#my favorite stories will always be the ones with contrast; let me see the characters be happy during hard times!

[lustlovehart]

uhm uhm uhm maybe,, SOMETHINF angsty Y/n x Twst Character because I’m craving angst :33

prompt; Y/n adores [TWST Character], and [TC] ignores it. Ignores all of Y/n’a affections. As time passes Y/n slowly loses all of those feelings and then [TC] starts gaining feelings for Y/n. They know, they know it’s too late. But they need You, they can’t let go of you.

Characters?? ;; Riddle, Azul, Kalim OR one of them! I know ur suuper busy so I don’t wanna pressure you that much. It’s okay if you make the story short, I don’t care! I’m just happy you took the time to read this! Take caaareee 🫶🫶

—🐍anon (the first one to comment on ur recent post wink wink)

Jellyfish Flow to Tide, Never to Heart

A/n: I won’t lie, One of my favorite angst prompts has always been the “Noticed too late” plot device, the idea of what could’ve been had you seen it earlier is so heart-wrenching to me (ಡ‸ಡ) Also, thank you for the take care comments!! You guys are so sweet <3

Pairing: Azul Ashengrotto x Reader, Ft. Jade Leech

Warnings: Angst,You fall in love with someone else when he realizes his feelings, Jade’s a cuck, Jealousy, Attempted Kissing, Azuls very pathetic in this one, Spelling errors

You’re sat in front of Azul as he diligently counts this months expenses and gains. It looks mostly like complicated math, but… you’ve been looking into accounting in hopes of Azul looking at you the same way you do to him.

You were the first one to check up on Azul after his overblot, the twins a close second. Nonetheless, you were still first. You’re the one who attempts to genuinely talk to the real Azul, not the suave “benevolent” businessman he presents himself as.

Yet you’re attempts to pursue fall flat each time.

“Would you like to schedule a meeting? Is that why you’re here?” his cerulean eyes gaze over his glasses to take a glance at you, his eyes searching for a reason to your presence, thought he doesn’t find one, as you don’t have one.

Except to see him.

“I… I want…!”

“Pease make it quick Jellyfish, I have other attendants to meet.” Jellyfish, a name he assigned to you at the detail of your deamenour. Venomous, yet pretty to look at.

It makes you heart float like one.

But there’s not time for that. In your desperation, you make a choice you should never resort to, but in your defense, it’s what came to mind first.

“I…! I wanna make a contract with you…!”

The business man in him perks up at the suggestion, but falls back down to earth when he remembers you don’t have much to offer. But, there is one thing.

“My benevolence has left me besseeched, tell me what you want, and i’ll tell you my exchange.”

“Go on a da… hangout.” you quickly save yourself from a straightforward confession, only narrowly doging through the little piece of anxiety with fear.

“… That’s all?”

“That’s all.”

His cautious reply reminds you of when you first visited him in the infirmary. You were rooted to the side next to his bed, insistent on seeing him to the end of his treatment.

It was admittedly a pain to him, having you spout endless positivity his way, placing your hands on his skin to help ease any injuries he catered from his overblot. You touch was soft, gentle, a stark contrast to the dark ink that cradled him deep within. It’s unsettling how very out of touch you are to the group of students at Night Raven College.

When he awoke from his long sleep, the feeling of a warm palm enveloping his own made him quirk an eyebrow, his vision squinting to look down at your face nuzzled into his skin, only being strirred by the touch of a single finger flicking you awake.

“You’ll have to pay me a good fortune in order to use me as your pillow.”

“Too bad i’m broke.” you already know he’s gonna offer you to grace him with a different reward, but your expectations are proven false when he only sighs, sinking into the plush pillow under him.

He hasn’t let you go yet. His warm limb, typically adorned with a leather glove, is bare, naked possibly. Holding hands with him could even be scandalous. This sense of vulnerability made you wonder, just what is the true Azul like? You’ve seen a glimpse behind that counterfeit display of his, but not enough to truly gauge him.

“Azul, we should go out.”

“… How direct.” He thinks you’re joking. “We can do that when you wish to form another contract with me.” But you’re not.

“Aww, and I thought you’d change…” You weren’t kidding, but you play off of him as if you were. “Are you sure you’re as benevolent as you say?” The door behind you quietly creaks open, neither you nor the aquatic patient notice the sound.

“My, it’s rude to be mean to a recovering patient you know.”

“This recovering patient seems well enough to start scamming though huh?”

“Not scamming, just business.” Those four words, were the second moment that stirred your interest in Azul. It was then, you vowed to become closer to the man you hold hands with in that room.

You’re ready for whatever piece of skepticism he’ll trade you. He only pays you a sigh before snapping his fingers, the familar golden scroll coming into view.

“For 3 months, i’ll accompany you in these outings, providing for the funds necesary, though, with my benevloence, this deal can only be broken when you’re satisfied with my service. In return, I want the plant Crowley has been secretly cultivating within your dorm.”

“… Those…? Aren’t those used in love potions…? What do you need that for?”

“Someone’s been paying attention in class— kind of. It’s more so enamor rather than love.” His gloved hand airs the scroll forwards, the thin slip falling into place, your eyes scanning for any sign of vague wording. You may have a deeply festered infatuation for him, but that doesn’t mean you’re foolish enough to dive in without warning.

“Same thing. Still doesn’t answer why you need it.”

“We’ll save it, for a rainy day of course!”

You’re not sure if he means for himself, or for a client. Either way, you got what you wanted.

“Y’know… I know I asked to hangout, but I wasn’t expecting you to go all out…” your bottom awkwardly shifts on the cushioned chair beneath you, the leather squeaking at your movement.

“Nonsense, I only provide the best.” Yes, because the best, is the Mostro Lounge all empty.

It’s deserted, but you can see the effort he went through for it. The lights are dimmed, and the table you’re both sat at is covered with a pretty tablecloth, readily made food adorning the surface. Even the man on the other side of the table is dressed in a fancy suit, different from his typical cafe uniform.

You thought it was just gonna be talking about regular mundane things, not an expensive dinner for heavens sake. You feel so out of place inside, still adorning your loose fitting pajamas.

“The best…? I’m not sure, would’ve been the best if I dressed for the occasion…”

“Why? I want you to be comfortable, besides, you look quite nice all the time.” You don’t want his words to fluster you, yet you can’t stop the creeping warmth that invades your face at his statement.

“Then, I think you should change out of that suit and join me.” It’s his turn to track back, his eyes slightly widening before flaling back into their usual shape.

“That would be improper.” His hands stiffen when you reach out towards him, your warm palm now rubbing circles into his skin, slowly bringing the limb to your face.

“Than lets be improper together.”

In this moment, Azuls not sure feeling what rushes through his hearts. All he knows, is that it tightens in his chest so hard he might as well stop breathing. The logical part of him though shoves such a heart wrenching pain away, locking it deep down so its ugly head isn’t allowed to rear back at him.

It’s vulnerable, too close. He won’t fall for such a foolish trap. He won’t stuff himself into that octopot anymore.

“I don’t think we should.” Your soft hands are quick to let go of him, your body sinking into your chair at his words. He’s about to chase after the heat from your palms before remembering it was him who chased you away.

“You’re right, sorry…” He wishes he had worn his glasses, maybe then he wouldn’t see the way you look so hurt right across from him. It’s quick, but you seem to recover fast from his rejection, smiling as you clap your hands together. “I should get to know the real Azul before he allows himself to be so informal around me!”

“You jump back quickly don’t you…”

“If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have stayed with you the entire time you were in the infirmary would I?” You’re right. He wasn’t exactly the most welcoming when receiving your attention, yet you stayed until he began softening up and finally letting you help tend to him. It reminds him of right now, even though he just bluntly shot your attempt of befriending him down, you’re still being so happy. Your smile falters for a moment, eyes looking down at him before speaking. “I wasn’t lying. I want to know the real Azul.”

He’s silent. Why would you want to know the him that’s… Just utterly pathetic….?

“I wish you good luck on your endeavors—”

“But, you don’t believe in luck.”

“Ah, so you remembered that?” He’s taken a back for a second time of the night.

“I told you I wanted to know you, it makes sense I would, wouldn’t it?”

“I suppose it does.”

“It does.” You parrot his words, as if they’re your favorite flavor and you’re attempting to savor the taste. Azul secretly wishes you would stop smiling already. It’s making his hearts hurt.

“You’ve made me curious Jellyfish, why do you want to know me so bad?” He watches as your expression contorts, first in shock, next in confusion, and finally in defeat.

“I… I’m not sure… Well maybe because…?” I liked you before you even overblotted? No way, too direct. “Ah! Because I just wanna!”

“… You’re much too broad in your answers,” he pours you a glass of sparkling water into your glass cup. “If you wish to know a method of elongating the truth, I happen to know quite a few.” Of course he does…

“Let me hear them then, Cephalo.”

“Ah, well if you ask so kindly I’m inclined to agree. “ he scoots his chair in as he instructs you through his ways of scam.

A few minutes pass before you take a chance at his lesson of spinning the truth, inhaling before speaking.

“I think this opportunity would be great so I can confess to the guy I like.”

“My and who could the mystery man be?”

… You didn’t think this far ahead.

But maybe, this could work in your favor.

“I like y—“

A loud clang is sounded on the table as a covered tray is practically slammed onto the wooden surface.

“Jade…! You…! If this table has a scratch on it I hope you realize that’s coming out of your next check…!”

“Ah, forgive me Azul, I seemed to have tripped” Did he really? That seemed way too hard to have been on accident… Jade resumes to his full height, his smile lacking the usually conniving it usually does when he looks at you before turning back to Azul. “You told me to intervene when the clock strikes midnight.”

You’re ready to reach for your phone to check the time, slyly being stopped by Jades gloved hand gripping you wrist, his free finger pointing towards the clock on the wall.

Has it really been that long already…?

“So it seems… Unfortunately, we’ll have to call this hangout off. I wish you a safe travel back—“

“There’s no need, I shall accompany them back home.”

…

You and Azul are both silent at the proposition.

“Uhm, I’m okay Jade. It’s late; you should probably go to sleep—“

“I insist.” It’s not like you wouldn’t enjoy company… You’re just, a bit afraid of Jade… You look back at Azul, his countenance not giving you any sort of hint on whether or not you should take his offer. Without realizing, your hand is slowly lifted up towards Jades face, his form slightly bowing as a promise is spoken on his lips. “Do not worry, I just wish to stand by your side.”

You have a gnawing suspicion those spoken words mean much more than he lets on.

It isn’t until you’re in the comfort of your bed you check your phone.

It’s 11:27 pm.

Why was the clock ahead of time?

The lights of your dorm shine bright on your skin, further displaying your beauty to Azuls eyes. Your soft breaths carefully enevlop the room, each one sounding like a music note.

His elbow props his head up from the pillow, your body never leaving his visage. He carefully allows his fingers to ghost of the skin of your arm, smiling when your eyes begin to flutter open.

“... You... Let me sleep...“ quiet laughs escape him when you turn over and lift the sheets to shield yourself from the man next to you.

“Only 5 minutes, we did plan this entire day, can’t let it go to waste right?” Your hand emerges from beneath the blanket, waving him off before retreating back into your cocoon. Azul sighs before letting his arms wrap around you, enveloping your body as he rests his head on yours. His voice is soft, sweet, like he’s attempting to coo you out of your protective layer and back into reality. “Would you prefer spending our entire day in bed? I don’t mind but that would mean we don’t get to go out to eat like we penned.”

He watches as you flip over the covers and practically fall off the mattress, his arms reflexively reaching out to catch you.

“Well come on! You’re a busy businessman it doesn’t do you any good to stay in bed!” His smile reaches his lips for once, not the typical cunning smile he trades when making deals, a true genuine smile of joy.

Wait, when did he become so enamored with you?

He’s frozen in place, only watching you get ready in a hurry, clothes flying in the air as they stray across your shared bedroom floor.

Shared?

“… Why are you gawking at me like that? Surely my husband has seen me get ready enough times to not be so entranced.” Your clothes are loosely fit to your body, not yet fully on your skin.

Husband?

“I don’t think so, it’ll have to be at least your last day on twisted wonderland before that happens. By then, I’ll be too focused on all of you.” You’re sat on the floor, watching him slowly walk over to you, his hand caging your cheek as he leans down into you.

Your lips are mere centimeters apart, your mouth slightly parted when soft lips ghost over your own.

“… Am I really that interesting to you?” Your words are hushed. If you weren’t in the comfort of your room, he would’ve never heard those syllables. Yet, that’s not the case, because it’s you two, only you two.

“You always have been.” He closes the distance, his eyes fluttering shut when he leans into the warmth of your lips, only stopping when a quick jolt of energy shoots up his spine.

He never got the chance to feel you.

…

Azul wakes up to the sight of his empty desk.

“Oh my, I was just about to wake you up from such a sweet dream.” Jade is stood in front of the table, his gloved hand placed over his heart. “You seemed to be calling so sweetly for [Name].” That smile of his makes Azuls eye twitch.

“Ignoring your brazen care for privacy, what do you need Jade?” His once unkempt appearance is back to its natural state, his glasses corrected and his hair no longer disheveled.

“Coincidentally, it’s about your dear dream lover.”

…

“What about them?”

“Has [Name] ever mentioned an Ideal Date?” This endearment makes Azul finally take notice of the bouquet of flowers Jade has hidden in his concealed hand. Coincidentally, both your favorite kind, and your favorite color. Since when did he have the knowledge to such info.

“… If they did, I wouldn’t tell you.” His reply doesn’t stir anything in Jade, and if it did, it certainly is concealed well enough to not peak through any part of him. That slick smile doesn’t leave the eels mouth, his head only tilting to signal any sign of disappointment.

“How unfortunate.” He takes a bow before turning heel, the bouquet now on full display to Azul. There’s a letter neatly wrapped to the floral, addressed to you.

My dear, Jellyfish.

…

Azul thinks it’s foolish. That name was made by him, so why is it coming from Jade too?

Eventually, your summons begin to happen less and less, no more outings for the two of you left to seize. Azul sits in his office, his chin places on his clasped hands as he stares at the door. Papers are no longer neatly piled like they used to be, only scattered around the desk with messed scribbles of what used to be Azul's neat handwriting.

He’s waiting. He’s been doing such a thing for a week, simply because, you’ve yet to summon him to your side.

You’ve yet to want him, like you did before.

He’s not sure why he’s so fixated on your attention. Before it was just for the business he required from you, each weekly date— no, you never did call it a date, neither did he… when exactly did he start calling it such an intimate occurrence?

Either way, this arrangement started as a way for you to build up courage for the one you wished to confess to, he started suave, distant, trying his best to embody the mystery man you wished to romance.

Then, at some point, he started filling in the empty placement he left for your suitor, with himself. Instead of trying to be anyone else, he gave you answers to your questions filled with his own character, his favorite foods, his favorite hobbies, his feelings, him, all him.

He gave you all of him, every fragment, every single piece of him he wouldn’t even trust himself with, just for a temporary arrangement. He was a fool, a stupid pathetic cepahlo, how could he just sell out all his cards for this…! It reminds him of his pathetic octo pot, the one he would crawl into in piques of shame.

