“And you believe my Focalors will be this honest person?”

“Yes.” He uttered without a second thought.

Just then, the oceanid familiar from before came walking in with a stunning figure in tow. Barbatos stared, his eyes wide and his mouth falling open as he met her mismatched eyes. The woman had white hair with blue highlights that reached her calves, and wore a gorgeous mermaid-styled white and navy gown. Gold earrings hung from her ears, and a polite smile tugged at her lips. There was a certain elegance about her that Barbatos had been captivated by. It was an elegance he was all too familiar with.

It was the elegance of an ancient god, though Focalors was anything but an ancient god. She paid him no mind as her careful steps resonated throughout the room. She bowed deeply before Egeria’s throne.

“How may I serve you, Lady Egeria?”

“Rise,” Egeria said gently, motioning for Focalors to come closer.

The oceanid turned human did as she was told and stood next to Barbatos with her hands clasped tightly together in front of her.

"The Anemo Archon seeks an audience with you. Consider yourself lucky to be in the presence of such an esteemed one as himself."

Focalors' eyes widened, and she turned to gaze upon the god standing beside her. Her eyes were calculating as she studied him. It was as if she was trying to ascertain why in the world he had wanted to speak with her, of all people.

He had come just for her? What for?

She had heard of his exploits from Egeria, and he truly was a man worth the devotion and praise. He had done so much for his people, for his friends, and for his nation. Someone like him was comparable to that of a hero; one written about in fables and bards' songs. It was ironic, given the fact that he was the god of music and song.

If the god of freedom, song, wind, and idylls was here for her, she would provide her aid to him in any way she could— but that did not mean she was not without her doubts on his true reasoning for seeking her guidance.

Despite her doubts, she bowed deeply. Above all, he was an Archon— he was above her, just like Lady Egeria. He sputtered, reaching out a hand as if to place it upon her shoulder. He stopped short, his hand lingering in the space between them before it returned to the place at his side.

"Please," he said gently, his voice calm and soothing in her ears, "stand. There is no need for formalities with me."

He smiled softly at her as she met his gaze once more, and she swallowed the lump in her throat. Egeria stood from her throne, her presence demanding all to look at her with reverence and respect. She used her trident to support her weight as she descended the steps. "I shall leave the two of you to your meeting."

She sent them a curt nod. It was Focalors' turn to start sputtering, her jaw falling slack in surprise. She raised her skirts, taking a few steps towards her Archon, when Egeria raised a hand to stop her in her tracks.

"My Lady, you will leave us alone? But that is not—"

With her back turned, Egeria sighed softly. "It is not my business what you speak of in this room. The Anemo Archon is trustworthy. I trust his judgment."

That was that. With a final flick of her wrist, she ushered the other oceanid guards out of the throne room, leaving Focalors and Barbatos alone. It was eerily quiet, save for the sounds of moving water beyond the glass walls. Focalors stared at the heavy prismarine doors her master had left out of, before turning to face the waiting Anemo Archon.

She stepped closer, keeping a reasonable distance between them, and clasped her hands in front of her. She cleared her throat. "H-How may I serve you, Lord Barbatos god of Freedom and esteemed Anemo Archon?"

He let out a chuckle and took a seat on the steps before Egeria's throne. "Come now, no need for all that. I told you before, I'm not one for formalities." Still... she didn't see it right to address him informally considering his standing. "Please, just see me as a friend... Alright?"

She couldn't. He was an Archon— a heavenly divine figure. He was revered throughout the lands. He was beautiful in every sense of the word, and his humanity was what made him truly divine. Despite her high praise of him, she attempted to do as he told her, and nodded. If he requested she see him as a friend, she would fulfill his wishes.

"Alright." She nodded. His smile widened. It was warm and welcoming, calming her nerves in an instant. Her shoulders relaxed somewhat, and she sat next to him. "What may I help you with, then?"

