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norikuna · 29 days ago

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CREAM SODA — gojo satoru minors dni

prologue. → you've always known that gojo satoru is a real piece of work. arrogant, haughty. definitely has a praise kink for when people always call him 'the strongest.' but you're not even friends anymore, so this isn't any of your business...right?

what you didn't know is just how nasty he is, caging you in front of a mirror to lick away blood that he spilled from the veins of another man, one who dared to touch you.

pairing. gojo satoru x afab!reader

warnings+. secondary love interest in the form of a random oc, jjk lore being mildly twisted, history around the world, in-jujutsu universe (not an au), gojo going feral and batshit bonkers, rough séx, créampíe, INSANE glass-shattering jealousy, hate séx but only a bit, brééding, oràl (f. receiving). enemies to lovers, former friends, PLOT AND WORLD BUILDING BTW this isn't pẃp, éxhibitionísm, mirror séx, overstímulàtion, bratty reader but with a reason to be a hater, working together on a mission, mentions of alcohol and the crime underworld, DEFINITELY a bit dark because reader goes through emotional whiplash, descriptions of a fight and heavy injury, biting because i always somehow write gojo as a vampire type of freak?? the PRIME example of the miscommunication tropes and a case where neither person is in the right...nuance is your friend here, fake bodyguard!gojo, reader wears a dress + makeup for a formal event, angst, hurt, lashing out, some comfort and fluff

excerpt: part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

you know there's going to be a bouncer at the doors, with your face printed on a photo titled: dni! fraud! liar! the world's most incompetent jujutsu sorcerer! would bounce into a criminal's bed at first chance!

word count. 22k!!!!!!! AURKAY!! song inspiration. cream soda — exo, is there someone else — the weeknd

a/n. spent way too long trying to learn ps for the header 😭 wrote this only because of the new grey suit gojo art <3 there's a secondary love interest in this for the ✨ plot ✨ but he's just a character i made up for this story. i would have used one of the other jjk men but it would made it into an au that i didn't feel like expanding on 😭

mp3.. feel that tinglin', that silky smooth cream, each swirl deepens the flavor, babe. baby, go dumb dumb!

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your fluttering pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

the dewy pads of his fingers have come down in a harsh arc, slapping right at your throbbing clit, and the jolt sends such an incredible crack of lightning down your spine that you're bucking your hips back up into his hand, back for more.

"some class? hah, 'm not able to do that now, baby," and you can feel gojo shudder under your touch, as you paw at the linen of his black dress shirt, raking your nails over his pectorals, "not when it f-feels like your pussy is about to, fuck, vacuum my fingers off."

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but it's hard to convey any sense of righteous fury like this. not when he's back to pushing the tapered ends of his long fingers in and out of your tight heat. each brush from the pads of his fingertips leaves you squealing, tugging at the snowy strands on the back of his head.

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

and you're squealing, shocked at how fucking bold gojo satoru has become, whining at how a sharp hiss pulses through you, and you can feel the warmth of blood beginning to bloom and pool over your collarbone.

"shit, 'm sorry, baby. so sorry. but i'm gonna need to see you l-like this," and suddenly gojo snaps away the pussydrunk babble falling from his candied mouth, and he's pressing a searing kiss to your jaw, and the air becomes hazy with the scent of an insanely expensive cologne, cedar and something...sweet, like cardamom.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

not when his thick arm is around your waist, handling you until you're smack bang between his legs, right between dark slacks. and gojo has shifted, so your back is flat against the hard planes of his chest, and your knuckles can only grip at the vanity sink. so your eyes can only see your naked torso twisting in the mirror.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

wait. you need to pause this tape, and do a little rewind.

how did you end up here, getting finger-fucked in a luxury five star suite? by the one man on earth that you swore that you could never stand?

(earlier that day)

the chandeliers had been shimmering overhead like stars, each fine crystal caught the golden light and scattered it across the grand lobby, and it was making your eyes flare and twitch.

this entire hotel felt frozen in time, some opulent relic of the roaring twenties, translated straight into tokyo's beating heart.

it was all so...pristine, and gaudy. and even the air carried that faint scent of hefty chanel no.5 and furniture polish.

but hey, this cheque wasn't coming out of your pocket, so who were you to complain?

that's how you rationalised it to yourself, right after a smartly-dressed waiter had floated past with a tray of shimmering champagne, one that you had easily helped yourself to.

ah, fuck it.

let the bill rack up on yaga's card. the least he could do after volunteering you to the higher ups for this mission.

a thick folder rested in your lap, clipped papers inside threatening to spill over from the sheer volume of information, that made your head spin.

of course, it was all courtesy of the jujutsu administration's obsession with drowning sorcerers in needless bureaucracy. and so you leafed through it idly, your thumb skimming over the crisp edges.

names, places, dates, all laid out in haphazard detail.

what a mess, it was a lot, but not enough to fill in the gaps that gnawed at you. the higher ups never gave you everything, fuck, they hated making it easy. still, your eyes caught onto key phrases.

urgent recall of cursed object. yes, that's why you were here. and not enjoying your saturday afternoon at home.

declaration of most expenses covered, in the instances of losing a limb. fair enough, insurance was honestly hell these days.

gain access to the auction being held by the voiceless. find their leader, naoki sato.

you knew of the voiceless, most higher grade jujutsu sorcerers did. a crime syndicate so shrouded in mystery. operating overseas for decades without so much as a cloudy whisper to the general public.

you made an unimpressed face as you kept reading, crinkling sheets under your fingers. smuggling, extortion, and a great deal of unexplained murders that would leave the cast of criminal minds scratching their heads.

how tasteless. still, you weren't the law, each to their own.

however, something made this case different. it made it your apparent problem.

for the voiceless were not your usual ragtag team of ruffian criminals, intent on scamming the vulnerable and sad.

their ranks comprised of wayward jujutsu sorcerers, with a hearty appetite for special artefacts, including cursed objects.

and now here they were, back on tokyo's soil, their hands covered with more than just the regular mundane crimes that could land a man behind bars for life.

you shifted in the plush, sinking seat. flipped to a page that had been practically painted in the most unforgiving shade of neon yellow highlighter.

ah, so this was the cursed object. raijin's amulet.

there was a grainy, slightly off-centre photograph clipped to the top of the document. the image was not much to look out, all washed colours and shadows that clearly didn't speak highly of the skills of whoever was behind the camera.

a circular pendant, a darkened forged creation of bronze and jade, covered in the soot of the ages gone by. spiralled with intricate carvings that reminded you of swirling storm clouds on a summer's evening.

and at it's centre sat a jagged shard of some precious golden stone, rough-hewn at the edges.

you were certain that this was the cause behind the distorted photography, for a modern camera was simply just not meant to capture such high levels of cursed energy.

there was even a faint shape of a dragon coiled around the pendant's edges, with its claws gripping the frame as if guarding it...or imprisoning it.

you weren't sure which. you're not sure you wanted to know which.

the accompanying notes were sparse, filled with frustrated gaps that left you squinting.

believed to be an ancient relic of the heian era. captured from the treasure hoard of the early medieval sorcerer, ryōmen sukuna, after his death.

huh, you hadn't heard that name since your school-days, back when you had poured over fraying history tomes, trying to pen the perfect essay to beat out suguru's flawless grades.

said to be imbued with the power of the lightning deity, raijin. capable of summoning and manipulating thunder, and disrupting various veils and curtains. last known location: the british museum, 1982. current location: unconfirmed.

clearly not an artefact meant to sit behind public museum glass.

dangerous in the wrong hands, and priceless in the hands of all. this must have been at least leagues above your current pay grade.

your thumb hovered over the corner of the page, bruising the white paper underneath as you scanned over the rest of the text, hoping and looking for a section that would be titled: and here's how to track raijin's amulet down and find it, with no bloodshed, and just in time for dinner!

no such luck.

"figures," you muttered under your breath, shoving the folder shut with a disgusted sigh.

this entire mission reeked of playing politics. for years, the voiceless had operated under the radar of other nations, disguising the tell-tale jujutsu as unexplained natural disasters and accidents.

there had been no intervention. they had been untouchable because no-one had the foreign jurisdiction, nor the guts to intervene.

but now, with the voiceless back on home soil, it seemed the higher ups wanted to make a statement. something like 'hey, we're actually useful at our jobs of protecting the jujutsu world!' and who better to clean up their mess than you and...

gojo satoru.

speak of the devil. you glanced up towards the grand entrance of the hotel lobby, as an unfortunate doorman stood by revolving, glass doors.

your...partner strode in, with dark sunglasses perched on his nose, and you scrunched your nose, taking in his appearance.

despite gojo's striking features that could render anyone speechless, he always looked like an odd bird of prey to you.

hawkish with creepy eyes, like a big snowy owl that had been hit by a curse, transforming him and forcing him to assimilate into the world of humans.

"i wasn't sure if you would come," you called, hoping that you masked the bitterness well that he had arrived, and significantly decreased the quality of your day.

"you wouldn't say that in bed," was gojo's snarky, automated reply, before he gave you a mildly embarrassed look, as if his immature mouth moved faster than his common sense did.

"still, sorry to keep you waiting," and gojo was crushing the heel of his boot into the cream marble of the floor, tapping it, all ridiculously long legs in the same uniform dress pants that you also donned, "traffic was hell."

"you don't even have a license," you grouched with a glare that you hoped was sharp enough to cleave time and space, but you stood up all the same, "and i wasn't waiting, i was working."

click! click!

gojo snapped his fingers, reaching for the folder stacked in your arms, "yes, of course you were, sweets," and he clicked his tongue, "now, why don't you hand that to me, and go check us in? i can look over what i need to do, let's get this done before night falls."

the audacity. the absolute nerve. how so typically gojo. swooping in at the last minute for kill shot, as usual, while others poured through all the paperwork, and did all the mental heavy lifting.

"you mean what we need to do, gojo," you snapped, your scowl deepening, "you're the late one. you go check us in."

gojo arched a pale brow, and the corner of his mouth twitched as though he wished he could just unwalk through those doors now, caught between amusement and exasperation. "you used to be so nice. what happened?"

"tsk! i think you happened, gojo. didn't ask to be stuck here with you."

"ah, so you do think about me, at least. but now you're jus' so difficult all the time."

"fuck off, i'm not difficult!" you shot back, before shrinking at the foul look that an elderly couple had directed your way, muttering something about how youth just didn't know how to act indoors, "i'm just saying it's not fair -"

"fine, whatever. don't care, sweets," gojo interrupted, already rolling big, blue eyes and turning away, "i'll go do it. you just stay nice and comfortable here."

and just like that, after comfortably raising your blood pressure (and heart rate), gojo satoru strode off towards the vast front desk, hands shoved lazily into his pockets, as though the two of you weren't on the clock to hunt down and find a dangerous criminal, his syndicate and a cursed object.

you trailed behind him, resisting the violent urge to grab his stupid sunglasses and fling them across the lobby. or stomp on them.

or just sit on them.

meanwhile, your eyes landed on the last and final page of the file, where a bright pink sticky note stood out sharply against the dull black and white of the case file.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

the words were scrawled in thick, impatient strokes of a black marker. the kind that spoke more of efficiency, than humanity.

typical. there was just nothing that higher ups of the jujutsu world loved more than lopping the head off anyone that they deemed inconvenient. quick, clean and final.

still, this decision wasn't your business, not really.

you looked up to see gojo casually leaning against the counter, and his entire demeanour radiated smooth confidence as he spoke to the receptionist.

the sweet-looking woman had fumbled her worlds almost immediately, and she had dropped her pen twice. and he had caught it with an easy smile and wink that would have made you roll your eyes clean out of your skull.

you wanted to gag.

in less than a minute, gojo had the black keycard in his hand, spinning it between his fingers like some trophy as he sauntered towards the elevators.

you sighed as he stopped in front of you, extending the card with a flourish, like a knight presenting a courtier with a wreath of fresh-cut flowers.

"we're here for a mission, gojo. not to get it wet."

the tips of his ears flushed a bright, vibrant red. but his grin didn't falter as he huffed, and snatched the keycard back. leaving your arm floundering in the air before you dropped it.

"how crude. that's not even what i asked her. but still, you're welcome, sweets," he had said, stepping into the elevator and holding the door open for you with an exaggerated stretch of his arm.

"i didn't say thank you."

gojo smiled, tilting his head in that distracting, no. what? in that irritating manner of his, "no need. i could feel the gratitude radiating off you," and he's crossing his arms against his broad chest in a way that made the tailored uniform seem unfairly snug, "warms my heart."

"what if you don't have a heart?

for a fleeting moment, something unreadable flashed in gojo's eyes, irritation easily — but something unrecognisable, but he must have smoothed it away with practised ease. for that same cocky grin returned like clockwork, infuriatingly charming and just as insincere.

"what if it only beats for you?" he shot back, wiggling his fingers dramatically, and the motion was so over-the-top that it leaned closer to sleazy than heartstopping.

"now i'm worried, you need to get shoko to check that out. sounds like a serious health issue."

"your tender concern for my well-being is what keeps my blood pumping," and you know that gojo has little regard for the personal space for others, the way that the distance between you is closing once more, in a way that makes your own pulse flicker.

"please," and you take a deliberate step back to reclaim your own space, "if i wanted you gone, i wouldn't waste my time hoping for a heart attack. i'd do it myself."

gojo shrugs, tilting his head like you had just told him a sweet joke, "you're cute when you're homicidal, y'know that?"

"and you're insufferable all the time. we all have our talents."

gojo's barked out a laugh, and the sound is annoyingly genuine. it has you grinding your teeth together, making your jaw tight.

"hey, gojo," you swivel back to the towering bean-pole behind you, leaning against a steel bar.

"mhm, what?"

"i'll give you a hundred thousand yen if you keep your mouth shut during the entire elevator ride," you mutter, staring at the ground floor map, and up to where your suite was meant to be, hands fiddling over the buttons.

"deal."

you glance back, "that easy? clan money running low, gojo?"

gojo sighs, shaking his (ridiculous) snow-cone hair, "you have no idea. spent it all on a sweet talkin' girl who kicked me to the curb. even took the dog with her. who takes the fucking dog?"

despite yourself and your iron-clad resolution to not validate gojo satoru in anything, you snort, the first genuine laugh he's pulled out of you.

you choose not to notice how his eyes suddenly seem a shade brighter, as you snicker, "you're so ridiculous."

he doesn't reply as you press an index finger into the cool metal of the elevator button, and you turn around to see him sadly miming out his broke plight, with a sack of imaginary things over his shoulder, jingling the few coins he has.

tsk. you bite your lip to stop the corners of your lips lifting up to match gojo's own, wrinkling your nose in faux distaste as you spin back around, with gritted teeth. away from the mild bane of your existence.

true to his word, and shockingly so, gojo stayed silent through the elevator ride. mostly.

you caught his restless sighs, the shuffle of his ridiculously polished boots, and the occasional sharp intake of breath like he was simply dying to say something, but kept biting it back.

good. for once, it was nice to make gojo satoru stew.

the elevator dinged, and you had already stepped out, planning to ditch him in the suite, but clearly, gojo had other ideas.

"alright, sweets," he said, hand extended, "i won the bet. hundred thousand yen, i can take a cheque too."

you stopped short, glaring at his outstretched (sculpted) hand.

"right now? just as we're gonna plan how to catch a criminal? can't we do a pay later type of thing?"

gojo's responding grin was wolfish, and his voice dropped enough to make you bristle, "sure. pay later, with a kiss."

your groan must have echoed down the hall, and without thinking, you shoved past him. your shoulder colliding with his chest in a way that was deeply satisfying.

"my kisses," you snapped, refusing to look back at him, "are worth way more than a hundred thousand yen."

gojo didn't reply immediately, no. and for a second, you thought had finally managed to shut him up enough for a moment's peace to gather the thoughts that the white-haired man always managed to unravel.

but when you dared to glance back over your shoulder, his sharp gaze was fixed on you, and his lips were pressed together oddly — the faintest dusting of cherry pink peeking out underneath his sunglasses, and falling over his cheeks.

nary a peep from gojo then, save for him rushing past you to slot the keycard into the door. but holy fuck, the sheer luxury of this suite almost made you forget that gojo satoru even existed.

sleek dark woods, glowing orange accents, and a massive window that offered a panoramic view of tokyo's skyline. and then, there was the bed.

ridiculous in its decadence. a king-sized masterpiece, draped in plush linens that looked softer than the clouds dotting the afternoon sky. framed by polished ebony bedposts that gleamed in the warm light of the suite. the mattress was practically calling out to you, to sink your back into it.

wait, where was the other bed?

"nope! absolutely not," you blurted, spinning on your heel to face gojo who had sauntered in after you, pausing mid-step and clearly, equally caught off-guard with a stunned expression on his face — before morphing into something maddeningly smug.

"what?" gojo said, leaning casually against the doorframe, "it's a bed. you've seen one before, right?"

you tried to speak in a way that wouldn't quite make it show that you felt like your tongue was lead, jabbing a finger at the bed as though it had personally offended you, "there's only one!"

gojo's lips quirked upwards, his blue eyes gleaming with that irritating mix of amusement and mischief, most likely derived from your displeasure, "now look at that, we can count to ten. baby steps."

"don't start with me," you snapped, "i'm not crashing out there. i'd rather sleep in the hallway."

gojo tilted his head, the white tufts of his hair falling around his face, as though he were considering the suggestion seriously, "not sure the hotel staff would appreciate you loitering in their five-star corridors. won't stop you though, sweets."

"you can sleep on the couch," you try to offer helpfully, relishing in how it's his turn to scowl at you.

gojo's glancing towards the sleek leather sofa in the corner, most likely worth more than your monthly rent, "tempting," he drawls, "but i don't think that thing was designed for someone with legs this long," and he's slapping his hands on his thighs, and you do your very best to not track your stare down.

"then curl up like the overgrown house cat you are -"

"fuck you mean by that?"

"or sleep on the floor!"

"i'm liking these options less and less."

but then gojo straightens, and you're starting to see a small tick reach to the corner of his bright eyes, the faintest hint of irritation seeping through his drawl, "you know, for someone so desperate to avoid me, you spend a lot of time wondering where i'm gonna sleep."

you hate the traitorous flush heating up your face, "i'm thinking about it because you're my problem."

"well i hope i'm at least your favourite problem," gojo murmurs, brushing past you to toss his dark bag onto the bed.

"so, what's it gonna be?" gojo's voice was a lazy purr, patting the mattress beside him with a grin that could have launched a thousand arguments, "join me, or keep fighting a losing battle? because -" he faked a yawn, "i think i'm starting to get a bit sleepy."

"sleepy? you're a grown man, and it's barely three in the afternoon."

gojo arches a pale brow, and you have to force yourself to stop staring at the pink curve of his lips, "and? scared you won't be able to resist me in the middle of the night?"

"you should be scared you'll wake up with a pillow smothering your face."

gojo sighs, melodramatic and loud, rolling over onto his back, "i'd rather be smothered by -"

"gojo!"

his laugh is low and rich, and it vibrates in the air in a way that make your teeth itch, and your eyes roll, desparate to change the subject and actually get back on track.

you shove the hefty file in his direction, letting him flounder to grab a hold of it, "last page. naoki sato."

gojo's entire demeanor shifts, and falls under the mention of the name, eyes a touch darker, and suddenly serious in a way that almost makes you regret being on the clock. but he's pushed himself up from the bed, his legs dangling off the edge.

"what about him?"

you frowned, still turning over the situation in your mind, "well, he's supposedly working out of this district right, i mean, even this hotel? but why? i always thought crime bosses had creepy lairs in dark alleyways or something. and not," you gesture to the five-star architecture around you, "this."

gojo's broad shoulders shrug in that lazy way of his, like everything was beneath him, but there was something else flickering behind his perched sunglasses, "i've never even met him. just heard of him," but gojo seems to be chewing each word, as if choosing them carefully, "but what i've heard? not your typical criminal? he flies high, lives the wild life out in the open, rich and shameless."

you privately held back any biting comment that came to you as easy as breathing, about gojo also being the epitome of rich...and shameless. time and place, yeah?

gojo, thank the lucky stars, had not noticed you fighting demons to keep a straight face, "but then every so often sato vanishes off the radar, and then, bam!" your partner splayed his fingers, "he strikes again. always showing in a different place. the united states, france, england, egypt..."

you raise an eyebrow, tapping at your phone, "egypt?"

"egyptian artefacts are ridiculously powerful, sweets. i mean, on a whole other level. they aren't linked with y'know...jujutsu," he gestures vaguely between the two of you, "but whatever they've got is ancient and ridiculously potent. last the higher ups heard, naoki sato managed to get his hands on an old obelisk."

you shake your head at the prospect, humouring gojo, "whatever for?"

"whatever twisted things he does in his free time, fuck if i know. but of course, he couldn't control it. instead, it summoned the spirit of a massive serpent, killed a bunch of innocent civilians."

you have the faintest collection of the mythos surrounding an ancient serpent, and the thought makes you shudder, "wouldn't the local authorities have arrested him for that?"

gojo pushes his sunglasses up his head, so you're now looking back at unblinking blue eyes ringed by white lashes, "how do you arrest a guy who's practically a ghost? they couldn't even find him after all that shit. besides, his technique is something else. enhance. practically has control over every cell in your body."

you nod slowly, hoping that you're piercing it all together correctly, "so this auction is because he's got more of these artefacts? like raijin's amulet?"

gojo nods sharply, and you're struck by the intensity of big blue eyes with whorls of storm clouds lingering between his gaze, "i guess even villainous criminals want to make profit. but we can get a front row seat to whatever he's planning next."

"and stop him before that."

"right. that's what i said."

your frown deepens, "how the fuck does an entire auction stay hidden from the public?"

after all, you had scoured the floorplan of this hotel from base to rooftop, and not a single room or corner would accomodate naoki sato, and the voiceless that follow him.

gojo shrugs with infuriating nonchalance, his fingers tapping idly against the edge of the bed, "there's jujutsu that can create entire illusions. beneath this very hotel lies an entrance to a hidden ballroom, but it's been in and out of use for decades. we jus' need to slip in, find sato, and maybe shake him a few times until he spills the amulet's location."

you cross your arms, and the unfortunate truth lingers on your tongue, "if it were that easy, the higher ups wouldn't have sent you with me as backup."

"was that a compliment for me? careful, you might actually start liking me now."

and at your affronted expression, laugher is spilling out gojo satoru, sharp and cocky and awfully infectious.

you hated the sound, not because it wasn't nice, but because it was. too rich, too easy. the kind of laugh, from the strongest sorcerer to walk the earth, that made you wonder if ever took a damn thing seriously. with the unfortunate side effect of questioning why it was so annoyingly attractive at the same time.

nobody should get to look that good while being such an unbearable ass. it was unfortunate, you thought grimly, how much you liked seeing him laugh though.

"i don't think i'd ever like you at all, gojo."

but alas, the world has a cruel way of making you wish that the earth swallowed you whole. and your heart and mind certainly aren't on speaking terms with each other to coordinate properly. for the barb flies out of your mouth like an uncontrolled reflex, a rogue arrow hitting its mark.

and you're left grimacing as gojo's smile stills. not vanishing completely, but frozen while something cooler and sharper slips into his gaze. the awkward silence that follows is loud enough to make you wince and pray that a lightning bolt strikes you down right now.

gojo gives a quiet cough, and you're wondering just how much of his nonchalant facade he has left intact. fuck, you were a bit of an ass yourself.

"ah, gojo. i didn't mean -" you started, stumbling over the words, desperate to backpedal, if only for the sake of the mission. right?

"don't strain yourself pretending," gojo cuts you off, and you're mildly stung by the smooth edge of venom coating his voice, despite his relaxed smile, "let's just get this job done, yeah? it's just us two here because no-one else could put up with you. i was the only one left who actually wanted to try."

well. ouch, that was a low blow. motherfucker.

your jaw tighten, and for a moment, all you can do is stare into vibrant blue eyes. surely, that wasn't true...right? and how awful that the sharp look in his eyes softened into a smug satisfaction as he registered how his own barb had found his mark.

now, gojo satoru is leaning back with an air of victory, crossing his arms as if to bask in it. talk about drawing more blood from a wound than necessary.

"you're awful, gojo," you bit out, praying that whatever tremor lives in your throat is not enough to appear in your voice.

"yes, i know. you say that all the time."

it was almost tragic, you thought bitterly, how in those fleeting few minutes, you had found gojo satoru bearable. likeable even. insightful, in his own smug way.

but now, the two of you were back to square one, staring each other down with walls firmly back in place.

sure, your quip had been mildly unnecessary, but it wasn't like he hadn't heard your blithe and bland comments by now?

but still, gojo's words gnawed at you. the idea that no one else wanted to put up with you, except him, of all people, burrowed deeper than it had any right to.

maybe it was petty, but you weren't about to let gojo satoru have the last word.

"remember that the higher ups want naoki sato executed," you said, breaking the terse silence.

gojo didn't even glance up from the file he'd been pretending to skim, his long fingers casually flipping a page. and that nonchalance made your stomach churn with irritation.

when he finally looked up, his expression was a mix of curiosity, and disdain, as if you had become a particularly stubborn puzzle that he'd decided was not worth solving, "yes, i know that too. so what?"

"you and i both know you've had trouble executing criminals in the past."

a calculated jab, sharper than they needed to be. and you saw the impact hit almost immediately. gojo's jaw tightened, and the glint in his frosty blue eyes disappeared, replaced by something darker, furious even.

suguru geto was still well and alive, often appearing on television as a friendly priest who would cure one of all their ails such as lower back pain or bad headaches, for the low price of joining the ranks of his organisation (read: cult). but he still remained a sore point for...everyone. you, included.

gojo, especially.

and now the air between you shifted, chilling like a winter draft had snuck into the room. your eyes fell on gojo's knuckles as they tightened around the file, his expression stony.

you shouldn't have felt proud of yourself for getting under his skin, for pulling a genuine reaction from him. but you did. you'd found a crack in his flawless armour, without needing to bypass infinity.

and it was satisfying.

"f-fuck you," gojo said finally, the razor edge in his voice was matched only by the glare he pinned on you.

you crossed your arms, doing your best to feign indifference despite the adrenaline surging through you. ignoring how you felt an awful pit in your stomach sprout, rendering you rather nauseous, and quoting his previous words, "don't strain yourself pretending it's not true."

gojo satoru's glower could have melted steel, and for a moment, you wondered if you'd gone too far. but he stood, slowly, his movements deliberate as he slammed the file shut with a resounding snap.

you watched as he snatched up his smaller bag, and swung the door open with enough force that you were surprised that it didn't fall off its hinges, "just be ready by the time i get back. 'm gonna take a walk."

and you were left, alone, in a room that suddenly felt so much more suffocating.

you weren't sure how long it had been since gojo had stormed out, leaving the room icy in his absence. you hadn't moved from your spot by the door, though you told yourself that you were entirely fine.

arms crossed, lips pressed into a thin, defiant line. but even as you stared at the dark panels of the door, the lie began to unravel.

you told yourself that you just didn't care for gojo satoru. that you didn't like how he was too loud, too reckless, too overwhelming, a force that just didn't fit into the neat confines of your world.

the heat rising to your cheeks must have betrayed you, as did the tight knot in your chest. it had been...not your wisest choice to lash out at him, or to even bring up his name. suguru geto, a wound that would never close for anyone.

but more than that, you hated the memory of his expression just before he left. hurt, and anger. and something far more raw.

he would come back, you knew that much. gojo was much too dutiful to leave a mission and abandon a chance to do some good in this world. it should have been a comfort, but it did little to ease you. instead, that certainty only twisted the guilt tighter in between your ribcage.

finally, you yanked the door open, fuelled by an impulse you didn't care to name. you wanted to catch him outside, mid-pace and brooding. just so you could say...something. anything.

but the hallway was empty, stark and silent, with only the dim flicker of warm light as your witness. you bit your tongue as your stomach churned sourly with disappointment.

and instead, you just slammed the door shut, letting the sound reveberate with just as much force that gojo had slammed the door with, on his way out. you leaned against the wood, closing your eyes as you did your level best to swallow that lump of regret making a home in your throat.

pacing helped for about...three minutes. shuffling through the case files on the table did nothing but remind you of why you were here, why you had both been sent. after all, was this mission not bigger than you, or him? was this not about bringing naoki sato to justice?

it didn't feel that way.

your gaze landed on the garment bag handing from the chair, untouched from when you had pulled it out earlier, back when gojo had been inviting you...to bed.

sort of.

you unzipped the bag with (mildly) trembling hands, letting the fabric spill into your grasp. no doubt that the dress was beautiful, a masterpiece of icy, powder blue and shimmering sequins that caught the light like scattered stars.

well, this had certainly been worth half your paycheck.

your fingers brushed over the delicate embroidery, and for a moment, you felt a mild sting of your own hypocrisy and yearning heart. you accused gojo of being cold, distant and unfeeling, and yet here you were, holding a dress that reminded you of him in every way. the pale blue of the fabric, like the frost in his storm-eyes when they rested on you for too long.

if you ever came face to face with cupid, you would beat him with a baseball bat.

you sighed, dropping the dress onto the bed before gingerly stepping out of your uniform, as cool air stung your skin.

what had you been thinking, treating gojo like that? he didn't deserve your anger, not truly. you knew how much your former classmate carried, how much he gave himself to this cursed and thankless world.

but of course, the little pronged-devil on your shoulder whispered around the shell of your ear. he often drew equal blood from stinging cuts, no-one wanted to put up with you, anyway.

still, there was no use in showing up to a gathering of some of the world's most rich, wealthy and seedy looking like a hollow and shaken ghost. and this mission was just not about gojo, it was about the greater good of the jujutsu world, and that's what you repeated in your head like a mantra, as you swiped plush-red across your cheeks and lips.

a diamond necklace around your throat was the final touch. well, you say diamond, but the truth was more...cheap. still, the strand shone in linked chains of pretty crystals. and that had still been a minor fortune for one who lived on a jujutsu paycheck.

the hours had stretched the afternoon into evening, settling a fragile calm over the suite that made you ache to stretch your limbs out, and take in some fresh air.

but the silence was shattered by a sharp knock at the door, purposeful and deliberate. and it made you freeze, hands still resting on the straps of your glitzy shoes, a frown knitting your brows.

gojo had the keycard, did he not? but who else would be banging your door down?

with a sigh, you stood and lifted the hem of your dress as you crossed the room. opening the door with every intention of scolding him for whatever drama he was dragging in this time.

instead the words just about died a sad and lonely death on your tongue.

gojo satoru.

for a brief second, your thoughts emptied entirely, as though he had cast infinite void right over you, leaving you staring with a heart that hammered like a caged bird.

gone was his usual, drab uniform. instead, he had swapped the dull fabric for a sleek, black dress shirt that clung just right, paired with a crisp, grey jacket that framed his broad shoulders.

you tried to not let your gaze linger on the open gap right under the white tie that hung slightly loosened from his neck, where silk kissed creamy skin.

but gojo’s face was unreadable, distant and cool. you hated how his mere presence always seemed to tilt the world off its axis.

and you blinked, forcing your mouth to close, and you stepped back to let him in.

"you’re late. again," you snapped, but your voice lacked its usual venom, tempered by the sharp edges of minor guilt that refused to settle in you.

"whatever. ‘m here now, aren’t i?" gojo’s tone was casual, but his eyes lingered a second too long, leaving your skin prickling with self-conscious awareness.

it seemed that the universe needed to hit you with some karmic intervention, and you decided to take the rare moral high ground, "about earlier," you began, trying to steady yourself, "i shouldn’t have said -"

"forget it, sweets," gojo interrupted with a shrug, though his jaw was tight, "i’m not keen on hearing excuses. i get it."

you bristled, biting back the immense urge to shove him, an urge that becoming disturbingly frequent, "i wasn’t making excuses," sounding out each word slow and deliberate. anger simmering under the surface at his holier-than-thou attitude, "that was an apology."

that made gojo pause, and now he fully turned to you, expression shifting. though it was hard to read, caught between painful acknowledgement and absurd pride that would include him admitting that he was affected by what you said.

"tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

gojo slid a pair of tinted sunglasses from his pocket, sliding them up his nose, smooth and practised, "in a room full of the filthy rich and tastelessly overdressed?" his pink mouth twitched, "you’ll fit in perfectly."

gojo was right. this was just…tacky.

the ground floor of the building had been nothing but a sleek, cold lifeless maze of marble, and now he had led you down into what could only be described as a scene for criminals with bad taste. an abandoned parking lot stretched out in front of you, a grimy stretch of concrete that left you expecting a quiet dead end.

until gojo waved his hand, and the illusion clearly met for non-sorcerer eyes shattered.

before you, a set of massive double doors emerged, seemingly from nowhere, and the lifting of the veil had left you disoriented, nauseous. but when the doors swung open, you almost felt like you were stepping into a warped fever dream.

this room inside was the most bizarre mixture of garish opulence that you had ever seen. gold…everything. the walls plastered in a deep red, like someone had dipped the entire place in velvet swathes and then covered it with more gold leaf.

plush, overstuffed settees sat like soft, jewel-toned thrones in every corner, and glass boxes lined the walls, each holding what looked like nothing more than expensive junk, tacky figurines and diamond-encrusted trinkets.

it was the kind of place you’d absolutely expect a mob boss to call home after a particularly long, indulgent afternoon making questionable life choices.

the hall reeked of wealth, the kind that demanded to be seen. opulence dripped from every corner — gilded fixtures, crystalline chandeliers, and glass displays showcasing treasures that screamed money but whispered nothing of taste. you twitched as you passed a goblet encrusted with enough jewels to buy a small city-state. the thought of how much it probably cost made your stomach twist.

"focus," gojo muttered at your side, his tone clipped. he squinted slightly, his sunglasses doing little to shield his six eyes from the garish light that spilled over the room like liquid gold., and you could tell it was a bit...much for his senses, making him blink rapidly. "we’ll sweep the displays, see if the amulet’s here."

you tilted your head, gesturing toward his snowy mop of hair, the unruly strands falling messily over his face and grazing the edge of his glasses. "and you’re sure they won’t recognise you, in this whole...circus?"

gojo's responding glance was sharp, flat, and utterly devoid of humour.

"most of these people wouldn’t recognise a threat if it was biting them in the ass," he said, voice low and laced with disdain. "they’re not sorcerers. just your garden-variety rich and bored — criminals, trust fund brats, maybe a politician trying to look cultured. the kind of people who buy antiques because they match their curtains and makes them look good for their friends."

the corner of your mouth betrayed you, twitching upward at his cutting dismissal of the glittering nonsense around you. he had hit the nail on the head, making contempt seem like an art form.

and worse, you hated how there was something almost…sexy about it.

the thought hit you like a slap, and you forced it down immediately. gojo and sexy didn’t belong in the same sentence. not in the same universe. fuck, not even as a passing joke.

"charmed as i am by your high opinion of humanity," you said dryly, trying to ground yourself in sarcasm, "maybe don’t make it obvious you hate everyone here. we're not here to arrest every person in this room."

gojo snorted softly, his lips curving into what might have been a smirk — or at least the ghost of one. "you think so little of me. i don’t hate everyone." his eyes flicked toward you, just for a second, before returning to the vast hall ahead.

it wasn’t much. barely a glance of electric blue. but it was enough to send your pulse into a sprint, and fuck him, he had to know it. you turned your attention to the nearest display, praying he didn’t notice the warmth blooming in your cheeks.

traitorous.

"let’s just find the amulet, and sato. and get out of here," you said briskly, your voice a shade too sharp.

"mhm," gojo's voice was infuriatingly calm, but when you looked up, his gaze wasn’t on the displays. it was on you.

"you look lost."

a voice, smooth and low, slid over you like silk, stopping you cold in your tracks. it hadn't come from gojo by your side, thank the heavens above, but it didn't make your heart any steadier. you turned towards the source, and your stomach did a three-point flip.

well. hello, gorgeous.

the type of good-looking that just felt unfair. the type that made you forget your name for half a second, and then hate yourself for it. the strnger stood out against the room of puffed-up men in overpriced suits, glittering with real diamonds of their cuff-links, and rolled cigars in their hands.

your eyes fell on dark auburn strands that fell in perfectly tousled strands over his forehead, and a tailored black suit that hugged a slender waist.

"i hope you didn't wander into the wrong hall," the stranger said, curling his lips into a faint smile, fraught with suspicion as it was.

you forced yourself not to stare — at an absurdly sharp jawline, at big brown eyes. but words were a different matter entirely. you struggled to conjure them, grasping for anything remotely coherent.

you settled on an appropriate response.

"um. no, we didn’t."

not your finest moment. not even close.

before you could mentally regroup with a few brain cells, a sharp jolt yanked you back to reality. you sucked in a sharp breath as gojo's long fingers pinched the underside of your arm, a deliberate sting that left you glaring at him.

he didn’t even bother to meet your eyes.

his entire focus was fixed on the stranger, his posture taut with unspoken tension, gojo's jaw clenched so tight you thought he might crack a perfect tooth.

the air shifted subtly, a faint hum of energy emanating from gojo. you knew that hum. it meant trouble. gojo, ever the master of simmering hostility, was gearing up for something, and he was looking weirdly agitated.

and you found it tasteless to jump the first person you had run into here.

"i usually know most of the guests at my events," the stranger continued, his voice calm, unbothered — but there was an edge to it, like he already knew the answer to the question he hadn’t asked.

oh.

you felt your stomach plummet as recognition dawned.

naoki sato.

no wonder gojo looked ready to snap someone in half. naoki wasn’t just anyone — he was the head of the voiceless. the host of this auction. the man whose fortune was built on enough shady dealings to fill a large library. the one who had more blood on his hands than those who had been dealt life sentences.

one of the most wanted jujutsu criminals in the world.

"you've — " gojo started, his voice sharp, but you cut him off with a forced, almost too-bright smile.

"you've thrown quite the party," you said, your words tripping over themselves as you elbowed gojo subtly, hoping to god he’d take the hint. "i’m actually quite new to the area. just exploring, hoping to find something good tonight."

gojo let out a low grunt, a sound that promised retribution later. you ignored him and plastered on a wider smile, one you hoped would distract from your partner's upcoming reversal: red.

"and, ah. this is my bodyguard...genji," you added, giving gojo's arm a firm retributive pinch through the fabric of his jacket.

the look he shot you could've melted steel, but you held your ground, determined not to let him ruin this.

if for once, he could take your plan into account, a great deal of bloodshed could be avoided.

naoki's faint cherry smile widened, bemused, "your…bodyguard?" he echoed, gaze flickering to gojo satoru.

gojo who stood like a coiled spring, gojo who certainly was no method actor. his icy glare practically speaking volumes of 'i will burn this room down.'

"well," naoki drawled, his tone almost playful now, and you flushed, "i hope you find what you’re looking for here."

behind him, his entourage, a cadre of hulking men stuffed into suits barely containing their bulk, followed with synchronised precision. they looked more like walking fortresses than bodyguards, with their cold and suspicious eyes cutting through the room as they passed.

one of them shot you an odd look, and you forced yourself to feign interest in a nearby display of sapphire-encrusted forks.

the moment the criminal was out of earshot, gojo leaned down, "genji? really?"

you shrugged, ignoring how you felt your nerves fray. and refusing to meet him half-way, "what? okay, i panicked. it was the first name i thought of."

"yeah, that was so convincing," gojo muttered darkly beside you, and you caught some bitten off words about how he was never going on a mission with you again, how yaga should never have roped him into this.

all things you blithely ignored.

you didn’t need to look at him to know he was furious. it rolled off him in waves, the tension in his posture, the barely audible hum of cursed energy still crackling under the surface.

"we don't even know where the amulet is. and imagine if we show up in front of yaga without it. you can do whatever you like with him after we get our hands on the cursed object," you whispered back, pretending to study the ridiculous cutlery with exaggerated focus.

gojo lowered his head, as though he suddenly saw the worth in gemstones embedded in cutlery, but just enough so he could glower at you. "you're flirting," he hissed, "i could have blasted through half this room, and just finished the job by now."

you coughed and hackled, "not all of us think effective battles are fought with a hollow purple."

"and not all of us,” gojo bit back, "feel the need to blush like schoolgirls the second someone bats an eyelash at us."

heat shot through you, part anger, part something you didn’t want to name. "blush?” you snapped. "i wasn’t blushing."

"you just wanted to jump his bones. thought we weren't here to get it wet."

"i'm not entertaining this conversation," but your voice was mildly higher pitched, drawing attention, "is that why you were there? standing like an idiot, or a jealous ex-boyfriend?"

gojo's sneer faltered, just for a split second, but it was enough to make your heart lurch with a strange, vindictive triumph.

"i wasn’t jealous," he said, "i was doing my job. y'know, being a jujutsu sorcerer. bringing a criminal to justice."

you opened your mouth, ready to retort, but no words came. because he wasn’t entirely wrong, and that infuriated you more than anything.

so instead, you lifted your hand, placing it firmly on his shoulder, onto the crisp and fine fabric of his jacket. you didn't miss the way he stiffened, briefly disarmed.

"look, i've got this. just stay close."

gojo's jaw tightened, and you could feel the unspoken protest simmering there. before he could get a word in, you turned away and called out.

"hey! naoki!"

the red-haired man stopped mid-stride, turning his head back toward you with a quizzical look. the confident words you’d planned evaporated the moment his sharp, brown eyes pinned you in place.