He’s sure, he’d crawl into it right now had it followed him on land.

You… When he looks at the selfie you took on his phone, a pang sores through the blue blood in his veins. Not his hearts, never those, because you took all three of them when you left him.

He was a fool to not have noticed your affections earlier, had he done so, maybe he wouldn’t need to be locked up in his office, burying his head in his hands at the mere thought of you—

“I insist, it would be improper to let you freeze as I walk perfectly warm next to you.”

“I’m gonna regret this later aren’t I…”

Azuls quick to push himself off his desk, peeking through the crack of the door, his blue eyes spying an all to familar eel peer back at him, with one of the most fiendish smiles he’s ever seen on him.

Truthfully, there isn’t malice behind his smile, if anything, the smile on his lips is the courteous respectful one he always trades people. At the moment though, Azul’s current visage skews his expression, turning a respectful act into that of spite.

He’s ready to storm out and dump as much work as possible onto him, he’s preparing to do it before halting when he sees you again. You’re still just as beautiful as you were last week, and the week before. No, you must’ve started glowing more.

Just like a jellyfish.

“Jade are we gonna go? If you don’t want to anymore I can just walk alone.” your hands wraps around his arm, gently pulling him your direction. Enough for him to move, but not enough to force him your way.

“Yes, do not worry i’m coming—”

“Jade, there you are. I’ve been looking for you, our expenses for supplies have remained unaccounted for, that has always been your job has it not?” The frames of his glasses suffer from the glare of lunge lights, it works in his favor though, without it you would’ve noticed the sense of hurt in his eyes when he stares at you.

“Ah, that is unfortunate timing, I was meant to walk [Name] home—“

“Than it seems I should accompany them in your place, as you will be busy, very busy, correct?” Jades thin-lined smile doesn’t give much away for his current countenance, before he takes his leave, he turns towards you and bows, a gently farewell leaving his lips.

“Wait…! I should give you back your jacket shouldn’t I?”

He didn’t even notice you were garnering the eels wear. In fact, when did you start smelling like Jade? The soft smell of herbal tea Azul had rubbed off on you has basically dissipated off your body. It’s like, all traces of him have disappeared from you.

“It’s okay, keep it.”

Azul watches the way you open your mouth to retort Jade, knowing you, he’s sure you would’ve told him “and risk being in debt to you?” But then your lips close in on themselves and you tug the blazer ever so close to your warmth.

When did Jade become the center of your attention?

Azul beckons you out the door, his hand ready to lay itself on your waist like it once did in the past, but the limb restrains itself without him even commanding to do so.

The walk is silent, save for the footsteps of your shoes clanking against the flooring of their dorm. But, Azuls fine with it, as long as you don’t request for him to do the thing he’s been dreading for the past few weeks. He hopes, he prays you won’t do it. If you don’t, he’ll consider such a thing his lucky day.

But then again, when has Azul ever believed in something like luck?

“I’m satisfied with the deal we made. I’ll give you those flowers and… we can end this contract—”

“You’re ready to confess to your mystery love than? Forgive me, but I took to inspecting flowers. Has Crowley forgotten them? It seems they’re wilted… What poor unfortunate plants.”

“Wha…? When were you in my dorm Azul?”

“Floyd enjoys wandering into places that aren't his to be in.” Azuls fits his glove to his hand, the material stretching over his skin. It seems to you like an act of prim elegance, to him, it’s a subtle way of calming his aching, trembling nerves. “You should know by now the great deal of effort it takes to get him to listen...“

“Well even then, last time I checked they looked completely healthy!”

“And when was that?”

“… 4 days ago… In my defense they’re Crowleys responsibility not mine!”

“Yet there’s still some fault to be found in you…” He’s not wrong, unfortunately… You put them in as collateral for the contract yet you never took any effort to keep them in prim shape. You stop in your tracks, almost tripping over yourself. Your eyes watch Azul pull a box of tea bags out from his pocket, gently shaking the cube as the bags inside hit the interior. “When we get back, do we mind having the discussion over tea?”

You should be suspicious, but, after all the time spent with him, even if you no longer harbor the feeling you once did for him, you trust him.

“Fine, but this better not be some elaborate trick of yours!” He laughs to it, but provides no further comments.

“So, about the contract—“ you’re ready to lift the tea cups rim to your lips, the golden liquid shining with the light.

“Are you in love with Jade?” You sputter out the liquid that hadn’t even made its way into your mouth.

“Wha—? Nahh… Well…! Uhmm….” Your reaction is way too obvious. If you had a cliff anywhere near you, there’s no doubt you would’ve jumped off in pure embarrassment. “Love is… surely a strong word, let’s describe it as more like… A growing infatuation!” You bury your head in your hands after ruminating on that rewording. If anything, it’s sounds more intimate than love….

“I see. So then, were you imagining me as him?” You’re struck out of your embarrassment, looking back up at the dull blue of his irises.

“No. I never did.” You don’t see nor hear it, but the leather of his clothes crunches loudly with the increasing pressure of his fist, slowly tightening.

“Are you sure? This contract is coming to an end, you do not need to hide such details anymore—“

“On those dates,” the word date was already enough to make his posture straighten, the words you later speak only furthering this case.”I imagined you to be you.”

“… What do you mean?”

“I liked you back then, Azul.”

Azul is practically biting his cheek at this revelation, the inside of his mouth salivating with blue blood. You… You must be joking, it can’t no…

“Wh… When did you… you stop…?” He thinks he sounds pathetic. No… he must sound pathetic. His perfectly curated voice is beginning to crack as small slips of voice squeaks escape into his speech.

“When it seemed like you didn’t want anyone to see the real you.” That…! that was just because he didn’t want you finding the sad pitiful octomer behind this suave persona…! He wanted you to fall in love with the version he wanted to be! Not the forlorn octopus he truthfully is and always has been…! “I tried, I really did, to finally have you set free of that wall. I wanted… I wanted to fall in love with the man behind the business. But at some point, it’s like, there was no man, only business.” Your hands scoot over the table, one last time, the lovely feeling of your palms encaging his is felt.

For the last time…

Before you can speak your next sentence, Azul lets words that are far to late to tell you escape him.

“I love you.”

…

There’s silence only. You don’t reciprocate the words you longed to hear him say so far ago in the past.

“And I loved you, Azul.” The emphasize on the past tense practically threatens him to spill over on the table and eat himself limb from limb. The sorrowful yet happy smile from you is enough to stop him, but not enough to cease the thought.

He takes a deep breath in before smiling, his once stiff posture melting into the chair.

“Well then, we should finish this tea, I wouldn’t want it to go to waste.”

“Oh…! You’re right.” The upward turn on your lips as you lift the cup reminds him of your dates. His head turns to the side to finally make a comment on the poor fully curated flowers on the windowsill, the ones that were offered up on your contract.

“They’re wilted, yet they still look pretty. Much more, they’re shaped like jellyfish, aren’t they, Jellyfish?” You wait for the pink liquid to travel down your throat before replying.

“They are. That reminds me, why wouldn’t you want them if they’re wilted?”

“In their natural state they provide the effect of admiration and gentle love with the first party they see,” you quaff the rest of the pink liquid into your stomach, the fruity aftertaste stuck in your mouth. “When wilted, the effect is… differnt”

“Huh, interesting.” You tug Jades overcoat closer into your body, his cologne invading your nose. You glance to the window just as Azul is, your eyes tracing over each plant. “Huh… There’s 9. There used to be 10…”

“How peculiar… Perhaps a ghost took it for a rainy day.” He’s not wrong, they have a tendency to steal snacks, so it’s entirely plausible.

“Yeah maybe.” Your phone rings, your fingers slipping the device out of your pocket as you glance at the notification. “Jade’s asking me if I want to go on his next mountain hike… Like, right now…”

“You should probably go then.” You didn’t realize it, but since when has your hand been intertwined with Azuls? But even then, why is this blazer the sweetest-smelling thing you’ve ever worn? “You have a growing infatuation.”

“You’re right… I should…”

You don’t know what it is, but your body feels light, hollow even. When you drag yourself up out the door, it’s as if your body is simply flowing through a tide.

“There you are [Name].” you look up the spot on the floor you were staring at, being met with the pretty sight of Jade in front of you. Yet despite it, you look back at Azul, waving a kind goodbye before setting foot.

You miss the look of fondness he trades you, and in turn, you miss the pure sorrow that tears into his eyes.

When the door shuts, Azuls left at the table, his head turning down into the wood as the smile he dealt you is no longer to be seen, the darkness seemingly surrounding him. Just like it did when he overblotted, except…

You won’t be there to comfort him, when he’s left in that wretched white bed,

All alone.

A/n: To be honest, I was so conflcited on who should be Azuls love rival in this fic. If I chose Riddle, It would make the fic have two of your requested characters, also Azuls one sides rivarly would’ve been delicious to write. On the other hand, Jamil who he consistently praises, stealing the one thing he genuinely wanted would’ve been good. Then I realized, Jade is right there. Azul doesn’t consider Jade above him, if anything they’re on equal footing, he just tends to take charge more. Which is exactly what confuddles him more, are Jade and him… basicallly not the same person? (they’re not similar, but Azuls just blinded with grief).

Also, This ended up being way longer than expected (ᗒᗣᗕ)՞

[aquickstart]

i need to talk to you guys about the colors of the Cattons (Felix specifically) and Oliver. the clothes they are wearing are telling the story of Oliver taking over and leaving his mark throughout the whole movie, with Oliver's failures and successes and a final triumph. holy shit. get in. this is long and ends in ancient greek culture trivia. let;s talk please.

disclaimer: am starting from Oliver's arrival at Saltburn. before that the outfits are also very intentional, but it's a lot more complicated and it has been discussed before. the world distorts once we are at Saltburn and the story gets truly gothic there, and every detail—including color!—is enhanced in meaning. also, special thanks to @kivlaro for doing this with me, the thoughts on this specifically and the Saltburn craze on the whole. pics and detailed analysis under the cut!

let's start from the beginning. here is Oliver at the door. simple, blue shirt.

the shirt is sort of its own character. logically it makes sense as Oliver's suitcase is small and he spends the whole summer there, of course he'll rewear stuff a bunch. but it is blue.

in contrast to Felix, in yellow. yellow is one of Felix's colors (he is the sun, which i've talked about here btw, so this makes sense).

same to Pamela, in blue. first time we see her, she is next to Elspeth, wearing the color that is Oliver's, taking the place that he takes right away, in this very scene. the only other time she is physically present on screen is at dinner, in black and white, and black and white are a blank slate. she is stripped of color and gone very fast.

a bit of crucial data for later: Oliver, in blue, and Felix in pink. pink is very important on Felix. this is their first morning together. they are separate and opposite, solid, contained.

where it starts to get good is the morning after the vampire strike.

Venetia is a Felix extension, just as everyone in the house is to Oliver. i will eventually rant about Saltburn as a whole entity and Cattons as aspects of one self, and Oliver as psychosis, but not here. so, yes, Venetia is a pink riot, a euphoria of self-containment because Oliver gave her a piece of something she felt she lacked to feel whole (validation, attention, care), not a piece of blue, of himself. Oliver is expectedly solid blue. Felix is incredibly interesting and something i didn't pay much attention to at first: predominantly blue, incredibly upset at Oliver for ditching him, with a tile of bright red (on the left! close to heart! over-reaching here but like still!), which still tracks. i mean, really, if i had so much foreign color bleed into me and then abandoned, i'd be pissed, too. nice little touch is sir James' beloved hydrangeas, behind Felix, also pink, very pink, always pink; i don't think i've seen them blue in the movie, although the sort exists.

Farleigh. sweet baby Farleigh i love you. I'm not dead-set on my interpretation of this specifically but i think multiple things are happening with Oliver and Farleigh here. like Rent, which is their song, blue is their color of outsiders and the triers to fit in. Farleigh points out the favoritism and preference of Oliver to him and his mother here, so it may also be appropriation of color to draw attention to Farleigh as almost (but never quite) Oliver. it may also be as simple as that Farleigh, as much as he denies and resists, still retains Oliver's influence, which bleeds into him very slowly.

a nice little moment of Felix wearing blue swim shorts with just tiny specks of a pink pattern. Oliver's shorts also have a bit of pink, but less than Felix's. Oliver is pretty good at remaining unaffected and uninfluenced overall.

and we're getting to where it all clicked and started for me. the Quick family house, the failed reconciliation, and the immediate aftermath. oh it's so good.

on the drive there, Oliver is blue, Felix has a pink polo shirt with a solid blue pullover over it. this is the most blue Felix has ever been (this is the most blue he will ever be!), this is trust. however shaky and toxic it is, Felix loves Oliver and accepts him into his world. as a side note, Oliver's parents are also very blue, mom more so than dad. nice!

and then it crashes. immediately after, it's the evening of the same day, but Felix is not wearing the blue pullover anymore. this is very, very important. this is rejection. it's the end for Oliver in Felix's world and with his trust. Felix, again, in solid pink, Oliver in solid blue. Felix successfully rips him out with the roots and everything. ouch.

daddy. sorry. is that highlighter? sweat? fuck. let me- daddy. SORRY

no i actually have a point about this.

the clothes are replaced by the lights, but we roll with it. Oliver basks in the blue-green light, while Felix is on the other side, in pink and purple and red. sure, blue shines through, and Oliver also walks through the slashes of pink, but it is mostly pretty separate, Oliver watching Felix's pink in his own blue from a distance.

the morning after palette is deep. the wine color that is so prominent in these scenes is fascinating to me. if i were to over-reach again i'd say it's the Oliver in Felix's attributes and in his place that requires the robe to be so dark, not usual definite pink, because deep blue has leaked into the color itself, mixed with it, made itself integral to the shade. but it's also just a nice color, and it is pink in its core. the flowers (with sir James in the background) i think are also this specific shade for the same reason. you look at what remains of Felix everywhere here, and it is his color.

and finally oh the lunch scene. the last supper. the judgement day. the who's afraid of virginia woolf madness.

i think we've established what's up with Oliver, but i also think it's important that he is his own color at lunch but in Felix's pink/wine right before and after. lunch is where he attacks, whereas before and after is where he grieves and enjoys. Farleigh is almost completely blue save for a strip of the same deep pink, and he is soon cast out, and Venetia is striped, blue and pink/salmon, affected deeply by Oliver yet still clinging on to the Catton pink with grief, probably, but also love for Felix.

and after all this, Oliver leaves himself.

no, like, actually, literally himself. sure, he'd got a taste of the Cattons and the pink, but he is a monolith, a solid blue when he leaves Saltburn. he has not been affected by the house, he has taken what he wanted but stayed true and whole. what a power move, honestly.

but it's an even bigger deal that 16 years later, Elspeth runs into Oliver wearing all white and a blue scarf. oh, she's not let this go, alright; it was a long time ago, "but not to me," she says. What Oliver has been up to in that time is a great question, without a doubt he's been keeping tabs on the remaining family as much as he could; but Elspeth has never moved on, either. She has held on to Oliver's blue and the pink is not important at all now. Oliver, of course, is invariably, unwaveringly blue. welcome back to his show.

and welcome back to his triumph.

the only color (except for, again, white and black) we see him wear in the flashback about Saltburn inheritance is the all-too familiar deep pink. wine. bright pink mixed with deep blue.

now i will take a liberty and step back, over-reach, over-interpret and go insane. here's a fun bit on ancient greek culture trivia for you.

this is an interesting and complicated historiographical and linguistic debate that i will not even attempt to relay here, but the essence of it is this: for us, the sea is conventionally deep blue. historically, one of the most prominent civilizations considered "deep wine" to be the descriptor for it (not necessarily the color but the property. highly rec to look this up it's so fascinating). what it gives me here is that Oliver has changed color, but not his self. he has integrated, mixed, but persisted, completely winning over, triumphing. long live the king!

in conclusion, i would just like to propose "colors" by halsey as the next cattonquick anthem. thank you for your attention, please let me know your thoughts. yours, yes, you. cheers. god. peace out

[blog-o-meter]

Room On Fire - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

summary: With a few extra days left for holiday break before having to return to set, Nicholas holds up his end of the deal and decides to visit (Y/N) before the new year to get to know her family. (Y/N) is excited but nervous to have him over, and of course, things don’t go as planned.

warnings: 18+, unprotected p in v, fingering, blowjob, shower sex, recording, public sex

required listening: Rooms On Fire by Stevie Nicks

word count: 42,987

a/n: oh my god guys 42k words CRYING EMOJI!! ok so since this one is so long, I might take a short break from the room series until I can figure out where the story might be going next and maybe focus my efforts on shorter, isolated fics. pls pls PLEASE let me know what you liked/didn't like, as it'll help me with improving my writing!! and if you'd like, send requests/ideas to my ask!! I'll definitely need the help to get out of the 'room' box I put myself in. Again, you don’t need to read the other parts, each part could be enjoyed individually!