"Egeria told me you've been attempting to turn around the fate of the Fontainian people. I wanted to ask how you plan on doing so."

She certainly wasn't expecting that.

"W-Well, I—" she stopped, unsure. "I'm... not entirely sure at the moment. I need more time. After all, changing fate is a difficult task."

He scoffed. "I'm aware... yet it isn't impossible."

Fate was tricky. He was more than familiar with it, as his own had been tampered with long ago. Although it hadn't been anyone else's fault but his own, he still wasn't sure how it exactly happened. But now... he needed to change it again.

He needed to change not only his, but yours. There was no way he was going to allow you to be subjected to such a horrible fate like the one the Heavenly Principles had given you.

Focalors glanced at him, seeing the far off look in his eyes. She sighed. The secret she had been keeping inside for a while now began to creep its way to the surface, lingering on the tip of her tongue as she opened her mouth. Would she regret telling him? She hoped she wouldn't.

There was something... off about him that made her uneasy, yet she couldn't place what it was. Gods had their secrets. She was well aware of that fact, as she could sense that Egeria had her own. But if those secrets would harm the lives of those around them... were they really worth keeping?

Egeria placed her trust and judgment in the Anemo Archon. That was enough to sway Focalors to speak.

"There… is a way you may be able to change your fate..." she muttered, watching as his eyes lit up with hope, "I've thought about it for many years. I'm not even sure if it's entirely possible, but... to change your fate, you need to bypass the Heavenly Principles, right? Well..."

She trailed off, wringing her hands in her lap. "If you want to bypass them, you would have to deceive them."

The words sat heavy in the air as Barbatos hung onto her every word. Deceive the Heavenly Principles!? That was an impossible task. Changing fate and altering time were tricky enough, but they were plausible. But... deceiving the all-powerful absolute authorities of the world? That was downright impossible, even for a god— for an Archon.

He might as well have given up. This endeavor was futile anyway. Why did he ever think he could achieve defying the Heavenly Principles?

Focalors watched the way his expression contorted into one of surprise, then of horror, and finally defeat.

"I wish there was another way..." she muttered, pulling at the sleeves of her dress. "But there isn't. And I'm determined to see my— no, Lady Egeria's plan —through. Because although it may seem impossible, I believe there's a successful way to go about this task."

Her words weren't getting through to him. She could tell. The look of utter defeat upon his face was heartbreaking. With her brows drawn together, she shuffled closer to him. "Lord Barbatos... it is possible. If there's no way, then I will simply make one. I will not give up hope— because the moment I do is the moment I doom the lives of the people of Fontaine."

That sentence struck a chord within him. She watched as a look of something unnamed flashed in his eyes. Letting out a sigh, she stood up and smoothed out her gown.

"I do not know what it is you are dealing with, nor why you are insistent on changing fate. But... I do know one thing," she paused, meeting his eyes, "we are the same, you and I. We have those we want to protect. And that is more important than lingering on the 'what-ifs' or what is or is not possible in this world. Anything in this world is possible if you have enough willpower. If you have enough hope and determination to see it through."

The room went silent, and she bowed her head in respect before exiting, leaving him alone with the weight of her words lingering in his heart and mind.

The air was thick with tension as you continued flipping restlessly through the pages of your notebook, your heart still beating wildly inside your chest from the argument you had moments ago with your mother.

The effects of her words still loitered in your mind, and unspoken insults still lingered on the tip of your tongue.

Your relationship wasn't one you could call stable by any means. Your mother, as far as you were concerned, was a stranger in your home. Your elder brother, a sprightly and burly man who dedicated his life to the protection of Mondstadt, was who you considered to be your true caretaker.

With your father no longer of this world, your mother had sought to continue the life she threw away before she had gotten married. She continued with her studies at the Sumeru Akademiya when you were a small child, and your brother had been left to care for you in her absence.