"i mean, naoki sato. mr. sato," you fumbled, mentally kicking yourself.

brilliant start. truly one of jujutsu tech's finest.

naoki raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from confusion to faint amusement. his gaze flicked to gojo, who had crossed his arms like a fortress of disdain and immense ill-will.

"found something you like?" naoki asked smoothly.

you ignored the huff that escaped the white-haired man next to you, and forced a smile, "actually, i was hoping you could help me choose something out. i'm not an expert here, and there's just so much to see."

naoki's bodyguards shifted, their expressions darkening as if you’d committed some unspoken faux pas. but the crime boss merely tilted his head, the faintest hint of a smirk playing on his lips.

"ah, well," he said, drawing the word out lazily, "i don’t usually get this forward with my clients, but i suppose i'll make an exception."

his eyes slid once again to gojo, who was now glowering at a waiter hovering too close to his personal space, on the edges of infinity. "your bodyguard," naoki added helpfully, "can walk behind you. perhaps he'd like a drink to keep him occupied."

gojo's snarl could have peeled garish paint off the walls, "i don't want it."

you resisted the urge to roll your eyes at the stubborn ass.

instead, you pasted on a smile, tight and sweet, and shot gojo a look that could cut glass, "our host is offering you something. you want that drink, genji."

"i don’t want cream soda," gojo muttered, all mulish in his six foot three glory.

gritting your teeth, you flashed naoki a helpless look, like what can you do? bodyguards, am i right?

and you reached for the waiter's tray, grabbing a tall glass of the offending soda and thrusting it into gojo's warm hand. then you leaned in, your voice a whisper, "take it. smile and act normal. ten minutes, that’s all i need."

for a moment, his blue eyes locked on yours, a storm of irritation twirling in them. you were now close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, close enough to notice the faintest hitch in his breath.

but gojo, for once, didn’t argue. with a final glare, he downed half the glass in one long, defiant gulp, his adam’s apple bobbing as he drank.

naoki laughed, watching the scene unfold with thinly veiled amusement, "you're very kind to the help. shall we?"

you shot gojo satoru one last look — a mix of triumph and warning —before stepping forward.

but your partner, predictably, looked like he'd rather swallow glass than stand a moment longer here. still, bodyguard is as bodyguard does, and he trailed after you like a reluctant shadow.

"i must admit," naoki began, his brown eyes catching the glittering lights as they swept over you, "it's rare to see someone so beautiful at these things. i think i would have remembered seeing you before, too. i'm usually stuck with old men trying to swindle me out of my fortune."

a flush climbed up your neck, unwelcome and irritating at what must have been calculated words, enough to flatter and also to disarm.

behind you, gojo audibly scoffed, clearly abandoning all manner of proper etiquette. you glanced over your shoulder to see him gripping the stem of a champagne flute, his knuckles white. the empty glass of cream soda had been abandoned in favour of something stronger.

he caught your eye and rolled his, making a slicing gesture at his neck followed by a pointed hurry up motion.

"ignore him," you murmured to naoki, pushing forward.

naoki’s eyes gleamed with amusement, easily unbothered as he gestured for you to continue walking. "does your bodyguard always look like he’s seconds away from murder, or is this special treatment for me?"

you didn’t dare look back at gojo, “he’s just protective," you said carefully.

naoki chuckled, "protective, sure. but of his job...or you?"

the words struck a nerve you refused to acknowledge, so you pressed the conversation forward. ignoring the jitter that erupted in your stomach.

"can i ask...," you said, tilting your head just enough to feign casual curiosity, "are these all cursed objects? or just pretty trinkets?"

naoki's amusement didn’t falter, but his gaze sharpened, assessing you like you were a puzzle he was only now beginning to piece together.

"why?” he asked smoothly, "are you interested in jujutsu? i thought you were here to...browse."

fuck, caught, but not completely.

you played it off with a small shrug. "some members of my family dabble in jujutsu," you said, letting a sliver of truth escape, but letting the rest of your words drip with lies, "i can only see curses, i'm not a sorcerer. but most of my family still hates me for how i was born."

behind you, gojo shifted, his movements a touch sharper than before. he hadn’t known that, hadn't known the small truth that you had snuck into your words.

but naoki's expression softened, his smile more thoughtful now. "that’s rare. and often not appreciated, i imagine.”

you hesitated, cautiously, but nodded. "not by them, no."

"i understand. my parents hated jujutsu. thought it was unnatural, and against the way of the world. my grandfather...he was the only one who didn't," and there's a quiet sincerity threading naoki sato's words, "he raised me when my parents refused to. at least, until he passed."

something in his story tugged at you — a familiarity you hadn’t expected. your family’s disdain for your own jujutsu, their rejection, mirrored in his words. it was unsettling, but oddly not unwelcome.

"i’m sorry about your grandfather," you said softly.

"and i, about your family,” naoki replied, a calm mask settling over his features once more, reminding you so painfully of the sorcerer who trailed behind you, "no-one should be made to feel lesser, sorcerer or not."

you caught your lip between your teeth, hoping the red stain didn't catch onto your teeth, "i thought most sorcerers hated humans."

naoki shrugged, "we aren't all that different. all flesh and blood with temporary lives."

oddly wise words from a mass murderer, thief and criminal.

you glanced over at gojo again, and just as you predicted, his scowl deepened and the glass looked like it was about a shatter in his hands. if looks could kill, naoki sato would be the first to go, no questions asked, followed by you.

naoki snickered, "your shadow grows restless."

"ignore him, please," you muttered, stepping closer to a glass case to distract yourself, "what’s this?"

naoki followed, stepping closer so you could catch the scent of expensive almond and saffron, "ah," he said, gesturing at the artefact inside, "a blade, from ming dynasty china. the jade serpent on the hilt grants its wearer the ability to control minds. some say it can even raise the dead."

the claim sent a shiver down your spine, but you masked it with feigned interest, nodding as naoki moved on.

"and here," he continued, pointing to a golden ring, with an oddly boyish grin for someone dealing in murderous items, "the lion's eyes. said to see through any veil, any curse. the last treasure of the dynasty of the pharoahs."

you tried to listen, but gojo's presence loomed larger with every word. his disdain for naoki sato, his barely concealed anger at the stolen objects— it was all too palpable. when you glanced back, his scowl had deepened, and the champagne glass in his hand looked on the verge of shattering.

if looks could kill, naoki sato would already be six feet under. you would be next on the list.

you swallowed hard, turning back to naoki sato and pointing at the next display. "and this?"

naoki pushed his hands into the pockets of his slacks, "the broken english crown. apparently worn by the last king to die on the battlefield, and i haven't tried it on," he shares this with you, with a conspiratorial smile, "but legends say it fractures the bones of anyone deemed not powerful enough to wear it."

this criminal was not what you had expected at all. it was hard to reconcile the image of a hardened criminal with years of ruthless ambition, with this effortless charm and disarming way of making you lose the blurred line of correct propriety. you tried not to stare at how the warm light caught his auburn hair, like the autumn leaves in the dappled sun.

and yet, it wasn’t just his looks that threw you off. it was the way he carried himself — like he had nothing to prove and everything to hide. dangerous in a different way, one that was far harder to guard against.

it reminded you of gojo satoru.

"you know, i have to admit," naoki said, gesturing to the gilded displays around him, "most of this stuff? tacky as hell. but then, you would be surprised what most people would pay for tacky."

from a swindler, fraud and scammer? you were quite sure.

"funny, coming from someone whose livelihood depends on it. isn't that gaudy by association?"

naoki winked, and you averted your gaze from long brown lashes fluttering against soft skin, "touché. but people don't want to just buy the artefact, or the cursed object. they want the story. that shit's priceless."

you swallowed, focusing on how gojo was trying to draw your attention to a glass case hidden by all the others, and you hoped you weren't squinting, "so, you're just a storyteller then?"

but beside you, naoki sato tilted his head, "you could say that."

you thought of the clipped photos printed into the file. some in black and white, and some in raging shades of colour. where naoki sato's hands had painted entire buildings in shades of sticky red, and heads rolled on the floor. where his enhance technique could burst arteries and lungs, leaving people in pieces on the floor.

"sounds dramatic," you said, though your voice came out quieter than you intended.

"life's dramatic, and too short to not take what i want," naoki replied with a faint smile, his hand lightly brushing your waist as he guided you further past long tables.

you leaned into it without thinking, a tiny movement that made a creamy, berry flush paint over naoki's features. and the sorcerer's laugh was warm, low, like he’d already won something you didn’t realise was at stake.

behind you, a sharp cough broke the moment.

gojo.

you let your lips curl into a faint smile and leaned into naoki's just a fraction more, with a very deliberate look, one that spoke of triumph and having tamed a beast.

gojo's scowl deepened, his shoulders taut with barely restrained frustration, and he started mouthing at you, silent as his lips parted. if you read his mouth carefully, well...

he was calling you rather unflattering names.

"what's that?" but it was gojo's voice that roughly cut through the air, like gravel grinding underfoot. his shaded eyes were fixed on the glass case tucked in the corner.

you followed his gaze, past his outstretched arm, and your stomach twisted.

raijin's amulet.

the cursed object you’d been hunting, the one you’d sworn to protect at all costs, gleamed innocently behind its protective glass. you could recognise the serpentine dragon coiled protectively around the stone at its centre, its intricate carving daring anyone to claim it.

your frantic eyes met gojo's. his were sharp, seething. then, both your gazes flicked to naoki.

naoki, of course, noticed nothing — or pretended not to. he let out a soft hum, following gojo's pointed stare.

"the bodyguard's interested too?"

you coughed, cutting through the rising tension before gojo could turn that look into something explosive. the glass case between them might as well have been kindling for the fire brewing.

"it's mainly for academics," you said, feigning an air of curiosity. then, with practiced innocence, you tilted your head and smiled at the dangerous special grade cursed object as if it were nothing more than an ordinary trinket.

"but it’s so pretty. what is it, really?"

naoki's hand tightened subtly on your waist, and you tried to ignore the guilt that bubbled up in your chest when his sharp features softened at your feigned interest.

"it’s just an old thing," he said, his voice lowering as if sharing a secret meant only for you, "did you know it once belonged to ryomen sukuna?"

your mouth was dry, but you kept your face blank, tilting your head as though you’d never heard the name before, "sukuna?"

naoki pressed his palm to the glass case, his expression shifting into something darker, more reverent.

"the king of curses," he murmured. "lived over a thousand years ago. ruthless. when he died, most of his treasures were plundered by clans too greedy for their own good. but this..." he tapped the glass softly. "this one? it wasn't easy to get my hands on."

you leaned closer, feigning fascination while calculating your next move, trying to figure out how you could get close enough to that glass case without shattering the illusion cast on naoki sato, "what does it do?"

for a moment, naoki's eyes narrowed, suspicion flickering in their depths. but just as quickly, his expression smoothed out, and he chuckled.

"trust me, beautiful," he said, his voice like silk with an edge of warning. "you don’t want to wear that thing. i could get you something far more...safe."

you forced a smile, ignoring the chill that ran down your spine. instead, you threw a quick, desperate glance at gojo — a silent plea for the strongest to listen to you: i'll distract him. you get the amulet.

gojo's expression tightened, but his head snapped once, briefly, in the faintest hint of acknowledgement.

time to move.

you let out a soft, breathy laugh and tugged naoki toward a table, your hand brushing his arm with casual ease. "let’s sit," you suggested, leaning into his toned chest just enough to sell the act. "all this walking is making me tired."

naoki's laughter was warm, a touch too easy, and he let you guide him without resistance, "tsk, whatever you want," he murmured.

now you're trusting gojo satoru, simply because you had no other choice. he had to get the amulet out of the glass before alarms began to blare, and before needless blood was spilt over the glimmering floor.

and so you sat, letting naoki have his back to gojo, oblivious to the white-haired shadow slipping closer to the case. your eyes lingered on gojo, pulse racing each time he disappeared behind one of naoki's own burly guards.

but then naoki sato's gaze locked onto you, drawing your attention back with a searing warmth that caught you off guard.

"so," he asked, eyes glinting, "what do you think of all...this?"

"it's impressive," and you're surprised at how the truth has found a home in your mouth, "i didn't ever think of different sorcerers, around the world."

naoki leaned closer, with his elbows on his thighs, propping his face upon his hands, "most people don't. here, it's all about jujutsu. tokyo, this. kyoto, that. the higher ups are so narrow-minded. stuck in their ways, obsessed with tradition. they don't know anything about the world out there."

for a moment, his words startled you. they weren’t the boastful musings of a crime boss but something else. they reminded you of how gojo spoke about the rigidity of the old ways, about why he fought so hard to change things, to create a better world for jujutsu sorcerers.

ah, focus.

"hey," naoki suddenly said, pulling you out of your thoughts. his gaze was sharper now, more intense. and over his shouder, you caught the faintest blur of white hair in the background, gojo's movements.

but it was hard to focus on anything but naoki sato's face — the sharp lines softened by his proximity, the warmth in his dark eyes that you didn’t want to admit was almost magnetic.

he was a man marked for execution, and the warrant must have been burning a hole through your suite on the highest floor.

yet here he was, looking at you like you were something worth risking everything for.

and suddenly, you weren’t sure you wanted to see autumn's locks matted with rusted blood. to see eyes go dull and lifeless.

you felt like you had the moral spine of a sponge.

"can i kiss you?"

the question hit like a punch to the gut. your lips parted, but no sound came out. and suddenly, the steps in the background stopped too.

naoki's hand came up to your jaw, his touch unexpectedly reverent, and all you could think was: distraction. right. distract him for gojo. what the fuck is taking him so long?

so you closed the distance.

naoki's lips captured yours with a softness that disarmed you, but the kiss was anything but tentative, and you could taste a sweet tang like lemons and sugar. but you let his large hands pull you closer and his touch was warm and intoxicating.

the kind that made you forget, just for a moment, that this was all a ruse.

his lips moved against yours with a heat that made everything else fade to black, and his hands slid down your waist and back, tracing lines that felt dangerously real.

when you finally pulled away for air, your lips tingled, and your breath came in short bursts. you couldn’t help yourself — you reached up, your fingers brushing against his now-flushed lips, glossy under your touch, and you hated the way your stomach twisted from the way naoki sato melted under your touch.

focus, again.

you hoped, prayed, that gojo was doing his part, taking advantage of the way you had naoki sato, one of the most dangerous men in the entire world, wrapped around your finger, and bruising his tongue into your mouth.

but your gaze flicked upwards, past his shoulder and collided with something that stopped your heart cold.

electric blue. devastatingly vibrant, crackling with a fury that hit the air like a thunderstorm.

gojo's eyes pinned you in place, shadows pooling in sharp cerulean, from shades that had slipped just a touch down his nose. no mask to shield whatever expression gojo had clearly painted across his face.

hurt? anger? what the fuck, was that betrayal?

your throat tightened, and you resisted the urge to dig your nails into naoki's tailored jacket, to hiss at gojo to get a move on. to stop standing there like he had been hit with a shovel.

but the words didn't quite form, didn't pull at the corners of your mouth to silently shape them. his expression just held you captive, no. shamed you.

and that made you angrier. he had no right to look at you like that, like you had just crossed a line that you didn't even know was there.

but under you, naoki shifted, tilted your chip up to meet his lips again, and you let him. you...wanted him to. but the heat of his lips didn't drown out the chill of gojo's stare. your own body betrayed you with a shiver, one that you couldn't quite place yourself.

nerves, or desire.

the kiss was firmer this time, insistent, as if naoki sato was staking his claim in front of an invisible audience. his hand cupped the back of your neck, his thumb brushing the edge of your jaw with maddening ease, over the pulse of your neck.

and for a second, it was too easy to fall into the lie. but you felt it: the searing weight of gojo's glower burning into you, not far away.

naoki pulled back just slightly, his breath fanning your lips, "hey, you're distracted," he murmured, his voice low and teasing, his eyes scanning your face as though he wanted to read every thought. "should i be offended?"

"no," you said quickly, almost too quickly, "just a lot to take in."

naoki smiles, all coy and glazed lips, clearly pleased by what he thought was pure flattery, and not the glowering six-eyes shining behind him. "good. i think 'm gonna like leaving you speechless."

part of you knows that you just aren't seeing those pearly gates of heaven.

naoki's warm thumb lingers against your jaw, and your breath hitches just enough for the sorcerer to notice. you don't miss how his eyes darken, a hint of triumph gleaming in them.

you risked a glance past his shoulder again, and gojo was still there, stony-faced as naoki's own guards. but there's something else broiling in his eyes, rolling over his face like a thunderstorm cracks over a grassy plain. the fury in his eyes hadn't lessened, but now it was laced with something sharper, something that you can finally read.

jealousy. absolute glass-shattering, world-stopping levels of envy paint over gojo satoru's face.

the realisation hits you like a punch to the gut.

was he jealous of naoki sato? of you? of this entire charade that you both had agreed to? or rather, the one you had roped him into.

the idea shouldn’t have thrilled you, but it did. and it terrified you just as much.

you let naoki kiss you again, forcing yourself to deepen it this time, your hands coming up to rest against his hard chest. you don't miss how he suddenly parts from your lips, panting softly into your mouth, and suddenly you're hit with the most awful wave of longing for a man who cannot have.

naoki’s large hands, however, weren’t idle. one brushed the edge of your dress, under the shoulder strap of your powder-blue gown, his thumb grazing against the fabric, and your breath hitched.

you shift, your breath stuttering as naoki's other hand slides higher, his fingers brushing against the flesh of your thigh, pushing your dress higher, and his hand brushes against the silver details on the side, scratching your skin. it's maddening how cool air meets the heat of your now exposed skin, and naoki's mouth crushes against yours, as if he's equally savouring the taste of you.

"t-there are people here," you gasp, your voice a fractured whisper, trembling at the edge of composure, "what if they can see or watch?"

gojo satoru is here. gojo is watching. you know your partner is close enough to hear every breathless sound you make, every treasonous whine that slips past your lips.

but naoki sato's mouth is curved into a plush, wicked smile, "let them look," and his teeth are grazing against the curve enough in a way that makes you arch your back into him, he who is now leaning over you, as if he's the one trying to capture you, "who cares - hah?"

any reasonable thought of your duty. of honour, of a mission flees from your head.

the sight of gojo's softly parted mouth and darkened eyes as he watches you in another man's arms spurs you on, and you let naoki sato press his lips against the hollow of his throat.

naoki's long fingers are blazing as they reach the very apex of your thighs. as they press two rough pads into the sopping slick that's gathered in your panties, as they run themselves along dampened fabric in a way that has you openly keening.

"can i?" and your eyes meet the mahogany gaze of the man above you. it's electrifying. you should be ashamed, furious at how you're just being taken like this, on display. but this is a room of the seven deadly sins, where each corner of the room is a lesson in hedonism, and obscene wealth.

"please."

but your eyes are only on gojo satoru behind him. on how he catches the pale-pink of his bottom lip between his teeth, and his face is seething. how his darkened eyes drop to naoki's hand working its way between your legs, and you wantonly roll your hips up to meet him there.

you let writhing fingers slip under the waistband of your pale-blue underwear, dipping into glossy, thick arousal. but you also don't miss the tent in gojo satoru's grey slacks, only metres away, and the frenzied look making him look pained.

you would be lying if you said you didn't enjoy moaning openly, spreading your legs just a bit wider, so gojo could get a glimpse of your drooling cunt.

"fuck, 's good. so good, naoki."

a finger travels up, away from your winking entrance to press a soft flick against your throbbing clit, "yeah?"

and the beautiful man in between your legs all but purrs. pleased beyond measure at how you've apparently been captured, heart and soul by him. and your attention snaps back to how he suddenly draws his fingers off your soaked cunt, and brings them up to his mouth.

"sweetest thing i've ever tasted, i think 'm gonna have -"

and then, it hit you.

a hot, sticky spray of liquid.

the scent of iron slammed into your senses as fresh blood splattered across your face, your chest, and stained the delicate blue of your dress into a deep and damning red. it clung to your skin, to your lips as you pressed your mouth shut, fighting the bile rising in your throat.

reversal: red crackled in the air, cursed energy humming sharp, and it had sliced through the hall like a whip. naoki's arm had been torn from your waist, wrenched away as he staggered back with a guttural hiss, and you avert your eyes from the blood that paints the space between you.

"that's enough."

gojo satoru's voice is like a thunderclap, reverberating around your ears, and when you finally meet his gaze, you're met with unbridled fury. you're not sure where his shades have gone, but you're met with the full weight of six-eyes, blazing and unrelenting.

naoki stumbles ahead of you, clutching his shoulder where blood seeps through his fingers, torn between shock and raw rage. his cherry-lips are curled back into a snarl, flush with indignation.

"hah, you're a sorcerer?," and naoki sato's voice drips with venom, heavy with disbelief.

you're not quite sure gojo satoru needs to answer. not when his presence alone sends waves of cold through the hall, cutting the air precisely, cleaving it.

but there's a man running towards the commotion, a guard encumbered by a hefty black suit, and there's a cold shock that runs through you as your eyes fall on the gun at his side.

"we think that's gojo satoru," the guard wheezes, breathless.

"you're telling me this now? i gave you fuckwits one job," naoki snarls, shaking the man, with his nails dug into the guard's shoulder.

and you're quickly pushing your dress down, letting the fabric spill over your legs once more, fighting back the hot sparks that sting at your eyes.

it's enough to snap naoki's attention back to you. and for a moment, for the briefest of moment, he wasn't the hardened criminal you had been playing this dangerous game with. a boy your age, wild and beautiful, and utterly undone.

and it heaves your stomach at how the fury in his gaze trembles slightly, just enough to reveal betrayal underneath that strikes you harder than any limitless could.and it struck you harder than any whip of magic ever could.

"i must be stupid, fuck," naoki's voice cracks as he spits the words, his expression twisted with something raw, something painfully human, "you’re a jujutsu sorcerer too, aren't you?"

the accusation was a dagger, his voice trembling with disbelief but its wholly true, and your head wavers in a half-shake, half-nod.

"you’re with him, aren't you? just another one of the higher up's lapdogs?"

the words weren’t a question — they were a condemnation.

naoki's lips are curled, and his bloodied arm is now trembling but steady, defiance burning through the pain.

and a whisper in your mind tells you to smash the glass case holding the amulet, to push through it with your bare hands, just so you can bleed alongside him.

but naoki sato's bitter scoff shatters that thought, and his gaze must have followed yours, sharp and knowing, for his hand has moved faster, pulling the gun from the guard's holster.

the blast came before you could even think, loud and jarring.

but you never saw the bullet's path, only gojo.

gojo, whose arm has snapped in front of you like a barrier, impossibly fast, and well within the bounds of his infinity. as if he had tore through space itself.

the bullet collides with infinity, ricocheting into the chaos of the panicking crowd.

naoki’s gaze didn’t waver. it slices back to gojo, sharp, calculating, and darkly amused. he must have seen it now, everything.

the truth was etched in the way gojo had positioned himself, the way his blazing blue eyes never left you, the unspoken claim humming in the air like a second heartbeat.

naoki sato's laugh is lower, bitter, and you watch the mesmerising plink! of crimson on the floor.

"he's protecting you, isn’t he?" his voice dripped with venom, each word striking like a dagger, "how sweet.”

and just like that, something broke. gojo's restraint, most likely.

you can see how his fingers are flexing, his hands lifting and cursed energy is coiling at his fingertips. his thumb and index finger brush, a telltale sign of an impending blast. hollow purple.

you clench your eyes shut, bracing for the devastation of the impact —

but naoki sato was faster.

his arms snapped outward, a surge of his own jujutsu ripping through the space between you. the bodyguards around you crumpled like ragdolls, their bodies bursting under the pressure. blood sprayed in thick, sticky waves, painting the walls, the floor — against the edges of infinity.

you opened your eyes in time to see gojo falter, his hands trembling as he stared at the carnage. even he, the unflinching sorcerer, the strongest, looked shaken by the sheer brutality of what cursed technique: enhance was capable of.

and in the heartbeat of his hesitation, naoki was gone.

"fuck's sake! s-satoru! let go of me!" you snap, voice cracking with fury as you fight against gojo's tight grasp.

his vivid focus shoots back to you, his expression a storm of anger and disbelief, "what?" and gojo's voice is razer-sharp, "if you think i'm letting you go after that stunt you pulled -"

"shut up!" and you can feel your own desperation cut through the air, "you go after him, i'll go after the amulet."

you toss your head to the shattered glass and the chaos erupting all around you, "if that thing gets lost in the mess, we've done this all for nothing!"

gojo's jaw is clenched, his mouth pressed into a hard and furious line. for a moment, you think he's going to argue with you again, but then you're dropped unceremoniously to the ground.

pain shoots through your knees as you land, but you're soon hauling yourself up.

"go!" you hiss, shoving at his shoulder, "i'll come find you when i have it."

gojo hesitates for a fraction of a second longer, then he's gone — a blur of movement faster than your eyes could track, leaving you alone in the chaos.

your hands tremble as you grab a heavy steel bar from the wreckage, swinging it with all your strength at the glass case. the sound of shattering glass barely registers as you reach inside, your fingers curling around the cold, smooth surface of the amulet.

wild shocks run through you, and you almost keel over, feeling the rush and pulse of such a cursed object against your skin. but it's safe. you have it now.

with it clutched tightly in your hand, you turned and run.

by now, you can't find it within yourself to stop the hot tears from running down your cheeks, streaming freely as you tear through the blood-soaked scene.

you run, the air sharp and cold against your skin, your heartbeat an unrelenting drum in your ears. the thump! making your head pound.

you can follow the residuals of gojo's cursed energy, lingering like a sickly beacon, drawing you back to the dull parking lot. you pushed open the doors with both hands, red smudging onto the concrete as you ignored the sting of your palms

and then you saw it. saw it all.

the scene hits you like a wrecking ball, knocking the breath clean from your lungs.

a body lies crumpled on the ground, its lifelessness more harrowing than the carnage that surrounds it. blood, thick and sticky, smears across the concrete. massive pillars, toppled like a child's toys in the wake of a clear explosion.

your gaze snags on a limp hand sprawled on the floor, and you feel your stomach twist. instinctively, your tongue slides against the back of your teeth, and the metallic tang of iron is already sleeping into your senses.

and then, there was gojo satoru.

he stands amid the wreckage, like a figure carved from shadows, and ice. and fury. his chest softly rises and falls, as though he had been running for miles, his hair disheveled and darkened with sweat.

the sight of him might have almost been human, almost comforting. if not for the gore streaked across his hands, and the thing he drops onto the concrete with a hollow thud.

you don't look at it. you don't think you can. your stomach knows the truth before your mind catches up, bile heaving within you once more.

the head of naoki sato. he would never have stood a chance against the strongest sorcerer in modern history.

final task: retrieve artefact. execute naoki sato on site. alternatively, bring in for execution.

you mind flashes back to that dastardly pink sticky note, still stuck to the case file.

what did you feel now? anger? sadness?

maybe both. maybe neither.

the blood pooling in front of gojo is already congealing, its sickly shine dimming in the cold, fluorescent light of the lot.

you were tired of seeing blood, of tasting it on your tongue, of breathing it in like the very air you needed to survive.

you’d thought there would be relief in the end. but instead, disappointment had rooted itself deep inside you, twisting itself.

naoki sato, for all his crimes and cruetly, had been...something. somewhere beneath the sly smirks and sharp words, there had been glimpses of something that almost looked like hope. he had said he wanted better — for everyone. for you. was it a lie? or had you twisted his words into something more comforting than the truth, desparate to see light where there was none?

your throat burns, but no tears come. just a hollow ache that matches the cold weight of raijin's amulet in your hand. you looked at it now, the thing you’d fought so hard to win, its edges biting into your skin, the dragon leaving its mark.

gojo's voice cut through the silence, low and ragged, and tired, "don’t look."

you hadn’t even realised you were staring, your eyes hovering dangerously close to the lifeless hand on the ground.

"i'm sorry," he had continued, his tone strangely neutral, as if apologising for a cracked glass rather than the irrevocable violence around him, that seemed to trail after him, "i had to do it."

you laughed then, short and bitter, the sound cracking like a whip against the cold air. "had to, gojo?" your voice trembled, not with fear, but something darker. something far more raw.

his gaze had snapped to you, and there it was — the thing that always churned between you two. a storm of emotions, tangled so tightly you could no longer tell where hate ended and yearning began.

"you think this is the resolution i wanted?" gojo shot back, his voice laced with something too jagged to be regret. "you think i enjoyed that?"

and in the most twisted, perverse theatre of your mind's eye, you see gojo's open-mouthed stare, focused on how another man touched you, made you his.

"i don’t know what you enjoy anymore," you take a step closer, your grip tightening on amulet until your knuckles whitened. but the air pushed from your lungs, "but - god, gojo. forget it. i-i don't even know. 'm sorry, too."

gojo sighs, and you see the exhaustion hanging over him too, "we'll go back tomorrow morning."

the walk back to your room is…suffocating. the air is thick with everything that you just cannot say, words that you can't even bring your heavy tongue to shape.

gojo is beind you, and you can feel the weight of his presence pressing between your shoulder blades, but you just can't turn around. you don't dare to. raijin's amulet is still clenched in your hand, and its edges are cutting into your palm, a form of self-flagellation you suppose.

you push the door open, and your breath catches and hitches as you slip inside, slamming it shut after he follows. locking it with shaking hands.

in the suite, the moonlight now slices through the half-drawn curtains, as the tokyo skyline glimmers underneath you. it's painting silver lines across gojo's spectral frame, and he strides to the amenities sink, a smaller outlet near the door.

you watch, as though you're holding a sacred vigil.

your gaze doesn't leave gojo's figure as he throws his jacket off his sharp torso with a disgusted sigh, leaving him in his black dress shirt and a loosened tie.

still watching as his movements are tense, restless as he cups water from the faucet in his hands, splashing it onto his face.

when he finally looks up, gojo's white is hair dripping, his tie slightly askew, and his tired eyes catch yours like a snare.

for a moment, you’re frozen. neither of you say a word. the air feels too thin to breathe, and his gaze is too much — too piercing, too relentless, too him.

you can’t take it.

with a sharp motion, you slam the amulet onto the table, the sound echoing through the quiet room. you spin on your heel and lock yourself in the bathroom, shutting him out.

inside, the luxurious space feels surreal. marble floors gleam under the soft glow of recessed lighting, gold fixtures glinting and stinging your eyes. it smells faintly of jasmine and mint, too perfect for the mess you're about to create.

you grip the edge of the sink as the first sob wrenches its way out of your chest, hot and raw.

tears spill over, cascading down your cheeks in waves you can’t control. they come faster, harder, until you’re gasping, choking on gulps of air that burn in your throat.

you sink onto the cool floor tiles, your knees pulled to your chest as the sobs wrack your body. the weight of everything, what you did, gojo's eyes gleaming, naoki sato's hands on you, the smell of blood, it all crashes over you like a tidal wave. it’s too much for a human heart to bear in one night.

but your hands are shaking as you reach for the hem of your once beautiful dress, peeling it off with clumsy, desperate motions. the air is cool against your skin, you who is now left in undergarments.

and you stare blankly at the blood that smears your arms and legs, before grabbing a small towel, dampening it under the sink and wiping crimson stains away.

small cuts sting on your skin, faint patches where glass struck you, and you hiss.

a knock rattles the bathroom door, sharp and unrelenting, dragging you back to reality.

you close your eyes and exhale through gritted teeth, your voice brittle, "not now, gojo."

silence follows, stretching out long enough to offer the illusion of peace. but then it breaks. another knock, louder, more insistent this time.

"satoru, i swear to god," you snap, your exhaustion fraying into something sharp, laced with more venom now.

there’s a sigh from the other side, audible even through the thick wood, "don't make me blast this door down."

you groan, rolling your eyes as you toss the bloodied towel onto the counter, "you wouldn't dare."

"try me. just open the door, would'you?"

you don’t have the energy to argue, and something in his tone tells you that gojo isn’t bluffing. and so you dragged yourself upright, swinging the door open with more force than necessary.

gojo stands there, with damp hair still clinging to his forehead, beads of water trailing down his templates. and his sleeves are rolled up now, revealing thick forearms flecked with rust and crimson. it wouldn't be his. no, gojo hasn't bled in over a decade.

you straighten, aware of your own state right now. in your undergarments, only shielding you from being entirely bare under his gaze. but the only clothes in this room with you are now crumpled on the floor, in a heap of ice-blue and dark red.

let him look. he's seen more than enough now.

and so you lean back against the sink, crossing your arms as your eyes meet blue, "what do you want?"

gojo hesitates, his jaw tightening as he braces himself. when he finally speaks, his voice is low, rough around the edges, "just...asking if you're alright."

the laugh that escapes you is sharp and hollow, devoid of any humour, "why wouldn't i be?"

gojo's faze flickers, his expression unreadable, but his eyes linger a moment too long. you let him trace the dried blood smeared across your collarbone, the faint scratches on your skin.

"after all of that tonight..." he starts, but the words hang in the air between the two of you, unfinished. his voice suddenly falters, and you're struck by how gojo's razor-sharp confidence has dulled into something weaker, more conflicted.

you know exactly what he means. the stunt he's referring to, in his own earlier words. you wonder what exactly is eating at him now. is it honest concern, pride? residual envy?

"please, trust me. i'm fine, we managed to do what was asked of us, anyway," you clip curtly, hoping your tone is final enough.

gojo looks at you like he doesn't believe a single syllable that slips from your bitten lips, but then his shoulders sag and he exhales sharply, "fine," he mutters, turning on his heel as if he's the one that can't stand to be near you any longer.

"wait."

the word slips out before you can stop it, and gojo pauses, and his eyes are narrowed with suspicion.

you swallow hard, suddenly unsure of yourself, and lift a clean towel from the counter, helping yourself to another one of the hotel's free amenities, "can you help me with this?"

an olive branch.

you gesture with a single finger, over dried blood that has streaked over your back, your neck. the hollow of your collarbone.

you can see the refusal dancing on his tongue, the hesitation in the way his throat bobs, and how gojo's eyes flicker over you once more.

but he doesn't refuse. gojo just wordlessly steps forward, taking the towel from your outstretched hand. you watch, silently, as he moves to the sink and runs it under cold water. you're sitting on the edge of the counter now so you face him, watching the warm golden glow of the overhead lights in his pale hair.

the porcelain is cold against your thighs as you angle yourself away from the mirror, facing gojo. the towel in his hand drips faintly, and you watch as he hesitates again, just for a fraction of a second before stepping closer.

at first, his movements are slow and careful. he's raising the towel, and his hand is steady as you feel the first touch of the cool fabric against your back. a shiver practically races down your spine, not from the cold, but from the way his arm snakes behind you, brushing against your bare skin.

it's subtle at first, but you notice it. the hitch in his breath, the faint tremour in his movements.

gojo, who is always so infuriatingly composed, is shaken. you hear it in the sorcerer's uneven exhale that he doesn't quite manage to suppress, the way his fingers press the towel just a little too harshly.

the suite is silent now except for the faint drip of water and the rasp of fabric against your skin. you should say something, anything, but the words don’t come. instead, your gaze fixes on him, his profile illuminated by the warm glow of the bathroom light.

gojo's features are always striking, almost ethereal: the ice-white hair that falls messily against his forehead, the long white lashes that frame those sharp, cerulean-blue eyes. there’s something softened by the warm light, as though the harshness of his presence, of a man who stands above heaven and earth, has been dulled just enough to make him seem almost...human again.

but you feel as though your heart must just give way, pounding so hard that it may burst. where the blood that fell from another man's veins had somehow drawn a line to gojo satoru instead.

an hour ago, you had been arched into another, naoki sato, one who had been a dead man walking. an hour ago, his hands were on you, his lips hot and insistent, and his eyes were warm, and now he’s gone. dead. gojo made sure of that. and that was always meant to happen.

the thought should make you furious. it should make you push gojo away, but instead, all you can do is sit there, feeling his hands —gentle now, impossibly careful, on your skin.

it's wrong. it's so deeply, fundamentally wrong, and yet the space another man left feels like it was carved out for gojo satoru all along.

gojo's touch slows as he runs the towel over your skin, tracing the line of your collarbone with a precision that feels almost tender. your eyes slip closed for a moment, the warmth of his hand lingering even as the cold water wipes away the blood.

then he moves again.

it happens fast enough that you barely register it. one second, gojo satoru is standing tall and focused on the task, and the next...he's leaning down. his breath ghosting over the hollow of your neck.

you feel your entire world tilt as his lips press softly against the curve where your neck meets your shoulder, a touch so light that it feels stolen.

but now you've frozen, every breath catching as though the air was snatched from your lungs. every nerve feels as though it's on fire, hyper-aware of how soft the brush of his lips was, the faint scrape of his teeth just shy of your skin.

how gojo's lips were almost reverent, like a prayer offered in silence. how he was worshipping something he couldn't ever have.

but your eyes snap open to meet his.

gojos's cerulean eyes are molten, the usual ice cracked and melting into something deep and desperate and all-consuming. they bore into yours, wild and unguraded, and the pale lashes framing them tremble lighting as though even he's unsure of what he's just done.

but gojo's pupils are also blown wide, and electric. like a storm trapped in glass.

you swallow hard, your pulse thundering in your throat. slowly, cautiously, you dip your head, just enough to give him permission without saying a word.

the look in his eyes shifts — hunger, disbelief, and something darker all tangled together. he presses his lips to your neck again, firmer this time, lingering as though committing the feel of your skin to memory. then again, slightly higher, his breath hot and uneven against you.

"satoru…" the name slips from your lips in a whisper, trembling and unbidden.

the warmth of his tongue catches you off guard, tracing the curve of your neck in a way that sends a jolt through your entire body, heat down to your thighs. it's...unhinged, but the part of you that should push him away is nowhere to be found.

gojo pulls back just enough for you to see the faint smile curling at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remain dark, intense, and burning with something that feels too big for the room.

"another man got to taste you," he whispers, "now i've tasted him."

you almost laugh, sharp and bitter. the sound lodging in your throat. the absurdity of it all, the jealously lacing his words like a poison vine, the way his breath still fans against your skin.

"that's insane," you manage, your voice shaking. it does little to stop the searing heat curling low in your stomach.

for a second, gojo's breath is still hot against your neck. and then suddenly, his hands are on you.

and fuck, it's not delicate at all. there's a roughness to his touch, desparate and unrestrained, as though something inside him as finally snapped.

his palms trace along your bare shoulders, sliding down to your arms, and then to your waist. his fingers press into your skin with a heat that makes you feel like you're burning from the inside out. you don't even realise when you had opened your mouth slightly, panting as if you're trying to pull more air in.

"gojo," you manage, barely audible, and you're acutely aware of the low tense ache beginning to throb in your groin.

his hands slow for a moment, resting on your sides as if he’s trying to ground himself, or stop himself. and gojo's eyes find yours again, and they’re ablaze.

"can i keep going?"

you wonder just how you've managed to unravel this man, to leave his voice hanging by a thread in the air.

you don’t answer right away, your head swimming with confusion, slick desire, and something dangerously close to surrender. gojo satoru is watching you so intently it’s like he’s searching for every unspoken answer written on your skin.

finally, you shift — subtle, but enough. your knees part slightly, just enough for him to step between your bare thighs.

"what do you want me to do?"

you're aware of the insistent, rhythmic pulsing under your panties. of how every small shift of gojo's body against yours amplifies the soft arousal forming, as your heart pounds faster.

and so you let your fingers hook onto the pale waistband of your underwear, and you watch as his gaze follows your movements.

"i want you to touch me, there. please."

you hear the white-haired man breathe out a thankful, reverent fuck before he's following the path of your own hands, hooking a slender finger into your waistband and pulling your underwear down, and off.

and you're so painfully aware of your own arousal right now, the wet that is pooling beneath you. it feels like a relief, parting your legs so your searing heat meets cool air.

"that's perfect, look at t-that," and you're suddenly whining as gojo's fingertips begin grazing sloppy folds, raking themselves over your fluttering entrance, "she's practically been beggin' for my touch all this time, hah!"

"you - ohh, gojo!" you moan, feeling awfully faint from the rippling warmth making your cunt tighten around him, each pshh! echoing in your burning ears, "y-you wish!"

gojo's laugh is a little crazed, undone as he rolls his fingers in practiced curls, at an inhuman pace. bullying his fingers into your opening, as he rasps, "yeah, i w-wish. 'm wishing for this all the time. you never knew, huh?"

"f-fuck, if i had known it felt like this, would've stuck my fingers in h-her a long time ago," gojo unfurls his fingers that only just separated from your winking pussy, and you can only watch.

equally mesmerised as his slender fingers are coated in strands of your slick, clinging to the curves of his short nails and coating them in a mirror sheen.

"have some c-class, gojo! you've lost your fuckin' mind -"

smack!

"i swear to god, gojo. never say that corny shit a-again."

but gojo's teeth are sharp as they sink into the damp skin of your neck with an almost reverent press, easily snapping through the delicate flesh.

still, there's hardly time to dissect that.

"keep your eyes h-here, sweets. on us."

and god, that's exactly where your eyes are. falling on a tense forearm around your waist, as the other works its fierce way through the clamping, gummy walls of your leaking cunt. and you're shuddering underneath him, feeling each brush of his fingers in you.