Room 5 (Part 1) | Making Room (Part 2) | Room To Breathe (Part 4)

reblogs and likes are greatly appreciated and let me know if you’d like to see more!

It arrived — the day that I had been both anticipating and dreading since Nicholas had first mentioned it in passing; it was the day he would visit me and meet my family for the first time. I had imagined the moment a hundred different ways, rehearsing possible conversations and preparing myself for every conceivable reaction. Still, nothing could quiet the tiny knot of anxiety in my chest as I cleaned the house, preparing for his arrival.

Desperate to keep my family away from him, I first tried to subtly hint to him that a hotel would be the best place for him to stay, as it would give us more privacy, and for a moment, I had him convinced. I told him we could be as loud as we wanted, neither of us had to be on edge the entire time, and there was room service! However, my mom came into my room without knocking, like always, her feather duster in hand.

I immediately tensed up at her presence, turning my laptop screen slightly away from her and leaning over the camera. “Mom, I’m on call with Nic,” I whispered to her.

She swatted her hand lightly, dismissing my hint for privacy, “It’s ok, honey. You continue; I’m just dusting,” she smiled politely, though I knew it was anything but polite. Mischievous, more like.

I didn’t want to hang up on Nicholas, knowing he only had just a few minutes before he had to get back to work and I wouldn’t have another chance to talk to him until the day after, so reluctantly, I continued our FaceTime call with my mom in the room. Though, perhaps, I should’ve known better.

“What day would your flight be?” I asked him, bringing my leg up onto the seat of the chair and resting my chin on my knee, keeping an eye on my mother as she shifted the stuff on top of my dresser around.

I watched as he pulled the camera goofily close to his face as he tapped away on his phone to read the airline webpage, earning a soft giggle out of me. A quiet chuckle escaped his lips as he realized his camera was on his forehead, “There’s one on a Sunday,” he spoke as he pulled his phone away so I could admire his entire face, leaning back into the couch in his trailer.

He had an endearing grin, an amusing contrast from the pristine business suit and fake blood splattered all over his face for the new American Psycho movie he starred in. He looked absolutely hot.

His grin lingered for a moment, but I couldn’t help noticing how it didn’t quite reach his eyes like it usually did. His boyish excitement for the role, which had been contagious at the start of filming, seemed to have dimmed. The twinkle that used to light up his face whenever he talked about his craft — the way he’d gush about his favorite scenes or the complexities of the character — was missing.

“You’ll have a few days off after, right?” I asked softly, studying him.

Nicholas nodded, brushing a hand through his messy hair, smearing some of the fake blood onto his temple without noticing. “Yeah, Luca’s giving us a break before we hit the really heavy scenes after the holidays.”

“How’s that going?” I asked, keeping my voice light, though I could feel the weight behind the question. “Are you… still excited about it?”

For a moment, his expression softened, the flicker of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Yeah, of course. It’s just…” He paused, looking down at his hands as if he were trying to find the right words. “I mean, I knew Patrick Bateman was dark, but really stepping into his world…” He trailed off, his brows knitting together.

I leaned forward slightly. “Are you taking care of yourself?” I asked gently.

He looked up at the camera, a wry smile tugging at his lips. "You sound like my therapist," he teased, but the humor dian't fully land. He shifted on the couch, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I'm fine. Really. It's just... Patrick gets under your skin, you know? He's not the kind of guy you can just shake off at the end of the day."

I nodded, understanding but not fully convinced. Nicholas had always been dedicated to his craft, immersing himself completely in every role he took on. But this time felt different. The intensity of Patrick Bateman — the violence, the obsession with perfection, the darkness – seemed to be seeping into him in ways he couldn't quite articulate, at least to me.

"It's okay to take a step back," I said softly. "Even if it's just for a few days. You don't have to carry him around with you all the time."

He let out a soft laugh, but it was strained, almost hollow. "Easier said than done. This role is... it's everything l've ever wanted. It's iconic. But sometimes I wonder..." He stopped himself, shaking his head as if to dismiss the thought. "Never mind. It's fine."

I frowned, my heart aching for him. "Nic," I said firmly, catching his attention. "You can talk to me. Whatever you're feeling, it's okay. You don't have to carry it alone."

His gaze softened, the vulnerability in his eyes clear even through the screen. "I know," he murmured. "And that's why I can't wait to see you. You... you're my anchor, you know that?“

My chest tightened at his words, a mixture of love and concern washing over me. "I'll be here," I promised. “The flight’s on a Sunday, you said?”

I watched as he nodded his head. I clapped my hand once, hoping to lighten the mood a bit, “That’s perfect. I’ll be able to pick you up then,” I said, trying to focus on him and not the fact that my mom was still pretending to dust the same spot on my dresser our entire conversation.

“Pick him up from where?” she chimed in, her tone light, but her interest was anything but. She tried to keep her voice low enough so Nicholas wouldn’t be able to hear, but of course, he did.

“The airport,” I replied curtly. “I told you he might visit.”

“Oh, you did!” She rounded my bed and made her way over to my desk, hugging my shoulders as she bent down to look at my screen, “Are you staying at that new hotel downtown, Nicholas? It’s very nice.” She flashed a too-bright smile at the camera, making no effort to hide her eavesdropping.

Nicholas straightened himself out the moment my mom came into frame, sitting straight on the couch, pulling the camera away from his face even further, and politely smiling at the camera, “I hadn’t booked anything yet. We were still figuring that out.”

“Oh, don’t bother,” she swatted her hand, smiling, “You can come stay with us!” She exclaimed, tightening her grip around my shoulders. I stiffened under hold. Her nails were basically digging into my skin like talons. She was the hawk, and I was the frail little mouse trapped in her hold.

“Nicholas and I were thinking about staying in a hotel,” I interjected, hoping she’d take the hint and not insist. But then my mom leaned closer to the camera, her voice taking on that sickly sweet tone she always used when she wanted something.

“Nonsense. Nicholas, we might have a full house, but you’re more than welcome to stay with (Y/N) in her room. Plus, it’ll give us a chance to get to know you better,” she smiled.

I could see the conflict flash across Nicholas's face, his instinct to be polite overriding any chance of him declining. He gave me a small, apologetic smile before saying, “That’s incredibly nice, Mrs. (Y/L/N). I’d be happy to stay with you.”

My stomach sank as my mom beamed with triumph, practically patting herself on the back for winning him over. She gave him one last beaming smile before finally releasing me and strolling out of the room and shutting the door behind her, as if she hadn’t undermined my entire plan to keep Nicholas as far away from the family as possible.

As soon as she was out of earshot, I turned back to Nicholas, my face twisted into a grimace. “I am so sorry.”

His laugh was soft and warm, putting me at ease despite my embarrassment. “It’s fine, really. She’s just looking out for you. Like how you look out for me.”

His optimism was endearing, but he didn’t understand the half of it. What he didn’t know was that there was an unspoken tension between my mom and I ever since I came back from visiting him in Los Angeles. I had hoped it would simmer down over time, like it always does, but this time… it felt much different. The tension with my mom had always followed a predictable pattern: her attempts to assert control, my efforts to maintain some semblance of independence, and eventually a cooling-off period where we both pretended nothing had ever happened.

This time, though, the friction felt more invasive, more calculated. It wasn’t just her usual meddling or harmless nagging; she was weaving herself into something that mattered to me more than anything else, something I was still learning how to protect. Having Nicholas  in my life had introduced a complication she couldn’t fully control, and so her presence was doubling — hovering over me in my own room, inserting herself into conversations. The more I tried to pull myself away, the more she pressed, as if refusing to let me slip away into any world that did not revolve around her approval.

Nicholas’s voice brought me out of my thoughts, “Plus, don’t you think it’ll be hot to have me tangled between your pink bed sheets?”

I gasped at his comment, rushing to lower the volume a bit, afraid my mom might be lingering outside my door. “Nicholas,” I whispered, widening my eyes, proceeding to bring my finger up to my lips to shush him. We had never talked dirty so openly on a FaceTime call during the day, and not right after my mom had been inside my room.

His head fell back in a fit of laughter, “C’mon, don’t tell me otherwise.”

I tried to fight the smile curling at the end of my lips, glancing over to my bed. I imagined Nicholas lying there, his long frame sprawled across the pink sheets I’d grown up with — the ones my mom had refused to let me replace because they still had a few good years left, even though they were already close to 12 years old.

I pictured the way his hands would skim the edges of my cream-colored quilt, the slight smirk that would curl on his lips as he teased me about my room — probably something about the dolls I’d never outgrown or the fairy lights I’d strung around my window. And then he’d pull me close, his teasing forgotten, his voice low and rough as he whispered something that would send a shiver down my spine.

“Doesn’t your break end in a bit?” I asked, ignoring his question purposefully.

A satisfied grin splayed across his face, knowing he was right about my fantasy. “Okay, I’ll book the flight and send you the details,” he sighed, sad to hang up. “I’ll call you tomorrow, babe,” he brought his phone up to his lips and kissed the camera.

“Bye, Nic,” I blew him a kiss before waving goodbye and hanging up, letting out a sigh and letting myself fall back into my chair.

Fuck, he’s visiting.

I tried to hide Nicholas’s existence from my family when we first started talking, particularly my mom, for as long as I could, knowing that the moment they’d find out, I’d be relentlessly teased about him or they would just anticipate the moment it was over between us. It was months and months of late night phone calls and trying to bite back the smile on my face as I texted him during family outings. There were times my family, mainly my mom, pointed out my constant habit of stepping out for a bit or excusing myself while we hung out or going to bed “early,” but they never really pressed after I gave them a plausible excuse.

However,  when I came back from Los Angeles and my mom had noticed my new necklace — the one he had given me with his initial engraved on the back — the suspicious look on her face was enough for me to give in, reluctantly telling her the truth about my trip to Los Angeles.

“What do you mean you met up with some guy?!” She angrily asked me, squeezing her temples with her fingers and closing her eyes in irritation, her hallmark sign of disappointment. It was like she had just been disillusioned with the “perfect” daughter she had raised all these years. In a way, however, I understood her anger. The idea of your child flying cross-country to meet up with a guy she hadn’t told you about was scary. But I was 23-years-old — not a child.

She paced back and forth in the living room while I sat anxious on the couch, my carry-on still at my feet, trying my best to calm her down, though I knew she wouldn’t. “He’s not just some guy, Mom,” I had said, my voice cracking under the weight of her judgment. “Nicholas is… different. He loves me,” I said, grazing my finger over my heart charm, wishing Nicholas was with me in this moment. In a way, he was. He always was.

My mom stopped mid-stride, narrowing her eyes at me as if I had just uttered the most absurd thing she’d ever heard. Her gaze then softened, sitting down next to me and running her fingers delicately through my hair, sympathetically smiling at me, as if I was a little baby, too new to the world. “Loves you?” She asked softly, resting her finger under my chin, “Honey, do you even know what love is?“

Her words stung more than I expected. “I do, Mom,” My voice was soft but firm, though it was clear she wasn’t convinced. “He showed me what love is supposed to be like, and it’s not…” I spoke, glancing over to her hands on my face before my gaze faltered downwards, afraid to look her in the eye.

She sighed heavily, “I just don’t want you to get hurt.” The undertone of condescension still lingered in her voice, like I was too naive to understand the risks of putting my heart in someone else’s hands. And I did understand the risks, completely. After that weekend, I had decided that Nicholas was worth all the heartbreak that might come with loving him. I loved him that much.

I flinched, my fingers curling into fists in my lap. “You don’t even know him,” I retorted, my voice sharper than I intended. Quick to de-escalate, I sighed and softened my tone, “He’s not like that, Mom. He cares about me.”

She sat quiet for a moment, petting my hair one last time before retracting and crossing her arms. She eyed me like I was some sort of puzzle she desperately wanted to crack, but then, she broke the silence, “Do you at least have any pictures of your trip with him?”

I sniffled, a little apprehensive at her sudden curiosity. She never resigned so easily. Reluctantly, I pulled out my phone from my pocket, scrolling to the folder I’d created on the plane over, just for the two of us. My thumb hovered over the screen for a second, debating whether showing her these pictures would make things better or worse. But then I thought of Nicholas — his genuine smile, the way he laughed, the way he made me feel seen — and thought maybe showing her the pictures would ease her mind a bit.

I handed her the phone, bracing myself for her reaction. She tapped through the photos slowly, her brows furrowing at first, but gradually her expression softened. There was a selfie of us in his car after he had picked me up from the airport, the bouquet he had gotten me between us. Another of him making a silly face while we ate dinner at his place together. Another of us at the park while he lay reading his book on the picnic blanket. Another of us at the party we had gone to. And then there was my favorite — a candid shot he’d taken of me laughing, completely unaware he even had his phone out, the morning after he had given me the necklace.

Her lips twitched into a small smile as she swiped. “He’s… handsome,” she admitted grudgingly, glancing at me out of the corner of her eye. “And you look happy.”

I nodded, the lump in my throat easing slightly as I looked at the picture of myself laughing. “Yeah,” I spoke softly, clutching at my necklace.