But you, unfortunately, were your mother's daughter. That same buzz and thirst for knowledge plagued your heart and soul just as it did her when she was a young girl. The similarities had once been something you cherished— something you held dear. You wanted to be like her. You wanted to study at the most prestigious school in all of Teyvat.

But now...

A bitter taste was left on your tongue from the argument you just had. How had things become this bad? How had everything fallen apart after the death of your father?

You let out a heavy sigh and slammed your notebook closed. The air wafting in from your open window was chilly, revealing it to be a cold and crisp winter night. Letting out a huff, you stood from your desk chair and grabbed your satchel, throwing your notebook and a pen inside before making a beeline for the door.

You had enough of sitting inside mulling over the effects of your dwindling relationship with your mother. Your brother glanced at you as you left the house, flinching slightly at the way you slammed the door closed.

He sighed. You were just like your mother.

You knew it too. And you hated it.

The wintry air of Northern Mondstadt greeted you like an old friend, embracing you in its hold as you allowed your feet to drag you out towards the plains that acted as a border between Northern Mondstadt and the icy ocean neighboring Snezhnaya.

No one could find you out here, not even your brother. It was the perfect getaway from that stuffy, warm house that only served as a cage. Out here, where there were no trees and the winds blew harshly, you could relax. The biting chill was a welcome feeling against your skin that still burned with the rage in your veins.

You spotted the familiar hill in the distance, a small smile pulling at your lips as you headed straight for it. The remnants of an ancient temple stood tall in the silence of the night, alight with an ethereal glow of divinity. You bid a small greeting to the old structure, running your fingers over the cold stone pillars.

This place always felt familiar to you in a way. It was as if— before you discovered it —you had been here before. It felt warm amidst the cold breezes. A soft thrum echoed through your feet and circulated throughout your whole body, calming your mind and rapid heartbeat.

It was a familiar feeling— one you felt every time you set foot in this temple. It only made sense for it to be the lingering effects of divinity left over from the death of an ancient god. Judging by the tenderness of what felt like a caress, you could only assume the god had been a kind and gentle one. It could only be someone warm and welcoming.

A bright, blue light wafted from the center of the main room. The fog around the bud curled around the nearby crevices and enveloped your feet as you got closer. You pulled your notebook from your satchel and sat on the marble floor, flipping open to an empty page and beginning to jot down anything you could on the anomaly before you.

Leyline anomalies had interested you ever since you first stumbled upon this temple a few years ago. Leylines were peculiar things— known for inhabiting many areas around Teyvat and containing the memories of the people who live in those areas.

The memories in this one were odd. They made you feel sorrowful and chained down, as if the person who died here had died with many regrets. It was hard to gather more information other than just feelings. You couldn't see past the haze surrounding the bud of memories, and you couldn't uncover the identities of anyone inside the memories.

You felt lost. You wanted to understand the land— the world around you. You wanted to connect with Mondstadt's history and uncover truths hidden inside the very land you called home.

There was a noticeable gap in Mondstadt's history. Ever since the ancient library burned down over a thousand years ago, the nation had lost most of its original texts and documents. The people themselves began to forget their own history, and the founding of Mondstadt got blurrier by the year. Old traditions still celebrated lost their original meanings, and songs were forgotten along the winds.

The nation had slowly and gradually lost most of their history, customs, and memories with the destruction of a single building. It was catastrophic the way it happened. You weren't alive back then, but the sorrow and anguish you felt for the unfortunate event made it seem like you had been.

It affected you on an unprecedented scale— more than it had anyone else in Mondstadt. It was odd how strongly you felt towards an event that you hadn't even been alive to witness.

Maybe the reason you had been so intrigued in Mondstadt's leylines was because of how connected you felt to events that you weren't there to see.

"It's a little odd, I won't lie," Jean said to you once as you both laid sprawled out under the tree in your front yard. "I mean... don't you think it's weird? I mean, yeah, the burning of that library dealt a huge blow to Mondstadt, but no one really cares today."