"w-we make a pretty sight, don't we, yeah?" and the words are spilling from gojo's lips with a certain smugness, but it's rough around the edges, strained. and you just can't look away from how utterly ruined he looks, from touching you.

you watch the glossed shine of your trickling pussy twinkle in the warm lights, as gojo pushes your thighs open wider. his frame leans over yours, taut and straining. and his lips are flushed and parted, betraying the deep ache of his breath.

"go onnn, say it. c'mon," and now gojo's whining in your ear, letting his hand push further into the mess as your pussy is practically weeping onto his fingertips, "won't let you c-cum if you don't say it."

your chest heaves with each desperate, gulping breath. and you can see gojo's vision narrow on how your tits threaten to spill out from their confines, the swell of your chest rising as you try to draw air through your close orgasmic daze. where the edges of your vision blur, and your heart is pounding erratically, "ahhh, gojo! 'm gonna, i think 'm gonna, oh my god!"

but there's more, you want so much more.

and against better thought, you push and elbow back into gojo's chest, heaving as he flicks his thumb over your aching clit.

"hah, what is it now? fuck was that for?" and the man is scowling at you, seemingly irritated that you drew him away from the hypnotic pull of your pulsing walls.

you swivel, away from the mirror so you're facing him. and your eyes fall on the heavy, pitched tent in gojo's grey slacks, one that must be aching and awfully painful from the way he's running his pink tongue over his bruised mouth.

"wan' more, gojo. on the bed."

you've reached up behind your back, unhooking the clip that was holding your bra together. it falls, and you toss it into the pile where gojo had flung your clingy panties, over your gorgeous dress.

and you think gojo satoru might have just had a minor heart attack.

his expression has shifted, lips parted as he takes in your naked form. you think you hear his breath hitch, as his eyes roam over you, unblinking. you're certain that the mildly brighter light in the room has nothing to do with what's overhead, rather the bright blue of gojo's six eyes.

you snicker at his dumbstruck expression, letting your hand curl around his wrist — marvelling at how he almost whines at the sight of you pushing him out of the bathroom suite, and onto that glorious bed that the two of you had argued over earlier in the day.

"n-not so opposed to sharing a bed with me now, sweets? oh, fuck," you don't let him get any more words out, since you're reaching for the sleek leather belt threading through the loops of his slacks, pawing at them so you can finally undress him. have him as bare as you are now.

something in your desparate touch must have made gojo snap, because now he's shuffling the two of you around, so you're practically splayed out under his warm, large hands. thighs spread, parted so your dripping cunt is displayed to the room, as he scoots closer. his knees pressing against the carpet.

"hnnghh, f-fuck, look at her. practically cryin' on me."

and what a sight. gojo satoru, the most powerful man to walk this earth in centuries is slumped beneath your thighs, close enough to your clit that when he breathes, he knocks his nose right over the sensitive bud, coating his face in that syrupy glaze.

and then its slow, painful. how his long tongue descends onto your weeping pussy, writhing flat in wide, broad strokes that leave you whining out his name.

you spread your legs even wider, fighting against gojo's tight grip on the flesh of your thighs. the thighs that are trembling as he brings his teeth up to graze your clit, and your arousal drips from his lips. making candied pink lips look like they've been glazed and dipped in sugar.

briefly, in the back of your mind, you wonder how you're going to continue to function tomorrow. how you're going to even be able to walk after gojo satoru has rendered you boneless.

you also wonder if there's a cosmic deity out there, looking at an invisible and heavenly camera with a dull look on their face. something like what can you do?

"mmhph, y'know i l-like this a lot better than that drink from earlier," and he's cooing at how you squeal and moan, "hah, what was that s-shit called? a cream soda."

you pull at the white strands of his hair, yanking gojo's head back from where his tongue had been lolling around your clit, ignoring his whine, "if y-you make a stupid, fuckin' joke about creaming, i'm g-gonna leave."

gojo rolls his eyes, but this time? this time, there's no malice in it, no irritation. his expression is almost fond, if not shadowed by the enormity of his own lust, "leaving before the main event is dumb choice, sweets."

"tch! get to i-it then, oh! what the fuck, gojo!"

he's found the right place to prod, to roll his fingers over the hood of your clit, occasionally propping his mouth down to suck at it lightly. your mouth is clamped shut, so you don't release an absurd amount of babble, wordless and airless about how good he's devouring you.

"hah," gojo huffs, pressing three flat fingers against your entrance, letting them curl into your walls, enough to tease you, "i can feel her beating for me. 's pulsing all over."

"c-can't you jus' make me cum?" your hands are desparate for some friction, running past your perked tits, down to his hair again. now clamping your thighs around his head, and the soft, snowy hair of his head tickles at your skin.

"can' believe you're talking shit when i'm e-eating you out," gojo chuckles, but you're just too mesmerised by the glint of your slick lighting a beacon over the lower half of his face, strands of slick as he pulls away from your pussy, "y'not that patient, huh?"

he's practically attached to your clit now, kissing it with a tender and yet firm press of his lips, seemingly aware of just how sensitive you are to that type of pressure.

you whimper and mewl as gojo's head disappeared back between your legs, deeper and lower as his tongue pushes into your pussy, flicking shallow thrusts that makes you breathe out gasps of his name.

"now i think 'm gonna cum, so close, satoru," with your hand firmly lodged in his platinum strands, you're rocking your hips messily, sloppily against his awaiting mouth.

"y-yeah? go on, sweets," he's moaning now too, and you don't miss how the edge of the bed rocks just a bit from him grinding the frame for some release on his own erection.

your orgasm makes your mind foggy, and you practically quake in gojo's large, warm hands. with a sharp cry of his name, followed by an endless chant of praise for the unearthly man between your legs, lapping at you as though you are his last drink, his last meal on this earth before he ascends elsewhere.

the hard streaks of white shoot through your vision, even as you come down from the incredible high, and you realise gojo has not stopped.

gojo's jaw is still locked as your slick dribbles down your folds, into his open mouth and onto his waiting tongue. the extra stimulation makes you deliriously cry out, "fuck, s-satoru! 's too much, holy fuck!"

you were still shaking, and a second orgam blurred your sight into an incredible spectrum of colours, white hot starlight and streaks of blue. that cascade of vivid tints flood your vision, each one jerking your hips and cunt forward until you felt your legs give way.

until gojo finally separated himself from your thighs, satisfied at how he had pulled two climaxes from you.

he's absolutely lost it, lost in that daze of being pussywhipped, and his eyes gleam with a feverish intensity. and when he crashes pink, glossy lips down on your mouth, you can feel him shake under your touch.

you moan, loud, as he nips at your lower lip. at how you can taste yourself on his tongue, syrup strands falling into your mouth as gojo suddenly twitches.

"i think 'm gonna have to be in you right now, otherwise i'll literally fuckin' die."

a breathy laugh falls from your lips as your partner pulls himself up, heavy limbs finally extracting themselves away from your naked body, reaching up to hook his fingers over the black crinkle of his rumpled dress shirt, pulling the fabric off.

leaving your mouth dry.

the moonlight spills over gojo's torso, and you track your eyes over his broad chest, rising and falling and flushed from his own arousal.

you follow the faint dusting of pale white hair as it disappeared past the waistband of his slacks that he's quickly making short work of, and you feel your pussy clench thinking about how badly you need to jump gojo satoru's bones.

but you're too transfixed by him, by the sculpted figure of a supposedly cold and arrogant bastard you've spent months and years rolling your eyes at.

he's real. all hot flesh and blood, and stunning. not that sneering, and infuriating man who's always one step ahead, always one callous word away from making your blood boil.

for a different heat has settled in you now, as your eyes fall on his throbbing cock that has sprung forth, up over his stomach. the tip is an angry, and furious berry-pink and you wonder just how you're going to make these inches fit.

"hah, didn’t think you'd be this shy, you know,” he says, voice a low, husky tease, as if he’s been watching your struggle. gojo's eyes glint with amusement, but there’s something deeper beneath it, something that you hope with lead him to take mercy on you.

"n-no. no," you repeat yourself more firmly, but it's far too breathless to be convincing, "no, 'm not shy."

but it's hard to form coherent thoughts when gojo satoru is towering over you, and his absurdly long and girthy shaft is twitching in between your slick folds.

"fuck you, s-satoru," you're whimpering, feeling the pulsing, rounded head of his flushed tip brush past your sensitive, drooling slit, "taking too long. jus' put it in already."

"mhmm, sweets," and gojo's bustling at your thighs now, pinching the soft and tender skin in retaliation for your touch undoing him so easily, "she can't even be patient, hah, trus' me. just lay back."

you comply, just this once. just because gojo satoru's cock looks so big, you think you need to gather all your thoughts so you'll be able to form coherent sentences later.

resting your head back on plush sheets, with the skyline twinkling in your peripheral vision as gojo's aligning himself with your cunt. he's gasping in low, shuddering breaths as his tip teases and hooks onto your inner walls.

"look at thaaat, oh! baby, fuck, wasn' even joking before, just sucking me up so fuckin' good!"

you don't reply, just mewling as he pushes inch after veiny inch into your dribbling walls, gasping as his large hands rest on the back of your thighs, pushing them further up so he can slot his torso in between your legs.

"oh my god, satoru! s-satoru, hnnhgh, it's too much — i don' think it's gon' fit," you always thought you would be embarrassed to lose composure like this in front of gojo, but you find yourself panting into the crook of his neck, raking nails down his flushed neck.

he's big, and you can feel every vein of his tapered curve hitting the right spots within you, as you shift your hips, desperate to let his sinuous cock kiss every inch of your pussy lovingly.

"gon' dumb already?" gojo's huffing, but you can see that he's not unaffected. his eyes are glazed over, hazy as he slowly draws his hips back just an inch, before scooting them forward already, "jus' gonna have to make this pussy learn from now on. don' worry, sweets. it'll fit."

the 'from now on' makes something in your pounding heart flutter.

but you have little time to focus on it as he bottoms out in your drenched cunt, as though you're hearing the slosh of your pussy coat him entirely, right up to the wiry, white hairs on his groin.

"hahh, there we go! the w-wonders of a positive attitude, don'tcha think?" and you're left with your eyes rolling to the back of your head, as he begins to pick up the pace. a steady staccato that has you jostling underneath his ministrations.

you let his mouth chase yours, capturing glossy lips with your own bite, letting him pant, and whine and praise the heavens above for how tight you're snatching him right now.

"she's p-perfect, isn't she? t-thought about it so much, y'got no idea, got no c-clue about how much i thought about you under me like this n' how you'd f-feel!"

gojo satoru is absolutely drunk from a nectar that he has tasted once. the same nectar that coats his cock in frothy, filthy rings as he pistons his hips out of your pussy.

"happy for y-you, satoru," and you're letting your nails scratch over the shell of his ear as he twitches and shudders, "but fuck, y'talk too much! jus' focus on fucking me!"

gojo's mouth quirks upwards, that knowing smirk playing on his lips as he looks at you bemused, and so hazy.

"god, a lot of that attitude now, hahh?" and he's drawling the words out, and you don't miss how he shudders when you clench around his shaft, on purpose. he's leaning in closer, barely brushing past your lips, and you wonder briefly for a split-second, gojo satoru might just really love you.

and then, without warning, his hand comes down to your side, just underneath the fat of your tits, pinching lightly at the abdomen. causing you to take a sharp intake of breath, and a dizzy huff of his name.

if you ever believed that gojo satoru was malicious in the workplace, a bane on your sanity, you had not been prepared for how he was stretching you out in all the right places.

that inhumane pace of the strongest had him snapping his hips sharply, over and over until he's hitting the spongy patch, deep within your walls.

"clamped around me like, ohh, like a fuckin' vice," gojo's grunting now, each breath coming out short puffs that match the timing of the slap! each whack of his cock delivers, pressing your hips together and coating his hips in sweet slick.

"mmph, feels so good, satoru!" you squeal, pressing a hand over your mouth so you don't wake up the entire top floor of the hotel, tits jostling with each shuffle and movement.

it's all coming down on you too quick, that electric haze shooting down your spine. made all the worse by gojo groaning and slipping his hand between his jackhammering hips, down to where your clit is practically throbbing for his touch.

he's running tight circles, before pressing the flat of his thumb under the hood of your clit, ripping a raw cry from the back of your throat, rolling your eyes to the back of your head as gojo's lips are leaving blooming marks over your neck.

"satoru, i t-think 'm gonna c-cum again," you moan, fluttering your lashes against your skin, rolling your hips up into gojo's quick fingers and brutal cock. but it feels different this time, nothing like your past two orgasms. you feel something draw its claws further into your groin, like you're going to burst and the breath will be stolen away from your lungs.

you hear gojo say something, snarky but tender as he laughs into your collarbone, as he's slapping his fingers down quickly over your clit, making you jolt. but you don't hear his words as blood roars in your eears, gushing all over his cock with a clear, sticky sheen that coats him deliciously.

makes gojo satoru groan out filthy praises over your marked skin, "didn' know you were that nasty? hahh, squirtin' over me on your first go, yeah? it's gettin' too much for me too, s-sweets. think 'm gonna hafta maaa -"

you have no inkling as to what gojo was aiming to groan out, fluttering his own blue eyes shut as his orgasm catches up to him, pumping you insanely full of thick, stringy seed. practically painting your inner walls a translucent white as you huff and whine.

but in the back of your mind, you think he wanted to marry you. a bridge you'll cross when you get to it.

"fillin' you up, good, aren't i?" and he's lost in a daze, and you watch as his muscles ripple in the light of the moon, pectorals gleaming as he stuffs you further, as if plugging his seed to stay in you, making you squirm from the delicious stimulation.

you should have paid a little more attention to your surroundings. less attention to the thick veins of his cock drilling a home in you. or less attention to how his lips curl up into a sweeter smile as he presses soft, happy kisses to your cheek while you lay exhausted, caged by his thick arms.

then, you might have noticed the lights flicker and then shatter for half the hotel's rooms.

the morning sun peeks through the curtains like an overenthusiastic alarm clock, dragging you out of sleep with its gentle warmth. you stretch lazily, limbs still heavy and sticky from the weight of...the previous night's activities.

the sheets feel ridiculous soft, kudos to the insanely over-priced hotel. and for a second, you entertain the thought of just staying here. forever.

that is, until your eyes fall on raijin's amulet over on the wooden table.

and the fact that gojo is nowhere to be found.

you blink, squinting at the empty space beside you. your first instinct is to check besides the bed, and then under it, for fear that the six-foot three man has simply fallen off.

but your gaze falls on a tiny pink sticky-note on the nightstand. one that you suspect was pilfered from the scattered case file on the couch. you peer at looping cursive, scrawled in a blue marker.

don't eat anything yet! gone to get a proper breakfast!

you can't help the soft huff that leaves you, fond in its escape. you feel this sudden urge to don some proper clothes, to go down and join him in the warm sunlight.

but then you pause. perhaps, you ought not to. it would be fun to let him miss you just a bit. the thought of the gojo satoru standing there, waiting in line for entirely average pancakes is amusement enough for you.

but before you can pull the crisp sheets over your head, your eyes catch a glimpse of something else by the bed. a small, satin-blue box that didn't exist yesterday, in the world of cruel choices and...semi-successful missions.

the memory of yesterday pulls a frown from you, but you shake your head, determined to clear your thoughts.

you reach for it, letting your fingers run over the smooth surface, before tugging at the silver ribbon cautiously. half-expecting to find something weird like gojo's usual idea of a joke like a half-naked framed photo of him with a lipstick print.

ah!

but instead, inside the box lies a thin necklace. you've stared longingly enough at shop windows to know that these are real diamonds. not the cheap kind either, a well-cut carat that makes you gasp to yourself, a flush running over your cheeks.

for a moment, he said nothing, and the silence stretched unbearably heavy. but then gojo’s ice-gaze dropped to the necklace scattered over your throat, and he tilted his head, "not too bad," a flicker of a scoff curling at his lips. "tch, they’re not even real," you blurted, then immediately regretted it, what was wrong with you today? you reached up, fingers grazing the cool crystals as if to shield them from his bemused scrutiny, "just thought i needed something to fit in."

you pick it up, feeling the cold weight of it in your hand. what is this, romance? a necklace? gojo satoru doesn’t even do romance. at least, not in the way anyone would expect.

he’s the kind of guy who would absolutely get you diamonds just to throw you off balance. mission accomplished.

you glance at the sticky note again, then back at the necklace. this is way too much for your sleep-addled brain. and yet, there’s this funny little thing inside you, a warm spark that you don’t know what to do with.

fuck, when did he even have the time to get this gorgeous gift?

you’re definitely not soft, but gojo does this thing to you — he has a way of turning your whole world upside down, and now…apparently, he’s gone and done it again.

your cheeks warm, but you don't admit to it. not yet. but there's no denying the softer spot that's growing in you, the urge to have gojo satoru in your arms in this very moment so you can run your hands through soft, white hair to watch him purr. to see his cheeks flush from a sweet blush as his blue eyes flutter shut.

your eyes fall on his crumpled uniform jacket from yesterday, his discarded clothes. perhaps, you could just join him. after all, you feel words threatening to spill from your mouth and you want him to hear them.

a surprise of your own? you think you want to see gojo satoru speechless for once.

do not plagiarise or repost! likes and reblogs appreciated. btw, this jenny packham was the dress i envisioned for reader but imagine whatever you like!

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winterarmyy · 5 months ago

Text

Against All Odds | Part I

An arranged marriage with the duke's illegitimate son!bucky.

Summary: In a medieval kingdom where magic and political intrigue are woven into the fabric of society, Y/N, the youngest daughter of a noble Earl family, finds herself in an arranged marriage to James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke. Known as the Winter Soldier, Bucky's reputation as a monster in war had instilled anxiety into Y/N's heart. But that fear quickly begins to crumble when she discovers that her husband is not the brutal figure society depicts him to be.

Navigation: Part I | Part II | Part III (end)

Words: 8.1k++

Pairing: duke's illegitimate son!bucky x noble!female!reader

Warnings: fantasy/medieval au, i did not write this with much knowledge of fantasy nor medieval lore. I write it solely for plot and the couple dynamic lmao. if you're expecting full blown fantasy novel; this ain't it, man. anyways, 18+ contents, no minors allowed, nsfw, cunnilingus, p in v, unprotected sex, creampie, loss of virginity, praise kink, breeding kink (if you squint), marking kink (i think), soft fluffy smut, a wee bit of dirty talk. soft!reader and even softer!bucky. (idk what else, so tell me if there's something i miss.)

P/S: This is the fic for an idea I had earlier this year. The first chapter will only cover the original post but what happens next is something you will need to look forward on the upcoming chapters. Enjoy your read!

Read my other works here: Masterlist

Y/N stood in front of the grand mirror in her chamber, her reflection staring back at her with wide, fearful eyes. The delicate lace of her wedding dress was the opposite of the twisting anxiety in her stomach. Today, she was to marry James Buchanan Barnes, the illegitimate son of the Duke of the kingdom, a man labelled to be more beast than human.

He was known as the Winter Soldier, a title whispered with both fear and awe. Tales of his gruesome feats in battle, his merciless brutality, and his cold, metal arm was deemed as a horror story for the children in the kingdom. People spoke of him as a monstrous weapon, a beast moulded by the Emperor to do his bidding without question or hesitation.

Y/N had heard the stories many times before; and it has always been a hushed conversation that floats around whether a ballroom of a gala, or at the tables of the garden parties, sometimes even in between the racks of books in the library.

They always painted a picture of a man who lived only for war, devoid of humanity.

She couldn't help but let these tales feed her imagination. What kind of man was he truly? Did he revel in the violence, or was he a prisoner to his fate? Y/N shuddered at the thought, her heart heavy with fear and uncertainty.

Her father, the Earl, had made it clear why she needed to marry him. It was a political manoeuvre, a strategic alliance to strengthen their family's position. The duke, Bucky's father, wielded considerable power, and their union would bring the Earl closer to the heart of the kingdom's influence.

And when he heard that the duke was looking for a wife for his bastard son, he knew that she would be perfect. That was when Y/N, the youngest daughter, became the pawn in this game. Her father's ambitions certainly outweighed any consideration for her feelings or desires.

Y/N had always longed for a marriage of love, a dream she clung to despite her circumstances. She was a hopeless romantic through and through; much like her late mother. She remembered the nights when her mother would read to her and her siblings, spinning tales of prince charming and valiant heroes.

The fire crackled warmly in the hearth as her mother’s soothing voice filled the room. Y/N and her siblings, her older brother Eric and sister Clara, lay tucked under blankets, their eyes wide with wonder.

"And then the prince, with a heart full of love, swept the princess into his arms, vowing to protect her forever," her mother read, her voice a melodic whisper.

Y/N, her eyes sparkling with innocence, declared, "When I grow up, I want to marry a prince charming too!"

Clara, ever the practical one, nodded in agreement. "Me too! He has to be brave and kind."

Eric, being a little boy, scrunched his nose in distaste. "I don’t want to get married. I want to be a knight!"

Their mother chuckled softly, brushing a strand of hair from Y/N’s forehead. "It does not matter if he is a prince charming or a humble knight. As long as you marry the one you love, that is what truly matters."

Y/N's heart ached at the memory. How she wished her mother were still here to guide her through this terrifying day. The gentle knock on the door brought her back to the present.

"Lady Y/N, it’s time," one of the maids said softly.

Y/N took a long and deep breath, smoothing down the fabric of her dress. She followed the maid down the corridor, her mind a swirl of emotions. Reaching the grand doors of the church, her father waited for her.

"Remember, Y/N," he said, his voice stern. "Do not mess this up. Just endure it. And you'll be fine. This is the most useful you can be to our family."

Her heart sank further; yet she nodded obediently.

Compared to Y/N, her elder brother, a celebrated swordsman, and her sister, a master in the art of business, had always outshone her in their father's eyes. Y/N's talent with languages; ancient and modern – was seen as a useless skill, something that brought no tangible benefit to the family.

Her father had never been cruel when she was younger but everything changed when her mother died. In fact, everyone in the family had lost a piece of their soul when she left. Now, his lack of affection only increases the number of scars on her heart.

The doors opened, revealing the crowds of high-ranking nobles; who were mostly strangers – staring at her. Some were judging her; some pitied her. She reminded herself that she was doing this for her family, for the greater good. But the little girl inside her who dreamed of prince charming certainly felt a pang of sorrow.

As she walked down the aisle, her legs trembled, and her hands shook so violently that she had to clasp them together to steady herself. From afar, she saw the silhouette of the man she was destined to marry. His tall and huge figure stood out compared to anyone in the hall. As she got closer, she kept her gaze fixed on the floor, too afraid to look up at her husband-to-be.

When she finally reached the altar, the priest began the ceremony. His speech was long and dragging, giving Y/N too much time to entertain her growing curiosity that she dared to glance up at the man next to her. Even from behind the veil, she could see his towering and broad-shouldered build, his presence commanding the room. His long hair was slightly untamed, and a scruffy beard framed his face. His metal hand, glinting in the sun that leaked through the church’s windows, was a jarring reminder of the rumors that surrounded him.

There were no heartfelt vows to recite to each other; only their promise of "I do" was exchanged. And that was the first time Y/N heard his voice. It was deep and resonant, sending a shiver down her spine; but there was a certain warmth in it that contrasted sharply with his fearsome reputation.

When the priest announced their union and Bucky lifted her veil, Y/N was struck by the unexpected gentleness in his eyes. They were a brilliant, mesmerizing blue, and for a moment, she forgot to breathe. Bucky's eyes softened as he looked at her, his gaze tender and almost reverent. Slowly, he placed one hand gently around her waist, pulling her slightly closer. His other hand came up to cup her cheek, his touch surprisingly gentle against her skin.

Y/N's heart pounded in her chest as he leaned in, her breath catching in her throat. When his lips met hers, they were soft, warm, and so unexpected. She could smell his cologne; an earthy, woodsy scent mixed with a hint of something fruity; like peaches or tangerines. It made her head spin and her heart jumped all at the same time.

The kiss was gentle and unhurried, very much differs to the forceful gesture she had feared. As he pulled away, Y/N found herself blinking slowly, her cheeks flushed and her fear momentarily replaced by confusion and a surprising awe. She was caught off guard by the tenderness of his touch, the way his lips had brushed against hers so gently.

Could the rumors about him be wrong?

"I’m sorry if I startled you," he said, his voice low and gentle. "I hope I didn’t scare you, my dear."

Y/N blinked slowly, trying to process the sudden shift in her emotions. The fear that had gripped her so tightly seemed to dissipate, replaced by a confusing mix of relief and intrigue. Her hands, which had been trembling, now rested at her sides, feeling strangely steady. Her eyes met his, and she could see softness in his gaze that contradicted the harsh rumors she had heard.

“I—no, you didn’t scare me,” she managed to say; her voice barely more than a whisper. She took a deep breath, her cheeks getting warmer as she processed the endearment he just called her. On the other hand, her mind was racing as she tried to reconcile the man in front of her with the fearsome figure of the Winter Soldier.

Bucky’s eyes mellowed even further, his gaze glazed with a tenderness that seemed to pierce through the weight of the room. A warm smile spread across his face, and he held her gaze with a comforting assurance.

“Good,” he said, his voice carrying a gentle affection. “I’m glad to hear that.”

The reception that followed was a blur of faces and polite conversation. Y/N moved through the crowd, accepting congratulations and well-wishes, but her mind was elsewhere. She couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to Bucky than the rumors suggested. Every time she caught his eye, he gave her a small, reassuring smile that made the butterflies inside of her go wild.

As the evening drew to a close, they were escorted to one of the Emperor’s palaces, a grand and opulent residence that was to serve as their temporary home before they traveled north to Bucky’s territory. The palace, with its lavish furnishings and golden accents, seemed to mock the uncertainty Y/N felt. She had been assigned a chamber to prepare for the night, and the palace maids were bustling around her, helping her into a set of elaborate, far-from-modest lingerie.

The palace’s maids’ whispers and side glances did nothing to ease her growing anxiety. Their condescending tones and occasional snickers were laced with cruel speculation about how roughly Bucky would treat her. The more Y/N overheard, the more her apprehension grew. Despite the gentleness Bucky had shown her earlier, she found herself doubting its sincerity.

Could he really be the caring husband he appeared to be, or was it all just an elaborate show?

The maids finally left, their laughter fading down the hallway, leaving Y/N alone in the grand chamber. Her heart raced, and cold sweat formed at her brow as she sat quietly on the edge of the ornate bed. She kept her gaze firmly on the floor, her hands fidgeting in her lap. The room felt enormous, its sheer size heightening her sense of isolation and dread.

The door creaked open, and Bucky entered the room. Y/N’s heart nearly stopped as she heard the heavy, measured footsteps approaching. She couldn’t bring herself to look up, her body tense and her mind a swirl of panic and unease. She almost held her breath entire when she felt the slight indentation of the mattress beside her.

“Y/N,” Bucky’s voice was soft and coaxing, a distinct difference to the coldness she was expecting. “Look at me.” He continued. She hesitated momentarily; torn between obeying and disobeying but ultimately decided to raise her eyes to meet his.

The sight of him; his upper body bare, revealing a tapestry of scars and the stark metal of his prosthetic arm; made her breath hitch. Her eyes traced the lines of his faded wound, particularly the jagged marks where his shoulder met his metal arm. She couldn’t help but feel a pang of sorrow and concern. Her fingers, almost of their own accord, reached out to trace the contours of his chest and shoulder.

Bucky let the innocence of her touch to trace the most tainted parts of him; however noting her trembling eyes, he misunderstood her apprehension. “I want you to know, Y/N,” he said, his voice firm yet gentle, “that I will never hurt you. You are safe with me.”

Y/N shook her head, her heart aching. She felt an unexplainable pain growing in her chest as she gazed at him. Her fingers still lightly touching his scars; her eyes, full of unshed tears, silently asked a question she was too afraid to voice. “Does it still hurt?” she wanted to ask, her expression betraying her concern.

Bucky’s eyes sparkled with affection, and he took her hand in his, holding it tenderly against his chest. “Don't worry. It does not hurt anymore,” he said with a reassuring smile.

The connection between them was electric, charged with a deep, unspoken understanding. Bucky’s gaze was steady and filled with a depth of unspoken emotion that took Y/N’s breath away. “I know this is difficult for you, Y/N,” he said, his voice laden with sincerity. “But I promise, I will do everything in my power to make you happy.”

His words and the way he looked at her left Y/N feeling both comforted and overwhelmed. For the first time since their wedding, she felt a genuine, flickering hope that maybe, just maybe, their marriage could become something more than a mere political arrangement. Bucky’s assurances, his gentleness, and the tenderness in his eyes began to dissolve the fears she had harboured since the beginning of their union.

As they sat there, the weight of the night’s expectations seemed to lift, replaced by a fragile but growing trust. Y/N had entered this marriage with a sense of duty, convinced that she would have to endure the consummation of their union as a matter of obligation. But Bucky’s tenderness, his understanding, and the sincere reassurance he had given her began to change her perspective.

The idea of fulfilling her marital duty had initially felt like a burden she had to bear. She had steeled herself to face it with resignation, convinced that it was merely another part of her role in this arranged marriage. But now, she found herself reconsidering. The idea of being with him no longer felt like an obligation but a possibility of something more profound and intimate.

Y/N hands softly toyed with the delicate strings of her sheer lingerie, pulling it softly as her doe eyes signalled her husband of her intention. Bucky, sensing the shift in her demeanor, looked into her eyes with a mixture of concern and affection. “Are you sure, my dear?” he asked softly. “I want you to feel safe with me and not afraid of me.”

Y/N’s heart fluttered as she met his gaze, her own eyes reflecting the depth of her emotions. “I am,” she said with quiet conviction. “I feel safe with you, James”

Bucky's hand naturally went to brush her hair behind her ear, “It’s Bucky, my dear,” he corrected softly.

“Hmm?” she asked, slightly puzzled.

He chuckled warmly. “You can call me Bucky from now on. It’s a nickname only a selected few who I trust and love knows.” Her eyes sparkled at his choice words; trust and love.

“Bucky…” she tested the name on her tongue, the syllables feeling strangely intimate. Upon hearing his name from her lips, Bucky’s heart swelled, almost bursting from his ribcage. He hummed in approval, “That's right, my dear. I’m your Bucky.”

His reassuring smile grew wider, his calloused thumb gently stroke her cheek causing a shiver to strum all over her nerves; sending an emerging desire. One she had not fully acknowledged until now. The way he looked at her, the pure and raw endearment in his eyes, and the softness of his touch stirred something deep within her.

As the moments passed, Y/N realised she wanted this. She wanted to feel his lips on hers, to explore the warmth of his hands, to connect with him on a level she had longed for. The yearning for his touch, which had been dormant under layers of fear and uncertainty, now surged forward with undeniable intensity.

Without fully understanding why, Y/N found herself leaning closer to him, her breath coming in soft, eager gasps. She whispered, her voice barely audible but full of longing, “Bucky, please.”

Bucky’s expression softened, and a tender light filled his blue eyes, “May I?” he asked, his voice low and gentle as he held out his hand. There a shy hesitation before she finally placed her hand in his.

With a gentle but firm pull, Bucky lifted her onto his lap, his careful hands beginning the process of undressing her. Each movement was full of care, yet almost deliberate, as he slowly removed her dress, leaving her in nothing but the flimsy lace piece covering the sacred area between her thighs.

Bucky's eyes roamed over her bare skin, admiration clear in his gaze. Y/N could feel the heat of his gaze, the way his eyes traced every curve and contour of her body. The intensity of it made her feel both vulnerable and cherished, a potent combination that sent pleasurable shivers all over her body.

Seeing the hunger in his blue eyes, she felt the warmth of his body and caught the scent of him; the same once she noticed at the church; warm and comforting. Her breath quickened, and she found herself unsure of what to do or where to place her hands, feeling like a deer caught in headlights.

Noticing the subtle panic, Bucky reached for her hands and guided them through the thick strands of his long hair. “You can touch me as you please, my dear,” he whispered, his voice soothing as he reassured her. He leaned in to kiss her bare shoulder, then moved up to her neck, along her jaw, leaving a trail of warmth on her skin.

Y/N’s fingers tangled in his hair, the softness surprising her. The intimacy of the moment, combined with his gentle kisses, began to dissolve the last remnants of her anxiety. The feel of his lips on her skin was electrifying, each kiss sending waves of sensation she never felt before.

Bucky’s hands, still careful and tender, caressed her back, drawing her closer to him. Her breath hitched as he kissed the valley of her breasts; soft gasps escaping her lips as Bucky begins to lick and sucked on her delicate skin; likely trying to mark his claim on her.

Every touch and little kisses he left sent shivers straight to her already dripping core. And by the time his lips grazed her nipple, her body jerked forward; in response, unintentionally dragging her aching pussy against his thick thigh.

His lips latched around her right nipples as he licks and sucks the hardening skin; lapping at it as if he was feeding from her. The sensation was overwhelming, yet she found herself leaning into his touch, her body responding to his gentle ministrations. The grip on his hair grew tighter as the strings of moans poured out her lips.

Bucky’s large hands find their place on her hips, guiding her to gently rut on his thigh. Trusting him, she followed his lead as he continue to grind her clit through the thin fabric she was wearing; introducing the sweet friction in on her core. Bucky pulled back slightly to look into her eyes, his expression filled with a mixture of subtle affection and desire. “You’re doing wonderfully, my dear. Can feel your pussy leaking on me. Do you feel good?” he murmured as he dipped back to kiss her neck.

Oh, he was filthy with his choice of words but surprisingly she was not mad about it. In fact she didn’t even notice the whimpers purring in her throat upon hearing those sinful words.

It was as if Bucky recognized that needy sound she made; it caused a smile to spread on his lips. She can feel it grow against the skin in between her breasts, “My my, is my sweet wife feeling needy right now?” he teased playfully as he effortlessly lifted her up and laid her down on their bed.

Placing himself in between her soft thighs, his lustful gaze trained on her naked body; he admired the marks he has left on her breasts, the wet patch on the flimsy fabric covering her cunt, and the way her breath shuddered when he teasingly grind his harden cock against her.

Y/N can feel the contrast of his hands on her thigh, one warm, one cold. Her eyes drew her attention from his hands to his gorgeous face. Oh, the pure unfiltered lust in his eyes was pulling her in so effortlessly; seducing her to submit her body and soul to him completely. Shying away from his stare, she dragged her view down to his chiselled jaw, his broad chest then slowly to his beautiful abs.

She admired his body as much as he did of hers.

But what was more prominent out of all, was the way she could feel his erection throbbing against her heat. Blood went rushing towards her face when Bucky guided her hips against the confinement of his cock, which in response; causing her hands naturally found their way to cover her face in embarrassment.

A deep chuckle bubbled from Bucky’s throat; he found her reaction to be absolutely endearing. He leaned down towards her, one hand holding himself up and another tenderly pulling her hands away, then drawing it close to his chest, right against his beating heart.

Having nowhere to run, Y/N’s teary eyes drowned in his ocean blues, “Don’t hide from me, dearest.” He peppered a delicate kiss on her forehead, then on her nose, then on her cheek. She could feel the prickly sensation of his beard grazing on her skin. It was ticklish and a little bit painful and yet weirdly enough, it felt good that it naturally made her want to nuzzle it more.

But before she could, Bucky’s lips were already making their way down to her stomach. Her body responds to how soft his lips trailing down; and further down until she could feel them on her clothed core. A surprised yelp fell from her lips as he tore the last piece of clothing from her.

“Now, hands away from your face, my dear. I want to see that beautiful eyes of yours when I eat your sweet pussy.” his voice was honeyed when he made himself comfortable in between her thighs. His hands reached upwards to intertwine both of her hands with his own; acting as a restraint to restrict her from covering her face.

Y/N almost sat up upon hearing his words, “Eat what now?”, the question she had in mind was unable to be vocalised; due to her confusion. Prior to marriage, she had learned about sex and its purpose in her marital studies. Unbeknownst to her, the knowledge she had was few and limited for academic purposes only. Which means there were only the few illustrations of penetration depicted in books and the process of how children are bred as a result of it.

So what does he mean when he said those words? While she was still lost and confused, Bucky on the other hand was in his own world; completely and utterly transfixed on the glistening need of her cunt. She was dripping wet; the juices covering her slits perfectly; her scent was intoxicating and if it weren’t for the fact that this is her first time, Bucky would’ve ate her like a man starved of touch. But, he can’t do that. Not tonight. He wanted to be gentle; to cherish her, to love on her.

Seeing the darkened clouds in his eyes as he stared at her private, Y/N braved herself to ask, “What are you– ohh hmmm” her sentence ended up transforming into a toe curling moan as she felt Bucky’s wet tongue flattened across her weeping core. Her eyes rolled to the back of her head as he dragged her clit into his mouth and sucked. He strummed her clit with his tongue, causing her to arch her back and he took the opportunity to push his face further into her cunt; licking and sucking quite the literal soul out her.

It felt amazing but her self-consciousness won the battle in her head, she let out a whimpering plea, “Buc--bucky st-stop. That’s dirty.” as she gripped on his hands, trying to escape from his grip. Bucky growled against her in response to her futile protest. The sweet vibration only caused her pleasure all over her fluttering core.

When Bucky pulled away for a moment; it caused her to feel a sense of loss. “It’s not dirty, my dear. In fact, it’s so sweet.” His lips moved to kiss on her inner thigh, murmuring against her skin as he left yet more of his marks on her, “So fucking sweet.” He releases his right hand from hers, just to rub his thumb on her clit, slowly dragging it in between her slit; smearing her wetness all around her throbbing bundle of nerves. Her thighs trembled to the sensation of his rough movement of his thumb and a string of shaky mewls fell out of her.

“But..” she tried to protest but immediately stopped when Bucky brought his soaked thumb to her mouth. Her lips were wet from how he gently smeared the juices on her, “Taste yourself.” He lured her softly. Hesitation glints in her eyes as her cheeks redden. Bucky’s eyes grew tender at her watery ones, he whispered lowly, “Sweetheart, do you trust me?”

She does; but she does not trust her own voice to not come out sounding like a needy moan, so she simply nodded. Bucky’s pink lips spread into a smile, “Good girl. Now, open up.” he coaxed lovingly.

Y/N opened her mouth as she was told and let Bucky slip his thumb inside; he was not shy to smother her juices across her tongue, coaxing her to suck on it. To get a taste of what he was having. “It’s sweet”, she thought to herself. A muffled moan purred in her throat at the thought of her husband enjoying the taste of her.

Bucky smirk grew at her reaction, “Tastes good huh, sweetheart?” he pulled his thumb away, leaving her nodding to his question. “Now are you going to let me enjoy your pussy?” his brow quirked when he tilted his head to the side. How can she deny him now? Her eyes glazed with need as she replied, “Yes, please”.

Her mouth falls open in anticipation as a low moan creeps up her throat. Bucky’s tongue slips past her folds, she watched him between her legs, savouring her pussy with his unfiltered groans vibrating against her sensitive spot. Breathless moans and incoherent pleads fall from her mouth as the soft and firm tip of his tongue circled her swollen pearl and flicked it. Bucky’s hands went to her hips, guiding it in time with her own movements, giving her partial control to set the pace.

“Buckyyyy.” She gasped as she alternated between wanting to push his head away or keep him in place. Meanwhile, the man in between her thighs had lost himself; consumed by pure desire the more he drank from her cunt. His tongue moved faster against her clit when he noticed the beat of her throbbing cunt increased. She was going to come. He was sure of it.

The way that she was practically creaming on his tongue drove him near feral. He kept lapping at her juices as if it was the sweetest honey he ever tasted; fuck he even sucked her clit in hopes to force out more of her nectar to leak; then he’d lap on it again.

The sweet cycle had pushed Y/N over the edge, her eyes rolling back as pleasure and her hips slightly lifted as pleasure surges through her veins.“Oh oh Bucky please please.” She didn’t what she was begging for as she chanted his name. “I’m gonna, ‘m gonna–“ her words died as she squealed; her body trembling in pleasure.

His tongue moved faster against her clit; her cum was dripping out of her; coating his beard but his frantic licks didn’t stop even when she continue to gush on his tongue.

“Bucky please, sensitive..” It was too much; her orgasm, her swollen clit, his tongue. Everything.

Unfortunately for her, Bucky was far gone to stop now. He had the taste of her cum, now he wants nothing more than to have it again. Despite her protest, Bucky held her hip down, interlocking his hands across her stomach to keep her in place and continue to lick and suck on her overstimulated cunt.

Her whiny pleas didn’t come across as a sign for him to stop; instead it kept him going causing him to bury his face further in between her legs. His cock continued to throb in his pants, probably leaking with so much pre-cum and in need of some sort of relief but he ignored it. He wants nothing more than for Y/N to cum on his tongue again.

And that is exactly what happened next.

The moment she fell over the edge, Bucky pushed her even harder against him as her whole body spasmed. He maintained his pace on lapping up at her all throughout her high as her hands went from his hair to the headboard, trying to hold her limp body upright. Y/N took a moment to gather herself together, panting heavily as she regained their senses; while Bucky was swift to pull his pants off and throw it to the side.

He grabbed on her hips, holding her firmly in place as his heavy leaking cock nestled between her aching pussy. “Are you sure about this, my dear?” his hot breath fanning against her neck as he gently ruts into her heat. Even though Bucky can see the darken lust in her eyes, he still wanted to make sure that she was sure of her decision.