So now, there I was, anxiously pacing around the house trying to fix anything that was out of place and tidying up before I had to go pick Nicholas up at the airport.

I started in the kitchen, preparing a sheet of cookies and throwing them into the oven while I started the chores. The sunlight streaking past the tree branches and through the window at the end of the kitchen highlighted every crumb and speck of dust that I hadn’t noticed before. I could recognize almost every meal each crumb and stain belonged to. Ew, is this really how we had been eating this entire week?

I grabbed a sponge and went to work, scrubbing in tight circles until the faint stains disappeared and swiped the crumbs off every surface. The floors were next. Armed with a broom, I swept every inch of the tile, then mopped it until it gleamed. I emptied the sink of dishes, meticulously washed and dried each one, and arranged them neatly in the cabinets.

Next was the living room. I fluffed every pillow on the couch and straightened the throws draped over the armrests. The coffee table bore the marks of messy nieces and nephews that loved to snack in front of the TV, so I wiped it down, replacing the haphazardly stacked magazines with a single glossy issue arranged just so. The family photos lining the media console caught my eye, and I quickly dusted them, making sure none looked out of place.

Then, I headed to my room, the place he’d be staying. The faded pastel walls, which I once adored, now felt too juvenile. The colorful glow-in-the-dark stickers I’d haphazardly plastered on my ceiling years ago seemed to mock me. It made my ceiling look like a cake topped with delicious sprinkles, which usually I liked, but now, maybe it was a little too much. The tiny collection of Hello Kitty and Bratz dolls that adorned the top of my desk stared back at me with judgment. Even the lace-trimmed curtains, which cast a soft, romantic glow during sunset, felt too frilly and immature. The only things that brought a semblance of maturity to my room were my bookshelves and the collection of CDs, DVDs and books that adorned them.

I sighed, scanning the room critically. It was as if my life was on display, my personality in every corner, and I wasn’t sure I wanted Nicholas to see every phase of it, at least not so in-his-face. I started with the easiest fix: the toys. Carefully, I gathered my Hello Kitty and Bratz dolls, wrapping them in a spare sheet of fabric and tucked them into the top of my closet. Out of sight, out of mind. I would be sure to put them back out once Nicholas flew back to New York.

I stood back, chewing on my lip, trying to decide if the stickers on the ceiling would be a dealbreaker. Eventually, I climbed onto my bed and stood on my tiptoes, peeling  most of them off, though a few stubborn ones refused to budge. I decided those could stay. Maybe I could make some romantic comment about them as Nicholas and I lay in bed together. He’d absolutely love my attempt at corniness.

I took down the lace curtains and replaced them with some old, sheer ones that used to be in the guest room before my mom redecorated. My bedside table was decluttered, leaving only a small lamp, my alarm clock, and the novel I was currently reading — American Psycho. The pink walls, however, were a lost cause. Suddenly, I kicked myself for choosing the princess pink color instead of the porcelain white like my mom had suggested all those years ago. She was right. How was she always right?

Lastly, I stared at the simple, floral cream quilt that adorned my bed. It looked so romantic, possibly my favorite piece of decor in my entire room. It made me feel like I was in some house in the southern countryside. And after fantasizing how Nicholas might look tangled up between the quilt and the sheets, I wasn’t particularly in any rush to switch them out. Those could stay, too.

I stepped back to survey my work. The changes weren’t much, but it eased my mind a little. It was minimalist compared to its usual state, looking the tiniest bit less like a dollhouse, but it didn't feel entirely foreign. It still looked like me, just... a more put-together version of me. It felt wrong, hiding a part of myself. It’s not like he hadn’t seen my room before in the background of all our FaceTime calls, but I wanted him to see me as an adult — someone confident, someone who could match his level of  independence. 

The smell of warm cookies wafted into my room, prompting me to walk out to the kitchen. As the hot air enveloped me when I pulled the treats out of the oven, my mom made her way over. I whipped my head up at the sound of her footsteps, smiling at her.

“I’m just gonna let these cookies rest while I finish getting ready, then I’ll head over to the airport to pick up Nicholas. Is everybody gonna be here by the time we’re back?” I asked, setting the tray of cookies down on top of the stove and fanning the heat away with the oven mitt.

My mom leaned against the counter, arms crossed, her face flashing a closed-mouth smile. “Your brothers are already on their way, and you know your dad always gets home right before dinner is served.” Sensing my nervousness, she inched her way over, cupping my face in her hands. “Are you sure you’re ready to have Nicholas stay with us for an entire weekend?”

It was the way she asked the question that irritated me beyond words. It was like she was purposely trying to psych me out. But… was I? Of course, I wanted Nicholas to be here. I hadn’t seen him in so long, since Los Angeles, but the thought of him navigating my family… The thought alone was enough to second guess my excitement. And what if truly seeing me in my natural element made him second guess visiting? What if we overwhelmed him? Would they scare him away?

I pulled her hands away from my face, walking away from her to make my way toward my room, “Why do you always do that?” I didn’t mean to sound irritated, but I did.

My mom followed after me, her footsteps deliberate but not rushed. “Do what?” she asked, feigning innocence, though the knowing tone in her voice betrayed her.

I turned to face her in the hallway, trying to keep my voice level. “Make me doubt myself. You always ask questions like you’re trying to plant some little seed of doubt in my head. You’re the one that insisted Nicholas stay here while he visited. Why is it suddenly a problem?”

Her breath caught in her throat, out of surprise…? She subtly shrugged her shoulders, looking down at her feet, “It’s not a problem; I’m just saying,” she spoke softly.

I crossed my arms, leaning against the doorframe of my room. “Just saying what, Mom? That you don’t think he’s going to stick around? That I shouldn’t let myself get too comfortable? Because that’s what it sounds like.”

She straightened, her expression hardening for just a moment before softening again. “Honey,” she began, her voice gentler this time. “I just don’t want you to get hurt. You’re young, and he’s… well, he’s in demand. It’s not that I don’t want this to work for you. I just—” She hesitated, searching for the right words. “I’ve seen how these things can go.”

I sighed, rubbing my temples. “Mom, I know his life is different, but we’ve made it work so far, haven’t we? Hell, you didn’t even know I was dating him for months! I know what I’m doing — what we’re doing — Mom. I’m not a little girl.”

That’s when she took a peek inside my bedroom, noting the irony in my words. There was a long pause before she nodded, her hand reaching out to gently cup my cheek. Her lips pressed into a thin line. “If you say so,” she said finally. Does she hear herself? She must. “Now, get ready. I’ll start dinner,” she gently squeezed my shoulder and walked away.

I retreated to my bedroom, shutting the door and leaning against it, letting out a shaky breath. I slid down to the floor, knees pulled to my chest, taking a moment to collect myself. My heart was pounding in my chest. Why did every conversation with my mom feel like a battle, one she always had the upperhand in? It wasn’t that I didn’t value her opinion, I did, but her doubts, her subtle jabs, they clung to me like stubborn cobwebs, clouding my thoughts.

I tilted my head back, staring at the few stubborn star stickers on the ceiling. Nicholas. He always had this uncanny way of making me feel like I could handle anything, like I was more than enough just as I was. That was one of the biggest things I had learned the last time I saw him, and it was something I’d carry close to my heart. I could already hear his voice in my head, telling me to breathe, to let it go. He was my calm, my calm that was about to land in an hour.

I pushed myself up, determined to shake off the unease. There wasn’t time to dwell on this. I needed to finish getting ready. I rummaged through my closet, deciding on a simple blouse and pants paired with some fur-lined boots to brace my feet for the unseasonably cold weather. Yes, it was technically winter and there would be some cool breezes here and there, but it would never get this cold until late January. 

As I checked myself in the mirror, I caught a glimpse of the necklace he’d given me, glinting against my skin. I ran my fingers over the charm, taking a steadying breath. Whatever my mom thought, whatever doubts she had, they didn’t matter. Nicholas and I were building something real, something that felt solid in a way I couldn’t explain to her, and I don’t think anybody besides us could understand that. But was it so wrong of me to still want her support?

Grabbing my keys, I headed out, my mom giving me a knowing look as I passed through the kitchen. Silently, I grabbed some warm cookies and packed them into a paper bag so Nicholas could have something to snack on during our drive back.

“Drive safe,” my mom spoke, her voice softer this time, almost apologetic. I gave her a nod, not trusting myself to say more, and stepped outside into the cold evening air.

The drive to the airport was quieter than I expected. The town lights began to grow scarce the more I drove as I navigated the backroads, my mind drifting between thoughts of Nicholas and my mom’s parting words. I rolled the windows down slightly, allowing the cool air to rush in and mix with the warm scent of cookies. The radio played softly in the background, but my mind wasn’t on the music. I was thinking about Nicholas — how I’d be able to bury my face in his chest again and absorb his scent. I missed being in his arms more than anything in the world. He was the only one that truly understood me, my wants and needs.

The soft hum of the tires against the asphalt seemed to lull me into a sense of calm, though my thoughts raced on. The further I drove, the more I could imagine Nicholas’s smile when he finally saw me, when I could wrap my arms around him after months apart and our busy schedules — his movie, my new project at work. It almost felt surreal. My hands tightened around the wheel, not from nervousness, but from the surge of excitement that made my heart race in my chest. I couldn’t wait for the second that I could kiss him again, devour him. As the airport slowly came into view, I felt the first real pang of reality. The distance between us, the time apart, seemed to fade into the background with each passing minute.

Our town’s airport was tiny and only a couple of gates, so there were barely any cars parked on the curb at Arrivals. I pulled into the nearly empty parking lot, the glow from the overhead lights casting long shadows across the pavement. I couldn’t help but feel a strange mix of excitement and anticipation coursing through me. As I parked the car, I took a deep breath, trying to calm the rapid beating of my heart. This was it. In just a few moments, Nicholas would be standing right in front of me.

I grabbed the bag of cookies and quickly made my way toward the entrance. The chill in the air nipped at my skin, but it didn’t matter. I could feel the warmth of the moment building with each step.

As I entered the terminal, the quiet hum of the air conditioning and the echoing chatter of the few travelers filled the air. I scanned the area, hoping to spot Nicholas right away. And then, I saw him riding the escalator downward toward the ground floor, tapping away at his phone..

Just then, my phone rang loudly, echoing through the borderline empty airport. Nicholas whipped his head up at the sound, the biggest grin growing on his face the moment his eyes landed on me.

I felt my breath hitch as I watched him. He was dressed casually but effortlessly — a black sweater layered under a dark blue blouson, paired with dark jeans that clung perfectly to his long legs. A duffel bag hung over one shoulder, his other hand tucked into his pocket as he rode the escalator with an easy confidence.

But it wasn’t just his clothes that caught my attention. It was him — all of him. His perfectly trimmed hair was slightly tousled, like he’d been running his hands through it during the flight, and the faintest shadow of two days worth of stubble dusted his jaw. His eyes, those impossibly deep, brown eyes, were locked on me, warm and full of emotion. It was a stark contrast to the last time I’d seen him on FaceTime, his gaze weighed down by the intensity of his role. Now, that familiar sparkle was back, and it was all for me.

Nicholas didn’t hesitate, not for a second. Immediately, he trotted as quickly as he could down the moving escalator. The moment his feet hit the floor, the distance between us closed in an instant. My heart thumped in my chest, a mix of nerves and longing that had been building for the last 6 months. He reached me in what felt like a breath, his arms wrapping around me, lifting me off the ground as if the weight of time apart hadn’t existed at all.

I laughed, a sound of pure relief and joy, burying my face in the crook of his neck as I wrapped my arms around his shoulders. His scent was all-encompassing — that intoxicating cedarwood and vanilla. I closed my eyes, savoring the feel of him against me, a sensation I had craved for far too long.

He set me down on the floor gently, his forehead resting gently against mine, as though absorbing the closeness before something more. The world around us seemed to blur and slow, the soft hum of the airport fading into the background as I lost myself in him. Slowly, he leaned closer, and I felt his lips hover just above mine, teasing. The tension was palpable, the space between us charged with everything that had been building since we’d last seen each other. Then, with a quiet sigh, he kissed me.

It wasn’t rushed or frantic, though every second felt like it held a lifetime’s worth of longing. His lips were soft, tender, as if asking for permission even though we both knew the answer. My hands found their way to his neck, pulling him closer, needing him just a little more. The kiss deepened, slow and perfect, as if the universe had arranged this exact moment just for us. The world, the noise, the doubts — all of it faded away. All that existed was the undeniable bond between us and us alone.

A quiet groan escaped from the depths of his chest. The sound sent a ripple of warmth through me, igniting a deep flame in me. His hands cupped my face, his thumbs gently brushing along my jawline, as if he couldn't get enough of me, of this moment. It was as though we were trying to make up for every moment we had spent apart, pouring every unspoken word, every feeling, into that kiss. His lips were insistent now, but still patient — a perfect balance of hunger and tenderness. My fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him even closer, if that was even possible. His breath mingled with mine, warm and inviting, and I was lost in the taste of him — the familiar, comforting yet electrifying taste of someone who felt like home.

The heat between us was undeniable, growing stronger with each press of his lips, each soft sigh that escaped his mouth. His hands trailed down my back, pulling me flush against him, and I felt the solid press of his chest against mine, the weight of his presence grounding me. He was here. Finally, here.

When we finally pulled away, our lips swollen and tingling from the intensity, neither of us could speak right away. We were both breathing heavily, our foreheads resting together, as if unwilling to separate for even a moment. The airport had faded completely, the hum of the air conditioning and distant footsteps drowned out by the pounding of our hearts. His eyes, darkened with emotion, searched mine as though he was memorizing every detail, every little thing that had been waiting for this reunion.

"God, I needed that more than you know," he whispered, his voice low and hoarse, a trace of longing that faltered into a soft chuckle.

I smiled, my hands still wrapped behind his head. “I think we both did,” I murmured, my voice thick with the same longing he’d just expressed.

Nicholas furrowed his eyebrows, confused at the warm feeling behind his neck and reached for the hand cradling the back of his head, feeling the warm paper bag. “What’s this?” He asked.

I chuckled softly, realizing I still had the bag of cookies clutched in my hand. “Oh, right,” I said, pulling back just enough to glance down at the bag. “I made you something. Thought you might like a little something sweet after your flight.”

His grin widened as he pulled the bag from my hand, his fingers brushing mine in the process. “Cookies, huh?” He raised an eyebrow playfully, his voice filled with affection. “You really know the way to my heart, don’t you?”

I laughed, feeling a warmth spread through me at the simple exchange. “I know you have a thing for sweet things,” I teased.

Nicholas gave me a mock-serious look, tearing open the top of the bag and pulling out a cookie. He took a bite, his eyes closing for a moment. He took his time, savoring the soft texture of the cookie. His lips parted slightly as he chewed, his gaze momentarily shifting to the ceiling as though he were lost in the moment. The way he closed his eyes, lost in the indulgence of something so simple sent a shiver down my spine.

As he swallowed, his eyes slowly met mine again, a lazy smile spreading across his face. "Mmm," he murmured, his voice low and gravelly, the hint of satisfaction curling around each moan.