You sighed heavily, enjoying the brisk breeze of mid-Spring as you sketched out that ominous temple in your notebook. "You don't have to tell me things I already know," you replied coolly, "I get it's weird. But, I really do feel... connected... to things that happened in the past... as if I was there to witness them in a past life or something."

She glanced at you, propping up an elbow on the grass. "Do you think you're a reincarnation of someone?"

You scoffed. "Nah, not at all. I don't believe in that stuff, anyway."

Jean's blue eyes studied you for a moment. She frowned. "Really? But what if you were like, a hero to Mondstadt or something? What if the reason you feel so connected to our nation is because you're a reincarnation of a prominent figure important to our history?"

"Well, if that's true, then do you think you're a reincarnation of someone too?"

She hummed thoughtfully, laying back onto the grass and staring up at the cloudless blue sky. She smiled. "Maybe. If I am, I want to believe my past incarnation was a wonderful soul— someone who helped Mondstadt in its time of need, just like my ancestors."

You stared at her for a moment, admiring her side profile. A warm feeling bloomed inside your chest the longer you stared, and your heart began to thump against your ribcage as she met your gaze. Her soft expression could turn you to mush.

"And," she continued, sitting up on her elbow once more and leaning over your face with a smirk on her lips, "I'd like to believe we were together in our past lives, too. I don't think I could live without you, after all."

A small giggle left her lips, and you felt your face grow hot. She pecked your lips before settling on the grass next to you again, curling into your side as you both laid in comfortable silence.

It was that very same day that led to your downfall. Her words struck something within you, and a newfound determination surged throughout your body. It was that day you decided to pour your entire life into studying leyline anomalies and their effects on not only the world, but the people of Teyvat as well.

Everything else was shoved aside, left to rot in the back of your mind as you pushed yourself to your limit and worked your life away. You didn't expect your obsession to become the very thing that drove your first love away from you.

Just like your mother.

"This is borderline unhealthy!" Jean cried, shaking your notebook in front of your face. "You're obsessed! Can't you see how this is destroying you!?"

You refused to listen to reason. "I'm doing what you told me! Figuring out if memories really do affect us, and if all of us really are reincarnations of past historical figures!"

She looked at you incredulously. "Are you crazy!? This isn't something to waste your life over! I understand you want to make a historical breakthrough, but it's not worth it if you're losing your sanity along the way!"

You knew she was right. You could feel it. But, at that point, you were too far gone.

"But I'm so close to—"

"You're ruining yourself!" She screamed, tossing your notebook to the side. A few drops of water hit your nose, and soon, it began to rain. "Don't you see!? You're becoming your mother! Isn't that what you always sought to avoid?"

A fiery rage swelled within you at the mention of your mother and you gritted your teeth. You balled your hands into fists. Before you could get an insult out, she sniffled.

"I don't deserve to be cast aside, (Name)." Her voice was shaky as she attempted to keep her emotions in check, only to fail.

"You don't understand how important this research is to me," you muttered bitterly, "it means more to me than my own life. I'm nothing without this. I'm not like you. I don't have a huge life ahead of me— I don't have a duty to Mondstadt. Half my family is gone. I don't have a purpose. But this— this is my purpose. This research is what I've been looking for since my dad died."

She stared at you in disbelief. She scoffed. "Did we mean nothing to you?"

You were silent, unable to answer the question as you were hit with a sudden wave of guilt. Your jaw fell slack as your tongue felt heavy in your mouth. You tried to tell her that yes, she meant everything to you, but the words got caught in your throat.

"You're selfish!" She spat, her words piercing like knives in your heart. "All you care about is yourself. And that idiotic research." Without even so much as a "goodbye," she left.

footnotes. please see this post for the full extensive notes of this chapter!!

#venti #genshin impact #genshin #genshin venti #venti genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #genshin venti x you #genshin venti x reader #venti x you #venti x reader #genshin x you #genshin impact x you #— thus always to tyrants 🪴#—stellaronhvnters.

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