Y/N’s heart swelled at his concern, and she found herself smiling, a genuine smile that reflected the warmth she felt inside. She pulled him closer and kissed him, pouring all her newfound trust and affection into the kiss. “Yes, Bucky. I am very sure. ”

Bucky quickly responded with equal passion, his tongue slipped in between her lips; exploring the warmness of her mouth, the softness of her tongue. Their muffled moans filled the silenced room, his hands moved to caress her sides, drawing her even closer before breaking away from the heated kiss.

Resting his forehead on hers, his eyes trained on her beautiful face; not wanting to miss his chance to witness the pleasure contorting on her expression. He nudges her clit first, rubbing it slow and sensual before trailing down to her entrance. Gradually, he inches closer, he pushes in and through the tightness of her sacred channel.

Delving impossibly deep, her tightness wrapped around his thick cock until the tip of him reached the deepest parts of her. The sudden feeling of fullness on her untainted pussy caused her to experience both pain and the delightful sensation inside her. The ecstasy of being so knitly connected to each other caused both of them to simultaneously let out moans and groans of raw pleasure.

Bucky waited for her to adjust to his size; leaning down to pamper her with the softest kisses and praises that tears started to swell in her eyes. It was as if Bucky knew exactly what she wanted to hear, how she wanted to be treated and what makes her feel good.

“You’re doing so good, my dear.”

“Look at how perfect your pussy’s taking my cock. So perfect.”

“Made for me aren’t you, sweetheart?. Made to be loved by me, made to be stuffed full of my cock.”

“I promise you’ll be safe with me, Y/N. Always.”

When Y/N finally gave him the permission to move, Bucky kissed her pouty lips and murmured sweetly, “Thank you, my dear.” His hands travelled to find her ankle; which he then gently prop her calf over his broad shoulder. He started pumping in and out slowly, letting her get used to the friction.

Bucky couldn’t help but to groan out to the feeling of her wet hole gripping his cock ever-so-tightly. It was slippery and dripping, that he almost completely slid out of her. Gripping her closer he continue ramming himself back in, deeper, harder; sliding in and out of her at an even pace. Each force of his cock causing her body to jerk in ecstasy; hitting that good spot in her so perfectly.

“S-shit, sweetheart,” he moans deep and heavy as he felt her pussy tightening around him. His metal hand slid in between them and his thumb hones in on her clit. The coldness of his finger made her jolt at first but when he proceeded to rub and pinch on it, everything suddenly started to feel too intense; so incredibly good.

With his fingers assaulting her clit, each thrust of his cock and every deep guttural moan and groan coming from Bucky, she felt her release was growing closer. Bucky also started thrusting faster and harder; he knew he was about to come. Especially when he can feel how much pre-cum has been leaking inside her.

He leaned and rested his forehead on hers, his needy ruts became more and more irregular when her pretty doe eyes looked up at him, “Cum for me, my dear.” his lips brushed against Y/N’s as he coaxed her to her sweet release. His thrusts got harsher and deeper and the friction of his metal finger working on her clit got her cunt to frantically tremble around him, “I wanna feel you milk my cock, sweetheart. Then, I’m gonna my pump cum inside you until you’re leaking.”

Although his words were debauched to no end, however Y/N could sense his genuine affection for her. She felt his sincerity in the way he looked at her, in the way he held her, in the silenced gaze they shared. Overwhelmed with pleasure, her nails dragged across Bucky’s back as she moaned and screamed out his name; letting the high took over her body.

“Fuck,, sweetheart. I’m gonna cum!” groaned as he took in the sound of her pleasured mewls. He ruthlessly grinds into her, savouring the feeling of her cunt tightened around him. With one last rut, he thrust his cock, balls deep inside and let his warm white strings filling her up to the brim. His cock twitches in her fluttering cunt, his legs tensing with every small grind he makes, groaning lowly at her as he bites down on her shoulder, almost drooling on her as he emptied himself completely into her.

Y/N continued to let out strings of soft moans as he pulled out from her leaking cunt; all swollen and sensitive. While she thought she could finally catch some breaths, she didn’t notice the way Bucky was biting on his lip at the sight of his cum dripping out of her, or how his hands lazily tugging on his now hardened cock.

“Dearest?” Bucky hovered above her as he cradled her by her flushed cheeks. She smiled sweetly as she leaned to his touch, “Yes, Bucky?”, she was anticipating him to utter more of those soft words and praises to her; but instead his lips curled into a devilish grin when he slid his cock back into her, immediately pulling a long sinful mewl of his name from her. Bucky hummed approvingly in response; he gently brushed his lips against hers, “May I fill you up again?”

As the morning sun streamed through the windows, Y/N slowly stirred awake. She reached out, instinctively searching for the warmth of her husband beside her, but found the space empty. A pang of loneliness touched her heart, but it was quickly replaced by curiosity when she saw a bouquet of bluebells, her favourite flower, placed delicately on the bedside table.

Next to the bouquet was a note. With a small smile, she picked it up and began to read.

"My Dearest Y/N,

I hate to leave you alone this morning, but I must ensure our journey home is smooth and safe. I trust you slept well, and I promise to return to your side as soon as I can.

Yours always,

Bucky"

The words written on the note were filled with sincerity and reassurance that made her heart flutter. She smiled, a blush creeping across her cheeks as she wondered how he knew bluebells were her favourite.

Just as she was lost in thought, the door opened, and the palace’s maids entered the room. Their faces were a mixture of curiosity and impatience, clearly expecting to see a frightened and bruised young bride.

However, when they saw Y/N's skin, they temporarily froze in their spots. Her skin was indeed bruised, but each one of them recognized the marks for what they were: love marks, not signs of harsh abuse that they were expecting. The traces of Bucky's possessive love were prominent all over her neck, chest, and inner thighs, leaving Y/N blushing as the maids, too, found themselves flushed with embarrassment.

“Well, isn’t this a surprise,” one of the older maids muttered under her breath, her tone laced with irritation. Another maid, with a more condescending sneer, huffed. “Looks like we lost the bet, ladies. Who would have thought the beast could be so... tender?”

Y/N’s cheeks burned with a mix of embarrassment and pride. She could feel their resentful glances and knew they were not pleased with the outcome. The marks on her body were a testament to the affection and desire Bucky had shown her, and despite the initial fear, she now wore them as symbols of the unexpected bond they had begun to forge.

The head maid, who had been the most vocal the night before, now seemed to handle her with an edge of bitterness. The other maids, who had been so quick to judge, were now silent, their eyes wide with resentment.One of the younger maids, braver than the rest, couldn’t hide her frustration. “Well, my lady, I suppose you’re alright, then?” she asked, her voice barely masking her disappointment.

Y/N looked at her, considering the appropriate response. If it was up to her, she ought to punish every single one of them for not knowing their place. Unfortunately, they were not her maids to begin with, but the palace's staff. Otherwise, she would likely fire each one of them.

The memory of Bucky’s affection and care filled her heart, leaving no room for anger or resentment. The warmth of his embrace and the gentle way he had treated her made the maids' behaviour seem petty and insignificant.

She could still feel the lingering touch of his lips on her skin, the way his hands had caressed her so delicately, and the sound of his reassuring voice. Her body was still tingling with the remnants of the previous night's intimacy. Her skin bore the marks of his love, not of brutality, and each bruise was a testament to the passion they had shared. It was completely different to the vile expectations of the maids.

A small smile playing on her lips despite the blush that still coloured her cheeks. "Yes," she said softly, "I am quite alright."

The maids exchanged annoyed glances, their expressions a mix of frustration and disbelief. Their muttered disappointments were tuned out as Y/N focused on the lingering warmth from the night before.

She couldn't hear a single thing except her heart beating to the thought of her husband. She missed him already. Who would’ve thought she’d be swooning for him so soon?

She found herself yearning for his presence, the comfort of his touch, and the sound of his reassuring voice. The memory of his gentle kiss and tender words lingered in her mind yet again, making her heart flutter.

As the maids continued their work, Y/N hoped they would at least perform their duties well enough to cover up for their childish behaviour. She wanted to be ready to see Bucky, to greet him with the same warmth and affection he had shown her. Despite their rudeness, she resolved to focus on the positive, cherishing the newfound bond with her husband.

Bucky stood at the head of the table, his stern expression and commanding presence filling the room. He was reviewing the logistics of their journey home, his voice cold and decisive as he issued instructions to his knights. His trusted knight, Sam, was detailing the possible hotspots for bandits they might encounter along the way.

"We'll likely face trouble here," Sam said, pointing to a spot on the map. "We should send some of our best men ahead to clear the path."

"Agreed," Bucky responded, his tone unyielding. "Deploy the knights in advance. Ensure the path is secure before we proceed."

Sam nodded and continued outlining the plan. He paused, expecting Bucky to reconfirm, but noticed a change in his leader's face. The harsh lines softened, his eyes filled with a tender warmth, as he stared intently at something across the room. Before Sam could look or utter a word, Bucky turned and walked away with determination.

Sam followed Bucky's gaze and understood immediately. "Ah, that's why," he muttered to himself as he watched Bucky approach Y/N. The change in Bucky’s demeanour was striking. He moved with a grace and warmth that was at odds with his usual stern and imposing presence.

Bucky’s eyes softened as he took in the sight of Y/N. He admired her beauty with a gaze filled with awe and adoration. The way he looked at her was as if he was seeing a vision he had longed for, a rare and precious gem that had finally come into his life.

As he extended his hand toward her, a gesture usually seen as etiquette but now entirely with different meaning, especially with the hearts bursting our of his blue eyes. Y/N’s face lighting up with a shy smile, took his hand; almost too eagerly. Bucky's fingers closed gently around hers, his touch tender and reassuring. The contrast between his usual, fearsome reputation and the gentle way he interacted with her was profound, making it clear that his feelings for Y/N were deeply genuine.

Bucky kissed the back of her hand, his lips softly caressing her knuckles. "My dear," he greeted her, using the endearment he had chosen when they first met at the altar.

The scene seemed like it was pulled raw from a romance novel that the surrounding staff and knights simply watched in shock and awe. "Did he just..." one knight whispered, eyes wide. "Called her 'my dear'?" another finished, equally stunned.

Sam, who had witnessed firsthand the monstrous side of Bucky in war, found himself in a state of utter disbelief, jaw dropped loose. He had seen Bucky’s sword painted blood-red, his face splattered with the gore of countless enemies. The Winter Soldier was a force of nature on the battlefield, his brutal efficiency leaving a trail of carnage in his wake. Sam recalled the sight of Bucky’s cold, unyielding eyes as he cut through foes without hesitation, his armor and weaponry gleaming with the blood of those who dared oppose him.

And yet, here he was, the same man who had struck terror into the hearts of many, now standing before Y/N with a tenderness that seemed unimaginable. Sam could hardly believe his eyes. The disparity was pronounced and bewildering. Bucky’s expression was soft, his movements gentle as he held Y/N’s hand in his.

“I’ve missed you,” Y/N said softly, her eyes shining with affection. She truly did, it would be a lie that she didn’t felt the ache in her heart when she woke up alone that morning. The emptiness beside her had felt profound. The bed still carried his scent, a lingering warmth that whispered of his recent presence. Even though the separation had been brief, as evidenced by the thoughtful note and the bouquet of her favourite flowers he had left behind, the loneliness she felt was palpable. His absence, however fleeting, had created a void that left her feeling incomplete.

Bucky’s heart seemed to burst with emotion. He couldn't care less about the gawking staff surrounding them as he pulled her close and kissed her deeply. She initially froze, caught off guard and embarrassed, but soon melted into his kiss with a blossoming confidence.

As their lips met, memories of their tender and passionate night together surged through Bucky's mind. The way she moan his name, the taste of her cum, the tightness of her pussy gripping on his cock, the way his cum leaked out of her, every single sinful scene replayed in head; infinitely. The intensity of the moment was overwhelming, and he found himself nearly losing control. Reluctantly, he pulled back from the kiss, his breath uneven and his gaze filled with an unspoken hunger.

"God, what should I do with you, hmm, sweetheart?" Bucky whispered, his voice laced with seduction as he continued to place gentle kisses along her cheeks and jaw. His lips brushed softly against her skin, whispering how much he had missed her and expressing a wistful desire to stay wrapped in the warmth of their shared bed just a little longer.

Y/N’s soft giggle rang out as she felt the roughness of his stubble against her delicate skin. The sound was like music to Bucky's ears, brightening his mood and filling him with a profound sense of joy. Despite the joyful exchange, he reluctantly ended the sweet torment, his kisses lingering just a moment longer before he pulled away.

“We should be ready to begin our journey shortly,” Bucky said, his tone shifting to a more practical note when e turned to Sam, who had approached during their moment of intimacy.

“Y/N, this is Sam Wilson, he is one of my trusted knights.” Bucky introduced, his gaze shifting to his wife. Sam gave a respectful nod to Y/N, a hint of surprise still evident in his expression from witnessing Bucky's affectionate display. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Lady Y/N.”

Y/N smiled warmly at Sam, appreciating the introduction. “The pleasure is mine, Sir Wilson.”

Sam, sensing that the formality was unnecessary given their imminent interactions, decided to ease the situation. “Just Sam, my lady,” he said with a friendly tone. Y/N repeated his name with a touch of amusement. “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Sam.”

Bucky, observing the growing camaraderie between his wife and his trusted knight, couldn’t help but feel a twinge of protectiveness. The easy familiarity between them seemed a bit too casual for his liking. His eyes narrowed slightly as he gave Sam a warning look. “Watch it, Wilson.”

Sam, not missing a beat, chuckled at Bucky’s protective demeanour. “What’s the matter, my lord? Can’t handle a bit of friendly conversation?”

Y/N, noticing the playful tension and Bucky’s slight irritation, couldn’t help but laugh. The contrast between Bucky’s usually soft demeanour that Y/N had witnessed and his current protective stance were both endearing and amusing. Her laughter lightened the mood, making Sam’s teasing even more enjoyable.

Bucky's stern gaze softened as he watched Y/N’s laughter, though his protective instinct remained palpable. Steering the conversion back to the preparations, he allowed a faint smile to tug at the corners of his mouth despite his earlier warning.

“I trust you can escort my wife to the carriage,” Bucky said, his voice serious but tinged with a hint of a smile. “However, I expect you to maintain proper distance and adhere to these additional guidelines.” He paused, ensuring his words were clear. “No unnecessary physical contact or overly familiar behaviour. And if you could, avoid any casual conversations that might be misinterpreted.”

Sam looked at Bucky in disbelief, shaking his head with a bemused expression. “Seriously, Barnes? You’re laying down rules for me to keep my distance from your wife now?”

Bucky’s eyes narrowed playfully. “Consider it a precaution. I’d rather not have any misunderstandings.” Sam chuckled, rolling his eyes as he complied. “Understood. I’ll make sure to follow your... guidelines.”

Y/N watched the exchange with amusement, her earlier shyness melting away into a warm appreciation for Bucky’s protectiveness. The scene, tinged with a touch of comedy, only deepened the connection between them.

Bucky, intent on making a point to Sam while expressing his affection, pulled Y/N close and pressed a tender kiss to her forehead. The gesture was both intimate and deliberate, a subtle yet clear indication to Sam that she belongs to Bucky. “I’ll join you shortly, my dear,” Bucky said softly, his voice filled with warmth as he gazed into her eyes.

Sam, unimpressed by Bucky’s display, rolled his eyes at the seemingly childish antics. “This way, my lady,” he said with a hint of impatience. Y/N nodded in agreement but paused before turning her back on Bucky. With a loving smile, she whispered, “I’ll see you later,” before following Sam.

Bucky watched as Sam guided Y/N away, his gaze lingered with a mix of affection and something much deeper; an unspoken sadness. As their silhouettes walked further and further away from his sight, a sombre glaze settled over his eyes.

Beneath the surface of his composed exterior, his heart ached; the was a silent reflection of a pain he had hidden deep within his heart. It was a lingering sorrow that had shadowed him ever since he stood at the altar, the weight of unvoiced grief clinging to him as he gazed at his future bride.

Part II >>

Read my other works here: Masterlist

A/N: Wondering why he was in the feels at the end? We’ll know it soon enough. I’ll see you in the next parts! Thank you for reading!

#bucky barnes au #bucky x reader #bucky x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fluff #bucky smut #bucky angst #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes smut #bucky barnes angst #winter soldier!bucky #medieval!bucky #duke!bucky #grumpy!bucky #soft!bucky

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raven-at-the-writing-desk · 2 months ago

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sebek and his big ol' heart

Y’all thought I would be writing an extensive analysis on [REDACTED] or Skully but JOKE’S ON YOU, I love my lame idiot child Sebek 😭

When I tell you I actually CRIED MULTIPLE TIMES reading his Nightmare Suit vignettes… because all the pieces fit together SO well…

Before reading this (long) post, I’d like to ask that you also take your time to read this analysis and this analysis. They will help you understand some of the points I made later regarding Sebek and his internalized racism + how he expresses himself.

Have your recommended reading done? Great, then let’s hop to it!

***Spoilers for Sebek's Nightmare Suit vignettes, book 7, and various other Sebek and Silver card vignettes.***

Sebek is one of those characters that lives in infamy for how much time he takes to get warmed up to. He presents himself as loud and brazen, with these traits often earning him the ire of both in-universe peers and irl fans alike. Worst case scenario, Sebek can be seen as someone who is outright hateful. He’s rude to most people (including Silver, his childhood friend, sometimes), denounces humans, acts like Malleus can do nothing wrong, and doesn’t seem to respect his own father.

Well, I’m here today to tell you those claims are false and that Sebek is actually capable of so, so much love. All you need to really do is look at his Nightmare Suit vignettes—and how well they connect with the rest of his lore—to understand what I mean.

The vignettes start with Jack Skellington finishing a bento that Sally made for him. Sebek tells Jack that he should now return the basket that the bento was delivered in to her and to let her know what he thinks of her meals, but Jack says he can’t because he’s busy with Halloween preparations. Jack asks Sebek and Azul to return the basket in his stead, which they do. (These vignettes appear to be following Trey’s Nightmare Suit vignettes, as those open with Sebek and Trey seeing Sally jump out of a window with food with Jack. Sebek points out to Trey that Sally wants to hand deliver that food and says he believes there is some other reason than just being nice to Jack.)

They aren't allowed to see Sally because Dr. Finkelstein has locked her up for misbehaving, so they leave the basket. Azul advises that they also pass along Jack's comments (he had called Sally smart, thoughtful, and kind; he often forgets to have meals when he's absorbed with his work, so it's generous for her to prepare a delicious meal like this for him). Sebek loudly refuses, as he believes that hearing these grateful words from Jack himself would be much more meaningful to Sally.

He later confronts Sally at Town Hall and asks to speak with her privately (in an ALLEYWAY lol). There, Sebek flat-out tells Sally that such roundabout tactics will never help her feelings reach Jack because he's way too dense. Of course, she reacts with denial which sends Sebek into a passionate speech about the lengths Sally will go to for love (short of actually speaking about it). She literally threw herself out of a window and put herself in bodily harm to get to Jack when Dr. Finkelstein locked her in her room. She deliberately disobeyed her guardian and brainstormed a way to get out when theoretically she should not have been able to move around freely. If that's not motivated by love, then what is? Sebek declares that it's really annoying to watch Sally dance around the issue and to see her devotion go to waste. IT'S LIKE HE'S WATCHING/READING A ROMCOM AND THE TWO MAIN CHARACTERS KEEP PLAYING THE "WILL THEY, WON'T THEY" CARD... She admits that she can't share her feelings because Sally thinks she's not worthy of someone as impressive as Jack... They're not compatible. And you know how Sebek responds??? BY TELLING SALLY ABOUT WHAT IS BASICALLY TWISTED ROMEO AND JULIET... Sebek reading tragic romance confirmed 😭 He describes the story as one of two lovers whose families do not approve of their union. In desperation, the lovers try to elope--but their plan fails and they return to their warring families. Instead of committing dying like in the original tale, the lovers live the rest of their lives lamenting the outcome and how they can no longer see the person they love most. Sebek shares his own interpretation of the story and its moral: because the lovers gave up hope that they could get their families to accept one another... because they never tried to get their families to get along... because they could not properly articulate their feelings to their families... the lovers could not be together. He is convinced that if they had communicated better, the story would have a happier ending. Sebek is of the firm belief that a story itself cannot come to be without the author wanting to share their own thoughts or feelings; he even suggests that maybe the author of Romeo and Juliet experienced something similar--a regret that resulted from neglecting to express deep-seated feelings. It's not just this book either, Sebek claims to have many stories with a similar theme or miscommunication leading to conflict.

Above all, Sebek stresses to Sally that she must believe in herself and take swift, decisive action. And why does Sebek whole-heartedly throw himself into this belief? Because his own family is living proof that a happy ending is possible if you try hard for it.

If you've paid attention to Sebek lore prior to this, you'll know that he has a human father and a fae mother. Their marriage faced opposition and scrutiny in Briar Valley, a country which is isolated from the rest of the world and suffered greatly from human invaders pilfering the fae lands for resources. One of these sources of opposition and scrutiny is Sebek's own grandfather and his mother's father, Baur. Apparently, Mrs. Zigvolt married Mr. Zigvolt against the wishes of her dad.

Sebek shares even more details with Sally in his Nightmare Suit vignettes. To this day, Baur does NOT approve of his daughter's marriage--but Mrs. Zigvolt doesn't let that get her down! No, she does everything in her power to prove to her father that she made the right choice and she's perfectly content with her life. She'll send letters enclosed with photographs of her family, take her children to visit Baur's home, and invites him to join family dinners. Sebek adds that he's sure his mom made other efforts too--all to try and get Baur to acknowledge her marriage. More recently, Baur seems to have lightened up a little... as in, he always used to turn Mr. Zigvolt away at the door, but now lets him in about once a year (though Baur still avoids eye contact with him and continues to frown). Mrs. Zigvolt stubbornly believes that if she keeps this up, her dad will one day change and bless her marriage with the man she truly loves. Sally commends Sebek and his mother's ability to speak their minds loudly and proudly, but then disparages herself again by saying she can't do the same. Sebek then confesses that he can relate to Sally's frustrations. He related her feelings to his own inadequacy in serving Malleus, the powerful and noble king-to-be of his country. That feeling... Sebek describes it as akin to heartache. But instead of wallowing in that heartache, he pushes himself to close that distance between himself and his idol. If he keeps hesitating, then there is absolutely no way he can catch up to where Malleus is! Sebek must dedicate himself to becoming someone worthy of serving him. He encourages Sally to do the same through both her words and her actions! At that moment, Jack walks in and Sally makes good on Sebek's advice. (This part isn't important to the analysis on Sebek's character, so I'm glossing over it.) The vignettes end with Epel complaining about Sebek being loud as per usual. Sally doesn't take issue with his volume though. She simply giggles and informs Epel that Sebek speaks so loudly and clearly so that his words can resonate with others--like how his words gave her courage.

We have learned new lore about Sebek's grandfather and mother. What does this tell us about Sebek? A lot, actually--if you slate it with all the other lore we have on hand.

We see just how strong of a woman his mother is. I suspect this is where Sebek picked up a lot of his hard-headedness, as well as the tendency to express himself very overtly, from. However, it also speaks to the loving environment he grew up in.

His mother seemingly never questioned her own life choices and never gave up fighting to prove her happiness to a father--and likely an entire community--that rejected her marriage, her husband, and maybe even her children. She fiercely loves and defends her family and the life they have made for themselves. Sebek states that he looks up to her for her magical strength, but that he also admires her principles and strong convictions. Indeed, it was her who ardently pursued Mr. Zigvolt and did not allow naysaying to deter her.

Then there is Mr. Zigvolt. In Sebek's Birthday Boy vignettes, he describes his father as "a strange man" who is "magically deficient" and "never lets his smile fade, no matter what I say to him [...] he defies comprehension." Though Sebek doesn't seem to hold the same amount of respect he has for his mother for his father, we don't hear Sebek openly insulting his dad, just expressing confusion about him. When asked about it, Sebek denies depending on his father--but it's clear there is a fondness there that he's not addressing. Mr. Zigvolt is impressed whenever his children use magic, buys them snacks they never asked for, and talks with them for long periods of time in a calm, patient manner. His father, too, has given Sebek so much compassion and understanding.

We don't know a lot about Sebek's siblings, but they seem to get along fine! He has mentioned going to parks with them. They've also gone fishing together and witnessed magic competitions, which they were all amazed by. The Zigvolts in general (or at least the parents) seem to be accepting too, as they volunteer to take Silver in whenever Lilia is unable to take care of him.

And you'd think that's where it ends, but NO. Baur ALSO has a lot of love to give. Despite not approving of his daughter's marriage, he doesn't actively despise his grandchildren. Quite the opposite, in fact! Though he's rough around the edges and looks scary, Baur doesn't fault any of his grandchildren for being born half fae and half human. He actually makes it a point to bond with them, and especially with Sebek. It was Baur who taught Sebek the language of nocturnal fae and instilled in Sebek his love for reading (as he bought many books for him and tells many stories himself). He also personally reached out to Lilia to train Sebek, as the young boy (at around age 7) expressed an interest in martial arts. Sebek has a love for salmon carpaccio because he and his siblings would fish at Baur's house and then prepare the dish for him--Baur was so happy about it. Additionally, Baur values getting a good education and was proud when Sebek shared with him that he was invited to attend Night Raven College.

Sebek grew up in a country that dislikes humans, but he was raised in an household where he was loved unconditionally and provided with all the resources he could need to get a good education and become someone who is physically strong. So of course he becomes frustrated when he sees Sally, who is so nervous to act on her feelings. What would have happened if Sebek’s mother had been like Sally, thinking she and her now-husband are incompatible? If she didn’t try pursuing her feelings at all? Sebek, as the youngest of three, might not event exist. His parents may not still be together… or maybe they wouldn’t have gotten together in the first place. It’s exactly because Sebek knows what love is supposed to be like--courtesy of his own family—that he can see it so well in others, and wants them to act on it. His very existence is proof that love is possible, and it transcends arbitrary labels like race that serve to divide people into categories.

One quirk of Sebek's is how he's always dishing out back-handed compliments or making comments that come off as rude but aren't at their core. He can't seem to help but say a good thing that sounds like something bad. His Diasomnia classmates, usually Silver, have to translate these Sebek-isms for others, who misunderstand him or interpret his words in the worst possible way. For example, from one of Silver’s Fairy Gala lines; “Sebek said to me that no self-respecting disciple of Lilia’s would dare get a single stain on this clothing. That's his way of encouraging me.” In Silver's Dorm Uniform vignettes, Sebek tries to reassure his friend and tell him to not let other people's opinions hurt him--but he phrases it as, "Hmph, ridiculous! I see no reason for you to heed a few random comments from some humans." The duo is also shown to be competitive with one another in training; it's never malicious, they both want to prove themselves as the superior knight, and the other serves as motivation to improve and/or a means of measuring one's own growth against a fellow disciple. When the mostly elderly population of Harveston is in need of physical labor, Sebek comments "[...] the humans in Harveston are woefully out of shape," yet he insists he "still [has] energy to burn" (as if to volunteer himself to do more work) and calls such tasks "simple" (as if to point out how easy it is for him to do, so don't worry about troubling him). He hauls apples and helps the villagers with whatever they need, declaring that they should "be grateful"--but if he truly did not care, he could have stopped at any time or settled for just making fun of them. But Sebek doesn't, because he DOES care deep down. This aspect of Sebek is made even more obvious in Fairy Gala: What If. He appears at Ramshackle and opens by declaring, "NO! I am by no means worried about anyone! [...] Don't mistake my intentions. I am NOT here to help! If your mission doesn't succeed, the repercussions will definitely affect Malleus and Lilia. Hence... I shall lend you uneducated humans my aid! [...] You're welcome to weep with joy at my magnanimity..." Time and time again, we see Sebek demonstrating a lot of kindness, but deflecting or not being totally transparent with his intentions due to pride or embarrassment. This behavior is very reminiscent of Baur, the grandfather that Sebek loves dearly and spent so much time with. Baur, too, can be very passionate and loving, but struggles to speak of those feelings openly. Just look at how the man deals with Mr. Zigvolt. The behaviors of the family, then, imprint on Sebek and influence his behaviors--and being that Sebek is from such a loving group, it follows that Sebek puts out a lot of love into the world too.

A lot of times when the fandom discusses Sebek's attitude, I feel it's from the context of him being hateful towards humans. I'm not going to deny that Sebek has said some pretty nasty things about half of his own identity. The point I would like to make here is that Sebek can love just as strongly.

The most obvious thing that supports the claim that Sebek is capable of strong love is how he views Malleus. It's no great secret that Sebek practically worships the ground his dorm leader walks on. That's essentially Sebek's key defining character trait. What I'll ask you to consider instead is the nature of Sebek's love--not the obsessiveness of it, but rather the unconditional nature of it.

In Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas, Skully laments that Sebek has not been disappointed by his idol, Malleus. Sebek actually corrects him by saying that love isn't imposing your own views on your idol, it means preparing to accept them, flaws and all. He says the same of Malleus; should the time ever come where Sebek's expectations of Malleus falter or their paths have to diverge, then he will still embrace his young master, never once turning his back on him. And where does Sebek gets this from? His parents. The father who loves his children no matter how critical Sebek may be of him. The mother who remained so strong in the face of her friends and family being against her life choices.

A common fandom sentiment regarding Sebek is that he blindly follows Malleus--but when speaking about his idol to Skully, Sebek says that agreeing with someone and continuing to love them are different things. You can disagree with someone's actions and still continue to love them and accept them. This follows what Sebek does in book 7; though he is betrayed and hurt by Malleus turning his powers against the world, Sebek does not let up on the hope that he can bring his young master back. He even sillily calls the yet-to-be-hatched Malleus tamago/egg-sama, showing even an infant form of Malleus great respect after witnessing his OB. Skully took the opposite path that Sebek did; when he realized that his own idol, Jack Skellington, was not as he imagined him to be, Skully became enraged and lashed out over it. Sebek points out Skully's inadequacies as well, which ties back to how he spoke of his own drive to improve in his Nightmare Suit vignettes. Skully confesses to trying desperately to emulate Jack--so much so that he breaks down when Sebek's UM destroys his iconic shades. He wallows in his current state and doesn't make efforts to change or to be better; the past and his own vision is where he's comfortable. It's a strong contrast to Sebek, who has made it clear he will continue to train and work hard to prove his merits and to be someone worthy of protecting the great Malleus Draconia.

It is Sebek's passion and boundless love that makes him a hero both in Lost in the Book with Nightmare Before Christmas AND in the main story's book 7. He serves as a foil to Skully in the former and actively saves Silver when he's on the brink of despair in the latter. After learning that his biological father is the man responsible for killing Malleus's mother and leading the Silver Owls' onslaught on Briar Valley, Silver despairs and comes to the conclusion that his father must loathe him. "He could never love the son of the man he despised! He has to hate me! He has to!" Sebek rushes to Silver's side using Living Bolt, a UM he has yet to master (thus causing residual damage to him when he casts it), to correct him:

"You have this much strength... and you dare to say you weren't loved?! That you were hated?! [...] If [Lilia] hated you, he didn't have to give or teach you anything. He could've just raised you into a dimwitted coward and made you a servant. But he didn't--and look at you now. Even alone and helpless, you stood firm. You spoke up, unfaltering in the face of our liege's madness. Even trapped in the darkest despair, you kept on fighting! Who raised you to be so strong? LILIA DID! Why don't you see? Why do you doubt? You should have understood years ago! What can you call your strength, if not the direct result of Lilia's love?!"

WHETHER SEBEK REALIZES IT OR NOT, A LOT OF WHAT HE TELLS SILVER HITS HOME FOR HIM TOO... Like, thinking about it... Sebek must have faced a lot of prejudice from his community because of who his father is. He might have grown up thinking he, too, was hated, had he not been protected by his loving mother, father, and, yes, even grandfather, who is still struggling to accept the human in their family. Baur must have been feeling very complicated emotions upon meeting his half human grandchildren for the first time... but even though he dislikes humans, he could never find it in himself to dislike his grandkids. If he had hated Sebek, he wouldn't have wanted him to get a good education. Baur wouldn't be happy that he got into NRC. He wouldn't personally ask Lilia to train the grandson who expressed an interest in combat. He wouldn't buy so many books for Sebek or read with him or tell him stories or teach him his language. He wouldn’t spoil Sebek by giving him sweets (which, by the way, Baur himself dislikes). But Baur DOES do all of these things, because deep down he loves Sebek no matter what he is. You can hear it in the hurt of Sebek’s voice when dream!Baur reacts to him coldly. That isn’t the grandfather he is used to. Though it’s said that Baur doesn’t exactly welcome his grandchildren with open arms, he definitely loves them and cares for them in his own way. If it was anything less than love Baur felt for his grandson, if he decided to neglect his grandkids, then Sebek would have grown up as some "dimwitted coward". IT'S ALL CONNECTED.

And now here Sebek stands, able to tell others that they are loved and should be cognizant of that love. He reminds Silver that Lilia loves him. He advises Skully to reevaluate how he sees his idol. He tells Sally to speak honestly about her feelings, because it was his own mother speaking honestly about hers that led to Sebek and his entire family being as happy as they are now. He shouts at people to act and to speak their minds because he doesn't want them to live with regrets, because he doesn't want to see them be weak and timid--a version of himself that could have resulted if he hadn't been loved so strongly.

You can say many things about Sebek: that he's loud, that he's rude, that he's a fanboy, that he has big muscles. But of all those muscles, Sebek has a very big heart too. And what made him so strong? All the love he received from his family, despite growing up an environment that surely invited hatred for humans.

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museaway · 6 months ago

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✍️ even more fic writer asks!

This one is a behind-the-scenes dive into a specific fic. Followers can send an ask with a number & the fic they’d like you to talk about ✨OR✨ you can decide what fic you’re focusing on and just ask for numbers. (Or reblog and answer everything like a Q&A)

Start to finish, how long did it take to plan and write? Did you take breaks during the process?

How did you come up with the idea?

Did the idea change at all by the time the fic was complete?

If the fic required it, what did you research in order to write it?

Did you outline the fic?

How did you decide what tense and POV(s) to use?

How did you decide what character(s) would narrate the fic?

Did you cut something out of the outline or an early draft? What was it and why did you decide to cut it?

Did you get stuck at any point? How did you get past that?

How did you approach writing the fic? (e.g. wrote it start to finish in order, started with the ending, starting with the twist)

What was the most challenging aspect of writing it?

What program(s) did you use to write and edit?

Did you write any of the fic by hand? If yes, which parts? Do you find you write differently by hand vs typing?

Talk about the fic’s opening scene & how you approached it

Talk about the characters’ struggles & how you decided on those

Talk about the fic’s biggest moment & how you came up with it

Talk about the fic’s ending. Why did you end it where you did?

Talk about your editing and revision process

While editing, did you kill any darlings? What were they?

Did you work with a beta? How did that affect the finished fic?

Did the fic end up shorter or longer than you had planned?

What is something you learned about yourself as a writer from the experience?

How did you come up with the title?

How did you celebrate finishing?

Share your favorite line

Share your favorite detail

Share a piece of lore you made up for the story

Write a new summary for the fic, but badly

If you made a playlist, talk about the songs on it and share a link

Would you ever return to the story’s universe and write more?

#fic writer asks #ask game #please reblog and play!!#you do not need to send me any #I'm not feeling well and just wanted to make a new game

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egophiliac · 1 year ago

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"IT WAS SUPPOSED TO BE A JOKE" As someone who's been playing TWST since march and stopped going out of my way to be spoilerfree after I got stuck at Overblott!Jamil? That's honestly been one of my favorite things about it - seeing something in fanart or a comment you think is just fans joking, only for it to be canon. "The economy!", "May I also throw a tantrum?", Malleus' gargoyle thing, and... everything about Rook being my top examples.

there's a whole bit in Trey's platinum birthday card where he goes on about how he became increasingly obsessed with mustard for like a week straight until the other students held an intervention. how are you supposed to talk about this. how can you bring up something like Trey's descent into mustard obsession to the point that the other characters are worried for him without it sounding like the most obvious lolrandom "he mentioned it once and now fandom acts like he puts mustard in everything" joke. also, how can I slip this into every Twst post from now on, because I need everyone in the world to know that this is a real canon fact about Trey "I'm just an average normal guy (who sticks my hands into people's mouths and owns 20 toothbrushes and used to eat flowers off the side of the road)" Clover.

for bonus points, 1) the punchline is that he still doesn't even like mustard that much, 2) he's saying all of this to Leona, and 3) Leona is actually kind of invested in Trey's mustard story for some reason, which is the most unbelievable part of all of this to be honest. (then Trey gets distracted by a painting of the Cheshire Cat and Leona takes the opportunity to powerwalk away to freedom before they can start talking about dijon versus spicy brown or whatever and extend this bit even longer)

#art #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland spoilers #platinum jacket birthday #sorry that this ended up as me just talking about trey's birthday story for...about as long as trey talked about mustard. whoops.#i have said it before and i'll say it again though #the birthday cards have the best and most insane lore and i love them #especially for trey. he wants us to believe he's just some ordinary dude SO bad but he also keeps saying shit like this.#although to be fair as soon as rook enters the building the weirdness bell curve gets immediately fubar'd #so i guess it's all relative #me any time the characters brush off the most whackadoodle bonkers nonsense: why are they not questioning...oh wait #this is a universe in which rook exists and is a real person that they know #never mind please continue

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kachowden · 3 months ago

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OMG I NEED TO KNOW MORE ABOUT ARMAROS!!!! he’s lovely

For those of you curious about this creature v

Here’s a little information about him ❤️

He was originally created as a baldurs gate oc! He was my Tav, before becoming a part of a short story I had written (self indulgently), where he becomes a party member of the Player. And then from them I kinda fell in love with him and he took on a life of his own as a completely separate character.

His lore stems from having been a somewhat unconventional drow, who had a few too many ideals about life outside of the underdark and too many altruistic ambitions that stray a bit too far from their typical religious teachings under Lolth.

With his desire to venture outward and away from the group, as well as being a rather tall species of drow, and therefor “imperfect”, he was cast aside into the above to live out his absurd existence. After an unsuccessful attempt at becoming part of the elven species, (still being regarded as an “evil drow”, despite his rather timid disposition) he was led to wander for a while, before coming across a traveler. (In this case, you)

Now drow are known for their manipulation and mistrust of others, and while Armaros is a bit of an unusual drow, that way of life is still rather ingrained into his heart and mind. So he puts on act, a rather silly one given his stature, and plays the role of a helpless victim. He sells the role rather convincingly, and is absolutely delighted when you allow him to join your journey.

It doesn’t take long for him to develop a crush on you, especially if you’re of a separate species. But it all becomes set in stone when you valiantly come to his aid during a particularly nasty spat with some ogres and goblins.

“‘….This feeling in his chest. It hurt. Was he dying? Had life outside the underdark warped him deep inside? Why was it, that as he watched you fight against the beasts that had attacked him, his heart raced and throbbbed within his ribs. His lungs hurt from how powerful the thuds were, and his ears twitched, swearing that even amidst the swords clashing against each other, you’d be able to hear it….’

‘..His cheeks burned in an unusual manor, almost like the shameful burn he’d feel when his fellow drow had scoffed at his words when he gushed about life above. But this wasn’t shame. No, it was too fluttery, to dizzying to be such a negative emotion…’

‘Drow were highly intelligent, so it didn’t take long for Aros to connect the dots, when his eyes stayed so dutifully locked onto your form, a holy light seeming to shine around you and reflect off the sweat that beaded your skin…’

‘..You must have been a god.’

‘…A benevolent being sent to guide him and keep him safe, to restore his faith and to nurse him back to health with your kind words and gentle touches..’

‘..Yes, that was it. You were a God. His God.’”

Armaros, despite being a highly intelligent creature, had taken his realization of love towards you (despite only having known you a few days), and twisted into something made of unhealthy devotion. His belief that Lolth teachings were not suited to him, left him feeling a bit lost previously, and so when his somewhat deluded mind latched onto the way you protected him, and seemed to bathe him in your holy presence, he became your faithful little follower.

Offering you gifts, and praising poems. Upholding your words like they were sacred teachings, and even going as far as to write them down. “My god, My savior, My Lord, My Holy One” were all names he had referred to you as while you continued your journeys together. You were obviously a little disturbed by such a drastic title, but no matter how insistent you were, he would merely smile with such a love struck gaze and go on about humble and kind you were. You could be a completely evil and rule being deep down, and he’d still defend you till dying breath, and insist that his god could do no wrong.

Now despite the belief that the very ground you walked on was sacred, it didn’t stop his more selfish desires. Yes he knew he was hopelessly in love with you, but his belief that you were his god shrouded that love with obsession and a twisted lustful shame that brewed deep inside him. He even fought with himself in thinking that he did not deserve you in such a way, and yet did not believe anyone else would be a more suited lover for you. No one would worship you like he did.

His eyes would often wander down your figure, or lunge towards your lips when you spoke. He was still a rather pathetic character, or at least he behaved in a rather timid and shy way. Often whining about various things, and clinging desperately to your form as you walked, mumbling about how unfit it was to have you walk, you should let him carry you! He’s strong, and his stamina in unmatched. He could take care of you in anyway you saw fit.