The corner of my mouth quirked up, unable to tear my eyes away from the way he continued to enjoy the cookie, each bite slow and deliberate. He leaned in slightly, taking another bite. The way his lips wrapped around the cookie, taking in the sweetness with such intent, made my pulse quicken. He didn't break eye contact, holding me captive with the intensity of his gaze.

As Nicholas finished the cookie, he dusted the crumbs off his hands and pulled me in by the hips, planting a kiss near my ear, whispering, “They taste amazing.”

I felt a shiver run down my spine at his whisper, the heat of his breath sending a jolt through me. My heart raced, my skin tingling from the closeness of his body, the warmth of his kiss still lingering on my skin. But as much as my body yearned for more, I knew I had to keep it together. We were still in public, still in an airport, and I had my family waiting for us back at the house.

But Nicholas, ever the tease, seemed to know exactly what he was doing. He pulled back just enough to look at me, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "You know," he said, his voice low and teasing, "I think these cookies might be my new favorite thing."

I chuckled, trying to maintain my composure, but his gaze never left mine, that knowing smile never leaving his lips. He stepped closer, his body nearly flush against mine, and the heat between us intensified. I could feel the quiet electricity that buzzed through the air, every inch of my body aching to close the distance, but I couldn't. Not here. Not now.

Nicholas, as if sensing my struggle, leaned in again, but this time, he just hovered near my lips, not kissing me, but close enough to make my breath hitch. His eyes flicked to my lips for a moment, then back up to my eyes, and he let out a soft, breathy laugh. "You look like you want more," he teased, his lips brushing lightly against mine but never fully committing.

I felt the heat rush to my cheeks, and I knew I was flushed from the inside out. I swallowed hard, trying to steady my breath, but I couldn't fight the urge to lean into him, just a little bit more. My fingers curled into his shirt, but I stopped myself before I could pull him closer.

I let out a breath I didn't realize l'd been holding, trying to regain my composure. "You're cruel," I murmured, though I couldn't hide the smile tugging at my lips.

Nicholas grinned, leaning in one last time to place a soft kiss on my forehead. "You love it," he said softly, his voice full of warmth and affection.

I let out a soft laugh, feeling a sense of relief wash over me, despite the fire still simmering beneath the surface. As much as I wanted more — as much as I needed more — I knew we would have our time. But for now, the teasing, the gentle push and pull between us, would have to be enough, even if it wasn’t. I had to take him home to the firing squad waiting for him. Without another word, I took his hand and led us away from the terminal, leaving the heat between us simmering just beneath the surface.

As we stepped outside into the cool night air, the excitement of our reunion still buzzing between us, I slid into the driver's seat, giving Nicholas a quick glance before starting the engine as he climbed in and tossed his singular duffel bag to the backseat. I started the car, effortlessly driving us out of the parking lot, paying the fee, and leaving the airport behind.

The town was pitch black as we drove, especially the outskirts, where the few lampposts scattered along the main roads barely illuminated the way. Their weak, flickering lights cast long, eerie shadows across the pavement, creating fleeting impressions of movement that disappeared as quickly as they appeared. The resaca, with its still, dark waters and overgrown banks, stretched alongside the endless roads. The occasional glint of moonlight reflected off the surface, giving the area an almost ethereal, otherworldly quality.

Large properties lined the water, their sprawling lawns disappearing into the inky shadows of towering mesquite trees. Most of the houses were set far back from the road, their silhouettes barely visible through the dense foliage. A few of the homes had faint lights glowing from their windows, but not enough to make them seem particularly inviting. Creepy, more like.

During the drive, Nicholas and I participated in a conversation that was as if we had never been separated by distance or schedules. He refrained from telling me the entertaining details of his holidays at his dad’s over the phone, anticipating the moment he could tell me all about it in person. I had asked him how filming in the New York slush had been going, to which he would alternate between speaking somberly about how the filming had been tiring at times but also giving into his enthusiasm for having the privilege of playing such an iconic character and working under an equally iconic director.

He kept up a steady stream of anecdotes from his time away, his voice carrying a sense of nostalgia, as if sharing his experiences with me made them all the more real. I listened intently, laughing at his recreations of certain moments, watching him snack on the entire bag of cookies, and enjoying how effortlessly he seemed to slip back into the comfortable cadence of our conversations. Though, I could tell he was a little sleepy.

As we drove through the outskirts of town, the moonlight casting soft shadows over the winding road, I found myself stealing glances at him every few seconds. Truthfully, the more he talked, the more I couldn’t keep my eyes off him, off his lips. I was so excited to be near him again that I couldn’t keep my hands to myself, finding every excuse to run my fingers through his hair, hold my hand in his, or rest my hand on his knee. I just needed to feel him under my fingertips every second.

Nicholas responded in kind. He’d brush his fingers through the back of my head, rubbing his thumb back and forth over the hair near my ear. He’d grab my hand and leave gentle kisses on my knuckles and my wrist. But what drove me insane was when he rested his hand on my thigh, tracing lazy circles slowly. The touch was slow, deliberate, and it sent a jolt of desire straight through me. I couldn't focus on the road, not with his hand so close, so dangerously close. I sucked in a sharp breath, trying to maintain some semblance of control.

I felt Nicholas's gaze on me the moment I shifted in my seat, and I could feel his eyes tracing my every movement, the weight of his attention making my skin tingle. “How far are we from your house?” He asked, breaking the silence with a voice full of intrigue, as his hand inched ever so slightly upward, lightly squeezing my thigh.

I turned my head to look at him briefly before focusing back on the road. "10 minutes," I replied, too busy focusing on keeping my tone casual to notice the mischief in his voice.

Nicholas leaned closer, his hand moving inward and curling into the sensitive skin of my inner thigh. Instinctively, I covered his hand with mine, gripping at his fingers. 

He chuckled, the sound rich and deep, and his hand didn't move away. Instead, he gently pressed his fingers against the warm curve of my thigh, sending a ripple of heat through me. His thumb brushed against my pants, slow and teasing, making it almost impossible to concentrate on the road. He didn't say anything right away, just let the silence settle, allowing the heat from his touch to fill the space.

My pulse quickened, and I found myself fighting the urge to pull him closer, to give in to the pull between us. But Nicholas was persistent. With my hand still hovering over his, he led his hand further in, his fingers trailing over the seam of my crotch. I dug my fingers into his, sharply inhaling.

“Am I distracting you?” He finally cooed.

I couldn’t answer right away. The words were lodged in my throat, lost somewhere between desire and restraint. The warmth of his touch seemed to burn through my clothes, and the teasing, slow pace of his movements only heightened the ache building inside me. My grip tightened around his fingers as I fought to steady my breath.

“Am I?” he pressed, his voice so low and soft, it was almost a whisper.

His fingers were still there, hovering so close to where I wanted them, but not quite touching exactly where I needed them. His hand shifted slightly, fingers pressing ever so gently into the warmth of my inner thigh, teasingly slow. I couldn't help the soft shudder that ran through me as the pressure built, each touch of his fingertips sending ripples of anticipation through my body. My breath came in shallow bursts, my pulse racing under the weight of his touch. I could feel the heat radiating from him, feel the weight of his gaze on me, daring me to answer, daring me to make the next move.

Not wanting to let him forget the fact we were on the way home to meet my family with just a few minutes left in the drive, I shook my head no.

Nicholas's lips curved into a smile, “No?” He unbuckled himself from his seat, turning his body toward me. As one hand braced the back of my neck, the other inching its way toward the zipper of my pants, slowly undoing it.

His fingers grazed the edge of my pants, and a breath caught in my throat. "Nic..." I whispered, my voice barely audible over the sound of the engine.

He didn't reply right away. Instead, he simply undid the button and slipped his hand under my jeans. I bit back a moan, jerking the wheel slightly. Nicholas glanced up at the road, chuckling, leaning toward me and letting his lips hover over my ear, “You should pull over,” he murmured, his voice husky.

I swallowed, trying to calm my racing pulse. "I can't," I whispered, my voice trembling with both desire and restraint.

Nicholas's hand was still between my legs, his fingers teasing and gently caressing, slowly but deliberately. I could feel the heat building in my core with every passing second, the line between what I wanted and what I could control blurring.

The warmth of his touch, the pressure of his fingers pressing gently against me, made every ounce of rational thought evaporate. I didn't know how much longer I could hold on. His thumb brushed against me again, and I let out a breathless gasp, my grip on the wheel faltering for a second. His hand didn't stop, his fingers moving with purpose, and I found myself gripping his wrist, torn between pushing him away and pulling him closer. He continued, though, his lips curling into a satisfied smile against my neck as he kissed the soft skin there.

"Do you want me to stop?" His voice was low, teasing, but there was something deeper in it now, a hunger that mirrored my own.

I didn't trust myself to speak, my mind spinning with conflicting desires. I shook my head again, unable to hold back the desperate need flooding my senses.

"Then you know what to do," he murmured, his lips brushing over my jawline before he kissed me again, this time deeper, more demanding.

My heart hammered in my chest as I reached for the blinker and slowly turned into somebody’s long dirt driveway. As we drove down the narrow, unlit dirt road, the car's headlights illuminated the trees on either side, casting long shadows across the path. My pulse raced, the anticipation of what was about to happen coursing through my veins. Nicholas's fingers never left their place, moving ever so slowly, deliberately, driving me insane with every touch.

I pulled the car to a stop about halfway through the driveway, not wanting to invade the person’s property too much. The engine hummed softly as I shifted into park, but the moment I turned the key, it felt as though the entire world had stopped with us.

Before I could even turn toward him, he was already reaching for me, his hand slipping into my hair, tugging me toward him. His kiss was urgent now, more forceful, as if we both needed to make up for lost time. My heart hammered in my chest, my hands immediately going to his neck, pulling him closer as the kiss deepened.

His hand slid from my neck to my shoulder, gently pushing me back into the seat as he leaned over me, his body pressing against mine. The weight of his presence, the feeling of him so close, made my skin burn with need. My hands roamed to his chest, tugging at the hem of his shirt, desperate for more contact, more of him.

But just as his hand grazed the waistband of my jeans again, preparing to slip further down, the sound of an approaching car in the distance broke through the haze of our moment. Its headlights shone through my car windows, as it turned into the driveway, slowly making its way down. I froze, pulling away from him, my heart skipping a beat as I glanced quickly out the windshield. When the approaching car honked its horn, we realized we were blocking its path.

Nicholas let out a frustrated sigh, his body stiffening. He didn't pull away completely but rested his forehead against mine, eyes closed in silent frustration. We were both breathing heavily, our faces flushed from the heat of our kiss. He stifled a chuckle, brushing my hair with his hand, “Not our time, I guess.”

The sudden interruption felt like cold water on a heated moment. The car's headlights grew brighter, its engine revving slightly as it came closer. The car honked again, impatient now. Nicholas let out a low chuckle, his lips brushing over mine one more time before pulling back completely. He watched me with a playful grin as I maneuvered the car, his thumb absentmindedly brushing over the back of my hand. He was teasing, his eyes twinkling with the kind of mischief that made me want to forget about everything — to simply lose myself in him. God, it was a little scary how he could make me do anything he wanted, but I loved the thought.

As we exited the driveway and turned into the backroad, a different kind of nerves settled in my stomach — the kind I didn’t like. I had no idea how Nicholas would react to meeting my family, given how chaotic my home life was, especially lately. And I didn’t know if my family would like him, though I knew he could charm the pants off them.

The knot in my stomach grew larger the closer we got home. The town lights started to grow in numbers, a sign we were close to arriving at my house. I looked to Nicholas then.

He intertwined his fingers with mine and brought our hands up to his lips for him to kiss.

With a deep breath, I nodded and continued driving, turning into my neighborhood. As we pulled up to the house, the lights inside were visible through the windows, casting a soft glow that made the house look even more inviting. I parked the car and turned off the engine, sitting still for a moment. My gaze shifted toward the house, where I could see the faint silhouettes of my family moving around inside.

In a way, I wanted my family to meet him, so they could see that I was happy and that I hit the jackpot meeting the most kind and loving man I could’ve ever hoped for. And I wanted my mom to see for herself that I was doing fine without all her interjecting and opinions about the way I was choosing to live my life. But I also so desperately wanted to maneuver the car out of the neighborhood and drive away with Nicholas. My mom would tear him apart — not to his face, she cares too much about people’s impressions about her to do that. But I knew that once he was out of earshot and I made myself available that she would pull me aside and begin making snide comments about his character or his life.

Nicholas sat quietly beside me for a moment, his hand still holding mine. Finally, he broke the silence. “Hey, hey, hey,” he spoke quietly, shifting closer toward my side of the car and delicately caressing my cheek, “it’s gonna be ok. I’m not going anywhere, ok?” he smiled softly and kissed the back of my hand. “I’m here for you.”

I leaned into his touch, nodding my head and kissing the ball of his thumb before stepping out of the car, the cold seemingly dropping temperature the more I lingered outside the house. I watched Nicholas as he reached into the backseat for his duffel bag and closed the door behind him, slinging his luggage around his shoulder and rounding the car, reaching his hand out for me to grab. He had that confident grin again, as if he were about to take on the world, and all I had to do was walk through the door with him.

My heart raced as I looked into his eyes, trying to gather the courage to face what lay ahead. Nicholas’s calm confidence, the steady way he held me, made it feel like everything might be okay. His reassurance was all I needed, and it was the push that led me to the door and opened it with a quiet confidence, stepping inside with Nicholas right behind me. The moment the door clicked shut, the familiar, tense atmosphere hit me like a wall, but I pushed through it. Having Nicholas by my side was all I really needed to get through anything.

My mom, who was in the kitchen clanging pots around, quickly scampered toward the entrance, a huge smile on her face, though I knew it was a farce. “Welcome home!” she exclaimed, her voice slightly too high-pitched to sound natural. Her eyes darted to Nicholas, scanning him quickly as if she were appraising him like some antique at a flea market. “You must be Nicholas. It’s so wonderful to finally meet you in person.”

Nicholas extended his hand with that disarming, movie-star smile of his. “It’s great to meet you, Mrs. (Y/L/N). Thank you for letting me stay here, and with (Y/N) in her room.”

She playfully swatted her hand, “It’s the least I can do.  Plus, It’s not like we have a guest room anyway,” she raised her voice during the last few words, sure to have my brothers — who were lounging in the living room — overhear her comment.

My eldest brother's scoff from the couch was audible enough to cut through the tension. He didn't even bother turning around, just called out lazily, "It’s not my fault my ex-wi—“

My mom quickly whipped her head and shushed him, before turning her head back toward us and flashing us a saccharine smile. “Well, dinner’s almost ready, honey. Why don’t you go say hi to your brothers then show Nicholas to your room so he could settle in? I hope you like cordon bleu, Nicholas?”

Nicholas chuckled, entirely unruffled. "Cordon bleu sounds perfect.”