No no! You mustn’t prune your hands with the rivers water, let him! He’ll bathe you, and rest assured he won’t miss a a single inch. Perhaps his hands wander a little to much and his washing becomes something more akin to a massage but nonetheless. You’re certainly squeaky clean by the end of it.

Overall, his help is usually more of a hindrance, with how much he hovers around you, and how hostile he can be towards potential party members. He’s selfish with his god, why would others deserve to worship you the way he does? They can praise you from a distance.

But anyway that’s pretty much his lore🙏 I love him so freaking much, makes me kick my feet and twirl my hair fr.

#yandere #yandere x reader #x oc #x reader #my art #yandere drow x reader #yandere drow #yandere worshipper #artists on tumblr #armaros oc #drow x reader #oc x reader

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nrcsfavoriteshrimps · 2 months ago

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[And for a moment, time seems to stop.]

“What…the…”

“It’s been a while…Peaches…”

[Wuzhi perks up at the sound of that nickname. Peaches was only ever something she was called by one person. Even the voice paired with it was familiar.]

[Wuzhi spins around to greet the face of the one she missed the most.] “Grandpa—Ah?!”

[Only…it wasn’t the face of her grandfather, no. This was a whole new one.]

[Ginger fur, tall stature, red and gold eyes…he was the man from many legends of her youth.]

“Y-You’re…”

“The one and only…”

“Monkey King!”

(Part three soon… :3)

“Get your ass back here THIS INSTANT!”

[Wuzhi ignores his mother’s screams as she sprints off, desperately searching for someone to help.]

[He skids to a halt when he reaches a dead end…]

“No no no no no…!”

“Nowhere to hide now. You are going home with me, and that. Is. Final.”

(Part 2 coming soon :3)

#YEAHHHHH LORE DROP #twisted wonderland #nrcsfavoriteshrimp #twisted wonderland rp #twst rp #disney twisted wonderland #twst oc #ai wuzhi #ai wuzhi: mother dearest #sun wukong #lmk sun wukong #lego monkie kid #to anyone who sees this just bc of the tags…its a long story— /lh

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vibelladonna · 6 days ago

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✑ 𝓉𝓎𝓅𝑒 𝑜𝒻 𝒷𝑜𝓎𝒻𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓃𝒹 𝜗𝜚 𝒸𝓇𝑜𝓌𝑒

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── ·

So, since Crowe is definitely my fave, so I just had to write more about him! Mostly focus on relationship canons, but shoutout to @i90o3 for the inspo!

𝒸𝑜𝓃𝓉𝑒𝓃𝓉 𝓌𝒶𝓇𝓃𝒾𝓃𝑔: 18+ NO KIDS (Adults Only) This content contains mature themes unsuitable for children. Please respect the creator's intentions.

I also threw in a bunch of my own general headcanons because honestly, Crowe has so much lore that I could talk about him forever (I won’t; it’ll be too damn long.)

He's got this whole backstory and vibe that I can't get enough of. Plus, I’m all about fleshing out his character even more, so I added a few of my personal twists on how I see him in different situations, especially when it comes to relationships.

He's such a layered character, and it's fun to dive deep into his personality.

Okay, so let's talk about Crowe as a boyfriend. Honestly, he's everything—the perfect mix of charm, attention, and emotional depth. If you're the type of person who wants a relationship that's all about connection, balance, and growing together, Crowe is that guy.

He's basically the definition of a dream guy—like, he’s got that old-school chivalry thing down, a fucking prince, but it's not forced or anything. It just comes naturally to him. He’s thoughtful in ways that’ll make you smile, like he’s always paying attention to what you need and finding ways to show you he cares. The affection? Relentless, in the best way possible. He’ll make you feel like the center of his universe without hesitation.

And if you’re someone who thinks love can’t be that over-the-top, grand, movie-romance type, Crowe is out here proving everyone wrong. He’s the type to sweep you off your feet with the little things and make every moment together feel like an wonderful love story.

✑ The Gentleman Extraordinaire

GENTLEMAN, GENTLEMAN, GENTLEMAN. DEAR LORD! Okay, okay, hear me out—Like, I started playing the game for Sol—I was all in for Sol, but then Crowe shows up, and suddenly I’m sitting here like, "Sol, who?" Crowe doesn’t just win your heart—he walks in, takes it, and leaves you wondering how you ever lived without him. He’s that boyfriend who ruins all other boyfriends because he’s not trying to compete—he’s just naturally that good at loving you.

He’s got this smooth, polished vibe, like a real-life Prince Charming, but not in some cheesy, over-the-top way. No, Crowe’s the kind of charming that feels real because it is He’s not all about appearances—there’s this kindness and humility that just grounds him. He’s perfect, but not in an intimidating way; he’s perfect in a “why is this man doesn’t exist?” way. T-T

You know when he shows up to meet your friends or family? Game over. He’s got that effortless grace, that charisma that makes everyone around him feel special. Your friends are like, "Wow, he’s amazing," and your mom is already planning the wedding. But here’s the thing—Crowe doesn’t care about impressing everyone. He just cares about you, His whole vibe screams, “I’m here to love you and make your life amazing.” And he does.

He doesn’t wait around asking, “When are you free?” Nope. Crowe says, “Meet me outside in 20,” and next thing you know, you’re at this secret little café, or on a picnic in some perfect, out-of-the-way spot, or just laying on the grass, looking up at the stars that somehow feels magical—not odd because he’s there. And everything he does feels so intentional—like, this man doesn’t try to be romantic; he is romantic.

He’s that guy who makes opening doors and pulling out chairs look like an art form. Like, you could be wearing sweats, but somehow when you’re out with him, the whole scene feels like it belongs in a movie.

Date night with Crowe? Babe, you’re not just going out for a night—you’re straight-up walking into a fashion shoot without even trying. This man is obsessed with matching outfits, but not in a cheesy way. Nah, it’s all about that subtle, cohesive vibe—same color schemes, the same textures.

And when you’re brainstorming outfits together? That’s part of the fun! It's like a mini fashion show before the actual date. And don’t even get me started on how he lets you borrow his clothes. You know this man is elite when his clothes smell like pure heaven and still fit you like a glove. Yall see how that man is built.

Crowe isn’t just boyfriend material, he’s the whole soulmate package. Like, seriously—he’s everything. I’m not even making this up, this man is next level.

✑ The Romantic Idealist

Crowe loves you like it’s the easiest thing in the world, and he’s not shy about it—like, at all. His love is this big, bold, cinematic thing, but also these soft, quiet moments that hit just as hard. It’s like he’s figured out how to be a walking rom-com and your comfort person all at once.

And Prince? Oh, Prince is charming for sure, but let’s be real: he’s more of a mother hen than some storybook prince. Brittney nailed it when she said that. He’s got that whole “nagging but with love” vibe, plus the way he carries himself. It’s giving “protective energy” more than “royal decree.”

And, Oh, you’ll never be unsure about how he feels. The man says, “I love you,” like it’s second nature—like he doesn’t even realize it’s slipping out half the time. And the way he looks at you? You know, the kind of gaze that makes your knees forget how to function? Yeah, that.

Then there are the little surprises: handwritten notes that are so sweet they feel illegal, gifts that aren’t just thoughtful but feel like they were plucked straight from your Pinterest board, and dates planned around stuff you didn’t even realize you’d mentioned. He’s not just big on the show of it; he’s big on knowing you, like, really knowing you.

And if you’re having a bad day or feeling some type of way? Crowe is on it. Insecurity? What’s that? Because he’s about to drop a forehead kiss, some whispered reassurances or even a whole TED Talk about why you’re literally the best human being alive. He’s not stopping until you believe it.

Lastly, flowers? Don’t even get me started. Crowe’s the kind of guy who gives flowers just because it’s Tuesday, and he definitely knows flower language. Like, he’ll bring you a bouquet and casually mention the meaning behind every bloom. It’s all very “main character in a dating sim.” even though he’s very much a second lead energy. You know exactly what I mean.

✑ Intimacy, Comfort, and Softness

Okay, so Crowe’s whole vibe is just… ugh, so comforting, in the way he shows up physically and emotionally.

Like, this man has a gift for making you feel safe and treasured, but also a little breathless. It’s the way he reads you, you know? He picks up on even the tiniest mood shifts and is right there—whether it’s to hold you, help you, or just let you vent without even asking for it.

And communication? Oh, he’s the king of creating that safe little bubble where you can spill your guts and not feel judged.

Oh, but don’t let that fool you—this man is such a tease. He loves getting under your skin in that playful, flirty way that has you pouting and glaring at him, and he’s just standing there with this little smirk. And honestly? You’d swear you catch him blushing every now and then when you pout back, but it’s so subtle you almost gaslight yourself into thinking it’s the lighting.

Now, THE HAIR. His Hair ™ deserves its own spotlight.

It’s a masterpiece, okay? Always soft, always smelling faintly of lavender or jasmine or some other magical scent that just makes you wanna dive face-first into it and never leave. Like, what’s his secret? Witchcraft? Angels? I don’t even care—it’s perfect.

And the texture? Bruh, it’s so smooth it’s unreal. Like, you run your fingers through it once, and suddenly you’re hooked. I’m talking brushing it, styling it, or just running your hands through it like it’s your job. Don’t even get me started.

But here’s the kicker: when you start massaging his scalp? Game over. This man is so sensitive, like his entire soul leaves his body. But wait, I’m not even close to done. His hair has its own little personality, just radiating vibes that scream, “Take care of me, love me, worship me.” And you do. Because you have to.

And if you dare to tug on his hair—ohhh, let me tell you, it’s a wrap. He just melts, full-on turns into a puddle with those big heart eyes, looking at you like you’re the only person in the universe. And the way he’s silently begging for more? Sir. Sir. You’re playing a dangerous game, Crowe.

Soft words, soft touches—the whole package. He’s the kind of person who will cup your face like you're the most important thing in the world and just whisper how incredible you are.

Or he’ll casually tuck a strand of your hair behind your ear while you’re talking like it’s no big deal, but it makes you feel like you're wrapped up in this cozy, gentle bubble. Honestly, it’s the kind of affection that just melts you.

You’d have him all peaceful and chill, just resting on your chest, no worries. It’s like his version of a personal reset button. I can’t even deal with how perfect that sounds.

Oh yeah! Let’s talk about his sleep, though. Crowe sleeps like a freaking Disney princess. Aurora who? Like, imagine the most peaceful, beautiful sleeping face ever. And okay, yeah, there’s a bit of a “corpse but make it art” vibe, because how can anyone look that good just… lying there? I’m so sorry, couldn't help it.

Crowe is all about that closeness, like, he loves resting his head on you. Whether it’s on the top of your head or just leaning on your shoulder, he thrives on that kind of support. It’s like his way of saying he trusts you with his energy.

And if you smell nice? Oh, he’s all about it. Like, if you're wearing something musky, floral, or have a hint of perfume, he’s in heaven. It’s like his little sensory heaven, and he’ll lean in a little closer just to get that extra whiff.

When it comes to hugs, it’s a mutual effort—you both kinda have this rhythm after learning each other’s boundaries. But when you do hug, Crowe’s hands usually find their way to your waist, not your chest or neck. It’s like this cozy, grounded thing where he wants to feel close but also be respectful of space.

If you’re feeling extra chill with him, he’d probably fall asleep in your arms, no questions asked. This boy just needs rest, and you’re the perfect pillow. But if he does fall asleep while hugging you? Good luck getting those arms to move. It’s like they’re made of steel or something—they’re not going anywhere. And honestly, who would want them to? It feels so good being wrapped up in his arms.

Seriously, though, his hugs are just addictive. Like, once you get one, you just want more. It’s warm, comforting, and feels like a personal little world just between the two of you. Just shower him with hugs in return—he’s craving it, trust me, especially when it’s just the two of you, behind closed doors. You’re honestly doing him a favor. But the only thing that could top his hugs? His kisses, hands down.

Like, don’t even get me started with his kisses—UGHH.

Crowe is ALL about them. Need kisses? Boom. Hands, cheeks, forehead, neck—whatever you want, he’s got you covered, babe. And if you’re cool with a PDA? Honey, he’s laying it on thick.

Like, smooches in front of everyone if anyone even thinks about making you jealous. But if you’re not into PDA, he’s got this smooth way of keeping you close—hand on your waist, pulling you into conversations, constantly checking in with those little glances that just scream, you’re my world.

And when it comes to love? Crowe doesn’t do things halfway. Do you need reassurance? He’s sitting you down for the most real heart-to-heart. Do you want more kisses? Babe, he’s already on it, no hesitation. If you’re the jealous type? Oh, he’s not just telling you he loves you; he’s showing it, making it crystal clear to everyone else, too.

And the pet names? My love, my dove, my heart—he’s laying them on THICK with a capital T; I swear to god, those aren’t the exact nicknames from the game itself, more like examples as I want you guys to see for yourself as I’m not lying!—I was eating it up every single time.

✑ The Ultimate Hype Man

Crowe is that person who’s just built to hype you up. Like, your wins? Automatically his wins. He’s out here making sure everyone and their mama knows just how proud he is of you.

But he has serious Cheerleader Energy—like, it’s not even casual. You finally ate today without forgetting, and this guy is acting like you just won Best Picture at the Oscars. Got a good grade on your test? He’s probably already planning a parade route through your neighborhood.

And if you failed that test? No worries—he’s showing up with your favorite snacks, ready to hype you up like, “It’s one test; you’re still a genius, obviously.” Honestly, I could’ve used that kind of energy after finals this year because…wow, the struggle. T-T

But it’s not just about the hype with Crowe. Oh no, he’s deeper than that. He’s the guy who’s like, “What’s your passion? Let’s chase it down,” and he actually has good advice, not just “follow your dreams” fluff. Like, practical, actionable stuff that makes you feel like you can actually do the thing. And the best part? He’s not just clapping for the big wins; he’s cheering for every little step you take, even the awkward ones.

Crowe’s that boyfriend—even friend who celebrates you while also making sure you’re constantly leveling up—and honestly, we all need a Crowe in our lives.

And oh, the reliability? Unmatched. Whether you need someone to hash out a problem, cheer you through a tough time, or just sit there as your unshakable rock, he’s there. No doubts, no drama. You can count on him to show up, fully present—both physically and emotionally.

Also, let’s talk about his socials. They’re basically a love letter to you. Couple pics, goofy candids, and those long, heartfelt stories where he’s just out here spilling about how lucky he is? Crowe’s all about letting the world know how much he adores you.

✑ Tailored to You

Crowe’s love language? All of them. He's like a walking, talking Swiss Army knife of affection, but with a twist: “I will become whatever you need me to be.” It's honestly wild. His default? Quality Time and Acts of Service, no question. He's the type of guy to be like, "I love you, and here's how I’m going to prove it." But the real magic happens when he adjusts based on whatever makes you happy. Do you like something? Oh, bet. He’ll be all over it, mastering it just for you.

— Physical Touch?

Crowe's all about that. Like, he will hold your hand just because, mess with your hair while you're chilling, and literally just hug the life out of you. It’s not some half-hearted stuff either—it’s the kind of touch that screams, “You are my world, and I’ll keep you close.”

— Acts of Service?

If you think you’re doing anything on your own, think again. Crowe's the guy who’s like, “Need help with your assignments? I’ll be your tutor, even if I don’t understand the material, I’ll pay someone or learn it myself. Running errands? I’ve got it covered.” He's all in on making your life easier, and that’s his way of showing love. He’ll get you that coffee you like without even asking.

— Words of Affirmation?

Man, if you thought he was shy with his words, you clearly don't know Crowe. He’s got this endless list of compliments, and he’s not shy about throwing them your way. “You’re amazing, you’re perfect, here’s why—let me list it out for you.” And let’s be real, he can’t stop talking about how great you are. Like, you’ll be sitting with him and next thing you know, he's telling his friends, “They are literally the best person ever,” and his friends just like, “Okay, we get it, you’re in love.”

— Quality Time?

When he’s with you, every second matters. Doesn’t matter if you’re just hanging out, watching a movie, or even just sitting there. He makes everything feel intentional like this moment right now is the only one that matters. He’s not just there, he’s fully present, and that makes everything feel special.

— Gift Giving?

This man doesn't just grab anything random. Oh no, every gift is like a peek into his brain where he’s thought about what would make you smile. It’s always something meaningful that shows he’s paying attention to what you care about. It’s like he can see straight into your soul and get you exactly what you didn’t even know you wanted.

✑ Tailored to Him

When it comes to receiving love for himself, though? Crowe’s all about Words of Affirmation and Quality Time, with a little sprinkle of Physical Touch in there. And honestly, it makes sense because (okay, I’m guessing here), but he definitely has some emotional trauma—like, maybe growing up too fast? Like he’s so independent… I NEED more into his backstory because something made him this way.

— Words of Affirmation?

They’re everything to him. Sometimes he just needs you to remind him that he’s doing okay. Tell him he’s not a failure, that he’s enough, and watch him melt. Like, imagine gently cupping his face and whispering, “You’re amazing, Crowe.” Boom. He’s soft, he’s vulnerable, and he’s all yours.

— Quality Time?

With his hectic schedule (hello, Student Council energy), any second you spend with him is like gold. And don’t even get me started on the fact that If you ask to hang out? Instant heart eyes. And the man STARES, okay? Like a full-on, unapologetic admiration station. Whether you’re looking back at him or not, he’s just soaking you in because, in his eyes, you’re an his actual deity.

— Physical Touch?

Okay, so picture this: when you’re out in public with Crowe, there’s always some kind of touching happening, and it’s the softest, most consistent thing ever. Like, dude’s got this constant need to feel you’re there, but it’s not over-the-top—it’s just perfect. Holding hands? That’s a given. Arm brushing as you walk side by side? Absolutely. Waist-hugging? Oh, for sure.

And you know what? Let’s throw in pinky-holding because I feel like he’s the type who’d totally be into that—like, tell me that wouldn’t be the cutest thing ever! Ugh, I’ve always wanted to try that. My heart can’t take it T-T. If there’s a way to be close to you, he’s doing it.

Crowe’s basically the poster child for “can’t get enough of you” energy, but somehow it’s not overwhelming? Just... natural, like breathing?

Now, alone time? Oh man, let me tell you, this guy is so touch-starved, and it’s the sweetest thing ever. It’s not like he’s clingy—no, it’s way softer than that. It’s more like this quiet, unspoken please in his body language, like, “I just need you to hold me right now, and maybe, maybe for always.” And when he’s in that space, when he wraps himself up in you, it’s so clear he craves it—but not in a way that feels desperate.

It’s more like he’s letting himself finally believe he deserves to be cared for like this. And oh my god, the kisses. When Crowe kisses you, holding you like you’re the only thing anchoring him to the world? It’s not just a kiss, okay? It’s an entire moment, a whole event. Like, “Shut up and take my soul, I guess this is my life now” kind of kiss. It’s breathtaking. You can’t just walk away from that; it stays with you.

Imagine this: you're just chilling on Crowe's bed, right? Lying there, talking about the most random stuff, maybe arguing over whether pineapple belongs on pizza or spiraling into some deep existential question. Just vibing, you know?

And then… THEN, you start noticing the way he’s looking at you. Like, he’s not just glancing—he’s doing that triangle method thing. His eyes flick from yours to your lips and back again, and you’re like, “Oh… oh he wants to kiss me. Like, RIGHT NOW.” You can feel it. It’s so obvious. He’s got that look, like you’re the only thing in the world he could possibly care about in this moment.

And it’s so soft at first. You both kind of lean in, and his lips just barely brush yours, like he’s scared he’ll mess it up if he moves too fast. And let me tell you—his lips? SO soft, like pillowy clouds. They’re full and perfect, and the way he kisses you? It’s like he thinks you’re made of glass, like he’s handling the most delicate, precious thing in the entire universe.

But then… something changes.

Like, something inside him snaps. It’s not just a kiss anymore—it’s a KISS. There’s this desperation, but not in a bad way. It’s like he’s been holding all these feelings in for so long, and now they’re just spilling out, like words he doesn’t know how to say with anything other than this kiss. His lips move with this crazy mix of hunger and tenderness like he’s trying to tell you without words how much you mean to him, how long he’s been waiting for this.

And the wild part? You can feel it. Every ounce of longing, every stolen glance, every unsaid word—it’s all in that kiss. It’s sweet and fiery at the same time, like he’s savoring every second, but also like he’s terrified it’ll all just vanish if he doesn’t hold on tight enough.

And then when he pulls away? Oh my god. The way he looks at you. Those deep blue eyes of his just lock onto you, and it’s like the entire universe shrinks down to just the two of you. He rests his forehead against yours, catching his breath, and he doesn’t even have to say anything. It’s just there, written all over his face. That look that says, I’m gone for you. Completely, hopelessly yours.

Also, his hands? Oh, his hands tell their own story. They’re soft and deliberate, cupping your face like you’re his whole world, his thumbs gently brushing over your cheekbones. Sometimes, his fingers hold your hair, pulling you just a little closer like he can’t get enough. Other times, his hands settle on your waist, grounding him, but there’s this light tremble—like even touching you sends a wave of overwhelming affection through him.

✑ Flaws? Hardly. But…

Crowe’s not perfect, but that’s the thing—his flaws are part of his charm, you know?

Like, he’s this guy who’ll go out of his way to keep the peace. He’s not about unnecessary drama and will dodge a tough conversation if he can. But here’s the thing—his love for you? It’s bigger than his fear of awkwardness or confrontation. He’ll choose to work through it for the sake of the relationship every time.

Take how he probably freaked out about confessing to you. Terrified.

I bet he couldn’t stop thinking about how much he didn’t want to ruin what you two already had. But when push comes to shove, he’d face that fear head-on because, for him, it’s worth it. And don’t even get me started on what happens if someone dares to hurt or disrespect you.

Sweet, peace-loving Crowe? Gone. You’ll see this bold, fiery version of him who’ll stand up for you without hesitation.

The thing about Crowe is he’ll do everything to make you happy, but sometimes he forgets about himself in the process. He’s so busy putting everyone else first that he can burn out or feel underappreciated, especially if he doesn’t see the same effort coming back. So yeah, remind him now and then that you’ve got his back too. He’ll probably act all humble about it, but he needs it.

And let’s be real—he’s not used to being the one cared for. Crowe’s always been the caretaker, so letting you in? Yeah, he’ll need a little nudge. (Cue those moments where he low-key deflects when it gets too real—classic fanfic material)

His conflict-avoidance thing? That’s where it gets tricky. Like, he won’t let you walk away from an argument upset—no chance. He’ll bend over backward to smooth things over because he has to see you happy. But if the shoe’s on the other foot? Spoiler alert: he might not just come out and say what’s bothering him. Instead, he’ll hit you with questions, all casual-like, about stuff that might be bugging him. It’s almost sneaky, but it’s totally him trying to figure things out without making it a thing.

And oh, my God, the romance. Crowe HAS TO BE extra af. Grand gestures, public displays—he’s all in, and everyone around you is swooning or jealous. It’s cute, don’t get me wrong, but if you’re the shy type? Yeah, good luck with that.

✑ Gen headcanons + ranting

So, disclaimer upfront: none of this is canon, just my thoughts and headcanons. A lot of these ideas come from some scenes in the game (spoilers ahead) and his character profile, which I'll share at the end for context.

Okay, so something about Crowe just screams "rich kid" to me. I know, it’s probably obvious to some people, but hear me out. In the game, he lives on the other side of town, right? And, spoilers, there’s that scene where he has a driver pick him up on the second day when you two get caught in the rain and at the end of the night, he has to go home.

Like, come on, rich people don’t just walk in the rain, they have drivers. Then let's talk about his clothes for a second. His shirts, especially that purple one, are super fancy. Like, where do you even buy a button-up shirt with that many buttons, and in that exact shade of purple? Not from a fast fashion store. I’m no expert on high-end clothes, but I’m pretty sure those are designer.

Anyway, he’s definitely got a backstory in the whole “rich hierarchy” world, though I think he’s dropped down a peg or two. After all creator said so herself that Crowe story will be pretty rocky.

There are two ways you can lose that high-ranking rich status: either you flunk out of a class or you do something big that gets you kicked out.

And with Crowe? I feel like it’s the second option. He’s definitely got that chip on his shoulder like he’s got something to prove, you know? That intense drive to show everyone that he’s more than just whatever they think of him.

— Example One! First-day scene.

So, if you choose the option (though, if I remember correctly, I think you’d become all overwhelmed), you end up having a little cry fest because you’re so worried about being too much for Crowe.

You’re thinking you’re being overbearing, like maybe you’ve crossed a line, and it’s all too much. So, you’re crying up on the roof—classic, right? But after that, you dry those tears, pull yourself together, and go off to your next class. And, of course, Crowe finds you. And you know what? He’s already comforting you because he can see right through the tired, tear-streaked face and knows exactly what went down.

But then, just when you think it’s a nice moment, someone from the student council shows up, searching for Crowe. They say he’s been looking for you all over the place, and they need him right now. And Crowe’s response?

“I don’t fucking care…” Honestly, that moment threw me off guard, but also—like, low-key swoony? Like, you don’t see that kind of attitude every day, and it was kinda hot.

— Then Crowe’s library scene—oh man.

So, Crowe kinda tests you there. He asks if you’d still stick by “Marie Antoinette” (which I think he’s talking about mom in metaphor) even with all the nasty rumors flying around about her. He’s basically asking if you’d trust her, or if you’d believe all the gossip from both the rich and poor folks alike. And the way he reacts if you choose to stay loyal to her?

Tears in his eyes. Earn points. It’s heartbreaking, honestly. You can tell he’s got so much riding on that trust like it really means the world to him.

But if you fall for the rumors and go with what everyone else says, Crowe’s visibly upset, and you lose points for it. It’s a tough call, right? Like, on one hand, the rumors could be true, but on the other, I feel like you should trust the person you know best. Trust is everything to him, and it’s hard not to see that.

Also, I’m pretty sure Crowe is an only child. I’m just feeling that vibe, you know? I headcanon that his mom (or both parents, but mostly his mom) are always off working or traveling for work, leaving him alone for long stretches of time. So, he probably spends a lot of time by himself.

That means he does all the household chores and probably picks up a lot of cooking skills, but here’s the thing: I don’t think he actually eats what he makes that often. He’s probably so used to being alone that he just makes meals for himself but ends up bringing the food to campus for you instead. It’s like a weirdly thoughtful gesture, even if it’s a little lonely at its core.

— Okay, so I have to add to this because of the new Crowe update?

Literally a chef's kiss. I just played it recently since I’ve been swamped with finals, so I’m a little behind, but omg. I’m so here for it. Like, I can't wait to see how the story unfolds and especially how Sol’s gonna react to everything. Dammit, creator, why make us wait for it? But honestly, I’ll wait. It’s gonna be worth it, I’m sure.

And, so before the update, Crowe was kinda just... there. Like, we all knew we had a crush on him, but there wasn’t really much to grab onto, you know? But this update? Oh my god, it’s like they gave him a whole new personality and I’m living for it. He’s such a dreamboat prince now, I just wanna smother him in kisses! Like, mwah, mwah, mwah—someone stops me before I turn into a full-on fangirl. Or Sol himself.

For real, I was laughing the whole time, twirling my hair like some cheesy romcom character. He’s got this whole new charm that’s completely irresistible, and I’m just here for all of it. His vibes are adorable, lowkey a lil freak. If you know, you know.

Like, how did they make him so adorable all of a sudden? He’s the good boy we never knew we needed; he’s out here winning hearts left and right. Seriously, how can you not love him now? I’m obsessed.

· ─────── ⋆⋅ 🝣 ⋅⋆ ─────── ·

#tkatb crowe #tkatb #the kid at the back crowe #the kid at the back vn #the kid at the back x reader #the kid at the back head canons #tkatb vn #tkatb head canons #crowe x reader #jericho crowe ichabod #crowe ichabod

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neil-gaiman · 9 months ago

Note

Dear mr. Gaiman,

You've always struck me as a wise man, and i need some wise person advice right now. This might be a bit of a mess, but bare with me please.

So recently ive been really questioning my choice for college. I'm studying graphic design to eventually be able to do video game design, because I'd really like to be able to use videogames as a media to tell stories or help people. The issue is that im constantly second guessing my choice. While i like my study so far, i also really love some other things. My entire childhood i planned to work in biology and do something in that field. I also adore writing and doing world building and lore writing and for a while i thought i might want to do that with my life too. I've noticed my motivation for college is getting worse and worse again, after it just started improving after i started this study.

Im kind of lost on what to do now, do you have any advice for me? How do i know if this is the right thing for me? I'm still very young, barely touching adulthood and i dont like how unsure i am of this decision.

Kind regards,

Ollie :)

You don't know. All I can tell you is that time is long and you often get where you were always meant to be going despite the turns and twists along the way.

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blog-o-meter · 22 days ago

Text

Making Room - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: (Y/N) follows up on her promise of visiting Nicholas in Los Angeles after their fateful weekend together, excited to see him again, but increasingly finds herself doubting her place in his world.

warnings: 18+, implied phone sex, cunnilingus, unprotected p in v, blowjob, cursing, pls let me know what else

required listening: Islands by The XX

word count: 30, 568

a/n: ok ik technically this is a continuation to room 5, but you honestly don't even have to read it, unless you'd like to understand the occasional reference to the beach weekend (I'll link it below). I thought 17k words was long for room 5, but this one had me in a doozy!! this one was mostly for my enjoyment, just to see where the story would take me, but if you happen to enjoy it, awesome!! pls pls pls let me know what you guys think <3

Room 5 (Part 1) | Room On Fire (Part 3) | Room To Breathe (Part 4)

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

Four months. It had been four months since I last saw Nicholas — in person, that is. Since that fateful weekend at the beach, we had been messaging and calling almost every day, which is absolutely insane to think about. Could you imagine what would’ve happened had I not booked that specific hotel on that specific weekend? I’d probably be staring at my phone for a completely different reason, doom scrolling, bored out of my mind. But, now, Nicholas was my reason.

God, we’d text, FaceTime, and call any chance either of us got. I was afraid our conversations would be surface-level at first, like they are with almost every guy I’ve tried to talk to on Tinder or Bumble or Hinge, but I was equal parts surprised and relieved to find that all our talks seemed natural and easy, as if we were best friends in a previous life. It was like we had skipped all of the awkward stages and landed right in the middle of something real, which I hoped would happen, especially after how we met. I think I’d die if Nicholas ended up being a one night stand or failed budding relationship.

It scared me, as much as it thrilled me, to find just how easily Nicholas could get me to open up about anything. He didn’t ask the typical questions one would ask when getting to know someone. We all know the ones, the ones everyone dreads to ask or answer for the millionth time with those potential matches on dating apps that end up going nowhere: what’s your favorite color? What do you do for fun? And the one that personally makes me want to bite my phone in half: wyd?

No, he wouldn’t ask those questions. First, he’d lead in with an anecdote of his own, explaining to me his personal lore as a way to soften me up before he’d ask me the hard-hitters: What were you like as a kid? What is your concept of love? Do you regret anything? All of his questions kept me on my toes, and I mean that in the best way possible. I found myself answering every question he had about me in an unfiltered and honest way, which I don’t think anybody has gotten me to do in years, possibly since the one free therapy session I went to during my first semester of college.

But my favorite question he would ask me on certain late nights was, “Is everyone asleep?,” his voice low and intimate through the phone.

It was a question that made my skin flush, one that made the heat pool low in my belly. My toes would curl under the sheets the moment I’d hear his breathing become deeper and deeper, pressing my ear to the phone as close as I could so I could hear every idiosyncrasy in his breath.

“Yeah, why?” I’d innocently ask, though I knew exactly where his question would lead to.

“Good,” he’d murmur, his voice dropping to a whisper that made my heart race. “Then it’s just you and me, right? No interruptions?” I could almost hear his hand graze down to the waist of his jeans through the phone.

If phones still had cords at the end of them, I’d be twisting the hell out of it around my finger. “No interruptions,” I’d whisper back.

“I can’t stop thinking about you,” he’d confess softly, the words almost tangible through the phone.

“I can’t stop thinking about you either,” I’d reply, my voice barely audible as I’d reach for my underwear under the sheets.

“You have no idea how much I want to be there with you right now, (Y/N),” he’d continue, his voice rich with longing, “To touch you… to feel you….”

The words would send a jolt through me, a wave of heat rushing to my skin as I’d shift around in bed, biting my lip at his voice. It was hard to hold back when he knew all the right things to say.

The killers, though, were the selfies he’d send. It had started innocently enough: a picture of him holding up his coffee one morning with the caption, 'Good morning, beautiful.' But then it escalated. Tousled hair and sleepy eyes at the end of a long day, shirtless mirror selfies after a workout; he knew exactly what he was doing, and he wasn't shy about it.

>> just something to tide you over

He’d tease over text. I couldn’t feel his muscles taut under my fingers through the phone, but I’d look at the shirtless picture he’d sent and my face would flush all the same. And every time, l'd reply:

> You’re torturing me, you know that?

To which he'd say:

>> Good. Now you know how I feel every time I hear your voice but can't touch you.

Somewhere between the steamy exchanges and long, deep conversations, I found myself trusting Nicholas in ways I hadn’t trusted anyone in years. And yet, the more I opened up to him, the more terrified I became. This wasn’t some casual crush I could move on from after a few weeks. Nicholas had become something more; he mattered to me deeply, and I ached for him in ways I couldn’t possibly fathom. There was only so much back-and-forth I could take until one day, when I finally told him:

> I can't keep doing this, Nic. I need to see you.

I watched as the typing dots appeared, then disappeared, then reappeared. Finally, his reply came through.

>> I’m booking you a flight to LA.

> like actually?

>> yes. I need you here with me. No more waiting.

Some part of me thought that he was still joking, but when he sent me a screenshot of my digital boarding ticket just a few minutes later, I could’ve sworn my heart didn’t just skip a beat — it stopped completely. The ticket was dated for the next week, an early morning non-stop flight from my hometown to LAX Airport with a return date of just a few days later. 4 days in LA. Nicholas was dead serious.

A smile tugged at my lips, but it was quickly followed by a wave of nerves. After months of teasing such a trip, it was happening. I was going to fly across the country to see him, really see him, for the first time since that weekend at the beach. I felt a mix of excitement, anxiety, and anticipation settle in my stomach. Though, I was most excited to be able to feel Nicholas again.

Thankfully, my boss was a pretty understanding guy. I never really had to ask for “permission” whenever I wanted a day off; I just had to let him know a few days in advance that I’d be out so he could adjust tasks accordingly. And so, I let him know that I’d be out on Thursday, and that was enough to cover my bases. What stressed me out, though, wasn’t missing a day of work, it was the packing.

I had never been to California, let alone fly to another state to meet up with a guy. What does one even pack for that? What would we even been doing on said trip? Museum dates? Beach dates? We did meet at a beach. And then there was the lingerie situation — should I even pack it? Would that make me look presumptuous? Though, Nicholas had been more suggestive over text lately…

By the time Wednesday night rolled around, I’d somehow managed to stuff four days worth of clothing into a single carry-on while convincing myself I’d forgotten something essential. Toiletries, toothbrush, extra underwear, passport, wallet. Toiletries, toothbrush, extra, underwear, passport, wallet. Toiletries, toothbrush, extra underwear, passport, wallet. I double-checked my bag about three times before deciding I was overthinking it. Still, my nerves didn’t settle.

All I kept thinking about, kept counting down to, was the moment I landed safely in Los Angeles and had Nicholas in my arms again. I had been thinking about the way he held me, his teasing, and his beautiful smile ever since we met. Thankfully, we existed in an era of smartphones, and I could just wait for a FaceTime call from him to satisfy my desire for a moment.

Nicholas made sure to express the same sentiments any opportunity he could, too. The night before my flight, he called me while I was lying in bed, my heart racing too fast to be able to properly wind down.

“Are you packed?” he asked, his voice smooth and reassuring, but with an underlying excitement that matched my own.

“Since yesterday,” I said, rolling onto my side and staring at tomorrow’s outfit neatly folded on my desk chair, my luggage zipped and ready to go. “I feel like I’m forgetting something, though.”

“Even if you did, don’t worry too much. Just bring yourself; that’s all I need,” he said softly, and my stomach flipped at how sincere he sounded.

I smiled, burying my face in the pillow to hide the ridiculous grin I was wearing, even though he couldn’t see it. “I swear, it’s like you get all your lines straight from a romance novel.”

I could hear his smile through the phone, “Maybe I’m just a romantic.”

“Yeah, booking a flight for a girl you met four months ago might’ve given that away,” I teased, rolling over to the other side of the bed.

“Hey, you’re the one who said you needed to see me,” he shot back, a playful lilt in his voice. I could hear him shuffling items on the other side, the clank of something on a wooden surface followed by the occasional spray of some liquid, “I’m just being accommodating.”

“Oh, so now it’s my fault,” I replied, laughing softly into the receiver.

“Absolutely,” he said, the smirk in his voice unmistakable. “If it were up to me, I would’ve booked that flight for you the moment I was back in LA, but I didn’t want to push. I wanted you to feel ready.”

He always seemed to know the right thing to say, the perfect balance of sweet and thoughtful without crossing into saccharine. “Well, I’m definitely ready now,” I admitted, my voice softer now.

“Good,” he sighed, “because I don’t think I could’ve waited any longer.”

“Just a few more hours, and I’m all yours,” I murmured through the phone, daydreaming about the moment I could be with Nicholas again.

He sighed longingly, mumbling, “All mine.”

I’m not sure how it would be the moment we saw each other. Yes, we had a wonderful day together that weekend at the beach, but a part of me thought what if we lost that in-person magic we had back then? There was so much riding on this trip. What if things felt… different once we were in person again? I mean, this would be our first time staying an entire weekend together.

I had planned on staying at a nearby hotel, but Nicholas insisted on him hosting me so he could spend every second, both waking and sleeping, with me. After all, it would only be a few days and it would save us some time from waiting around in traffic driving back and forth, so he said. As much as I loved our night together at the beach, that was exactly it — just one night. This was three nights and four days at his place.

The line went quiet for a moment, the kind of silence that wasn't awkward but charged. It was the kind of silence that let you feel every unspoken word, every unsaid thought hanging in the air. I could hear him breathing on the other end, the sound steady and rhythmic, and it somehow soothed the storm of emotions brewing inside me.

That next day couldn’t have been any more stressful for me, and I didn’t particularly appreciate the universe’s sense of humor. The security line at the airport looked short but was taking agonizingly long to get through. I’d glance down at my watch almost every minute thinking that would magically help pass the time. And it wasn’t just me. I could see everyone else in line starting to get anxious, too. You’d think an airport in a small town would be easier, faster, and less stressful, but no, it wasn’t.

And of course, once I did get through, my tray of items was randomly checked. It was like the TSA agent knew my stomach was in knots about today, taking their precious time to open my luggage and sift through my stuff. I stood there helpless, trying not to fidget as the agent meticulously examined my bag. Finally, the agent gave me a curt nod, zipped up my bag, and handed it back to me.

I didn’t even bother to politely smile back like I usually do; I just grabbed my things and power-walked toward my gate, which, of course, was all the way at the opposite end of the terminal. My heart felt like it was about to leap out of my chest as I weaved through the small crowds of fliers. When I finally reached my gate, I was out of breath and sweating, but I had made it just in time with the final group starting to board.

Just as it was my turn to scan my boarding pass, the gate agent halted me, politely smiling, “It looks like we just ran out of cabin space. We’re going to have to check in your carry-on.”

I sighed, one of resignation more than anything else. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about looking for any cabin space and carrying this heavy hunk of clothes over my head. Nodding my head, I said, “Of course,” smiling politely.

I watched as one gate agent scanned my ticket while the other wrapped a paper tag around my luggage. As I walked through the gate and boarded the plane, my nerves didn’t let up, and they didn’t dissipate the entire four hour flight either. I tried to nap, I tried watching a movie, I tried listening to music, I tried reading a book, and I even tried to distract myself with the in-flight snacks. Nothing could get me to calm down, and it didn’t help that the flight was particularly bumpy.

However, when the plane began to descend down into Los Angeles, some of my nerves started to let up just a tinge. I had never been to Los Angeles, so flying over the city was a treat. The sprawling cityscape stretched endlessly beneath the plane, glittering under the bright California sun. The ocean sparkled in the distance, a deep blue that reminded me of back home, reminded me of that weekend I met Nicholas. It also reminded me that somewhere amongst those highways and palm trees, he was waiting for me. I made sure to take some pictures of the skyline before the plane descended further.

My stomach flipped as the plane wheels hit the runway, the vibrations jolting me out of my thoughts. This was it. I was here, in his city, and in just a few minutes, I’d be wrapped in his warm embrace again. Yet, as much as I tried to hold on to that comforting thought, I couldn’t quite shake the nagging voice in my head questioning how I fit into all this. His city. His world.

As I disembarked, the nerves came rushing back in full force. I fiddled with the strap of my purse, glancing around as I entered the terminal. LAX was as chaotic as I’d expected from seeing so many movies — crowds of people swarming the gates, families reuniting, fashionable friend groups all excitedly walking to their gates, the occasional couple running across the terminal trying to catch their flight, businesspeople striding purposefully to their next destination. The energy in the air was frenetic, and for a moment, I felt swept up in it.