Before I could glance back at her to gauge her emotion, she had already turned and was bustling back into the kitchen. Nicholas moved to remove his blouson and proceeded to help me take off my coat, hanging both on the hooks near the entrance. As Nicholas wrapped his arm around my waist, I let out a breath I hadn’t realized I had been holding, leaning into him slightly. He kissed the top of my head before subtly leading me by the small of my back, encouraging me to walk us further into the house.

As we moved into the living room, the sound of the TV playing some sports highlights filled the air. My older brothers were sprawled on the couch, but they both looked up as we walked in. The eldest was the first to stand, brushing the invisible crumbs off his shirt. His expression softened into a genuine smile as he approached us. My older brother, the middle child, stood up next, towering over Nicholas by just a few inches, a little more relaxed but equally warm. I watched as they all introduced themselves to each other, Nicholas laughing, as he shook his hand, his smile beaming. I could already tell they were going to get along, which, thankfully, is one less thing to worry about.

“You guys settle in. We’ll save all the smalltalk for dinner,” my eldest brother smiled.

I shot him a look that said ‘thank you’ before pulling Nicholas away to my bedroom, feeling a little lighter. My brothers’ warmth had softened some of the anxiety that had been gnawing at me all day. Nicholas seemed completely at ease, which made me feel even better. Though, I wasn’t sure how he’d hold up against my mom’s subtle interrogation at dinner.

I hesitantly pushed open my bedroom door and stepped inside, flipping on the light. I glanced over to Nicholas, anxious for a reaction to my pink paradise bedroom, but he walked in with a complete look of wonder and a twinkle in his eye.

“Did you change some stuff?” He asked, dropping his duffel bag at the foot of the bed and approaching my dresser, running his finger over the table runner adorning it.

I scoffed, impressed, “How’d you know?”

He smiled, reaching for a picture frame on the dresser, admiring it for a moment before setting it back down and stepping closer to me, resting his hands on my hips, “(Y/N), we’ve been FaceTiming and sending each other photos for the last 10 months. I know your bedroom like the back of my hand. Example, I know you got rid of the dolls on your desk, and switched out your curtains.

With a little smile, I rested my arms on his shoulders, running my fingers through his hair, “I just didn’t want my room to seem too childish. Your apartment is just… so grown up.”

Nicholas chuckled softly, his hands sliding down to rest on my lower back, pulling me a little closer as he backed up into the bed and let us softly fall onto it, landing with a little bounce, “Your room is you, and I love that about it. Don’t change a thing just because of me.”

I swatted his chest lightly, and he laughed again, his smile so genuine it melted away the lingering tension in my chest. Being with Nicholas always felt like a safe harbor in the chaos of my life. He had a way of grounding me, reminding me that everything could be okay, even if it wasn’t perfect.

“Fine,” I sighed, “I’ll put the Hello Kitty back tomorrow.”

Just as Nicholas was about to lean forward to kiss me, a knock sounded through the door. My mom’s voice floated through, saccharine-sweet, but with an edge I knew all too well. “Dinner’s ready!“

I sighed, “We just can’t catch a break, can we?” I asked, referring to tonight’s missed opportunity to truly welcome Nicholas.

Nicholas smiled, planting a quick kiss on my lips before lifting us up off the bed and reaching for the door knob.

We made our way to the dining room, where the table was set far more elaborate than usual — the fancy plates and silverware that only came out for holidays or, in this case, the arrival of a special guest, which was never, until today. My mom was bustling around, setting down the final dishes of the spread with the practiced flair of someone who wanted everything to appear effortless.

Just then, my dad walked through the front door. He smiled over to Nicholas and I, enveloping me in the warmest hug, even though he had just walked in from the cold. “Hey, sweetie,” he smiled. His gaze fell on Nicholas and his face lit up. “This must be Nicholas! We’re excited to have you over,” he brought Nicholas in for a big hug.

It was so nice to see my dad give Nicholas the warm welcome my mom didn’t. Though he never really learned how to be as outward with his emotions like I had, my dad always knew when to choose the perfect moment to do so, like right now.

“Thank you, sir,” Nicholas said warmly, patting my dad’s back before pulling away. “I’ve been looking forward to this.”

“None of that ‘sir’ business,” my dad said, waving it off with a chuckle. “ And don’t be shy about seconds, we have plenty of food.”

My dad’s hearty laughter and easygoing demeanor were a stark contrast to my mom’s tightly wound facade. While she always seemed preoccupied with appearances and the opinions of others, my dad was grounded, warm, and genuine. He always tried to make people feel at ease around him.

“Trust me, I won’t be shy at all,” Nicholas softly chuckled, “I have to keep up my macros.”

Everyone circled around the table, choosing their seats. My mom sat at the head with my father on the opposite end, Nicholas and I sat on one side with me sitting closest to my mom, and my brothers on the opposite side. Nicholas, ever the gentleman, pulled out my chair for me and waited to sit down until I had settled in. I glanced over to my mom, who was eyeing us, studying us. He, however, didn’t notice, continuing to converse with my dad.

“How much do you weigh? 200?” My dad asked him, already serving himself a hearty portion of sides.

Nicholas nodded his head, “Yeah, 205. Do you lift?”

That’s when my dad flashed the biggest smile. By then, Nicholas, my dad, and my older brother had all started passionately talking about their gym routines — what protein powders and amino acid supplements they take, and what their current bench press is at. Their little huddle of gym talk left me, my mom, and my eldest brother to converse about anything but. We weren’t into that sort of thing.

All the while, everybody was serving themselves the hopefully delicious dinner my mom had prepared, as she had never cooked cordon bleu before until tonight. In fact, she hadn’t cooked any of this before, not the apple fritters, not the pasta salad, and certainly not the homemade tea. We were only ever a family of plain ol’ seasoned chicken and vegetables — steamed, grilled, in a soup, or in pasta. The homemade tea and the apple fritters were certainly new. A part of me wondered if under all the subtle criticism of Nicholas, maybe my mom had also simultaneously wanted to impress him.

I leaned over to Nicholas and opened my mouth to ask him if I could fix him a plate, but he interrupted me, his voice low and warm as he leaned in. “What do you want from the spread? I’ll fix you a plate,” he spoke quietly, squeezing my knee.

The gesture was so casual yet intimate that it sent a rush of warmth through me. I smirked at him, “I was gonna fix you one.”

Nicholas tilted his head, his smile playful yet tender. “How about I take care of you first, deal?” He asked quietly, brushing his hand over my knee and lightly squeezing it.

I rolled my eyes with a smile, nudging his shoulder lightly. “Fine. But don’t skimp on the pasta salad, okay?”

He chuckled, leaning closer as if sharing a secret. “Got it.”

As he reached for the serving dishes, my mom’s gaze flickered to us, her expression carefully neutral. I could tell she was observing every detail — how Nicholas moved, how he spoke, how we interacted. She hadn’t said much since we sat down, but I knew her mind was racing. Nicholas, completely unbothered, assembled a plate for me with meticulous care. He even placed the apple fritter on the side so it wouldn’t touch the other food.

When he set the plate in front of me, he added a quiet, “There you go, beautiful,” as if it were just the two of us in the room.

I heard one of my brothers cough to hide a laugh, and the other smirked into his drink. Though, that was to be expected. They had never seen me bring anybody home before. Growing up, I had always been the spectator when it came to relationships. My brothers were seasoned pros at bringing girlfriends home, confidently showcasing their charm while I watched from the sidelines. One had his parade of high school sweethearts, always introducing them to the family with ease, before settling down with his now ex-wife. The other, though quieter, had his fair share of relationships too, and ended up moving to the city with his current girlfriend. And, of course, my entire life I had been a spectator to my parents’ relationship. 

It was something I had grown used to — watching my family be romantic with their significant others, sharing soft touches and stolen glances with the girls they brought into our lives, secretly pining for the moment that I may bring someone home for them to meet, too. But me? I had never been in their shoes. Never had anyone to bring home, let alone someone like Nicholas. It wasn’t that I wasn’t interested in love — it just never happened for me. Whether it was shyness, pickiness, or just bad timing, I’d never had a real boyfriend before him. And while I knew my brothers weren’t entirely comfortable seeing this new side of me, there was a small part of me that relished it.

My mom, on the other hand, didn’t seem as amused as they did, keeping her grins polite while she tightly chewed on her food. Finally, she cleared her throat, her tone light but pointed. "So, Nicholas," she began, "(Y/N) tells us you’re an actor.”

My older brother interjected excitedly, “Is it true you’re in the new American Psycho movie?”

Nicholas grinned at his enthusiasm, his charm on full display as he nodded. “Yeah, it’s true.”

“Patrick Bateman?” My dad questioned, smiling. Nicholas nodded his head as he took a bite of his food. “Is playing the character tough?” My dad asked, wanting to know more. It was his first time meeting an actor of any kind.

Nicholas sighed, letting himself be vulnerable for a moment, “Yeah, it is. I tend to be an obsessive person, so I dedicate myself completely to every role I play; I completely immerse myself into the mindset of the character, and sometimes it can get to me.”

I watched Nicholas with absolute heart eyes as he spoke so candidly with my brothers and dad, his hand leaving my thigh occasionally whenever he began to talk passionately, using both his hands to really drive his point. They  were listening so intently, almost mesmerized. I realized then that I wished my mom gave Nicholas the same chance my dad and brothers did.

I glanced over to her as Nicholas spoke, watching her actively fight the urge to be as engaging in conversation as the rest of the family were. She was always like this — never truly engaged with anybody new she met, as if she was just a step above them to truly listen to whatever they had to say. Her behavior wasn’t new. I had watched her do this with every friend I brought home. She’d be polite — cordial even — but there was always this air of detachment, like she was humoring them instead of genuinely welcoming them. Once the door closed behind them, the comments would start.

“You shouldn’t trust her, you know,” she would say, cutting into my excitement after a fun hangout. “Girls like that always have ulterior motives.” Or, “She seems nice, but I get the feeling she talks about you behind your back.”

Over time, those remarks wore on me. I had stopped bringing friends home altogether by the time I hit high school. It wasn’t worth the scrutiny or the inevitable debrief where my mom dissected every perceived flaw in my friends, subtly planting doubts in my mind until I wasn’t even sure I wanted to hang out with them anymore. And the worst part was that sometimes, my mom ended up being right.

“(Y/N)’s been keeping the details of your relationship secret; For what? I don’t know, so forgive me for asking so many questions, but how did you two meet?” My mom asked, slicing a piece of chicken.

The food caught in both our throats at the question. Our meeting wasn’t exactly PG. I reached under the table to rest my hand on his knee, feeling  my face flush as I glanced over to Nicholas, who took the fabric napkin up to his mouth to brush away the nonexistent crumbs, giving himself some time to compose himself before responding, clearing his throat

 “Well, actually, we met at the beach,” he said smoothly, keeping things vague but not dishonest. I let out a small sigh of relief. He was so good at handling situations like this, keeping things light without giving away too much. Thank you, PR training.

 His words hung in the air for a moment, and I could feel my mom’s eyes on us, her scrutiny never wavering. She wasn’t satisfied yet. “Here?” She asked, stifling a chuckle. “Wait,” her eyes landed on me, “did you meet him when you booked that room at the beach by yourself that one weekend?”

I reached for my glass of tea and gulped, hoping it might soothe the blood rushing to my cheeks, “Um, yeah,” I answered curtly. “Yeah, we met that weekend.” Memories of that weekend started to replay in my head, the heat starting to pool low in my belly at the memory of Nicholas and I getting to know each other carnally.

“What was a famous actor doing at the island here of all places?” My dad asked, amused at the thought.

Nicholas, however, remained unfazed. He leaned back in his chair, his calm demeanor never faltering. “Well, I live in Los Angeles, so I’m at the beach there all the time,” he replied smoothly, shooting me a reassuring glance. “I guess I just wanted to get to know a new beach on the opposite coast and booked a flight here, and well… the rest is history.”

His words felt like a shield, soft but strong, deflecting my mom’s questions without making it seem like he was hiding anything. I couldn’t help but admire how effortlessly he handled it. He was a natural at navigating tense moments, and I felt a weight lift off my chest.

But my mom wasn’t quite done. “So, just the two of you at the beach? No one else?” she asked, almost too casually, like she was trying to catch him in a lie.

I glanced at Nicholas, my stomach doing a little flip. My mom’s persistence was unsettling, but I knew Nicholas could handle it. He was calm, composed, like he’d been in situations like this before. He smiled, giving my mom a look that was both warm and measured.

“Well, if you don’t count the other guests at the hotel, sure,” he said, nodding slowly. “I guess it was fate.”

I could feel my mom’s eyes narrowing slightly, her lips pressed into a thin line as she studied him, but she didn’t push further. Her gaze flickered to me for a second, and I braced myself for the inevitable, the comments that would follow once this dinner was over.

My eldest brother, sensing the tension, leaned back in his chair and grinned. “Sounds like it was a fun weekend,” he teased, earning a chuckle from our brother and Dad. The change in atmosphere was almost palpable, the air lightening a little as the conversation shifted.

I cleared my throat and buried my mouth in a napkin, hoping to hide the look of embarrassment but eventually stifling a laugh. I was grateful for my brothers’ habit of joking about everything, no matter the situation. Nicholas shot them a grateful look, his smile never faltering as he continued to engage in the conversation with them. I felt a small tug of guilt for the way my mom was acting, but I knew there was nothing more I could do to change her attitude.

Dinner continued, with my mom carefully watching the exchange, but she had settled into a more neutral silence, only offering the occasional remark when necessary. The more Nicholas interacted with my dad and brothers, the more comfortable I grew. He was so good at keeping everything light, charming everyone around him, even pulling the rare chuckle from my mom. I could feel my heart swell with affection for him in those moments, despite everything. He wasn’t fazed by my mom’s coldness, nor did he seem discouraged by her questions. He was exactly who he said he was, and I couldn’t have been prouder.

When dinner finally ended, my mom offered a strained, “Thank you for coming, Nicholas,” but it was clear that the evening hadn’t gone exactly as she’d hoped. The forced politeness in her voice was unmistakable. I didn’t know what she expected from this dinner, but I could guess it wasn’t what had transpired.

“Thank you for having me, Mrs. (Y/L/N),” Nicholas said smoothly, standing and shaking her hand. “And again, thank you for letting me stay here for a few days. Here, let me help you clear the table.”

My mom’s eyes flickered with surprise at the offer. “Oh, no need—”

But Nicholas was already standing, brushing past her with a confident smile. “It’s no trouble at all. I insist,” he said, his voice warm, and before I could protest, he was gathering plates from the table with a casual ease that made it clear this wasn’t the first time he’d done this. He moved with such a kind, unassuming confidence, not letting the awkwardness of my mom’s tension affect him.

As he began to clear the table, I followed him with my gaze, feeling a swell of admiration for him. He didn’t just talk the talk — he walked the walk. Even when my mom was at her most guarded, Nicholas was calm, generous, and helpful.

He moved around the kitchen with an easy confidence, as though he was a regular part of this family. I could feel my chest tighten with an unexpected sense of relief that this dinner definitely could've gone left quickly, and it miraculously didn’t. This was everything I’d hoped for: bringing him home, seeing him interact with my family, and watching him blend seamlessly into my world.