But beneath the excitement, a strange unease crept in. By sheer law of probability, I knew it might also be their first time in Los Angeles for some of these people, but try as I might, I still felt out of place. Everybody seemed so important here, as if they were meant to be part of something bigger — chasing careers, dreams, or maybe just the California sun. It made me wonder about myself. Nicholas was fond of me enough to invite me out here, I knew that much, but was I just tagging along for the ride? Or could I fit in, truly fit in?

I tried to follow the arrows to baggage claim, but my mind was so out of whack that I couldn’t even remember what direction the arrows pointed at once I had passed the large signs. I ended up having to follow a group of people from the same flight and pray they were making their way to baggage claim, too. Thankfully, though, my gamble paid off, and I ended up at the carousel watching the luggage trickle out of the abyss in the wall. My tiny carry-on stuck out like a sore thumb, an obnoxious flurry of colors in a sea of huge black and gray suitcases.

The hum of conversation and the screech of suitcase wheels filled the air, but I couldn’t focus on anything but finding my bag and, beyond that, finding Nicholas. My heart thumped in anticipation. I pulled my bag out of the carousel and looked around for Arrivals, finding my way to a set of glass doors that led outside. I fished for the phone in my purse, my hands shaking as I looked for Nicholas’s contact and tapped on ‘Call.’

The phone rang once before Nicholas picked up, his voice immediate and warm, cutting through the noise of the bustling airport. “Are you here?” he asked, his excitement palpable. “Do you see me anywhere?”

I glanced around, the bright California sun blinding as I stepped out of the terminal and onto the curb. The air was warm and carried a faint scent of jet fuel mixed with something floral, almost citrusy. “I’m looking,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady despite the nerves threatening to make it crack. “Where are you?”

“I see you,” Nicholas said, and before I could process what he meant, I caught sight of him walking toward me.

The world seemed to blur around me, slowing down as my focus narrowed to solely him. He was taller than I remembered, or maybe it was just the setting that made him feel larger than life. His dark sunglasses couldn’t hide the grin on his face as he wove through the crowd, his casual outfit — a fitted white t-shirt under a brown leather jacket and baggy light-washed jeans — making him look effortlessly put-together. The jacket clung to his broad shoulders, and the way his shirt skimmed his chest made my heart race faster than I’d like to admit. His hair, a little shorter than the last time I’d seen him, caught the sunlight in a way that made him seem almost unreal, each strand gleaming like something straight out of a movie still.

Even in the chaos of the airport, he moved with a calm confidence that was magnetic. His walk was quick and purposeful, choosing the perfect opportunities to weave himself between the people bustling past him, his long strides closing the distance between us in seconds. The faint scruff along his jawline was new, a rugged addition that only added to his allure. He looked like he belonged here — in this city, in this moment — and the closer he got, the harder it was to remember to breathe. I was in utter awe.

And then he smiled — a full, radiant grin that reached his eyes and made me weak in the knees. He pulled off his sunglasses as he approached, his piercing gaze locking onto mine with an intensity that made the noise of the airport fade into nothingness. I missed seeing those big, brown eyes of his in person. Our video calls could never quite capture the shimmer in his eyes properly.

“Nic,” I breathed, smiling, barely able to get the word out before he closed the distance between us.

I expected a hug, but when he pulled me close by the waist and picked me up off my feet and spun me around in his arms… God, I felt like a princess. The chaos of the airport faded into white noise as I buried my face in his shoulder, breathing him in; he smelled like cedarwood and a hint of something sweeter, maybe vanilla. His arms around me were firm, safe, and for the first time in months, the ache of longing I’d carried with me felt like it had finally eased. All that trouble going through the airport was absolutely worth it.

He set me down gently, his hands gripping my waist as he lowered his head for a kiss. The moment his lips met mine, I melted into him. His kiss wasn’t tentative or questioning; it was sure, full of longing and unspoken promises. It was the kind of kiss that said, Fuck, I’ve missed you. My hands instinctively found their way to his shoulders, holding on as if I might float away if I let go. The warmth of his palms on my waist grounded me, his touch both possessive and reassuring.

I moaned quietly into the kiss, running my fingers through the back of Nicholas’s head, his hair soft under my fingertips. The kiss deepened for a moment, his lips moving against mine like we had all the time in the world, like we weren’t standing on a bustling curb at LAX with people rushing past us. But right then, none of it mattered. It was just us, lost in the feeling of being together again.

When we finally pulled back, his forehead rested against mine, his breath mingling with mine in the small space between us. “Hey,” he whispered softly, smiling, his voice low and rough with emotion as he continued to peck my lips.

“Hey,” I almost sang. My heart was still racing, my cheeks flushed from more than just the California sun. “You’re even more handsome than I remember.”

Nicholas grinned, his thumb brushing a stray strand of hair from my face. “And you’re even more beautiful than I remember. How’s that possible?”

I rolled my eyes playfully, blushing at his comment. We stayed there holding each other for a moment. Truthfully, I couldn’t believe this moment was real. Was it real? My hands rested on his chest, slowly moving across to his shoulders under his jacket, like I was trying to make sure Nicholas was really here with me.

Nicholas stifled a quiet chuckle, kissing me again. His laugh sent a comforting warmth through me, melting away the last traces of stress from the flight. I bit my lip to keep from smiling too wide, but it was impossible not to.

He smiled, kissing my forehead, his lips warm against my skin. “Let me take that bag,” he said, nodding toward the carry-on that I had abandoned behind me in the flurry of our reunion.

I shook my head, smiling. “No, you don’t have to—”

“It’s ok,” he interrupted, already reaching for it. “You’re here visiting. Let me take care of you now.”

I let him, because honestly, it felt nice to let someone else handle things for a change. As he grabbed the bag, he reached for my free hand with his other, lacing his fingers through mine. His grip was firm yet gentle, the kind of hold that made me feel steady even as my heart still raced from his kiss.

He led us toward the ragtop car parked nearby. I stood awkwardly off to the side as I watched him open the passenger side door and reach in for something on the seat. When he pulled himself out, he turned around, a huge bouquet in his hands.

The flowers were stunning — an array of vivid colors that seemed to mirror the vibrance of the city around us. Almost every flower under the sun was intertwined with delicate sprigs of baby’s breath, creating a bouquet so large it practically swallowed his hands. The scent wafted toward me, sweet and intoxicating, and I couldn’t help the gasp that escaped my lips.

“Welcome to LA, babe,” he smiled and gave me another kiss as he handed me the bouquet. “I should’ve asked what your favorite flower was before I decided to buy a bouquet, so I just asked them to put as many different ones as they could. I’m hoping one of them is your favorite.”

I smiled, reaching for the pink peony in the middle and placing it behind Nicholas’s ear, “Peonies,” I said as I caressed his cheek.

He leaned into my touch, his hand coming up to gently wrap around my wrist as he closed his eyes for a moment. When he opened them again, they were softer, warmer, and full of something I couldn’t quite put into words. “I’ll remember that for next time,” he murmured, his voice low and full of affection.

He kissed my hand, grabbing hold of the carry-on again and walking around to the trunk. I climbed inside the car, clutching the bouquet in my lap as I heard Nicholas move stuff around in the trunk. The nerves started to creep back in as the reality of the situation hit me again. This wasn’t just another FaceTime call or text conversation. I was here, with Nicholas, for an entire weekend. Everything we’d talked about, teased, and imagined over the last few months was about to become real.

I looked around the car, having never been inside a ragtop before. The interior was sleek and classic, a mix of polished leather and chrome details that gave it a timeless charm. The seats were a deep caramel color, slightly worn in a way that made them look comfortable rather than aged. The dashboard gleamed under the sun, a testament to Nicholas’s attention to detail — or at least, to whoever he had take care of his car.

I ran my fingers along the edge of the seat, trying to ground myself. The bouquet in my lap was vibrant against the neutral tones of the car, and I stared at it for a moment, a nervous energy bubbling in my chest.

The trunk slammed shut, jolting me out of my spiraling thoughts. I looked up just as Nicholas slid into the driver’s seat, his movements effortless and smooth. He turned to me with a smile that instantly calmed my nerves.

“I figured you might want to head straight to my place, settle in a bit before we do anything,” he spoke calmly as he buckled himself into the seat and pulled down his sunglasses over his eyes. “I have so many things planned for us — dinner reservations tonight to start. It’ll just be you and me all weekend,” he smiled as he squeezed my knee lightly before starting the car. The engine roared to life, a low, satisfying rumble that matched the energy of the city around us.

We quickly pulled out of the airport, earning a quiet yelp from me every time Nicholas revved the engine and drove just a few miles over the speed limit. The wind blew against us, my hair flowing back and forth as the car cut through the wind. The sun pierced into my eyes, triggering me to reach into my purse for a pair of sunglasses.

As I looked out into the city, admiring the palm trees and all of the Instagram-perfect shops and restaurants on the way, I felt Nicholas’s hand rest on top of mine. His touch was reassuring, grounding me as the city unfolded around us like a living, breathing postcard. Los Angeles was everything I’d imagined and more — a chaotic mix of glamour and grit, sunshine and shadow, all wrapped up in the hum of traffic and the distant buzz of life happening everywhere at once. As Dorothy said, “We’re not in Kansas anymore.”

The car ride to his place was a blur of cityscapes and conversation. He asked about my flight, teased me about my airport mishaps, and filled me in on some of the plans he'd made for the weekend. It felt easy, natural, like no time had passed since that weekend at the beach.

I turned to him, momentarily losing myself in his profile — the way his jaw tightened as he focused on the road, the way the sunlight caught the edges of his sunglasses. I so desperately wanted to something, anything,, but I held myself back, instead opting to bring his hand up to my lips and gently kiss his knuckles. He smiled, squeezing my hand gently as his eyes focused on the road, bringing my hand up to his lips and doing the same.

I couldn’t deny it. As overwhelming as this moment was — the city, the trip, him — it felt right. I glanced out at the skyline again, letting the rhythm of the car and the warmth of Nicholas’s hand calm my nerves.

As we wound through the streets, the neighborhoods shifted, transitioning from the bustling downtown to quieter, artsy districts filled with murals and trendy coffee shops. The chaos of LAX felt like a distant memory, replaced by a sense of anticipation as Nicholas navigated the narrower streets with ease. The flowers in my lap swayed slightly with each turn, their scent mingling with the faint leather smell of the car’s interior. I stole glances at Nicholas, marveling at how natural he seemed in this city.

When we finally pulled up to a mid-rise apartment building, my breath caught in my throat. The building was modern but understated, like the apartment complexes that seem to be popping up everywhere now. A few potted plants flanked the entrance, giving it a welcoming vibe. It was exactly the kind of place I’d imagined Nicholas living in — stylish, yet approachable.

Nicholas pulled into the parking garage, making his way to a reserved spot near a building entrance, turning to me with a proud but slightly nervous smile as the car’s convertible roof started to close. “We’re here,” he said with a lilt, slipping off his sunglasses and tucking them into his jacket pocket.

We both exited his car. He quickly retrieved my luggage from the trunk and took me by the hand, the sound of the plastic wheels echoing through the concrete structure as he walked us to the entrance. I expected for us to board the elevator, but we continued walking, turning a corner and arriving at his front door. I was so jealous that Nicholas lived in an apartment on the ground floor and so close to the door that led to the parking entrance. Talk about luck. When I lived in an apartment back in the city, I had to settle for a five-story walk up. I will say, though, my calves were killer that year.

Nicholas pulled out his keys, glancing at me with a little smirk as he unlocked the door. I stifled a chuckle, rolling my eyes as I walked in, but my jaw nearly dropped as I took in the space. The apartment was gorgeous — not ostentatious, but carefully curated, with an effortless charm. The open-concept kitchen flowed into the living room, where you could barely tell the walls were a millennial grey from all the colorful posters and furniture that adorned the space. Music posters, some action figures, books on top of books, and the occasional fine art print, nothing flashy but all very thoughtful. A few plants were scattered around, their leaves adding a touch of life to the space.

I shook my head, smiling to myself as I set the bouquet and my purse carefully on the granite countertop near the entrance. I was quiet, looking around and trying to learn as much as I could about Nicholas through all his little trinkets. Careful not to step wrong, I approached the bookshelf, awed by all the things he had on display. There were a few pictures of him on different production sets. There was a Terry McGinnis Batman action figure still in its box. There were so many books that the shelves were starting to warp, most of them fiction with a handful of autobiographies. That’s when I noticed White Oleander sticking out a bit. I turned around to glance at Nicholas, finding him to be leaning against the kitchen counter, eyeing me all over with a smirk.

I smiled, pulling the book out of its spot, “You read it?” The book seemed to be already falling apart.

Nicholas slowly walked over to me step by step, “And I bought the movie.”

“Really?” I asked, pleasantly smirking as I put the book back on the shelf.

I felt his hands settle on my waist as he stood behind me, his breath warm against the shell of my ear as he pulled me closer. My breath hitched slightly, the pit of my belly starting to ache.

“This amazing girl told me that the writing was… poignant,” he smiled against my ear, pressing a kiss.

As I trailed my fingers across the row of books, Nicholas slipped his under my shirt and brushed over my stomach, my abdomen slightly twitching involuntarily. His touch was gentle, almost tentative, like he was testing the waters. A shiver ran through me as his fingertips brushed against my skin, leaving a trail of warmth in their wake. I closed my eyes for a moment, leaning back slightly into his chest, the weight of him grounding me as his arms circled around my waist.

"Did you like it?" I asked, my voice barely above a whisper, fighting to keep my composure. The ache in my belly grew stronger with every second his hands lingered on me, and it was becoming impossible to ignore the way my body responded to his presence.

Nicholas smiled, his lips grazing my ear as he spoke. "I loved it." He placed a kiss on my neck, sending a jolt of electricity through me.

A soft gasp escaped my lips as Nicholas's kiss deepened against my neck, his breath warm and steady, the scrape of his light stubble adding a tantalizing roughness to the tenderness of his touch. My fingers instinctively gripped the edge of the bookshelf for support, my knees threatening to buckle as he pressed himself closer to me.

The scent of him — that intoxicating mix of cedarwood and vanilla — was heady, making it hard to think clearly. Every nerve in my body seemed to hum under his touch, each caress of his fingertips against my skin leaving a burning trail that made me crave more. His hands slid slowly upward, tracing the curve of my sides as his lips trailed along the column of my neck, lingering in the hollow just below my ear.

"I missed you," he murmured against my skin, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver racing down my spine, “so fucking much.”. He held me like I was something precious, his movements careful yet filled with purpose, like he didn't want to miss a single moment of this.

I tilted my head to give him better access, my breath hitching as he gently nipped at my earlobe. My own hands moved without thought, one reaching back to tangle in his hair, the other bracing against his arm as if anchoring myself to him. His hair was soft between my fingers, and I found myself threading through it, pulling him closer as my body melted into his. His hands rested on my waist again, fingers splaying wide as if to hold all of me, his thumbs brushing gently over the bare skin just above the waistband of my jeans.

"Nicholas," I breathed, my voice shaky and filled with want.

"Hmm?" His lips curved into a smile against my neck before he turned me around to face him. His ability to pretend he wasn’t being a devious little thing was something to admire.

His hands slid to my hips, gripping just firmly enough to keep me steady, and I finally met his eyes. They were dark and full of something raw. His gaze flicked down to my lips, lingering for a beat before returning to my eyes.

I bit my lip, trying to keep from smiling too much, but it was useless. He leaned down, closing the distance between us in a heartbeat, and kissed me. This time, it wasn't just a reunion kiss; it was deliberate, deeper, and filled with an aching intensity that made the room spin. His hands gripped my hips tighter, pulling me flush against him, and my own hands flew to his chest, feeling the rapid rise and fall of his breath beneath my palms.

I pulled away to catch my breath, “Didn’t you say we had a dinner reservation?”

A smirk played on the corner of his lips as he stepped closer, cornering me against the bookshelf. He slowly kneeled down, his gaze never faltering away from my eyes as his hands traveled down the sides of my legs.

“We do,” he mumbled, his voice thick with desire. His gaze fell to my groin, “but there’s still some time left. This is more important.”

I swallowed hard, my breath catching as his hands undid the button of my jeans and pulled the zipper down. He hooked his fingers around the waistband of my pants and slowly, he pulled the denim down.

"Nic," I managed to whisper, my voice trembling as I reached for his head, tangling my fingers in his hair.

He smirked up at me, mischief dancing in his eyes. "(Y/N)," he said innocently, though the way his hands wrapped around my bare hips betrayed his intentions, “Let me spoil you, baby,” he said as he started to shower my thighs in slow kisses, spreading my legs apart as he settled between them.

I couldn't help it; my head fell back against the bookshelf, and I closed my eyes, overwhelmed by the sensations coursing through me. I could feel myself throb harder the closer his mouth inched to my inner thighs. He took his time, his hands and lips moving with a careful deliberation that was both maddening and intoxicating.

My heart was racing, every inch of me on fire as Nicholas's lips trailed lower, brushing against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs. I bit my lip to keep from moaning, but my body was betraying me — my back arching ever so slightly, my hands gripping the edge of the bookshelf, fingers trembling with anticipation.

He paused, his lips hovering just millimeters from where I needed him most, and he looked up at me with that damnable smirk of his — a mix of devilish amusement and raw desire that made my stomach flip. His fingers played at the trim of my underwear, kissing the hem as he pulled them down and let them fall around my ankles.

He knew exactly how to play with me, how to stretch the tension until it was almost unbearable. I bit back a whimper, wanting him so much but also knowing I had to let him have control of this moment - and, god, it was so hard to surrender.

I shifted slightly, my hips lifting involuntarily as his kisses trailed over the crease between my leg and groin, inching closer. His smirk deepened, and he placed another kiss on the soft skin of my thigh, a slow, deliberate action that sent a shiver through my entire body. I couldn't look away from him, the look in my eyes desperate.

"Please, Nic," I breathed, barely able to recognize my own voice, raw with need.

He paused for a moment, looking up at me through darkened lashes, that smirk still playing on his lips. He was savoring the control, the power he had over me in this moment.

"Say it again," he demanded, his voice soft but commanding.

I swallowed hard, the tension in the air almost unbearable. "Please," I repeated, my voice barely above a whisper, aching with desire.

Finally, his mouth found me, and I cried out, my head falling back as his tongue worked magic against my most sensitive spot. He moved with precision, alternating between soft flicks and firm strokes, driving me higher and higher. His hands held my hips firmly, keeping me grounded as my body writhed in pleasure. He was driving me to madness, his tongue creating waves of pleasure that crashed through me, leaving me breathless and helpless. Every sound, every sensation, was magnified, echoing around the apartment as if the rest of the world didn't exist.

"Fuck," I moaned again, my body trembling under his tongue. I clutched at his hair, pushing his head deeper into me as I bucked my hips forward.

Nicholas responded with a low growl, the vibrations sending shockwaves through me. He didn't relent, his movements growing more urgent, more insistent, as if he wanted to pull every last ounce of tension from my body. The pressure built in me, tightening like a coiled spring, and I could barely hold on.

His grip on my hips tightened, his hands now braced against my skin with a possessive heat that matched the fire burning between us. I couldn't think straight. I couldn't focus on anything but the overwhelming sensations he was drawing from me, each flick of his tongue bringing me closer to the edge.

I gasped, eyes fluttering shut as the heat in my body started to build, coiling tighter and tighter. I couldn't think, couldn't focus on anything other than the way he was making me feel, like I was on the verge of completely unraveling under his touch.

"Nic..." I managed to breathe out again, my voice trembling with need. My breath hitched when I felt him pause for a moment, looking up at me with those dark, heated eyes that burned with a hunger I couldn't ignore.

"You're so beautiful like this," he murmured, his lips brushing against my skin as he spoke, sending a wave of heat through my already burning body. "So desperate for me."

I felt the heat rush to my face, embarrassment mixing with the overwhelming desire that flooded me. My body was betraying me, trembling in ways I couldn't control. He smirked, sensing my hesitation, but instead of teasing me further, he pressed forward again, his mouth returning to me with a renewed urgency.

The sound of my soft moans filled the room, and I could feel my body slowly spiraling toward release. My grip on his hair tightened even more as my hips moved instinctively, chasing the pleasure he was so skillfully drawing out of me.

“Nic, I can’t—“ I could barely utter a sentence, shutting my eyes as I cried out for mercy. My entire body was tight, every muscle coiled as I teetered on the brink.

He didn't respond with words this time. Instead, he increased the pace of his movements, his tongue and lips working relentlessly to push me toward the edge. And just as I thought I couldn't take anymore, it happened — my body snapped, my breath caught in my throat as the tension finally broke, and waves of pleasure crashed over me.

I cried out, my hands desperately clutching him as my body trembled with the intensity of the release. I tried to stay standing, but my knees buckled under me, my vision becoming blurred as I crumbled down into Nicholas’s embrace.

We stayed for a moment on the floor together as I tried to catch my breath. Nicholas held me close, amused to see me gasping for oxygen. My body was still trembling, waves of aftershocks pulsing through me with every movement he made. And just as I thought it was over, I felt Nicholas shift under me.

His hands traced the curve of my hips before gently pulling me to my feet, “Up," he commanded softly, his voice still thick with need. As he guided me to the couch and urged me to lay down, I watched as he removed his jacket and slipped off his shirt. “We’re not making it to dinner,” he tossed his top aside and climbed on top of me. I smiled, welcoming his weight as he settled on top of me and devoured me in a kiss.

I didn’t expect for Nicholas and I to have sex so soon. Honestly, I thought it would happen at the end of the day, maybe after dinner once we had our bellies filled with food, suggestive conversation, and a glass of wine, but this was perfect, too. I had missed the feeling of being in Nicholas’s embrace. It was more than just physical; it was the way he made me feel seen, cherished, and utterly consumed in the best way possible. There was an intimacy in the way he touched me, how his gaze never left mine as though he could unravel all my insecurities with just a look. It terrified me how easily he could undo me.

Afterwards, I comfortably laid bare on the couch, blissful and entertained by watching Nicholas fiddle around in the kitchen in nothing but his briefs and an apron. I watched him, half-dazed and smiling like an idiot as he hummed to himself, utterly at ease in his own skin. I still couldn’t believe I was with him again.

I stretched my body out, my head resting on a pillow, eyes following his every movement. His hair was still slightly messy from our earlier antics, and the way his apron hugged his waist made me laugh to myself. He turned around with a grin, catching me staring, and raised an eyebrow.

“What?” he asked, playing it cool as he stirred something.

I grinned back, sitting up slightly. “You’re so domestic.”

Nicholas let out a soft chuckle, shaking his head as he set the spoon down. He walked over to the couch and lowered himself beside me, his hand resting on my thigh. “Well, you know, I like to spoil my lady.” His smile was playful, but there was a certain possessiveness in the way he spoke that sent a thrill through me.

“Home-cooked meal after generous sex,” I smiled and twiddled with the hair near his ear, “You definitely know how to spoil me.”

Nicholas grinned, his eyes softening as he leaned closer, brushing his lips against my temple. "I plan on spoiling you in every way I can. This weekend is all about you and nothing else.”

Whatever he was cooking started to bubble in the pot, prompting him to whip his head toward the stove and walk back over to tend to the food before it was ruined. I smirked, leaning back again, letting my body relax into the cushions and silently thanking the universe for sending me a man like Nicholas into my life. After so much time alone and having my time wasted by unfruitful conversations on dating apps, I told myself I’d give up on finding love. And just when I thought I did, I met Nicholas.

He finally turned off the stove, plating something that smelled amazing. His back was still turned as he set the food on the table, removing the apron and draping it over the back of one of the chairs. I lifted myself up from the couch, reaching for my underwear and Nicholas’s jacket, slipping into both. As I made my way over to the table, the cool fabric of Nicholas’s jacket hanging off my shoulders, I felt a wave of warmth from within. It wasn’t just the physical heat from our earlier moments; it was the emotional pull, the connection I hadn’t realized I’d been craving for so long. As I sat down, I watched him with a smile tugging at my lips, his movements slow and deliberate as he set the dishes down.

He caught my gaze again, his lips curling into a soft, satisfied grin. “Hope you’re hungry,” he said, sitting across from me, a playful glint still in his eyes. His bare chest and tousled hair made him look effortlessly gorgeous, and I couldn’t help but admire him as I picked up my fork to dig into the rotini.

I took a bite of the food he’d made, and my eyes widened. “This is incredible,” I said, genuinely impressed. The flavors were perfectly balanced, comforting yet exciting. Or maybe that was just me being nice to the guy that could manage to make me orgasm multiple times. I think Nicholas could serve me burnt toast and I’d still say it was incredible.

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, watching me with a small, pleased smile. “I’m glad you like it.” His voice softened, the flirtatious edge fading a little as he continued, “I want everything tonight — this whole weekend — to be… perfect.”

I swallowed, meeting his gaze, the warmth between us still undeniable. I reached across the table for his hand, “Tonight is perfect, and I know this weekend will be even more perfect.”

He smiled, grabbing his plate and switching over to the chair next to me, planting a kiss on my cheek as he continued to eat. We ate in comfortable silence for a while, the soft clink of utensils filling the cozy apartment. I felt a deep sense of contentment, something I hadn't experienced in years — or maybe ever. The combination of Nicholas's warmth beside me, the delicious food he'd made, and the intimate glow of the dim lighting felt surreal. I kept sneaking glances at him, marveling at how natural this felt. Though, there was a slight pang in my stomach thinking about how him and I would be out there together for the world to see.

The following morning, I awoke in Nicholas’s bed, tangled in his bedsheets. The morning sunlight streamed through the curtains, casting soft golden light across the room. I blinked slowly, my body still heavy with sleep, and turned my head to see Nicholas beside me. He was lying on his stomach, one arm draped possessively over my waist, his hair adorably mussed. His face was so peaceful, his lips slightly parted, quietly snoring, and I couldn’t help but smile at how boyish he looked when asleep.

Initially, I had told him the guest room was fine, so it didn’t feel like I was completely invading his personal space, but he wasn’t having it. He wanted me to invade his space, any way I could. His persistence had made me laugh, but it also warmed me. It was a little overwhelming, but also thrilling in a way I couldn’t quite put into words. Now, waking up next to him, I realized how glad I was that I’d let myself give in.

For a few moments, I just lay there, listening to the sound of his steady breathing and the faint hum of the A/C. It felt surreal to be here, in his bed, wrapped up in his warmth. The events of the night before played on a loop in my mind, bringing a flush to my cheeks and a soft ache of contentment to my chest.

I tried to slip out of bed quietly, not wanting to disturb him, but the moment I moved, his grip on me tightened. "Don’t even think about it," his voice was raspy with sleep, a little amused, as he cracked one eye open.

I laughed softly, brushing a hand through his hair. "I was going to make some tea."

He groaned dramatically, burying his face in the pillow. "Stay. Tea can wait."

I rolled my eyes but obliged, settling back into the bed and snuggling against his side. He let out a satisfied sigh, pulling me closer. His embrace was addicting, like I never truly knew what an embrace really was until I found myself in his.

"You're too good at convincing me," I teased, running my fingers lightly over his back.

"One of my many talents," he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to my forehead. "Did you sleep ok?"

“Like a rock,” I smiled softly. “You?”

"Best sleep l've had in months," he said without hesitation, his hand rubbing gentle circles on my back. There was something so genuine about his tone that it made my heart ache in the best way.

We stayed like that for a while, wrapped up in each other and the quiet morning. But eventually, the promise of coffee and breakfast coaxed us out of bed. Nicholas, ever the gentleman, insisted on taking the lead in the kitchen again, though I managed to convince him to let me help this time. We moved around the space with an easy rhythm, stealing kisses and teasing each other as we worked. I’d reach under him; he’d reach over me — it was like we were partners in some choreographed dance. It felt like we had been doing this for years instead of days.

When we finally sat down with our warm mugs of drink and plates of scrambled eggs and toast, I felt an almost overwhelming sense of contentment. "What's on the agenda for today?" I asked, taking a sip of my green tea and eyeing him over the rim of my mug.

Nicholas leaned back in his chair, a mischievous grin tugging at his lips. “Well,” he began, setting down his coffee mug, “I was thinking we could start with a walk through the park, have a picnic. There’s this little spot that I go to sometimes that I think you would absolutely love. I also know this café we could go to afterwards, and they make a mean cup of tea.” He reached across the table to take my hand, his thumb brushing over my knuckles. “And then,” he continued, his tone softer now, “there’s this party tonight, but we’ll go only if you’re up for it.”

I squinted my eyes, thinking about it. It was Los Angeles; wasn’t it obligatory to attend at least one party while one was in town? Did you ever truly visit if you didn’t? Plus, it could make a heck of a story to share with my friends back home.

“Alright,” I nodded my head slowly, “A party sounds like fun.”

Nicholas’s grin widened, and his thumb stilled for a moment as he studied my face. “I’ll make sure it’s fun,” he promised, his voice brimming with confidence. “But if it gets too much, just say the word, and we’ll leave.”

I gave his hand a small squeeze, appreciating his thoughtfulness. “Deal.”

After breakfast, we moved through the morning in a relaxed, almost effortless rhythm. Nicholas lingered at the table, finishing his coffee while I went to gather my things for the day. I found myself standing in front of my luggage, deciding on what to wear and Nicholas slipped by and made his way into the bathroom, the scent of his cologne and natural musk lingering in the air, mixing with the warm sunlight streaming through the window.

I scanned my options in the suitcase, feeling a little spoiled for choice. We were heading out the entire day, so I wanted to be comfortable but still look put together. After all, this was our first full official day together. The day would most definitely be filled with pictures, selfies, and videos together. Maybe I should wear something he wouldn’t be able to forget. I pulled the lingerie I had packed out from under the folded clothes, and stared at it for a moment. It was a black, floral lacy bra and underwear with a pair of matching stockings, one I had bought over a year ago and hadn’t had the opportunity to wear until now.

Upon hearing the water shut off, I hid the lingerie under the romantic, plum dress I decided on for the day and sat on the bed, waiting for Nicholas to walk out of the bathroom so I could step in. The sound of the shower running had been a constant hum in the background, but now the air was filled with the sound of Nicholas moving around inside.

The door creaked open, and Nicholas stepped out, his hair damp and messy in that effortless way, holding a towel in front of his crotch as he used his other hand to dry his hips off. His gaze met mine, the usual glint of mischief ever present. “All yours,” he smiled, walking over to his closet and loosely wrapping the towel around his hips before reaching in to choose an outfit.

I couldn’t help the smile that tugged at my lips, watching the droplets of water trail down his sides. I reached for my travel bag inside my luggage, “Finally,” I replied, trying to downplay the sudden warmth spreading through me, making my way to the bathroom.

As I showered, the air was filled with the sound of the water streaming out of the shower head and Nicholas moving around in the bathroom, getting ready. The soft rustle of a towel, the occasional clink of items being set down, the sound of a cabinet door or drawer opening and closing — all of it felt so… domestic, like a tiny glimpse of a future I didn’t think was possible for me to have. But with Nicholas, suddenly everything was possible. I bit my lip, trying to ignore the flutter of butterflies in my stomach at the thought of how quickly things between us were unfolding. I’d known Nicholas was someone special the moment we met, but the way he had slipped into my life, so effortlessly… Well, let’s just say I never expected it.

Squeaky clean, I shut off the water, wringing the water out of my hair and brushing off the excess water off my arms with my hands. I slowly pulled back the curtain, knowing Nicholas was still getting ready in the bathroom. My jaw almost dropped at the sight of Nicholas in a loosely buttoned shirt and slacks, looking as sexy as ever. He was standing at the sink, running his fingers through his damp hair, his shirt half-tucked in, showing off the lean lines of his torso. The casualness with which he moved, the effortless coolness of the moment, made my heart skip a beat.

I caught his eye in the mirror, his lips curving into that familiar smirk. I wasn’t sure if it was the cold air hitting my wet skin or his look that made me shiver, but I hugged myself, trembling. He turned to face me, looking me up and down as he grabbed the neatly folded towel atop the toilet tank, stepping closer. I reached my hand out to grab it from him, but he unfolded the towel and reached out for my arm, beginning to dry me.

I stood still, my breath catching at the tenderness in his touch. His fingers were warm against my damp skin as he gently patted my arms, my shoulders, then down my back. His touch felt like more than just drying off — it felt intimate, like he was taking his time to care for me in a way that left me speechless.

He rested his hand on the small of my back and he slowly patted my tummy dry, doing slow, downward strokes as he got down on one knee , his breath tickling my mound, motioning for me to pick up my leg. Shivering, I obliged, watching him dry my foot off before he set it down on his knee, continuing to dry my leg ever so gently.

The intimacy of the moment settled over us like a soft blanket. Nicholas was so focused, his eyes on my skin, his touch so deliberate and delicate, that I felt a shiver run through me. His closeness, the warmth of his hands, it made me feel seen in a way I wasn’t used to. It was like every gesture — no matter how simple — held a deeper meaning, and it was all just for me.

I couldn’t find the strength to say anything in this moment, not wanting to ruin the moment, so instead, I reached out to take my fingers through his hair, slowly and carefully. His gaze flicked up, meeting mine as he finished drying my leg. There was a soft smile tugging at his lips, but his eyes were full of something deeper. My heart thudded in my chest as he reached for my other leg, lifting it with just the gentlest of touches. I sucked in a breath, not sure how to respond, but he didn’t seem to need any words — his actions spoke volumes.

As he finished drying off my legs, his face hovered over my groin for a beat, sending a shiver up my spine. He continued upward, standing straight and wrapping me in the towel, his eyes full of that knowing glint. “There,” he said softly, his voice a little rough. “All dry now.”

I stood there, wrapped in the towel, my skin still tingling from his touch. Nicholas’s eyes met mine, and for a moment, neither of us spoke.

“Thank you,” I whispered, not entirely sure if I was thanking him for drying me off or for something more. For making me feel cherished, for showing me a side of him that felt so intimate and tender.

Nicholas smiled softly, stepping closer, his hand gently cupping my cheek. “Of course,” he murmured, brushing a strand of wet hair behind my ear. “Anything for you.”

I closed my eyes, leaning into his touch, letting the words sink in. They weren’t just kind words; they were genuine, filled with a sincerity that made me feel like I was exactly where I needed to be.

His thumb traced over my lips before he pulled away, giving me just enough space to breathe. “Now, go finish up. We’ve got a whole day waiting for us,” he said, the playful tone returning.

I nodded, finally feeling like I could breathe again. I quickly wrapped the towel tighter around me, stepping past him and making my way back to the bedroom. The room still smelled of Nicholas’s cologne, mixed with the faint trace of my shampoo. I paused for a moment, gathering myself, before I quickly slipped into the outfit I’d picked out earlier, making sure Nicholas hadn’t taken a peek as he finished fixing up his hair in the bathroom.

We then switched shifts; Dressed up, I made my way to the bathroom to finish up everything else while Nicholas stepped out and made his way to the living room. When I emerged from the bedroom, fully dressed and ready to go, Nicholas was already waiting by the door, a tote bag packed to the brim on one hand and the other on the door handle. He glanced over at me, his eyes lighting up in that way that made my stomach flutter.

“Ready, beautiful?” He asked.

I nodded my head, stepping closer to him and kissing him on the lips, “Always.”

By the time we headed out for the walk he’d planned, the city had fully come alive. The park was buzzing with energy — joggers weaving through the paths, families playing with their children, and couples strolling hand in hand, us hopefully being one of them.

As we strolled through the park, Nicholas’s hand wrapped around mine, his thumb absentmindedly brushing against my skin. It was such a simple gesture, yet it felt grounding in a way I couldn’t quite explain. And while the park was vibrant with life, I was hyper-focused on him — on us.

It was four months of midnight phone calls and whispered promises to make the distance work. And yet, the one thing we hadn’t said to each other lingered unspoken between us like a quiet secret.

I love you.

I repeated the words in my head, testing their weight, wondering what it would feel like to say them out loud. As much as I wanted to hear the words spill out of Nicholas’s lips, I wasn’t sure if I was ready to. And though I felt that love for him, I didn’t want to say it either, afraid that somehow this dream might be ripped away from me as soon as I made myself vulnerable to somebody other than myself. What if, to him, I was just a temporary escape from his Hollywood life?

I glanced up at him as we walked, his profile illuminated by the golden afternoon sun. He looked so carefree, so perfectly at ease in this moment. Maybe the same thoughts were running through his mind. He did go through all this trouble for me to be here with him. There must be some part of him that felt love for me, but maybe he was too afraid to say it, too.

Maybe I was overthinking. Maybe it was enough that we were here, together, in this moment. Nicholas had flown me across the country, planned this day, made me feel like the center of his world. Actions speak louder than words, right?

Nicholas led me to a quieter section, shaded by tall oaks and dotted with colorful wildflowers. “This is it,” he said, gesturing to a secluded spot with a perfect view of the lake.

He pulled out a blanket from the tote bag and spread it out under a tree, and we settled in, the soft rustling of leaves and distant sound of the lake water creating a peaceful backdrop. The sun was perfectly striking through the branches, sprinkling us with dots of light.

As we sat there, sharing light snacks he’d packed in advance and peacefully reading our books, I couldn’t help but feel a deep gratitude for moments like this, where it’s just Nicholas and I, nobody else — not a fan, not somebody we know interrupting us, and certainly not strangers. I wished him and I could exist in a space outside of time where we didn’t have to worry about anything else. Los Angeles, for all its glamour and reputation, felt distant and strange to me. I’d never imagined myself here, surrounded by the buzz of celebrity and the weight of expectations that came with it. The sprawling city with its perfect weather, glitzy events, and endless opportunities seemed like a dream to most. But to me, it felt like an illusion. It was a strange land. Perhaps I’ve just been so used to home.

I glanced down at Nicholas, who was settled between my legs, the back of his head resting on my stomach as he read his current book, The Great Gatsby. He hovered the book on top of his face, blocking out the bright sun as he read, quietly whispering as he read. He looked so at ease, like this city had embraced him fully. And maybe it had. After all, he was an actor, a rising star. He’s meant for bigger, grander.

Being with Nicholas felt so natural, yet I couldn’t help but wonder how long this bubble of peace and simplicity would last. What would it feel like when I had to face the full weight of his world? The flashing cameras, the probing questions, the unrelenting scrutiny from strangers who would never truly know me or us.

I repeatedly brushed my fingers through his hair, mostly as a way to soothe myself, absentmindedly, the warmth of his body pressed against mine grounding me. I had taken Nicholas’s copy of The Auctioneer for me to read, and I did end up reading the first couple of chapters before abandoning it completely, instead focusing on my fingers raking through Nicholas’s hair and his quiet reading. Being here with him like this, in a quiet corner of a bustling city, was almost enough to make me forget my worries. Almost.

Nicholas turned a page in his book, the faint rustle of paper breaking the tranquil silence. He shifted slightly against me, adjusting his position so the sunlight no longer peeked through the edges of the pages. I continued running my fingers through his hair, letting the motion calm my restless thoughts.

Then, he spoke. Not to me, but softly to himself at first, the words spilling out with the rhythmic cadence of someone lost in the beauty of a line.

“‘So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,’” he read aloud, his voice low and thoughtful.

The words hung in the air between us, settling over the moment like a warm blanket. I hadn’t read The Great Gatsby since freshman year of high school, but I recognized the line immediately — it was the ending. Hearing Nicholas recite it now, his voice tinged with both awe and introspection, made it feel different. Weightier.

He tilted his head back slightly, glancing up at me from his position in my lap as he closed the book. “You know, I think about that line a lot,” he said, his lips curving into a small, wistful smile. “It’s one of those things that sounds beautiful, but also kind of sad.”

I nodded slowly, unsure of what to say. “Yeah… No matter how hard you try to move forward, something always manages to pull you back.”

“Exactly,” he said, sitting up now, turning toward me with a look of quiet intensity. “Sometimes I feel like that’s me. Like no matter how much I try to live in the moment or look ahead, there’s always something pulling me back. Expectations… I don’t know. Maybe that’s why I love acting so much. I get to lose myself, utterly drown myself in a part for a little while.”

His words hit me harder than I expected. I had spent so much time wondering about his world, about whether I could fit into it, that I hadn’t stopped to think that maybe he had doubts too. Maybe he wasn’t as at ease in all this as he seemed.

I reached out, placing a hand on his cheek, drawing his gaze back to mine. “You know, sometimes it’s okay to let the current carry you, as long as you’re steering toward something that’s worth it.” I was saying the words to Nicholas, but part of me thought that maybe I should be listening to my own advice, though I do have a habit of ignoring my own words.

He blinked, studying me for a moment before his expression softened. “And you’re worth it,” he murmured, leaning in to press a soft kiss to my forehead.

The words settled in my chest, warm and reassuring. They weren’t the three little words I was waiting for, but they were enough for now.

I stayed quiet, letting his words sink in. I wanted to believe him, to trust that the weight of his career wouldn’t drown out these quiet moments. The thought of being swept into the whirlwind of his life both thrilled and terrified me. And what terrified me most, right now, was the thought of showing up to a party at Nicholas’s side. Could I learn to carve out a space for myself in his world?

That evening, the party was in full swing by the time Nicholas and I arrived. The house was grand, perched in the hills with a breathtaking view of Los Angeles sprawling below, glittering like a thousand tiny stars. Inside, the crowd was composed of people who looked like I should recognize but didn’t, but they looked so well-put together that my mind doubted itself and wondered if maybe I should recognize them. Though, I’m sure I hadn’t seen them anywhere else before.

I looked down at my outfit, thinking to myself that maybe I showed up a little underdressed. But Nicholas said that I looked amazing, and I chose to believe him, for now.

Nicholas, ever the perfect guest, greeted everyone with the same warm charisma that had drawn me to him in the first place. His hand rested lightly on my back as he introduced me to some of his friends, his voice laced with pride when he said my name. For a moment, I felt confident, secure even. If he believed I belonged here, maybe I did, but the bubble burst quickly.

Nicholas had stepped away for just a moment; a friend had asked him to help unload his car with the cases of wine he had gone out to buy, leaving me alone in a huddle of some partygoers, some of them his friends and others some strangers. As I stood in the small huddle, the conversation shifted to some store I had never heard of before.

“Their new smoothie is so good,” a woman in a sleek black jumpsuit and nails for days said, swirling her glass of white wine as she scrolled on her phone with the other hand. She looked effortlessly beautiful. She turned the phone to her friend to show her the smoothie she was talking about, but she didn’t turn it enough for me to earn a peek. I didn’t want to seem like I was invading, so I chose to imagine what the smoothie might look like. Maybe it was some sort of berry concoction with some magical healing powder.

“Right?” another chimed in, laughing. “God, I’ve been going there almost every day just so I can order one.”

I forced a polite smile, pretending to sip my drink, but internally, I was scrambling. What were they talking about?

“(Y/N), what’s your go-to order at Erewhon?” the woman turned to me, her expression friendly but curious.

I stammered, nervous, “What’s Erewhon?”

The question hung in the air for a beat too long, and I felt the energy shift almost imperceptibly. The woman’s perfectly shaped eyebrows raised just slightly in surprise, and the others exchanged subtle glances, their smiles frozen in place before they all erupted into soft giggles, amused mostly.

“Oh, my god. You don’t know what Erewhon is? You absolutely have to go ASAP!” She quickly tapped on her phone and pulled up the brand’s Instagram. “It’s the cutest grocery store. They have the best smoothies. Totally worth the price,” she turned her phone towards me and let me swipe through the account.

“You’d totally love it,” the other girl chimed in, smiling from ear to ear.

I felt my cheeks flush, realizing how out of place I seemed. I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus on the phone screen rather than the growing sense of discomfort in my chest. Erewhon. A grocery store. I hadn’t even heard of it before. It sounded fancy, cool, nothing like the names of businesses back home.

I managed a small smile as I flicked through the images on her phone, trying to act like I wasn’t completely lost in this world. “Looks… fancy,” I said, unsure if I was trying to convince them or myself.

The brightly lit shelves of health foods and fancy bottles of water didn’t seem like something I’d gravitate towards. Or maybe it was just something I wasn’t used to seeing. After all, my hometown happens to be about two decades behind on all the trends. The fanciest store we have is Target and even then, it hasn’t been updated from its early 2000s red interior. Seriously, it’s like a time capsule compared to the Target in the city.

Another man in the group, dressed in a designer jacket and sneakers that probably cost more than my rent, chuckled lightly. "It's definitely a vibe. You'll have to go. It's kind of a staple here."

I nodded quickly, swallowing my embarrassment. "Yeah, I'll have to check it out." Note to self: research Los Angeles-based health food stores to avoid further cluelessness.

They smiled politely and moved on, their laughter and banter resuming as if l'd never been there. I felt invisible, standing on the periphery of a world I didn't fully understand. A part of me wished I could connect with these people on a more personal level past surface-level smoothies. Maybe then, I could fit in. But how would I even approach such conversation with people I barely knew?

The conversation picked back up, the clinking of glasses and the hum of idle chatter feeling like background noise in my ears. I could barely focus on anything other than the creeping feeling in my stomach, that sense of being an outsider, always trying — and failing — to catch up.

Every topic — from boutique Pilates studios to obscure art galleries — seemed designed to remind me I wasn't one of them. It wasn't their fault, really. They weren't being cruel. It was just a difference in culture.

I had never been good at blending into new circles, and this wasn’t the first time I felt like I was straining to keep up with conversations that seemed so far removed from my own experiences. And yet, I so desperately wanted their approval. I wanted Nicholas to see that I could fit in seamlessly into his life, just as he did mine. I didn’t want my reluctance for new experiences to hinder me, not tonight.

As I scanned the group, I saw an opening. A slight shift in the conversation. Someone mentioned the latest box office hit, a movie that was playing in theaters now. My heart skipped a beat. Movies. I could do movies.

I cleared my throat, trying to gather some courage, and leaned into the conversation. “Has anybody seen The Substance yet?” I said, the words feeling a little foreign in my mouth but carrying a hint of excitement.

Immediately, the conversation turned lively, everybody excitedly talking over each other, and I breathed a sigh of relief. I felt the knot in my stomach loosen just a little. The conversation flowed naturally from there. More opinions were shared, theories thrown around, and I found myself truly engaged in the discussion. I was no longer the outsider who had been fumbling for the right thing to say. I was just another movie lover in the group, exchanging thoughts about a shared passion.

I caught Nicholas out of the corner of my eye, returning with a crate of wine in his arms, a small smile playing on his lips as he set it down near the bar and approached. He paused, scanning the group before his eyes landed on me. I could see the relief in his face, knowing I was fitting in and enjoying myself. It made me feel more at ease.

As I continued to talk with the group, I glanced at Nicholas once more. He gave me a subtle nod, a silent affirmation that I was doing fine, though he was completely unaware of the quiet storm I had managed to keep at bay just barely.

I spent the rest of the evening flitting from conversation to conversation, doing my best to keep up, trying to shift the conversation in my favor, and it worked a few times, but it was tiring having to muster up all the energy I had to pick out the precise moment to do. As much as I wanted these people’s approval, I just wanted to be with Nicholas, alone, without any of them by our side. I didn’t want the thought of their possible opinions on me to linger at the back of my head any longer. I didn’t want to perform for them anymore. I wanted to be with him.

When I saw Nicholas cross my line of sight on his way to the bar, somehow my brain switched gears, immediately forgetting about the other people in the room. No matter the doubts running through my head, he always managed to soothe my anxieties, even without trying. If I just had him in my grasp, if I could just escape with him for a moment, maybe all of the tension inside me would disappear.

I excused myself from the huddle and crossed the room, making my way over to Nicholas. He was pouring himself a glass of wine, his profile lit warmly by the soft glow of the chandelier overhead. For a moment, I hesitated, watching him swirl the wine in his hand and taking a small whiff. The way he carried himself, so confident and at ease, was mesmerizing. He turned slightly, as if sensing me before he saw me, and when his eyes landed on mine, his face lit up.

“Hey, you,” he said, his voice low and warm, his smile a perfect mixture of relief and affection. “How’re you holding up?”

I returned his smile, taking a deep breath as I reached his side. “Surviving. But I was starting to miss you,” I trailed my fingertips down his arm, my voice quiet and needy.

His eyes darkened slightly at the touch, a flicker of something deeper flashing across his face. He set his drink down and turned his full attention to me, his body angling just enough to block out the rest of the room. His lips curved into that soft, knowing smile I adored, and he reached out, his hand brushing lightly against my waist. “Were you?” he murmured, his tone teasing.

I nodded, leaning in slightly, letting the faint buzz of the party fade away. Mischievously, I looked around the room to see if anybody was looking our way as I placed my hands above Nicholas’s and moved them down from my waist for him to grip my ass.

His breath hitched slightly, clearing his throat, as his hands instinctively settled on my hips, his fingers covertly squeezing. He glanced around the room, making sure nobody was watching, before his gaze locked with mine, the air between us thickening with something far more intimate than the casual conversations happening all around us.

“(Y/N)," he whispered, voice dropping lower as he leaned in close, his lips brushing against my ear. "Here?”

A shiver ran down my spine at the sound of his voice, and I pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. There was that spark — playful yet full of desire — and suddenly, the rest of the room didn't matter anymore.

“Mhmm,” I nodded my head, my gaze falling onto his lips. I was surprised at my sudden boldness, a mixture of excitement and nerves pushing me through. I just wanted to forget about the conflict inside me, any way I could.

Without missing a beat, Nicholas’s hand slid lower, a quiet promise of things to come, before he gently cupped my face, pulling me toward him for a kiss that was far deeper than the ones we’d shared earlier. This kiss was hungry, needy, and filled with a silent question: Are you sure? And I was. I kissed him back with equal intensity, giving into the moment, knowing that no matter how out of place I’d felt earlier, with him, I was exactly where I needed to be.

When we finally pulled apart, both of us breathless, Nicholas’s hand found mine again, his fingers curling around mine like they were meant to be there. “Let’s go,” he said, his voice low, laced with a quiet urgency.

I didn’t hesitate. At that moment, I wasn’t thinking about the awkwardness I’d felt earlier, or about the glossy crowd that surrounded us. I was only thinking about him, about us, and how we seemed to exist in a world of our own.

We navigated through the crowd, the sounds of laughter and clinking glasses growing louder as we walked further into the house, finding an unoccupied bathroom. Nicholas pushed open the door to the bathroom, glancing over his shoulder to ensure no one was following us. As soon as the door clicked shut behind us, he turned to face me, his eyes dark with desire. Without a word, he closed the space between us, his hands finding my waist and pulling me closer.

My breath hitched as I felt the heat of his body pressing against mine. His lips captured mine again, this kiss more urgent, more possessive, as if he couldn't get enough. I responded in kind, my hands moving up to his chest, feeling the solid warmth of his body beneath his shirt. The moment felt charged, the world outside forgotten, just the two of us in this tiny, private space.

The cool bathroom air contrasted with the heat building between us as he moved me toward the sink. My pulse raced, the tension in the room palpable as he lifted me effortlessly, setting me on the countertop. The kiss deepened, our bodies coming together in a rush of heat and need. I wrapped my legs around him, pulling him closer, desperate for the connection, for the feeling of his body pressed against mine. Nicholas groaned softly, his hands roaming up to tug at my hair, tilting my head back to kiss me with a newfound intensity that earned him a moan from my lips.

He pulled back for just a moment, his breath ragged. "We might get caught," his voice was hoarse, a tinge of amusement in his words.

I panted, smiling, “That didn’t stop you back at the hotel,” I spoke, tugging him closer by his collar.

Nicholas grinned at my boldness, his hands running up my back, pulling me closer as his lips found mine again. There was no hesitation now, no room for doubts or second thoughts. The faint sounds of the party drifted from the other side of the bathroom door, but in this small space, it felt like everything had fallen away. It was just us, lost in each other.

His fingers brushed the hem of my dress, tugging it gently, as if asking for permission. I didn't need to think twice before lifting my arms, allowing him to slip it over my head, revealing the lacey set l had chosen to wear.

Nicholas's gaze darkened even more, his eyes tracing every inch of me as though he couldn't get enough. He stepped back slightly, his breath shallow as his eyes traveled up and down my body. I sat on the counter, loving the way he was admiring every inch of me with just his eyes. I could feel my heart racing, the pulse of excitement thrumming through my veins as he slowly lifted my leg toward him by the ankle, his touch trailing over my stocking, exploring upwards. His hands were deft and gentle, as if he was savoring the moment.

He made his way closer, settling between my knees and wrapping my legs around his waist, slipping his finger under the strap of my bra and snapping it against my skin, “God, you’re gorgeous.” His other hand grazed my underwear, tracing the lace detailing, “You wear this for me?”

I nodded, my hands sliding up his chest, feeling the warmth of his skin through the fabric. I could sense how much he wanted me, and that only heightened the tension building between us. With a teasing smile, I slid my hands down to the waistband of his pants, slowly undoing the buckle and zipper, making sure to catch his eye the entire time.

"Every inch of me is for you, Nicholas," I whispered, my voice shaky with the intensity of the moment.

His breath caught in his throat, and for a moment, he just stood there, watching me. Then, with a low growl, he cupped my face, bringing me in for a kiss that was both desperate and possessive. He pulled back, brushing his thumb over my lips, watching me as my hands pushed his pants down just enough to free him. I softly sucked on his thumb, brushing my teeth against the tip of his finger.

His hands moved with purpose, each touch a promise, as his fingers brushed along the curve of my thigh, sending a jolt of heat through me. My body arched toward him instinctively, wanting more, needing more. I tangled my fingers in his hair, pulling him back up to meet my lips. "Now," I whispered, my voice barely audible but full of urgency. I needed him — needed to feel him close, connected in a way that words couldn't express.

He looked at me for a moment, eyes searching mine, and then, without a word, he pulled me by my waist toward the edge of the counter, and pulled off my underwear. He looked down at me, licking his hand and rubbing it against my throbbing self to prepare me, not that I needed it. I was plenty wet.

He didn't waste any time, his lips finding mine as he positioned himself between my legs. The tension in the room thickened as he entered me, slow at first, giving us both time to adjust. My breath hitched, and he groaned, his forehead resting against mine as we both struggled to hold onto control. Every inch of him was an overwhelming sensation.We both moved together, the rhythm building, faster, deeper, until there was nothing left in the world but us, lost in the heat and urgency of our bodies. The sound of our desperate breaths, the soft slap of skin, was all we could hear, the rest of the world long forgotten.

Though the music playing on the other side of the wall was somewhat loud, I’m sure anyone who could pass by would be able to hear us. I’m not sure I cared much, but still, I buried my head into his shoulder as he thrusted himself in me, trying to bite back my moans. So focused on being quiet, I accidentally nipped him near the skin of his collarbone. He groaned, tilting his head back, one hand threading into my hair as the other reached for the mirror behind me, bracing himself. Nicholas's breath was heavy, his chest rising and falling in sync with the movement of his body.

As his hand was still tangled in my hair, he pulled me closer, his lips brushing against my ear as he continued to thrust, whispering, "You feel so good around me, baby."

My fingers dug into his shoulders at his words, anchoring myself to him as the intensity of each thrust pushed me further into the edge of my own pleasure. I gasped in response, the sensation of him so deep, so close, that I couldn't form words. Every nerve in my body was on fire, and I wanted him even more. He seemed to know exactly what I needed, his movements becoming more deliberate, coaxing me closer to the edge.

"Nicholas..." I gasped, barely able to keep my voice steady. I moaned softly, my hands gripping him tighter as I felt the heat build between us.

He leaned in, pressing his forehead against mine, steadying his upper body as his hips moved back and forth with urgency, and the pressure inside me intensified. I felt myself teetering on the brink, every inch of my body yearning for release. He intertwined his fingers with mine, pinning my hand against the mirror as he continued to fuck me.

Nicholas looked at me through his eyelashes, his eyebrows knitted together in pleasure, “I-” he started to say, his voice hoarse and raw, but stopping himself, instead closing his eyes.

Then, I opened my mouth to say something, maybe the words he was going to say, but before any words could spill out of me, he kissed me again, his lips devouring mine with a desperate urgency. The world seemed to stop, and I could feel myself falling further into him.

The tension in the room swelled again as I felt my body start to unravel, the pleasure building to an almost unbearable level. With one final, deep thrust, the tension in my body snapped. I closed my eyes and buried myself into Nicholas, letting go, and with a final, desperate cry, I let the world fade out as the release surged through me.

Nicholas followed shortly after, his name slipping from my lips, pushing the both of us up against the mirror over the counter as the intensity of the moment washed over both of us. He held me tightly against him, his breath ragged, his body still trembling as he pulled me in, kissing me softly, as if trying to anchor both of us in this small, fleeting moment.

For a moment, we stayed like that, tangled together on the edge of the countertop, the heat between us still lingering even as we both tried to catch our breath. It was quiet now, the sounds of the party outside muffled by the thick walls of the bathroom, but in that silence, there was something profound and comforting in the way we held each other.

When Nicholas pulled away slightly, he brushed a stray lock of hair from my face, his eyes filled with affection. I could feel my heart pounding in my chest, the vulnerability in his eyes mirrored by the overwhelming feeling in my own. A smile tugged at my lips as I leaned into his touch, pulling him in for a kiss. Nicholas kissed me back softly, pulling me in closer, his hands gently caressing my back as if grounding us both in the quiet intimacy of the moment. We didn't need to say anything more; everything was already spoken in the silence that enveloped us.

Finally, he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against mine, his breath still shallow, but steady. "We should probably get out of here before someone comes looking for us," he said with a small chuckle, but his voice was still laced with the same raw intensity as before. “We can continue this at home,” he whispered in my ear.

I nodded, my hands running over his chest once more, savoring the warmth of his body.

"Yeah," I whispered, reluctantly shifting off the counter. My legs felt a little weak, my knees buckling slightly, but I steadied myself by placing a hand on his shoulder.

We both took a moment to recompose ourselves, straightening our clothes and smoothing our hair, but even as we tried to act casual, I could feel the electric tension still sparking between us. The connection we shared was undeniable, and I was glad I was able to forget about all those badgering thoughts, even for a moment.

As we stepped out of the bathroom and back into the noise and bustle of the party, it felt almost surreal. The laughter and chatter resumed in the background, but Nicholas and I moved in sync. His arm never left my waist for the rest of the night, a small but constant reminder of what we had just shared.

We said our goodbyes to some of Nicholas’s friends. I was completely in a blissful daze as I watched him do a quick conversation. In that moment, with Nicholas beside me, I knew there was nowhere else I wanted to be. The doubts that had clouded my mind earlier seemed distant for now, but it was a distance I was sure to savor. I wanted to exist in that space as long as I could.

As he finished up a conversation with a friend, he squeezed my hand lightly, reminding me that we would leave in a bit and that he hadn’t forgotten. Once he bumped fists with them, he turned his attention to me, smiling.

He leaned down to whisper, “Let’s go, baby,” his warm breath sending a shiver down my spine, and led me toward the door.

We stepped out of the house and into the cool night air, I felt an almost giddy relief wash over me, grateful to finally be out of that house and be with Nicholas alone, without worrying about how I may present myself in front of his friends.

The muffled music and chatter of the party faded behind us, replaced by the quiet hum of the city in the distance. Nicholas kept his hand firmly intertwined with mine, his thumb brushing small circles against my skin as we walked to the car. He opened the door for me, always the gentleman, and waited until I was settled before rounding the car to the driver’s side. Once inside, he reached for my hand again, letting it rest between us as he started the engine. The drive home was quiet, but not uncomfortable. Every now and then, Nicholas would glance over at me, his lips curving into a soft smile that made my chest flutter. The city lights cast fleeting shadows across his face, accentuating the sharp angles of his jaw and the quiet intensity in his eyes. It was hard not to stare.

When we pulled into the parking garage at his apartment complex, Nicholas cut the engine and turned to face me fully. For a moment, neither of us moved, the silence between us filled with unspoken words and lingering desire.

“Come here,” he said softly, his voice low and inviting.

I leaned across the console, meeting him halfway as his hand slid to the back of my neck, pulling me in for a slow, lingering kiss. It wasn’t rushed or urgent like before, but filled with an intimacy that made my heart ache in the best way.

When we finally broke apart, he smiled. “I have a surprise for you,” he murmured, his voice steady and sure. “C’mon,” he nodded his head out.

I nodded, already unbuckling my seatbelt.

The air between us buzzed with anticipation as we made our way up to his door, his hand finding mine as he unlocked it and led me inside. The door clicked shut behind us, and in the dim light of his entryway, Nicholas turned to face me, smiling, before continuing to lead me to his bedroom.

He motioned for me to sit on the edge while he walked over to his nightstand, pulling something out. He hid it behind his back and he turned around, sitting down next to me. “I was going to wait until our last day together, but tonight seems appropriate,” he quietly chuckled to himself as he brought whatever was behind his back in front of him.

He dangled the most beautiful and delicate gold chain in front of me. The chain sparkled softly in the warm light of the room, its delicate design catching my breath. A small charm dangled from the center — a tiny, flat heart with an N engraved on the back of it. It was elegant, understated, and undeniably beautiful.

“I saw this a while ago,” Nicholas began, his voice quiet, almost shy, “and it just… reminded me of you.” He smiled, his cheeks tinged with a faint pink.

My heart swelled, the words hitting me with a warmth that spread through my entire body. I reached out to gently touch the charm, my fingers brushing against his as I did. Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, and I blinked rapidly, not wanting to cry but unable to stop the overwhelming rush of affection I felt for him. I opened my mouth to respond, but before I could, his lips captured mine in a kiss that stole all my thoughts away. It was tender and deep, a perfect blend of passion and reassurance, and I melted into him, my hands finding their way to his chest

“Nic..." I whispered between kisses, my voice barely audible.

“Let me put it on you,” he said, unclasping the chain and gently turning me so my back faced him. His hands were warm and steady as he brushed my hair aside, the light touch sending shivers down my spine.

The necklace settled lightly against my skin, the charm resting just above my collarbone. He leaned forward, his lips grazing the back of my neck after he fastened it, sending a jolt of electricity through me. “So perfect,” he murmured, his voice low and intimate.

I reached up, my fingers lightly brushing the charm as I turned back to face him. The way Nicholas looked at me in that moment made my chest tighten — like I was the only person in the world who mattered to him. His eyes held so much tenderness that it was almost overwhelming.

I leaned in, pressing my lips to his in a soft, lingering kiss, letting the thought of the three words I couldn’t quite bring myself to say float around in my head, debating if now was the right moment. The truth was, I wanted to say it then. I wanted to tell him everything I felt, that every moment with him made me feel more alive, more connected to something real. But the thought of allowing myself to fully fall, when I had never done so before with anybody else, was still holding me back.

His arms came around me, pulling me onto his thighs as if he couldn’t bear to be even an inch apart. I rested my forehead against his, my fingers tangling in his hair as my lips parted.

“Let me show you how much I really love it, Nic,” I whispered, my voice thick with desire.

I could feel the tension shift between us, the weight of the moment thick with anticipation. His hands tightened on my waist, his touch both grounding and electric as he looked up at me, his lips parted slightly, his eyes dark and unreadable.

"Show me," he whispered, his voice low, almost pleading.

I leaned in slowly, brushing my lips against his, teasing him, savoring the way his breath caught and his fingers flexed against me. I kissed him, completely showering him with my love — the corner of his eye, the apple of his cheek, his lips, the edge of his jaw, the stubble under his chin. There wasn’t an inch I forgot to kiss. My lips moved to his neck, trailing kisses along the skin under his collar, tasting him, drawing soft groans from deep in his chest.

I delicately pushed him down against the bed as I unbuttoned his shirt, ripping it open and trailing my fingertips down the valleys of his muscles. His hand gently traced patterns on my back, the other reaching up to brush my hair away from my face, watching me intently.

I moved lower, taking my time, letting my lips explore every inch of his toned chest and abdomen. He let out a soft, approving hum, his eyes half-lidded but focused on me, absorbing every sensation. The softness of his skin under my lips, the way his breath hitched when I found a sensitive spot — it was exhilarating. As I continued, his hand drifted down to rest on my shoulder, a subtle encouragement, though his breathing told me he was trying to keep himself in check. I felt a thrill rush through me, knowing he was at my mercy.

I climbed off of him and continued to kiss him down his abdomen as I moved to kneel on the floor. Nicholas, curious, shifted to prop himself up by the shoulder, but I stopped him, pushing him back down on the bed before I continued to move to the floor.

Feeling the warmth of his skin and the subtle shivers beneath my touch, I lowered my lips to the place just above the waistband of his pants, kissing the hairs that sprinkled up toward his navel. His grip on my shoulder tightened.

"Mm," he squirmed, his voice a little hoarse, and I could hear the raw need in it.

His fingers threaded deeper through my hair, his chest rising and falling heavily as he struggled to keep his composure. It made me feel powerful, and I wanted to keep him on that edge for as long as I could. With a small smile, I pressed my lips just below his navel, feeling the way his muscles tensed under me. His lips curved into a smirk, though his eyes were smoldering, almost desperate.

I brushed my fingers along his thighs, taking in the warmth radiating from under the fabric separating us, relishing in the way his breath hitched at my touch. I pressed a gentle kiss right above his belt buckle, feeling his muscles jump beneath me. He was barely holding it together, and I could see the tension building, the control slipping away as he let out a soft, helpless groan. His eyes met mine, and there was something different in them now — a quiet kind of surrender that made my heart race.

He hesitated to reach for his belt buckle, instead moving his hands to the bed sheets and clutching the fabric in his fists. Nicholas looked down at me, his chest rising and falling in quick, shallow breaths, his face a perfect blend of desire and anticipation. I held his gaze, watching as his expression softened and his lips parted, almost as if he wanted to say something but couldn't find the words.

I reached for his belt, letting my fingertips brush against his skin just enough to make him squirm as I unbuckled the leather and undid the button of his pants. He shut his eyes and exhaled sharply, his breath quickening. I smiled, enjoying this rare sight of him being completely unguarded, just... waiting.

I unzipped and tugged down at his pants and briefs, pulling them to his ankles and pressing kisses all the way down his legs, slowly making my way up again. I felt him twitch the closer I got to his hard, throbbing member. I took my time, brushing my tongue against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, hovering over him.

Slowly, I leaned in, pressing a soft kiss along his length, feeling him pulse beneath my lips. His body tensed, and he bit down on his lip, stifling a groan as I continued my languid exploration, leaving a series of slow, teasing kisses, each one eliciting a sharper intake of breath.

He opened his eyes, looking at me with a hunger that made my stomach flip. "Please, (Y/N)," he murmured, his voice low and rough, sending a shiver down my spine. It was all the encouragement I needed.

With that, I spit on his length and took him fully into my mouth, swirling my tongue around the tip before pulling back slightly to suck gently. His head fell back against the bed, and I could feel the tension radiating off him like heat from a flame. I knew l had him right on the edge, and it made me feel invincible.

Nicholas's hands tangled in my hair, guiding me but never forcing me, a silent agreement that allowed him to enjoy the ride while still being lost in the moment. He breathed out deep, guttural sounds as I continued, moving with a slow rhythm that matched the way his body responded. I could feel him begin to lose control, his hips instinctively bucking into my mouth as I picked up the pace.

In that moment, I focused on every sensation — the warmth radiating from him, the soft, urgent sounds he made, the taste of him on my tongue, and the way his body reacted to my every move. I felt powerful, alive, and utterly consumed by him. As I picked up the rhythm, the intensity between us built to an almost unbearable pitch. Nicholas's breathing became erratic, and I could feel the tension coiling tightly in him. His eyes locked onto mine, filled with a raw need that made my heart race.

"I'm close," he warned, his voice a mix of desperation and pleasure, and I could see he was teetering on the brink.

With one last teasing swirl of my tongue, I pulled away just enough to let him feel the loss, a playful smile on my lips. "I know," I replied, leaning in to press soft kisses along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, relishing the way his body reacted to my touch.

He groaned at my words, his body trembling beneath me. "Nonono," he gasped, his hips shifting as he fought to hold on just a little longer, “Don’t stop,” he cried softly, clutching at the bedsheets. “Please, baby.”

I wrapped my hand around him once more, stroking him slowly as I looked into his eyes. With a low growl, his eyes darkened with need as he bucked his hips against my hand. I engulfed him again, taking him deeper into my mouth, swirling my tongue around him in a way I knew would send him over the edge.

"Fuck," he gasped, throwing his head back.

He shut his eyes closed, his voice trembling with pleasure. My hand was wrapped around his length as I bobbed my head, focused on my rhythm. I felt Nicholas’s fingers reach for my hand, intertwining his with mine as if I was the only thing tethering him to reality. As I picked up the pace, I felt him squeeze my hand tighter and tighter, his legs tensing on either side of me.

“(Y/N),” he groaned, like he was begging for mercy.

I pulled away quickly, kissing his tip with a smile before continuing and pressing his length to the back of my throat, taking him in completely. Nicholas's whole body jerked in response, his fingers gripping my hair as his breath grew more frantic. His chest rose and fell rapidly as he groaned deeply, his voice barely a whisper but filled with raw emotion.

"(Y/N), I can't... I..." He couldn't even finish the sentence, his hips jerking as he surrendered to the pleasure.

I didn't stop. Instead, I kept moving, feeling him quiver under my touch, savoring the moment as he fell apart in front of me. It felt like time had slowed, each second stretching into eternity as I took him deeper, giving him everything he wanted and more. I could sense his struggle to hold onto control, but I could also tell he was beyond the point of no return.

His breathing hitched one final time, his entire body tensing as he bucked up into me, the final wave of release crashing through him. I felt the warmth of him filling my mouth, a sensation that made me dizzy with desire. I drank him in, savoring every moment as he surrendered completely, letting the waves of pleasure wash over him.

As he finished, I pulled back slowly, licking my lips and looking up at him with a satisfied grin. Nicholas lay there, breathless and vulnerable, a stunned expression on his face as he tried to catch his breath. His grip on my hair loosened as he let out a long, ragged exhale.

Nicholas's chest heaved as he tried to steady himself, his hands trembling slightly as he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. The silence between us was heavy, filled with the aftermath of everything we had shared. He looked at me with a mixture of awe and something darker — a depth of feeling that made my heart race all over again.

I stood up from the floor and slowly removed my clothes, Nicholas watching intently. I felt vulnerable but all the more powerful under his scrutiny. Climbing back onto the bed and straddling him, I watched as he struggled to regain his breath, his eyes never leaving mine. I lowered myself, letting my new necklace dangle over his lips.

Nicholas's eyes locked onto the charm resting above his lips, his gaze soft but intense, like he was drinking in every moment. He reached up, his fingers brushing against the necklace, tracing the N with a reverence that made my chest tighten. "You're mine," he murmured, his voice low and filled with conviction, as though he was staking a claim, marking me as his in a way that went deeper than anything physical.

I leaned down more, the charm resting between his lips. Slowly, Nicholas parted his lips and let the charm fall between his teeth, biting the necklace and tugging me down to him, careful not to snap the chain off my neck. The act was both possessive and tender; I was mesmerized.

He softly spit out the charm from his mouth and pulled me in a deep kiss, hard and hungry, his hands roaming over my skin like he couldn't get enough of me. It wasn't the tenderness from earlier — this was raw, urgent, and driven by something deeper than mere desire.

"Tell me you're mine," he whispered, his lips brushing against mine, his voice a rasp of need.

I could barely catch my breath as I stared down at him, feeling his hands grip my sides as he leaned up, his body against mine. "I'm yours," I breathed, the words coming out almost like a plea. "I'm yours, Nicholas."

He kissed me again, this time slower, his lips lingering as if trying to memorize the taste of me. I felt his heart pounding beneath my palm, its rhythm matching my own. It was just us, tangled together, our breaths mingling, our hearts beating as one.

I felt his hand make his way between our groins, grabbing his shaft and slipping himself inside of me. I collapsed onto his chest as he entered me, feeling him slowly start to thrust.

His breath hitched as he eased into me, his grip on my hips tightening as if grounding himself in the moment. I gasped, the sensation of him filling me overwhelming, and yet all-consuming. My body molded to his, every movement drawing us closer, deeper, as though we were meant to fit together this way.

Nicholas's hands roamed my back, his touch gentle yet possessive, and the contrast sent shivers through me. "I’m yours," he murmured against my ear, his voice hoarse with emotion. His lips grazed my neck, leaving a trail of kisses that seemed to set my skin on fire.

I rolled my hips slowly, matching his rhythm, the intensity building between us. Each thrust sent a wave of pleasure coursing through me, and I couldn't hold back the soft moans spilling from my lips. The sound seemed to spur him on, his movements growing deeper, more deliberate.

His hands slid to my waist, guiding me as I rode him, his eyes locked on mine with an intensity that made my heart race. "Look at me," he said softly, his voice a command and a plea all at once.

I obeyed, meeting his gaze, and what I saw there made my breath catch. It wasn't just desire; it was something deeper, something that made me feel raw and exposed in the best way.

"I’m yours," he said again, his words breaking through the haze of passion. "Yours."

The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten, and I leaned down to kiss him, pouring every unspoken word into it. Our movements grew more desperate, more frenzied, as we climbed higher together, the room echoing with our shared breaths and muffled cries.

I felt the tension building within me, coiling tighter with each thrust, until it finally snapped, a wave of ecstasy washing over me. I cried out his name, my body trembling as I clung to him, the intensity of my release leaving me breathless.

Nicholas followed moments later, his grip on my hips almost bruising as he buried himself deep within me, his head falling back against the pillow as he groaned my name. His body shuddered beneath mine, and I could feel every tremor, every pulse as he found his own release.

We stayed like that for a moment, tangled together, our bodies slick with sweat and our breaths mingling in the stillness. Slowly, Nicholas rolled us gently, his body hovering over mine as his hand trailed down my side, sending shivers through me. His eyes never left mine, his gaze holding a mixture of adoration and desire that made me feel both cherished and wanted in a way l'd never experienced before. He lowered his head, pressing soft kisses along my jawline, down my neck, and across my collarbone, his lips worshipping every inch of my skin.

The necklace shifted slightly as he moved, the charm catching the faint light in the room, a reminder of the promise we had just exchanged. Nicholas's lips paused just above it, his warm breath grazing the delicate chain. He pressed a kiss over the charm before lying down next to me, caressing my cheek.

I turned my head to meet his gaze, his hand still cradling my face, his thumb gently tracing along my cheekbone. His expression was soft now, a stark contrast to the intensity from moments before. He looked at me like I was a masterpiece, something to be admired, protected, loved.

His arms wrapped around me, pulling me close, and I rested my head against his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was calming, grounding, as though the world outside didn’t exist anymore — just the two of us, tangled together in the quiet aftermath.

He pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his fingers stroking lazily up and down my back. I smiled against his chest, feeling safe and cherished in a way I hadn’t thought possible.

We lay there in a comfortable silence, the only sounds the faint rustling of the sheets and our synchronized breathing. I tilted my head up to look at him, his eyes already on me.

“Thank you,” I said quietly, my voice barely above a whisper.

“For what?” he asked, a hint of confusion crossing his features.

“For the necklace. For flying me out here,” I replied, my fingers trailing along his jawline.

Nicholas caught my hand in his, pressing a kiss to my palm. “I’d do anything for you,” he said, his voice steady and sure.

I felt my heart swell at his words, and I realized in that moment just how deeply I was falling for him — no, how deeply I’d already fallen. This wasn’t just passion or fleeting infatuation. This was something real, something profound, and it terrified me as much as it thrilled me.

He pulled the blanket over us, cocooning us in warmth, and held me closer, as if afraid I might slip away. As I drifted off to sleep in his arms, the necklace resting lightly against my skin, I knew this moment was why I was here. It was moments like these that so perfectly explained how I felt, even if my words couldn’t.

I stirred awake to the smell of freshly-brewed coffee, suddenly feeling the empty space next to me. Fluttering my eyes open, I shifted my arm in bed, searching for Nicholas to find he wasn’t there.

The faint murmur of activity came from outside the bedroom, a soft hum of life that felt both foreign and comforting. The smell of coffee was rich and inviting, and I stretched lazily, letting the memory of the night before wash over me like a warm wave. My lips curved into a smile as I turned onto my side, my hand brushing against the spot Nicholas had occupied just hours ago. It was still faintly warm, a lingering trace of him that made me ache to see him again.

I pulled the blanket tighter around me, savoring the comfort of the bed for a moment longer before finally deciding to get up. The necklace he’d given me lay cool against my skin, a constant reminder of the way he made me feel and how I made him feel. Running my fingers over the charm, I couldn’t help but grin like a fool.

Slipping out of bed, I grabbed one of Nicholas’s shirts draped over a nearby chair and slipped it on. The fabric hung loosely on me, his scent wrapping around me like a hug. Padding barefoot toward the kitchen, I followed the sound of soft music playing and the occasional clink of dishes.

When I stepped into the kitchen, my heart melted at the sight before me. Nicholas stood at the stove, his hair still tousled from sleep, wearing only a pair of sweatpants that hung low on his hips. His movements were fluid and relaxed as he flipped something in a pan, humming along to the music playing softly in the background.

“Good morning,” I said, my voice slightly raspy from sleep.

He turned at the sound of my voice, his face lighting up with a smile that felt like sunshine. “Morning, beautiful,” he replied, his voice warm and full of affection. He set the pan down and crossed the room in a few long strides, wrapping his arms around me and pulling me into his chest. He pulled away then, his eyes falling onto the necklace around my neck. He brushed his fingertips over the engraved charm, then down to the shirt draped over me, “You look sexy in that,” he said as he walked back over to the stove. “You should keep it.”

I laughed softly, tugging at the oversized hem of his shirt as I leaned against the counter. "Oh, don't worry. I was already planning on it.”

Nicholas glanced over his shoulder, smiling.

I watched him for a moment, the way the morning sunlight streamed through the windows, catching on his skin and making the whole scene feel like a dream. He looked so at ease, like this was the most natural thing in the world — us, together, sharing a quiet morning. My heart clenched with the realization of how much I wanted this, not just for today, but for always. It ached me to know how this time tomorrow, I would be back home without him in my arms.

Nicholas plated the last pancake and turned to me with a proud grin. He carried the plates to the small dining table, setting them down before pulling out a chair for me. I sat down, the simple gesture making my chest warm. He poured himself a cup of coffee and poured me a cup of tea, then settled across from me, watching as I took my first bite.

“I got us tickets to this super cool exhibit at the Academy Museum,” he spoke, taking a bite of his pancakes. “‘Color In Motion: Chromatic Explorations of Cinema,’” he recited dramatically.

I smiled, taking a sip of my tea, “Are you gonna act as my personal museum docent? Tell me every interesting fact about movies stored in that handsome head of yours?” I teased.

Nicholas chuckled, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Of course. But be warned, I might go a little overboard. I’ve got some serious movie trivia in here.” He tapped his temple with a playful grin.

I laughed, feeling lighter than I had in a long time, “Don’t forget I do, too.”

He smiled, reaching for my hand and kissing my knuckles. The conversation flowed easily between us, each laugh and gentle tease cementing the comfort we’d found in each other.

As the meal stretched on, a quiet contentment settled between us, broken only by the occasional clink of utensils against plates or the soft notes of the music still playing in the background. The pancakes were light and fluffy, with just the right hint of sweetness, and I couldn’t help but marvel at how effortlessly Nicholas seemed to make even the simplest things feel special.

I traced my finger around the rim of my mug absentmindedly, watching Nicholas’s fingers drum against the edge of the table in time with the song playing. I let myself relish the way his laughter echoed softly in the quiet kitchen, the way his eyes crinkled at the corners when he glanced up and caught me staring. I let myself memorize every detail — the way he absentmindedly brushed his hair back, the soft scrape of his fork against his plate, the way his thumb tapped against his mug in a steady rhythm.

As we finished eating, I reached across the table, brushing away a crumb from the corner of his mouth. His hand caught mine, lingering for a moment before pulling it to his lips. It was such a simple gesture, but it sent a shiver down my spine.

After breakfast, Nicholas stood and began clearing the plates, motioning for me to stay seated when I tried to help. “I’ve got this. You can relax,” he said with a wink. His effortless charm made me grin, but I couldn’t just sit still, so I grabbed our cups and brought them to the sink.

“I’m not just gonna watch you do all the work,” I said, nudging his arm playfully.

He stifled a chuckle, “You did enough work last night,” he teased, alluding to last night’s sex.

My cheeks flushed instantly, and I swatted at his arm, laughing. “Nicholas!” I scolded, though the grin on my face betrayed any attempt at mock outrage. He just smirked, clearly pleased with himself, as he continued rinsing the plates.

“What?” he asked innocently, glancing at me with a mischievous glint in his eye. “I’m just stating facts.”

I rolled my eyes, grabbing a dish towel and bumping him with my hip. “If you don’t stop, you’re doing the dishes alone,” I warned, though we both knew I didn’t mean it.

Nicholas leaned down slightly, his voice dropping to that low, playful tone that always made my stomach flutter. “You wouldn’t leave me all alone, would you?”

I narrowed my eyes at him, trying to suppress the smile tugging at my lips. “Keep it up, and you’ll find out.”

He laughed, the sound warm and infectious, as he finished the last plate and set it aside. “Alright, alright. I’ll behave,” he said, holding his hands up in mock surrender.

“Good,” I replied with mock sternness, folding the dish towel neatly and setting it on the counter. “Now, let’s get ready for our last full day together,” I pouted, pulling him in by his hips and planting a kiss on his lips.

Nicholas nodded, pulling his hands out from under the running water and resting them on my hips, the wet feeling sending a shiver up my sides, “I’ll let you have the bathroom first,” he said.

“Such a gentleman,” I teased, heading to the bathroom to freshen up.

Once inside, I stared at my reflection in the mirror, the necklace Nicholas had given me catching the light. I touched the charm absentmindedly, a mix of emotions swirling in my chest. There was something so effortless about him, about us. I wasn’t used to this kind of connection, this kind of intimacy that made me feel like I could fall apart and be held together all at once; I wasn’t used to it at all.

I barely recognized the person staring back at me. There was a softness in my expression that hadn’t been there before. Being with Nicholas wasn’t just different; it was a tectonic shift. He saw me — really saw me — in a way no one else ever had, and instead of running away, he leaned in. That terrified me.

The way he looked at me, spoke to me, touched me — it all felt so natural, like it had always been meant to be this way. But it was uncharted territory for me. I’d never let anyone hold me the way he did. And now, standing here in his shirt, wearing his necklace, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d opened myself up to something that could break me, and the more days I spent in Los Angeles, the more plausible that possibility became.