After a few moments, I joined my brothers and dad in the living room, collapsing onto the couch beside them. My eldest brother glanced over to me, giving me a little side-eye. “So, Nicholas, huh? He’s… cool, man,” he said, his tone a mix of sincerity and teasing.

I sighed, leaning back, trying to relax. “Yeah, he is.“ I looked over to our dad, “Dad, what did you think when mom told you she had offered the house to Nicholas?”

My dad paused, looking over at me with a thoughtful expression before his lips curled into a knowing grin. “Honestly? I thought it was a bit sudden, but if he’s a good guy, then that’s all that matters to me.” He shrugged, settling back into the couch. “I trust you to make the right call, sweetie. You’ve never been one to do something without feeling ready for it. And from what I saw tonight, he’s got his head on straight. You did good,” he smiled, wrapping his arm around my shoulder, letting me rest my head on him.

I smiled softly at my dad’s words, my heart swelling with appreciation for his support. My dad wasn’t good with vocalizing his emotions most of the time, but when he did… man, it was monumental. It was moments like these that I cherished the most — when he didn’t just offer a general statement but spoke with such certainty in my choices. His words held weight, the kind I always wished my mom would say.

My dad always knew how to make me feel seen, understood, and accepted — whether it was a quiet compliment or just a simple, knowing nod when my mom would have the complete opposite reaction. Her love was always wrapped in layers of criticism and expectation. She never seemed to be satisfied with the person I was. I knew she cared, but it often felt conditional, like there was always something more I needed to be, something else I needed to achieve to earn her approval.

I nodded slowly, grateful for the simple, grounding truth in his words. “Thanks, Dad. I needed to hear that.”

When Nicholas finally came into the living room, his movements fluid and easy, he gave me a smile. “All done in there,” he said, his voice soft and easy. He didn’t try to make a big deal out of it, but I could tell he felt good about having helped.

“Kitchen’s clean,” my mom entered the space, slinging a dish towel over her shoulder and plopping herself down into the loveseat, “Everybody’s free to do whatever now.”

My brothers excitedly stood up from the couch, shoving each other over furniture as they made their way to their rooms, shouting something about controllers. My dad stood up from the couch, “Good night, son.” He clapped Nicholas on the back, giving him a friendly nod before walking over to my mom. “Have a beer with me in the backyard?” He asked, reaching his hand out to her.

She sighed, her face growing into a reluctant smile as she took his hand in hers and stood up from the loveseat, “Goodnight, kids,” she softly smiled before following my dad out to the backyard.

Nicholas and I lingered for a moment, both of us standing in the middle of the living room. I slowly stepped toward him, resting my hands on his hips. “You…” I said, planting a slow kiss on his lips, “were amazing tonight.”

Nicholas grinned against my lips, his hands gently cupping my face as he deepened the kiss. “Like I said,” he murmured, pulling away just enough to look into my eyes. “We got this.”

After a quiet moment, we both turned toward my room. The house was quieter now, the only sounds coming from the distant hum of the refrigerator and the faint chatter of my parents outside, the occasional angry profanity from one of my brothers. 

I took his hand in mine, leading him, “Now that we got that out of the way… we can relax,” I sighed in relief.

As we entered my room, I closed the door behind us, the soft click of the latch filling the quiet space. I made sure to lock the door, ensuring our privacy, and turned on the air purifier I had by the door to drown out our voices.

The room felt warmer now, the tension from dinner dissipating in the calming intimacy of the moment. Nicholas took a few steps forward, stopping near the bed as he reached for his duffel bag, zipping it open and pulling out his toiletries and a clean pair of boxers. I watched as his arms flexed with every movement as he reached for his things, zipping up his bag and throwing it back down onto the floor.

I had caught his eye, flashing me a knowing smile as he stepped closer, resting my hands on my waist and pulling me flush against him. There was a quiet intensity in his gaze, a mixture of desire and affection. I felt my heart race as my fingertips grazed the fabric of his shirt, the heat from his body drawing me in.

“Is it our time now?” I asked quietly, leaning in to graze my lips over his.

He glanced over to the bedroom door, a soft chuckle escaping his lips, his hands moving down to grip my waist, “Your entire family’s still in the house,” he spoke, his voice low and husky.

Arching into his hold, I rested my hands on his chest, feeling his chest rise and fall under me. “Then we would just have to be very quiet now, wouldn’t we?” I asked teasingly, smiling into his lips before devouring him in a kiss.

Nicholas responded immediately, his hands sliding up to cup the back of my neck, pulling me closer, as if he couldn't get enough of the feeling of my lips on his. The kiss deepened, slow and deliberate, as if the weight of everything that had happened tonight was coming to a head in this one perfect moment. His lips moved against mine, warm and eager, but still tender, as though savoring every second of this quiet intimacy.

I let out a soft sigh, pressing closer into him, feeling the heat of his body against mine. He pulled away just enough to breathe, his forehead resting against mine. "I’m serious, your family’s on the other side of that wall right there. You don’t care?" he murmured, his voice raspy with desire.

I smiled softly, my fingers tracing the line of his jaw, feeling the slight stubble against my skin. "Do you?" I teased, my voice a breathless whisper.

He was quiet for a beat, panting heavily, “A little.”

I pulled him into another quick kiss, pulling away to pout, “I’ll just have to play with myself then.”

Nicholas's eyes darkened with a mix of surprise and desire, his breath catching at my words. His hands tightened on my waist, pulling me even closer as if he was trying to make sure there was no space left between us. "You know I can’t let that happen," he murmured, his voice rough and urgent.

He leaned in again to kiss me, but I had the inspired idea of denying Nicholas my body, turning my cheek to him and releasing myself from his hold, slowly making my way to my bed and crawling toward the pillows, slowly turning around to lie down on my back.

He stood still for a moment, watching me with a mix of amusement and growing desire. His lips curved into a sly smile as he slowly stepped forward, his gaze never leaving mine. He reached out to me, but I moved his hand away.

I smiled slyly, shifting into a comfortable position over the pillows, “Uh-uh, you didn’t want to play,” I whispered. “You’ll have to watch first.”

His mouth twitched into a smirk, and he slowly lowered himself onto the edge of the bed beside me, his gaze never leaving mine. The room seemed to pulse with the tension between us as he watched me intently. "Don’t tease," he murmured, his voice low and velvety, almost a warning.

I couldn't help but smile, my pulse quickening under his gaze. "You started it," I cooed, my fingers trailing down my body slowly, deliberately, as I maintained eye contact.

Slowly, I started to unbutton my blouse, taking my time. Nicholas's eyes followed my every movement, the intensity in his gaze growing with each slow, deliberate action. His breath hitched slightly, but he didn't say a word; he just watched, a mix of desire and anticipation clearly written on his face. His lips parted slightly, as if he were waiting for something to break, but I kept my pace steady, savoring the power I felt in this moment.

I glanced up at him once I'd unbuttoned the blouse halfway, catching the way his chest rose and fell, the muscles of his jaw working as he clenched his teeth. I smiled at the sight of his struggle, my fingers now sliding down to the waistband of my jeans. His breath was coming faster now, and I could tell he was about to reach for me. But I stopped him with a glance, shaking my head slowly. "Wait your turn," I whispered.

Nicholas clenched his fists, but his restraint only made me bolder. I finally pulled my blouse off, tossing it carelessly to the floor beside the bed. The cold air brushed my skin, perking my breasts awake. I watched his eyes darken with desire as I slowly ran my hands over my chest, feeling the warmth of the room and the growing heat between us.

He exhaled shakily, running a hand through his hair. "Don’t punish me," he murmured, the words thick with frustration.

But I just smiled, enjoying every second of it. I slowly eased my pants down, tossing them aside and brushing my hand over my wet underwear, the other hand still kneading my breast. I let out a shaky breath, mindful to keep the noise down, as I touched myself. Nicholas shifted, his breathing now erratic, but he stayed seated on the edge of the bed. His body was tense, a mixture of yearning and restraint. He didn't reach for me, though his gaze never wavered.

My legs writhed up and down as I rubbed myself through my underwear, biting back quiet moans until I decided to spread my legs slowly as I pulled my underwear down, letting it wrap around my ankles. He clenched his jaw the moment he saw me completely bare in front of him, knitting his eyebrows together slightly and licking his lips. He let out a quiet growl as he watched me intently, his eyes tracing my fingers.

I guided my hand up to my mouth, gently sucking on my middle and ring fingers for a moment, wetting them mindfully and keeping eye contact with Nicholas all the while. I smiled up at him as I trailed my slickened fingers down my abdomen and had them land on my throbbing bud, slowly beginning to rub circles into myself.

"(Y/N)," he rasped, voice low and thick with desire, his eyes following my center.

I let out a small, satisfied laugh, inserting my fingers into my soaking hole, sharply inhaling at the sensation. I slowly started to pump my fingers, the quiet, rhythmic wet sound of my pleasure sending Nicholas into a quiet frenzy. A high-pitched moan escaped my lips, prompting me to stop squeezing my breast and instead move that hand up to my mouth to muffle my own moans.

The room seemed to grow hotter with each passing second, the air thick with anticipation. I could feel Nicholas's eyes on me, his gaze heavy and unwavering, filled with a mix of need and control. The weight of his attention was intoxicating, and I savored the dynamic between us, pushing myself to the edge of what I knew I could handle. The tension in me began to coil tighter and tighter the more I thrusted my fingers in and out, my breath hitching as I tried to stay quiet.

I started to writhe under my own hand, fluttering my eyes shut and breathing in heavy gasps. When I let my fingers traverse deeper, I opened my eyes to find Nicholas starting to reach out for me, his hand tracing the outline of my leg. The warmth of his hand against my skin sent a shiver through me, heightening the sensations that already had my body trembling, but I was dedicated to playing the game. I reached for his hand, guiding it to his throbbing member before pulling my hand away and continuing to push myself toward ecstasy.

As I picked up the pace of my fingers, I rolled over onto my stomach, spreading my thighs apart and lifting my hips into the air as I bucked my hips into my hand. “Fuck,” I whimpered into the pillow, breathing shakily.

The air in the room grew impossibly thick, the heat between us palpable as I let myself sink further into the sensation. My body trembled under the weight of my own touch, and I could feel Nicholas's eyes devouring me from where he sat. His restraint was unraveling; I could sense it in the way his breathing grew uneven, the way his fingers dug into the mattress as if trying to anchor himself. I glanced back over my shoulder, catching the wild hunger in his eyes as he watched my every movement. The tension in his jaw was evident, his body coiled as though ready to pounce, yet he remained rooted to the spot, his control hanging by a thread.

Every sound that escaped me seemed to pull him closer to the edge. I could feel the power I held in this moment, and it made my pulse race even faster. I slowed my movements deliberately, teasing myself as much as I was him, dragging out the moment until the ache inside me became unbearable.

l arched my back further, offering him an even more tantalizing view as my fingers continued their work. My body was alive with sensation, every nerve humming as I gave in to my own pleasure. The wet sounds of my fingers against my slick heat filled the room, mixing with the quiet gasps and muffled moans I tried to contain. Nicholas finally moved then, his resolve cracking as he reached out for me, his hand gripping the curve of my hip. His touch was firm but trembling, a testament to the war he was waging within himself. "You're driving me insane," he growled, his voice low and hoarse.

I smiled through my haze, turning my head just enough to meet his gaze. "That’s the point," I whispered breathlessly, my lips curving into a wicked grin.

He clenched his jaw again, his eyes narrowing as he pulled his hand away abruptly. The loss of his touch sent a shiver of anticipation through me, but before I could say anything, he shifted closer, hovering above my shoulder, his presence dominating the space around me.

He was so close now that I could feel the heat radiating from him, his breath hot against my skin as he leaned over me. "You wanna play?" he murmured, his voice a dangerous whisper against my ear. "I can play, too."

Without another word, his hand replaced mine, his fingers delving into my wetness with a confidence and precision that made my whole body jolt. His other hand gripped my waist, holding me steady as he took control, the tension between us exploding into something raw and uncontrollable. A sharp cry escaped my lips before I could stop it, muffled quickly as I bit into the pillow. 

"Careful," he teased, his voice thick with desire. "We wouldn't want anyone to hear, now would we?"

I whimpered against the pillow, my body trembling as his fingers worked with relentless precision. The shift in control was dizzying, and I could feel my resolve melting away with each skilled movement of his hand. My breaths came in ragged gasps, the muffled sounds of my pleasure filling the small space around us.

Nicholas's lips brushed against the back of my neck, featherlight but enough to make my skin prickle with sensation. "You were so confident a minute ago," he murmured, his voice a dark, teasing rumble. "What happened?"

I tried to respond, but the words died in my throat as his thumb found my sensitive bud, circling it with deliberate, maddening slowness. A choked cry escaped me, and I pressed my face deeper into the pillow, desperate to muffle the sounds that threatened to betray me.

His low chuckle sent a fresh wave of heat coursing through me. "That's what I thought," he whispered, his fingers delving deeper, setting a rhythm that left me helpless against him.

I wasn’t sure what had gotten into Nicholas. He had never been so unapologetically in control. This was different. He was different. Patrick Bateman had indeed rubbed off on him, but not in the way I’d feared. Nicholas was channeling that sharp-edged confidence, the undercurrent of danger that made his portrayal of the character so magnetic. He wasn’t the blood-soaked psychopath, but he was the embodiment of control, of someone who knew exactly how much power they held and exactly how to use it.

And God, did I love it.

“Nic,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the low hum of the air purifier.

The name came out as both a plea and an acknowledgment — I saw what he was doing, and I wanted more. This new side of him, nurtured by the darker edge of his role, left me breathless. He wasn’t losing himself in that persona; he was borrowing some of it and using it to show me parts of himself he’d kept hidden before, or at least, never fully shown.

Every shift in his posture, every subtle tilt of his head, felt like part of a script he had written in his mind — a performance just for me. His role had shown him how seductive control could truly be. And he was applying that lesson now, each gesture crafted to keep me on edge.

“You thought you could tease me and get away with it?” he murmured, his tone darkly amused. 

The words sent a shiver through me, my skin prickling with anticipation. The mixture of his teasing words and skillful hands left me teetering on the edge, my body writhing beneath him as he took complete control.I arched my back further with a muffled whimper, unable to stop myself from pressing into his touch. His thumb pressed down against my sensitive bud, slow and deliberate. 

 He smiled against my neck, the curve of his lips unmistakable as he continued his torturous pace. He shifted closer, his chest now pressed against my back as he leaned in, his breath hot against my ear. "So beautiful," he murmured, his voice softening for a moment. "I could watch you like this forever." The tenderness in his tone sent a shiver through me, cutting through the haze of desire with an ache that went deeper than physical. “Look at me,” he said softly.

I turned my head slightly, meeting his gaze as best I could, and the intensity in his eyes stole what little breath I had left. It was startling and irresistible. It was as if he was letting me see that beneath the playfulness and the quiet assertions, he was just as caught up in this as I was. The character he channeled was powerful and controlling, yes, but he’d never use that for anything but making this moment electric for both of us.