It wasn’t that I doubted his feelings for me; I knew he cared deeply. It was more that I doubted my ability to keep up. The way I barely held myself together at that party took everything out of me. And if Nicholas and I continued to see each other, then that would mean more parties, more events, each bigger and more important where it would matter even more how I presented myself in front of all those strangers. I’m not sure I was built for that.

I turned the faucet on, splashing cold water onto my face to shake off the rising tide of doubts. Today wasn’t the day to dwell on what-ifs. Today was about us.

“I changed my mind. Mind if I join you?” Nicholas’s voice came from the doorway, pulling me from my thoughts. I turned to see him leaning casually against the doorframe, his arms crossed, a playful grin on his lips.

His ability to show up at just the right time was something to be admired. It’s like he could sense whenever I was too in my head about something and knew nothing would be able to soothe my thoughts except his presence.

I raised an eyebrow, trying to mask how the sight of him made my heart skip a beat. “Bold of you to assume I’d say yes.”

He pushed off the doorframe and walked toward me, his grin widening. “Oh, I think you will,” he teased, wrapping his arms around my waist and nuzzling his face into the crook of my neck, the warmth of his breath sending a shiver down my spine as he pulled his shirt off my body.

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” I said, though my voice betrayed the smile I was trying to suppress.

“And yet, here you are, unable to resist me,” he murmured, his lips brushing against my ear.

I rolled my eyes but didn’t protest as he reached over to turn on the shower, steam quickly filling the bathroom. Nicholas peeled off his sweatpants, leaving him in nothing. He moved with the kind of confidence that seemed effortless, yet somehow never arrogant. He stepped into the shower, holding his hand out for me as I slipped off my underwear and followed him in, the warm water cascading over us and the steam embracing us.

Nicholas’s hands were gentle as he reached for the shampoo, lathering it into my hair with a care that melted away the last of my hesitation. His touch wasn’t rushed or mechanical; it was deliberate, as if he was savoring every moment of this closeness.

"You spoil me," I murmured.

"That's kind of the point of this whole trip," he replied with a soft chuckle.

He rinsed the suds out slowly, his fingers massaging my scalp in a way that felt impossibly intimate, making me close my eyes leaning into his touch. He didn't rush to speak or fill the silence with meaningless words; he simply allowed the quiet between us to be filled with the weight of unspoken understanding.

Nicholas gently guided me back under the water, his hands now resting lightly on my shoulders, grounding me. His lips brushed against the edge of my jaw, a soft, fleeting touch that left a trail of heat behind. The steam swirled around us, but it was nothing compared to the warmth that spread between us. His body pressed against mine, the water beating down around us,

Without a word, he reached for the body wash, lathering it onto the wash cloth before softly gliding it over my skin. His touch was slow, reverent, as though he were tracing the lines of a masterpiece. Every part of me seemed to come alive under his hands, not just physically, but emotionally, in a way that was overwhelming. There was a depth to his care, a patience in the way he worked his hands over my skin, leaving trails of warmth wherever he touched.

I let myself sink into it, into him, closing my eyes as his hands moved with deliberate intent. His touch was steady, as though he knew exactly what I needed, what I was afraid to ask for. And when his hands slid to my back, his thumbs gently working the tension out of my muscles, I could feel my breath deepen, slow, as if I were finally learning to relax into this space with him.

The soft pressure of his hands on my lower back, his fingers drawing delicate patterns, made me want to lean in closer, press against him. He continued to lather every crevice of my body with soap, working his way down. When his hand slipped between my thighs, I clutched at his shoulder, my abdomen twitching as he cleaned me.

I knew this moment was too tender to turn sexual, and that’s exactly why my body twitched at his touch. Nobody had ever touched me down there outside of a sexual context. Suddenly, I felt a bubble of emotions puddle at the back of my throat.

His hand paused, sensing the shift in my energy, his touch lightening as he let his fingertips graze over the sensitive skin, careful not to press too hard. I didn’t have to say anything. Nicholas immediately understood, and there was no need for words. He simply adjusted, moving his hand down to my legs, holding me steady as the warm water continued to rain over us.

When he came back up, his hands lingered on my waist, searching my eyes. He parted his lips to say something, but I interrupted him, wanting to show him the tenderness he had shown me this entire weekend.

“Can I clean you?” I asked quietly.

His look softened at the question, subtly nodding his head. I reached for the shampoo and motioned for him to turn around, squirting a dollop and emulsifying it a bit in my hands before running it through his hair, gently beginning to scrub at his scalp.

I knew I wasn't quite as skilled at this kind of intimacy, but I wanted to try. I wanted him to feel the same care he had given me, to show him that I could be just as present for him, even if I wasn't sure I knew how.

As my fingers worked through his hair, I focused on the feel of him beneath my hands, trying to capture the essence of his gentleness and patience. I wanted to mirror that feeling for him, to make him feel as safe and cared for as he had made me feel in his presence.

I could tell by the way he leaned into my touch that he was allowing himself to sink into this moment with me. His breath slowed as I massaged the shampoo into his hair, and I felt a quiet, shared understanding pass between us. I worked the shampoo into his hair more thoroughly, my fingertips pressing gently into his scalp, sweeping through the soft strands, and rinsing them out with the same reverence he had shown me. He closed his eyes, tilting his head back slightly, a soft exhale escaping him as if he was letting go of something, something that had been building up.

I carefully turned him around and guided him under the stream of water, my hands finding their way to his shoulders, running over the lines of his body as I rinsed away the suds and reached for the body wash and wash cloth.

I lathered the body wash onto the cloth, the fragrance of it filling the steam-heavy air. I could feel Nicholas's gaze, steady and trusting, as he let me care for him. His silence wasn't a void; it was an invitation, an unspoken message that he was allowing me to be present in a way I hadn't fully realized I could be. The soft touch of the cloth against his skin felt almost sacred, and as I traced the lines of his chest, I realized how much I needed this intimacy, this giving and receiving.

Gently, I scrubbed at the back of his ears, the back of his neck, his collarbones. My hands slid down his torso, the warmth of his skin against the cool washcloth making my heart race a little faster. I moved slower, allowing my hands to glide over his sides, the muscles there softening under my touch.

I moved down to his legs, my hands careful and gentle as I washed the tension from his muscles. Nicholas stood still, his head tilted back slightly, his expression relaxed, as if he had given himself completely to me, trusting that I would show him the same care he had shown me. I wondered if he knew how deeply this was affecting me, how his willingness to let me into these moments of quiet intimacy made me feel like I could do the same for him.

When I finished, I moved back up to his chest, my hands lingering there as I rinsed away the suds. He opened his eyes slowly, meeting mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything. It wasn't necessary. The silence felt full, the unspoken emotions passing between us more powerful than words could convey.

He reached up and cupped my face in his hands, his thumbs gently brushing over my cheeks. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice low and warm, like the feeling of the water cascading over us.

I shook my head, smiling softly. "No, thank you," I replied, my voice barely above a whisper.

He pulled me closer, his forehead resting against mine, the steam swirling around us, but somehow, it felt like time stood still. His lips found mine in a slow, tender kiss, and I melted into him.

"Pull away before we miss the exhibit, too," I murmured against his lips, my mouth growing into a smile.

Nicholas chuckled softly, his breath warm against my lips as he pulled back just enough to look at me. "We wouldn't want that, would we?" he said, his voice hushed.

I smiled up at him, a mix of affection and a quiet thrill filling me. "No," I agreed, "we wouldn't."

He reached up to turn off the water, the last of the steam hanging in the air around us like a tangible presence. As the water stopped pouring over us, the sudden silence felt almost sacred. I stepped back, my skin prickling from the cool air that replaced the warmth of the shower. Nicholas reached for a towel, wrapping it around his waist and stepping out first. He then wrapped me in a towel and guided me out of the shower.

We each moved to our corners of the room, each of us picking our outfits. Nicholas settled on a simple black T-shirt and jeans, his typical laid-back style, though I noticed the way his movements had softened, a certain calmness in his demeanor. I couldn’t help but smile as I reached for my clothes.

I opted for a loose, white blouse and a pair of dark jeans, casual but comfortable. As I slipped on my shoes, I caught a glimpse of Nicholas watching me with that same soft expression, his eyes filled with something I couldn’t quite name. It wasn’t just affection; it was something deeper, something that made my chest tighten in the best possible way. And for a beat, I braced myself, thinking this could be the moment he might say ‘I love you.’ But it wasn’t.

“You look stunning,” he said, his voice thick with admiration.

“Thanks,” I replied, trying to hide the flush on my cheeks.

He gave a dramatic bow, his hand outstretched toward the bedroom door as if introducing a grand performance. “Shall we?” Nicholas asked, holding out his arm.

I rolled my eyes, laughing, and grabbed my purse from the bed. Nicholas adjusted his watch and checked his phone, a soft furrow appearing between his brows as he glanced at the screen. He quickly tucked it back into his pocket, a slight tension in his jaw that I couldn't quite place.

"Everything okay?" I asked, taking a step toward him.

He gave me a smile, nodding. "Yeah, all good. Just checking some things. Let's get going," he said, brushing it off.

We gathered our things, making our way out the door and down to his car, the excitement of the day still fresh between us. Nicholas took my hand as we walked, a light, refreshing breeze brushing against our skin.

As we drove toward the museum, the city unfolded before us, but my mind kept drifting back to the quiet moments we'd shared earlier — to the warmth of his smile, the softness of his voice, and the way his presence felt like home. I wish I could stay longer. I didn’t want this weekend to end at all. I wanted to drive in forever; I wanted to be buried in it.

The museum loomed ahead, sleek and modern, with glass windows that glistened in the sunlight. Nicholas parked the car, and as we walked toward the entrance, my heart gave a little flutter of anticipation. It wasn't just the exhibit that I was excited about — it was spending this day with him, seeing the world through his eyes, and getting lost in the little moments that would make today unforgettable.

"Ready for the best museum date of your life?" he asked, flashing me that grin that made everything feel right.

I nodded, feeling the same excitement twinkle in my chest. We walked through the doors together, hand in hand, ready to dive into the day we'd planned — a perfect balance of art, laughter, and just being in each other's company. Nicholas had our digital tickets scanned from his phone, flashing that signature smile of his at the ticket booth attendant. It wasn't until we stepped past security and began walking toward the exhibit that Nicholas's phone buzzed in his pocket.

He glanced at it quickly, his brows furrowing as he pulled it out. I could see the shift in his posture — the way his shoulders tensed, the way his smile faltered.

"Who is it?" I asked, trying to keep the nervousness out of my voice.

He glanced at me, his expression apologetic.

"It's my agent," he said, his tone strained. "I… I’m sorry, babe, I have to take this." He stepped to the side, his voice dropping as he answered the call.

I watched him for a moment, wanting to see what the call might be about but I eventually decided to give him his space and walked a few steps ahead, distracting myself with the graphics on the walls introducing the exhibit. As he turned his back slightly to finish the call, I felt a pang of discomfort. There was a sinking feeling in my chest that I couldn't ignore; I’m not sure why.

Nicholas hung up the phone and caught up with me, his eyes wide. I could practically feel his heart racing. "That was my agent; apparently, somebody dropped out of the new American Psycho movie, and they want me to come in and read for them,” he spoke with contagious excitement.

Of course, I was excited for him. This was an opportunity of a lifetime. The exponential rise that could happen to Nicholas if he got this role… it would catapult his career!

My initial reaction was pure joy for him. “Nicholas! That’s incredible!” I said, bringing him in for a hug.

He was smiling from ear to ear, but he reluctantly pulled away, his excitement tempered by something else. His hands rested on my shoulders, the look in his eye sympathetic, “They want to see me in an hour,” his eyes flickered to the exhibit behind me. “I’d have to prepare.”

I felt the weight of his words settle over me. I glanced around the museum, the excitement I’d felt moments ago replaced with a bittersweet ache, but I couldn’t protest. This was an important moment for Nicholas, and I didn’t want to cause any problems that might hinder his audition.

He wouldn’t say it, so I did for him, “Well, then, you have to go,” I smiled.

Nicholas hesitated, his hand lingering on my shoulder for a moment longer than necessary. I could tell he hated the idea of leaving me, but I also knew how important his career was to him. He had worked too hard to get where he was, and I didn't want to hold him back.

“Are you sure?” He asked gently, studying my face, as if trying to gauge how I really felt. “Leaving you here alone is the last thing I want.”

I furiously nodded my head, though my heart was sinking. “Totally. I mean, I have my pamphlet,” I shook the paper in my hand, “I can handle the exhibit by myself.”

His lips curved into a grateful smile, “You’re amazing, you know that?” Nicholas pulled me into a hug, his arms wrapping around me with a warmth that felt like he was trying to convey all the words he couldn’t say. “I promise I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured into my hair. “Dinner tonight, okay? I’ll call you.”

I nodded against his chest, “Good luck, baby.”

When we pulled apart, he kissed my forehead, his lips lingering just a moment longer than usual. Then he was gone. I stood there for a moment, watching him go, my heart feeling heavier with each step he took away from me, watching him disappear through the glass doors. The museum suddenly felt much larger without him by my side. It now seemed like an endless maze of galleries and rooms that would only remind me of how alone I felt in that moment.

Taking a deep breath, I reached for the charm dangling from my neck and decided I wouldn’t let this ruin my day. Nicholas was chasing a dream, and I couldn’t be upset about that. I had always been independent; I had a life before Nicholas, and I would make the most of the time I had. Even without him by my side, I refused to let the day go to waste. I clutched the museum pamphlet in my hand, trying to focus on the descriptions of the galleries instead of the lingering ache in my chest.

Seeing some of the incredible pieces distracted me for a bit. There were some vintage technicolor cameras on display, some costume pieces, original film cels, and color study models, all from various movies known for their iconic use of colors. The collection pulled me in, piece by piece, each display weaving its own story. I found myself lingering in front of a glass case showcasing the red jacket Jack Nicholson wore in ‘The Shining.’ At that moment, I imagined what Nicholas might’ve said if he were here. He’d probably point out that Jack Nicholson had hand-picked the jacket himself, and I’d pretend I didn’t know that fact already.

I moved on, immersing myself in the exhibit. A few film projectors whirred softly in the background, casting multiple different shots of iconic movies — Moonlight, 2001: A Space Odyssey, and Vertigo. I let the sound soothe me, letting myself get lost in the moving pictures. But every few steps, I caught myself glancing at my phone, hoping for a text or an update from him. My mind raced with questions: Was he preparing? Was he already at the audition? Was he feeling confident? And, selfishly, when would he come back?

I shook off the thoughts and let my gaze settle on a new display: a costume worn by Kim Novak in Vertigo. The emerald green dress was striking, its fabric shimmering faintly under the museum’s soft lights. A placard detailed its significance, describing how the color symbolized envy, obsession, and unattainable perfection in Hitchcock’s masterpiece. I traced the delicate beading on the hem with my eyes, letting the thought of those themes sink in.

Was I envious? Not of Nicholas’s opportunity, but maybe of the people who got to see him more often, of the way his world always seemed to be pulling him away from mine. Was I obsessed? Addicted might be the more precise word for my feelings toward Nicholas. After so much time alone, now knowing what it felt to be with someone, to be loved, I couldn’t take the feeling of not having that 24/7. I longed for that closeness every second of the day. Was I forcing this relationship to be perfect when life never was? I pushed the thought aside. This wasn’t the time to spiral — ha!

I moved through the exhibit, pausing at each piece and trying to fully absorb the stories behind them. There was something oddly comforting about the quiet of the museum, the hum of distant conversations, and the gentle tap of footsteps on the polished floors. Still, my phone felt heavy in my pocket, a constant reminder of how much I wanted to hear from him.

The hours seemed to pass by achingly slow. One…. Two…. I wasn’t privy to how long the audition process takes, but I started to become anxious. Was he auditioning right now? Did he get the part? Would he call me right after to share the good news? Or would I hear nothing until later tonight? The uncertainty gnawed at me, making it impossible to focus. My stomach started to growl, and I realized it had been hours since breakfast.

I kept moving through the museum, my mind wandering between thoughts of Nicholas and food. That’s when I saw possibly the best piece in this entire exhibit — Dorothy’s iconic red slippers from The Wizard of Oz. They shimmered under the museum lights, the sequins catching every glint and throwing it back in a kaleidoscope of ruby-red sparkles. The shoes were smaller than I imagined, delicate but sturdy, their charm undeniable even after decades. A small plaque beside them recounted their history — one of several pairs made for the film, each with subtle differences. These, it seemed, were the pair worn during the famous “there’s no place like home” scene.

I leaned in, studying the intricate beadwork and scuffed soles. I know that Dorothy’s whole story was about yearning for something greater, only to realize the value of what she already had, but I stared at those heels, and all I could think about was putting them on and transporting myself back home — my home, my bed, where I could bury myself under the covers and shut the world out. The ache in my chest was too loud to ignore, and for the first time all day, I felt the sharp sting of loneliness settle in.

But then, wasn’t this what I signed up for? I knew Nicholas was an actor, a rising star at that. He had a life, and I had my own. There would be moments like this where he’d have to go to last minute reads or leave for months on end to whatever destination the production called for. I knew that sometimes our schedules wouldn’t align, no matter how hard we tried. That thought cut deeper than I wanted to admit, but that was the plight of long-distance.

I felt my stomach grumble, more-so from hunger than anxiety. I straightened up, refusing to let myself spiral further. As much as I was fond of Nicholas, I was not going to wait to hear from him to go eat something. I needed something now, before I passed out in the middle of the gallery.

I pulled out my phone, finding a sushi place about a 20-minute walk away. I took one final pass of the exhibit before making my way out and following the directions my phone gave me.

On the walk over, a block away from my destination, I saw the sign to a familiar fancy health food store that I didn’t know existed until yesterday — Erewhon. I replayed the conversation I had with Nicholas’s friends in my head. What was so special about this store that I was basically laughed at for not knowing what it was?

Curious, I stopped in my tracks and walked in. The cool blast of air-conditioning greeted me as I stepped into the store. The sleek aisles of meticulously arranged organic products stretched before me, the air tinged with the faint aroma of freshly pressed juices and artisanal baked goods. It was the kind of place that seemed to mock my modest budget.

I couldn’t help but feel a little out of place. The sterile whiteness of the store, with its glowing lights and polished floors, felt like an alien landscape to me. I picked up a bottle of cold-pressed juice, squinting at the price tag — $14.99. For a tiny bottle of juice? I put it back quickly, feeling a strange sense of inadequacy settle in my chest.

I glanced at the people around me, their perfect hair, their effortlessly chic outfits, as if they stepped out of a Vogue magazine. And here I was trying to blend in but feeling like I was swimming against the current. I glanced at the shelf stocked with multi-grain crackers that cost more than I could justify. The feeling that had been nagging at me yesterday — the sense of being out of my depth, of not quite measuring up — crept back in. Was I enough for Nicholas? Was I ever going to be able to step into the life he was building for himself without feeling like an outsider?

I could almost hear his friends’ laughter from yesterday echoing in my ears: You don’t know what Erewhon is? It was the kind of question that seemed almost patronizing. Like they knew something I didn’t, like I was out of the loop in a city that thrived on exclusivity and trends. But none of that was really the problem, was it? It wasn’t about the store or the prices or the fancy health food or his friends. It was about the unspoken divide between Nicholas’s world and mine, my inability to fully embrace the promise of a possible future with him without retreating into my comfortable bubble whenever something dared to challenge me.

I turned quickly, leaving the aisles behind and heading toward the exit. As I stepped back out onto the street, the weight of everything seemed to crash down on me all at once. The crazy part was that Nicholas and I weren’t even public yet. Could you imagine the scrutiny he’d be under — I’d be under — once we did? But perhaps I was getting ahead of myself on that front.

I swallowed hard, shaking off the sting of self-doubt, and pulled up my map to find the sushi place. Maybe my hunger pangs were just amplifying my doubts. I made my way to the sushi place down the street, trying to push everything out of my head, but the thoughts clung to me like shadows. When I finally arrived and sat down at a small table, the bustling atmosphere of the restaurant felt like a quiet refuge compared to the overwhelming thoughts swirling in my mind.

I ordered something simple — salmon nigiri, miso soup, and a seaweed salad. As I waited for my food, I glanced out the window, the reflection of my face in the glass now blending with the city’s chaotic energy outside.

The conversation with Nicholas’s friends kept replaying in my head. The looks they gave me when I didn’t know what Erewhon was, like I’d failed some unspoken test. It wasn’t like I hadn’t experienced moments like that before, feeling a step behind in certain circles, but with Nicholas, it felt different.

I was used to feeling out of place. But with him, I wanted to feel like I belonged. I wanted to fit in his world, even if I didn’t always understand it. He had his acting career, his glitzy events, and his friends, while I had my life back home, simple but mine. He could easily carve out a space for himself in my life; why was it so hard for me to do the same with his?

The waiter brought my food, setting it down in front of me with a soft smile. I nodded my thanks, trying to shake off the heaviness. The entire time I ate, I waited for Nicholas’s name to pop up on my phone screen, to let me know he finished his audition and he would come join me, but it never did. Not when I finished my appetizer, not when I finished my entree, and not when I waited for the food to settle in my stomach before deciding to pay and leave. I paid the bill, the weight of my phone still sitting heavily in my pocket, and stepped out of the restaurant.

Tired and craving the comfort of a bed, I ordered an Uber to Nicholas’s apartment. As the Uber drove me back to Nicholas’s apartment, the city lights outside the window seemed to blur into a sea of colors. My mind was still racing with everything that had happened — the excitement, the frustration, the loneliness. I couldn’t stop replaying the day. When did I become so codependent in this?

In fact, I was so distracted by my thoughts that when the Uber dropped me off in front of his building, I completely forgot the fact that I didn’t even have a key to Nicholas’s place. Resigned to the idea that I wouldn’t be able to cocoon myself in bed like I had wanted to in this moment, I pressed my forehead against the locked door to his building, closing my eyes and trying to fight back the tears that were starting to form, though I quickly wiped my eyes, embarrassed by how vulnerable I was feeling in that moment.

I contemplated calling Nicholas to ask when he’d be back, but he said he would call me. I had no way of knowing if he was still auditioning or maybe having an important conversation with the producers. I didn’t want to interrupt him. Sighing, I picked my head up and looked around, my eyes falling onto the quaint coffee shop across the street. I carefully scampered over, making my way inside and appreciating its calm atmosphere. I ordered a hot cup of tea and took my order to the table that faced the tv hung on the wall.

I took a sip of my tea, letting the warmth settle in, trying to calm my racing thoughts. The TV on the wall was showing a news segment, but my mind was elsewhere. After today, a part of me was grateful I would be flying back home tomorrow morning. I would get to be in the comfort of my own home, my own bed, and I wouldn’t have to pay $13 for a bottled smoothie.

As the minutes ticked by, I felt my phone repeatedly buzz in my pocket. I pulled my phone out, Nicholas’s face taking up the entire screen. I answered his call, quietly peeping a, “Hey.”

His voice came through clear and warm, his excitement palpable and cutting through the tension I hadn’t realized had built up inside me. “Hey, I just finished up. Are you still at the museum? Are you down for dinner?”

I awkwardly glanced around the room, reluctantly telling him my current location, “No, actually I’m at the coffee shop across your building,” I spoke, part of me afraid of his reaction and the other part of me trying to come up with a believable excuse.

Nicholas’s tone softened immediately, as if sensing the hesitation in my voice. “What? Why? Did something happen?” His tone shifted to concern.

“No, nothing like that,” I skirted around the truth behind the situation, “My feet were just killing me, and I had already ordered an Uber before remembering I didn’t have a key to your building, so I just came to the coffee shop to unwind.” In a way, I wasn’t lying, I was just omitting a lot.

Nicholas’s voice returned, horrified. “Oh, my god, (Y/N); I’m so sorry. I should’ve thought about that. Babe, I feel absolutely terrible,” I could hear the guilt in his voice, and it made my chest tighten. It wasn’t his fault. I didn’t want him to feel bad for something that was honestly so small in the grand scheme of things.

I quickly reassured him, trying to soften the mood. “No, don’t be, Nic. I wasn’t waiting for too long; I just wanted a place to rest my feet,” I stifled a chuckle, thinking if it might have sounded insincere. “I’m drinking a cup of tea and watching the tv here, which is what I would’ve been doing at your place anyway.”

There was a brief pause on the other end before he spoke again, the warmth in his voice returning. “Still, I should’ve been more considerate. I’ll be there as fast as I can, okay?”

I smiled into the phone, appreciating the sincerity in his words, even though I didn’t want him to feel bad. “Take your time. I’ll be here.”

“I’ll be there in 10.”

As soon as I hung up, I let out a long breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. The universe just had a cruel way of humbling me, didn’t it? I sighed, counting down the minutes for Nicholas to get here so I’d be in his place, gathering up my things for tomorrow’s flight, showered, and ready to lay down in bed after today’s cruel jokes.

Just as I thought I may need to order a second cup of tea, the door to the coffee shop opened, and I looked up instinctively. And there he was — Nicholas, looking a little disheveled but with that familiar, bright smile on his face as he spotted me from across the room.

“Hey,” he greeted, his voice gentle but filled with relief as he made his way over to me, his strides long and hurried.

“Hey yourself,” I replied with a grin, feeling the tension in my body slowly ease as he pulled up a seat next to me and immediately met me in a tight, warm hug. I tried so hard to not cry on his shoulder right then and there.

I leaned into his embrace, inhaling the familiar scent of his cologne, and for a moment, the world outside the coffee shop disappeared. Nicholas’s arms around me felt like the only thing that could anchor me, the only thing that could stop the whirlwind of doubts and insecurities I’d been fighting all day.

He pulled back slightly, enough to look me in the eyes, but still close enough that I could feel the warmth of his body. “I’m so sorry you had to wait. I didn’t realize…” He trailed off, searching for the right words.

I gave him a small smile, trying to push aside the emotions that had been threatening to overflow. “It’s fine, really.” I didn’t want to say any more, fearing I might say more than I mean. “Can we go home? My feet are killing me,” I stifled a laugh, trying to lighten the mood, mostly for my sake.

He nodded his head, “Of course,” quickly standing up from the chair and holding his hand out for me.

I followed him out of the coffee shop and across the street to his building, the cool night air brushing against my face. When we reached the building, Nicholas held the door open for me, a small, tender gesture that made me smile. we made our way over to his door in silence. I wasn’t sure if he could sense the tension, too.

As we stepped into his apartment, I immediately felt a sense of relief. Without saying a word, I kicked off my shoes and made my way over to Nicholas’s bedroom, opening my luggage and pulling out my pajamas and toiletries.

With his eyebrows knitted together, Nicholas stood in the doorway of his bedroom, watching. “Hey, are you okay?” He asked, concerned.

I halted myself, mustering up the last of my energy to flash a smile as I looked back at him, “Yeah, why?”

He stepped inside his room, “I just feel like you’re not telling me something.”

I shook my head, “Just thinking about tomorrow’s flight, I suppose,” stepping closer to Nicholas and planting a kiss on his cheek before retreating to the bathroom to soothe my thoughts with a quick, hot shower.

The warm water from the shower poured over me, soothing the knots in my shoulders that had accumulated throughout the day. I closed my eyes and let the steam fill the small bathroom, hoping it would help me clear my head. It was just a rough day, I kept reminding myself. The uncertainty, the insecurities, the loneliness — it was all temporary. Once I got back home tomorrow, I’d have some space to breathe and refocus.

But as the water cascaded down, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something was missing. Nicholas had been so kind, so understanding, but he didn’t know half of what was going on inside my head. And I didn’t know how to tell him without sounding needy or like I was asking for something I wasn’t sure I deserved.

After a few minutes, I turned off the water and dried myself off with the towel and changing into my pajamas, stepping out of the bathroom. Nicholas was sitting on the edge of the bed, his gaze soft as he watched me fiddle with my luggage.

“Feel better?” he asked, his voice low.

I nodded, trying to mask the emotional exhaustion that still lingered in my chest. “Yeah, much.” I forced a smile, hoping it didn’t look too disingenuous.

He watched me for a moment, his gaze searching. He clearly wasn’t convinced, but he didn’t press further. Instead, he reached over for my hand, “You want to talk about it?”

For the first time, I pulled my hand away from him, continuing to organize my stuff in my carry-on. “I’m fine, really,” I said, my voice a little quieter than I intended, occasionally glancing up at him. “I didn’t even ask how your audition went. What did they say?”

Nicholas seemed to hesitate for a moment, his gaze lingering on me. I could tell he was sensing the distance I was putting between us, but instead of pushing, he leaned back against the headboard of the bed and sighed. “It went well,” he said, his voice soft but still laced with that familiar enthusiasm. “They said they’ll let me know by tomorrow if I’m in, but I felt good about it. I think they liked me. He couldn’t fight the grin growing on his face, and neither could I.

“Oh, my god, Nic, that’s incredible!” I excitedly clapped my hands, grateful to still have some energy left in me to celebrate Nicholas’s victory. I stepped closer to him and cupped his face in my hands. I intended to speak with a clear and gentle tone, but my voice started to crack when I said, “You, Nicholas Chavez, are going to be a movie star.” The tears forming at the corners of my eyes betrayed the smile on my face.

Nicholas’s grin softened when he saw the tears in my eyes, and for a moment, it felt like the whole room stood still. I could tell he knew that my tears weren’t for joy. He studied me for a long moment, and I could almost hear the wheels turning in his head as he processed the situation. I didn’t want to drag him into this, didn’t want to burden him with my insecurities. He had his own life, his own career, and I was proud of him — I really was. But somewhere, in the back of my mind, a whisper of doubt kept clawing its way to the surface: Am I enough for him?

As if sensing the undercurrent of my thoughts, Nicholas reached up and gently brushed a tear from my cheek, his fingers warm against my skin. “Hey, it’s okay,” he whispered, his voice filled with understanding. “What’s wrong?”

I froze at his touch, feeling the warmth of his hand grounding me, but also amplifying the distance that seemed to grow with every passing second. His voice was gentle, full of concern, but it only made me more aware of the wall I had been trying so hard to keep up.

I took a deep breath, trying to collect my scattered thoughts. I could feel him waiting for an answer, his presence making the silence between us more intense than the loudest words.

“Nic…” I started, “I’m not sure I can keep up with your life.”

He froze at the words, nervously stifling a chuckle and moving his hands to cup my face. “W-what are you saying?” He asked, his voice frantic, his eyes flicking between both of mine.

I felt my throat tighten as I looked into his eyes, searching for the words that had been building up all weekend. The weight of everything I had been hiding was pressing down on me, and now, finally, I couldn’t keep it in any longer.

I closed my eyes, a tear unintentionally falling as I did so. I wiped the tears from my eyes, “I need you to listen to me without interrupting, okay? I need to say everything that’s on my mind, even if I don’t like saying it.”

He silently nodded his head. I breathed deeply, reaching out to close his eyes with the tips of my fingers, my hand lingering on his cheek as I articulated my feelings out loud, watching him fight the urge to open his eyes.

“Nicholas,” I started, my voice trembling, “I love you. So much,” I let out a frustrated chuckle. I saw his jaw tense. He shut his eyes tighter, his lips starting to quiver, like he was fighting back tears. “I’ve never felt like this before toward anybody else. I’m so in love with you, Nic, that I don’t recognize the person I become when I’m not with you.” I paused, struggling to find the right words as I felt the weight of everything I hadn’t been saying crash down on me. “And that’s what scares me,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I feel like I’m holding on too tight, afraid I won’t be able to keep up with you in your world otherwise, and that’s not okay — for anybody.”

The words felt like they were ripping themselves from my chest, and I couldn’t stop them. I’d never admitted this to anyone before, not even to myself. The thought of codependency made me feel weak, pathetic even. But I couldn’t deny it anymore — my attachment to him was consuming me. Nicholas’s expression softened, fluttering his eyes open, but there was an undeniable sadness in his eyes. He didn’t speak right away, as if giving me the space to breathe, to feel whatever it was that had been weighing so heavily on me. I could feel my chest tightening with each passing second, the vulnerability making me feel exposed, like I was standing on the edge of a cliff, just waiting to fall.

“Nic, I’m scared that I’m not enough for you at this point in your life. You need someone who’s sure of themselves, who truly deserves to be treated the way you treat me,” I pressed my hand against his chest, his heart thumping under my touch. “ And I know that makes me sound like a needy person, but I just can’t keep pretending that I can keep up in a place like this,” I looked out the window to watch the glittering lights. “I just—” My breath hitched as the words got caught in my throat. I burst into tears as I spoke, “I don’t want to hold you back; it’s not fair,” I cried as I buried my face in my hands.

Nicholas was quick to move, his arms wrapping around me tightly as he pulled me into his chest. His touch, gentle but firm, was a balm to the chaos I felt swirling inside me. I could feel him shiver under me, his chest pounding as he breathed into my hair. Was he crying?

His arms tightened around me, his hold steady and unwavering, as if he could somehow absorb all of my fear and self-doubt into his chest. His hand gently rubbed my back in slow, soothing motions, his voice soft and full of tenderness as he croaked into my hair. “Baby, stop.” His words were barely audible, but they held so much weight, and they stilled me for a moment. "(Y/N), look at me."

I pulled away, wiping at my tear-streaked face, my chest still heaving from the release. He cupped my face in his hands, his gaze unwavering.

"You're not holding me back. You're just not, okay?" His words were soft but filled with conviction. I shook my head, trying to pull away, but he wouldn’t let me. “No, listen to me,” he interrupted, his voice stronger now, as if he needed me to hear him above the noise in my head. Nicholas’s gaze softened, his hands now cupping my face, his thumb grazing my cheek gently as he spoke again, but this time, there was an undeniable sincerity to his voice. “You are more than enough, (Y/N),” he poked his finger at my chest forcefully, as if to really drive his point home, his gaze into my eyes intense, as if he was disappointed in himself that I even managed to feel this way with him, “You’re more than enough for me. I don’t want anyone else, and I don’t need anyone else. I don’t need you to be anything more than what you already are,” he let out a soft, exasperated laugh, “I love you, (Y/N).”

The words hung in the air between us, and I froze, my breath catching in my throat. It was the first time he’d said it, and the weight of it made my chest tighten. I searched his face, looking for any hint of doubt, but all I saw was sincerity.

The three words were everything I didn’t know I needed to hear. They were like the magic bandaid to every doubt in my head. I had skirted around that particular phrase the last four months possibly because I was afraid. I was afraid he wouldn’t feel the same; I was afraid of saying them over the phone, fearing he might not take it as seriously. But now, hearing Nicholas say those words… it was like I could finally let myself go of every doubt. He loved me.

“I love you,” he repeated, his voice steady and sure. “I know you’re scared, but please, don’t push me away.”

I rested my forehead against his, his breath mingling with mine. "Say it again," I whispered, my voice low.

He didn't need to ask what I had meant. He knew. He placed his hands on either side of my face, his thumbs brushing along the apples of my cheeks as he looked into my eyes. "I love you, (Y/N)," he said softly, letting every ounce of truth and emotion he felt pour into the words. "I'm so in love with you."

My eyes closed for a moment, as if I was letting the words wash over me, and when I opened them again, the intensity in his gaze was overwhelming. My tears came harder now, but they weren’t from sadness anymore. I couldn’t speak, couldn’t find the words to respond, so I just nodded, burying my face in his chest as he held me tighter.

“I’ve got you,” he murmured, his lips brushing the top of my head. “I’m not going anywhere.”

For the first time all day, the knot in my chest began to loosen. In his arms, the noise of the world outside seemed to fade, and all that was left was the steady beat of his heart against mine.

As I rested in his embrace, a quiet realization began to form within me. I had become so caught up in my own thoughts and nonexistent expectations, that I had lost part of myself during that spiral. I didn’t need to be perfect. I didn��t need to have everything figured out. I didn’t need to match his pace or mold myself to fit his world. At that moment, I understood something crucial. Love, true love, wasn’t about perfection or fitting into a certain mold. It was about vulnerability. It was about showing up as you are, flaws and all, and trusting that the person who truly cares for you will see you — not as someone to fix or improve, but as someone worth loving exactly as you are.

I pulled back slightly, looking into Nicholas’s eyes once more. His gaze was still soft, still steady, and I felt a small but powerful sense of peace settle within me.

“Thank you,” I whispered, barely audible, but enough for him to hear. “For everything.”

He smiled, brushing a stray tear from my cheek. He reached for the charm resting on my collarbones, “I’m here for you, always, even when I’m not.”

The next morning, I found myself at the airport, the quiet hum of early-morning travelers around me. I had a new sense of calm, the kind that only comes after a storm has passed. My flight was in a few hours, and I was heading back to my life, but something had shifted. I wasn’t just returning home physically; I was coming back with a renewed sense of self, thanks to Nicholas’s reassurance.

I’d always been so afraid of feeling weak, of needing someone — maybe that was the true reason none of those fruitless conversations on dating apps went anywhere. But now I saw that allowing myself to lean on someone, on Nicholas, didn’t make me less of who I was. It made me stronger. I was allowed to have my doubts and insecurities, but I also had the right to trust in the love we shared — a love that didn’t demand perfection

I couldn’t help but smile to myself as I thought of his words, the warmth of his touch still lingering on my skin, and the certainty in his voice when he’d told me that I was enough. I hadn’t truly understood it until now, but I finally realized that love wasn’t something that should add pressure to my life. It should bring peace, acceptance, and the feeling that I wasn’t alone in the chaos. Nicholas had shown me that.

“I’ll miss having you in my bed,” Nicholas smiled as he pulled me in toward him by my hips, smiling.

“Sleeping or… not sleeping?” I asked, teasingly.

Nicholas chuckled softly, his eyes twinkling with mischief. “Both, actually,” he replied, brushing a strand of hair from my face. “But I’ll survive, I guess. You’ll be back before I know it.”

His words wrapped around me like a warm embrace, but there was a bittersweet edge to them. I could feel the tug of my heart at the thought of leaving, of returning home, even though I so desperately wanted to return just the day before. But that was before Nicholas and I had shared our feelings to each other. Right now, leaving was the last thing I wanted.

I stepped back lightly, flabbergasted at his words. “Uh-uh. It’s your turn to visit me now.”

Nicholas’s grin widened, a playful spark dancing in his eyes. “Just tell me when you’re free, and I’ll be there,” he said, stepping closer again, his hand gently resting on my waist. “I’d love to meet your family,” he chuckled.

I laughed, “Trust me, I think you’d run in the opposite direction.”

“Then we’ll just have to see then, won’t we?” He smirked, kissing me on the forehead.

His words left me breathless for a second. This wasn’t some flippant comment. He was serious. He wanted to be part of my life, to be present in a way that went beyond the physical, beyond the fleeting weekends. But that idea scared me, not because I was afraid of letting him meet my family but because I was afraid of letting my family meet him.

“Call me when you land?” He asked.

“Of course,” I said softly, my voice catching as I looked up at him. “You’ll probably hear from me before I even get out of the airport.”

“Good,” Nicholas replied with a small smile, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek. “Because I’ll be counting the minutes.”

I laughed, shaking my head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you love it,” he said, his grin widening, a mix of confidence and tenderness in his expression.

I didn’t deny it. Instead, I leaned into him one last time, savoring the warmth of his arms around me, the steady beat of his heart beneath my cheek. This moment — this man — felt like home in a way I hadn’t expected, and it gave me the strength I needed to step away.

“I really have to go,” I murmured reluctantly, my hands lingering on his chest.

Nicholas sighed, his grip tightening for a brief moment before he let me go. “I know. Maybe I’ll get a chance to visit you before production starts.”

My eyes widened at his words, the realization washing over me. I yelped in excitement, quickly covering my mouth, “Oh, my god, you got the part?!”

Nicholas nodded his head rapidly, “I did,” he smiled.

I pulled him in for the tightest hug I could give him. “That’s incredible!” I exclaimed, my voice muffled against his chest. I was practically jumping for joy. “When does it start?”

“I think around the holidays,” Nicholas calmly answered, a tinge of giddiness under his words.

I flashed him an approving smile, “I’m so proud of you, Nicholas,” I said, giving him one last hug. “You can tell me more about it once I call. I have a plane to catch.”

He reached out for my hand, pulling me into one last unforgettable kiss to tide me over until our next reunion. Nicholas’s hand slid up to cradle my cheek, his thumb tracing a soft line along my jaw as he leaned in. His lips brushed mine gently at first, as though he was savoring every second of this moment. Then the kiss deepened, his other hand finding the small of my back and pulling me closer. There was something different about this kiss, something raw and unspoken. It wasn’t just a goodbye; it was a promise. A promise that no matter the miles between us, no matter how long it took, we’d find our way back to each other.

I felt my knees weaken, and I clung to him, desperate to hold onto this connection for just a moment longer. His fingers tangled briefly in my hair as his lips lingered on mine, slow and deliberate, as if he was trying to memorize every curve and contour. When we finally pulled apart, I was breathless, my heart pounding so hard I was sure he could hear it.

“‘So we beat on,’” he whispered, smiling.

I looked up at him through my eyelashes, “‘boats against the current.’”

With one last lingering look, I turned and walked toward the security line, forcing myself not to glance back even though every fiber of my being screamed to do so. When I finally reached the checkpoint, I glanced over my shoulder and found him still standing there, his hands in his pockets, watching me with that same soft, steady smile that had anchored me through so much.

And as I made my way over to the terminal, I felt a quiet certainty settle over me — I’m so fucked if he visits my family during the holidays.

Continue the story with 'Room On Fire' (Part 3)

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