"Nic," I whispered, his name a plea on my lips.

He groaned softly, his movements faltering for just a second before he kissed the curve of my shoulder, his lips warm and lingering. "I've got you," he murmured against my skin, his voice a promise that sent my heart racing.

Nicholas's words resonated deep within me, grounding me in the moment as his hands continued their relentless, intoxicating rhythm. His presence was overwhelming, yet comforting — a perfect storm of passion and tenderness that had my body trembling with need. I couldn't hold back the quiet moans that escaped me, muffled as they were by the pillow beneath me. Every touch, every stroke, felt like it was pushing me closer to the edge, a precipice I both feared and craved. My hands gripped the sheets tightly, my knuckles white as I fought to keep my composure.

"Nicholas," I whimpered again, his name slipping from my lips like a prayer

 I turned my head just enough to catch another glimpse of him, his expression a mixture of concentration and raw desire. His jaw was tight, his brows drawn together in that way that made my heart clench. He was completely focused on me, his gaze flickering between my face and the movements of his hand. "You're perfect," he whispered, his voice so soft it was almost lost in the haze of the moment. His free hand moved to my hip, steadying me as I writhed under his touch. "I could never get enough of you."

The vulnerability in his words, combined with the sheer intensity of his touch, pushed me closer to the breaking point. My breath hitched, my body arching into his hand as a wave of pleasure began to crest, threatening to consume me entirely.

"Please," I gasped, the words tumbling from my lips in a desperate plea. I didn't even know what I was asking for — more of him, less of him. I just needed something to tether me as the world spun out of control around me. His fingers stilled for a moment, and I almost cried out in frustration, but then he leaned down, his lips brushing against my ear.

"Say it," he murmured, his voice a low, teasing growl that sent shivers down my spine. "Tell me what you need."

I turned my head to meet his gaze, my eyes heavy with desire and frustration. "You," I whispered, the word carrying all the weight of my longing.

Just then, the sound of footsteps passing down the hall broke through the haze, and both of us froze, the sudden intrusion grounding us in the reality of where we were. My pulse thundered in my ears as we waited, breathless. The tension in the room was electrifying as we held perfectly still, our breaths synchronized and shallow, ears straining for the faintest sound from the hallway.

Nicholas’s fingers slowed but continued their calculated movements. My body trembled under his touch, every nerve on edge, the thrill of being caught mingling with the raw intensity of the moment. I bit down on the pillow again, stifling the soft moans that escaped my lips as his fingers continued pumping inside me. There was a devilish smile across his face as he shushed me, his ears still perked toward the door. I caught a hint of amusement on his lips.

Underneath the surface, I recognized him — the Nicholas who was kind and thoughtful, who adored me. But now that adoration had grown claws, a sensual confidence that skimmed the line between teasing and challenging me. This was a Nicholas who wanted me to squirm under his careful attention, who wanted to see just how far I’d let him push before I begged him to go further.

The silence stretched on, each second feeling like an eternity. Finally, the footsteps resumed, retreating back down the hallway and fading into the distance. My body sagged with relief, but Nicholas wasted no time, his fingers resuming their maddening rhythm almost immediately.

"You like the risk, don't you?" he teased, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear. His voice was low and gravelly, a dangerous edge to his words that made my skin prickle with anticipation. "You want them to hear, just a little."

I shook my head, my muffled protest lost against the pillow. But the truth was written all over my body — the way I pushed back against his hand, the way my breaths came faster, louder, despite my efforts to remain quiet.

"You can't lie to me," he murmured, his voice darkly amused. "Your body tells me everything."

His words sent a fresh wave of heat through me, and I felt my control slipping away entirely. The tension inside me coiled tighter, every nerve in my body alight with sensation. I was so close, teetering on the edge, and Nicholas knew it. His fingers moved faster now, his movements precise and relentless as he drove me closer and closer to the breaking point. I reached my hand behind me, clutching at his hair and pushing his head closer against me.

“You were so bold before, so sure of yourself, hmm? I want to hear you beg,” he said, his voice soft but commanding.

My breath hitched, my mind scrambling for words, but all that escaped was a shaky whimper. He chuckled, the sound low and wicked, sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through me.

“Come on. Use your words,” he teased, his fingers resuming their maddening rhythm.

“Nic—” I gasped, his name spilling from my lips. “Please.”

“Please, what?” he asked, his tone infuriatingly calm, as if we weren’t teetering on the edge of something electric and uncontrollable. His other hand gripped my hip, steadying me as I writhed beneath him. “Say it. I want to hear exactly what you need.”

I squeezed my eyes shut, my body trembling as his fingers pushed me closer to the precipice. “I need you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “I need you, Nic. Please.”

He hummed, as though considering my words, his fingers never faltering. “Better,” he said, his voice like molten honey. “But not quite good enough.”

He pulled his hand away suddenly, leaving me gasping and trembling, my body aching with need. I turned my head to look at him, my eyes wide with disbelief and frustration. His expression was infuriatingly smug, a crooked smile playing at his lips as he sat back, his gaze roaming over me like he was savoring the sight of my unraveling.

“You wanted to play games earlier, didn’t you?“ he said, his voice a low purr.

I let out a soft, frustrated sound, my hands gripping the sheets as I tried to regain some semblance of control. But Nicholas wasn’t having it. He leaned down, his breath hot against my skin as he pressed a featherlight kiss to my shoulder, then the nape of my neck, then the space just below my ear. His hand moved again, skimming down my side, his touch light enough to send shivers through me. My body arched instinctively, desperate for more, but he took his time, his fingers tracing maddeningly slow patterns over my skin.

“Do you know how hard it was to keep my hands off you tonight?” he asked, his tone conversational, as if he weren’t driving me to the brink of madness. “Sitting next to you at the table with your family, watching you look so damn perfect, knowing I’d get to do this.”

He punctuated the last word by sliding his hand between my thighs, his touch deliberate and unrelenting. I let out a muffled cry, biting down on the pillow to stifle the sound. He smiled at my reaction, his eyes darkening with satisfaction.

“Good girl,” he murmured, his voice soft but firm.

The words sent a thrill through me, my body responding to the possessiveness in his tone. I didn’t care that we were playing a dangerous game, that my family was just down the hall. In this moment, nothing else mattered but the way he made me feel — completely claimed, completely consumed.

Nicholas leaned down, capturing my lips in a kiss that was both tender and searing, a promise of everything he intended to do to me. As his fingers resumed their relentless rhythm, I gave in to him entirely, letting him pull me under, letting him show me just how far he was willing to go to prove his dominance.

And as the tension inside me coiled tighter and tighter, I realized something: this new Nicholas, this teasing, commanding, utterly intoxicating version of him, was exactly what I’d been waiting for.

"Let go," he urged, his voice soft yet insistent.

The words were my undoing. With a sharp cry muffled against the pillow, the tension inside me snapped, and I was lost to the waves of pleasure that crashed over me. My body trembled violently under his touch, my breaths coming in short, ragged gasps as l clung to the sheets for dear life. Nicholas's movements slowed, his touch gentle now as he guided me through the aftershocks. His free hand moved to my back, his touch soothing as he pressed a soft kiss to my shoulder.

"That's my girl," he murmured, his voice filled with a mix of pride and tenderness.

I lay there, trembling and breathless, as the intensity of the moment began to subside. Nicholas didn't move away; instead, he stayed close, his hand tracing soothing circles over my back as his lips brushed against my shoulder. His presence was grounding, yet I could feel the lingering heat between us, the tension far from gone.

I rolled onto my side to face him, my fingers reaching out to trace the sharp line of his jaw. His expression softened as he looked at me, his gaze still dark with desire but tempered by something deeper — something achingly tender. I let my hand wander down his chest, the muscles beneath his shirt taut and warm under my touch.

"You," I murmured, my voice a little breathless. "I want you to feel as good as I do."

A small smile tugged at his lips, but he shook his head, his hand capturing mine and holding it gently. "Tonight was about you," he said softly, his voice steady despite the lingering rasp of arousal. "You seemed a little on edge since we got home; I just wanted to take care of you."

“But I—“ I started to protest, but he silenced me with a quick kiss, his lips firm but gentle, cutting off my words as his other hand came up to cradle the side of my face.

"You don't have to," he whispered against my lips, his tone leaving no room for argument. "Seeing you, hearing you, knowing I could make you feel that way. That's enough for me."

His words left me speechless, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around me like a warm embrace. I could still feel the evidence of his restraint, the tension in his body as he held himself back, but his focus remained entirely on me. It wasn't just about control — it was about care, about putting me first in a way that made my heart ache with gratitude.

“But you’re visiting me this time,” I pouted, resting my hands over his chest, “I should be the one making you feel this way.”

Nicholas smiled softly, his hand covering mine as it rested against his chest. The heat of his skin radiated through his shirt, steady and grounding.

I moved my hand to cup his face, my thumb brushing over the apple of his cheek, “You give so much of yourself — to me, to your work. You deserve to let yourself receive, too.”

Nicholas closed his eyes briefly, his jaw tightening as if my words had struck a chord. When he opened them again, there was a softness in his gaze that made my chest ache. His hand covered mine, pressing it gently against his cheek. "I know," he murmured, his voice low and steady. His voice was barely audible when he spoke, a rasp that hinted at the emotions simmering beneath his carefully maintained facade. “It’s… hard to turn it off sometimes,” he admitted, his forehead still resting against mine.

I leaned closer, letting my forehead rest against his, my voice barely above a whisper. "Let me take some of that stress away.” My fingers traced the edge of his jaw, the sharp line softening as his expression wavered.

Nicholas’s lips parted slightly, a soft exhale escaping as he held my gaze. His hand came up to cover mine, still pressed to his cheek, and he gave it a gentle squeeze. His gaze darkened slightly, a flicker of something unspoken passing between us. He shifted closer, his hand trailing from mine to cup the back of my neck, pulling me into a kiss that was slow, tender, and all-encompassing. His lips moved against mine with a deliberate gentleness, as if savoring the moment, as if thanking me for the sentiment without needing to say a word. He closed his eyes for a moment, his jaw working as though he was debating with himself.

It wasn’t that Nicholas wasn’t used to being vulnerable with me — he always was, since we first met. But after months of embodying a character like Patrick, a role that demanded emotional detachment and absolute control, letting go had become something almost foreign to him. He had coiled himself tightly, and I had to work to undo that tightness again.

When Nicholas opened his eyes again, there was a flicker of vulnerability in his gaze, but also trust. “Ok,” he said softly, his voice barely above a whisper. “But only because it’s you.”

I smiled, leaning up to kiss him gently, pouring everything I felt into the soft press of my lips against his. “Always me,” I murmured, letting my words linger in the air as I began to slowly pull him down on top of me.

Nicholas allowed himself to be guided, his body hesitating only briefly before yielding to the pull of my hands. His weight settled against me, warm and grounding, and I could feel the tension still coiled tightly in his muscles. His breathing was uneven, his forehead resting against mine as though he was bracing himself for something he couldn't quite define.

I ran my fingers through his hair, my touch slow and deliberate, trying to ease some of the strain I could feel radiating from him. He tried to hide it as best he could, but filming had taken a toll on him. He had poured himself completely into the role. I could only imagine how tough it must be to have yourself become emotionally detached for your work. Then, to go home to holiday parties and then visit your girlfriend’s family for the first time. It must’ve been stressful for him, even though he tried so hard to make it seem like nothing about him had changed.

His eyes fluttered shut, the vulnerability in that small movement breaking my heart. I threaded my fingers down the nape of his neck, tracing the tension there. His jaw tightened for a moment, but then he nodded, the tension in his shoulders softening just slightly. I leaned up to kiss him again, slow and tender, pouring every ounce of reassurance I could into the press of my lips against his. My hands moved down his body, tracing the lines of his chest and stomach, feeling the tension start to unravel beneath my touch.

Nicholas let out a shaky exhale, his hands finding their way to my waist, holding on as though I was his anchor. I pressed my lips to his jaw, trailing soft kisses down his neck and over his collarbone as my hands worked to remove his hoodie. As each layer of fabric fell away, I kissed the newly exposed skin, savoring the way his breathing deepened, the way his hands began to relax their grip. When the sweater underneath was finally discarded, I ran my hands over his chest, feeling the strong, steady beat of his heart beneath my fingertips.

"Feel that?" I murmured, meeting his gaze. "You're still here."

His throat bobbed as he swallowed hard, his hands sliding up to cradle my face. "God, I’ve missed you so fucking much," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

I smiled softly, brushing a strand of hair from his face. "I’m so in love with you," I said simply. "Every part of you, inside and out.”

That seemed to break something in him, and he kissed me again, this time with a raw, unguarded intensity that left me breathless. His hands roamed my body, but there was no urgency, no need to control or give, only a quiet acceptance as he let himself feel.

I rolled us over in bed, straddling Nicholas as he lay under me. I kissed him deeply, pouring every ounce of my love and understanding into the soft press of my lips. His hands, though trembling slightly, rested on my hips, but he didn't try to guide or take control. He was letting himself simply be — letting me take the lead, and it warmed my heart to know he trusted me that much.

I let my hands trail down his chest, fingers grazing the taut muscles of his stomach. His skin was warm under my touch, and I could feel the tension slowly ebbing from his body as I took my time exploring every inch of him. I leaned down, pressing soft kisses to his chest, my lips lingering over his heartbeat. I smiled against his skin, my hands sliding lower until I reached the waistband of his jeans. I glanced up at him for permission, and he gave me a small nod, his lips parting as his breathing quickened. Slowly, I undid the button and zipper, my movements deliberate and unhurried. I wanted him to feel every moment, to know this was for him and him alone.

As I eased his jeans down, I pressed kisses to the newly exposed skin, savoring the way his muscles tensed and relaxed under my touch. When he was finally bare before me, I let my gaze linger on him, taking in every detail. He was beautiful, vulnerable in a way that made my heart ache with love and admiration. God, I missed him so much.

"You're perfect," I whispered, my eyes meeting his. The raw emotion in his gaze made my chest tighten, but I didn't let it distract me from my goal — to bring him peace, even if just for tonight, even though he still had to step back into character again right after this trip.

I leaned down, pressing a soft kiss to his hip before trailing my lips lower. Nicholas's breath hitched, his hands gripping the sheets, but he didn't try to stop me. He let out a low, shuddering moan as I took him into my mouth, my lips and tongue explored him. I kept my movements slow and deliberate, designed to drive away every lingering trace of stress and tension.

He covered his mouth with his inner elbow, mindful of where we were. His sounds of pleasure were quiet, restrained, but I could feel the way his body responded to every touch, every kiss. He was letting go, piece by piece, and it filled me with a sense of purpose I couldn't put into words.

I let my lips and hands work in tandem, slowly unraveling every knot of tension that Nicholas had been carrying. His breathing grew heavier, his quiet groans muffled as he pressed his arm to his mouth. I watched him struggle to keep himself restrained, to stay mindful of the thin walls separating us from my family, but I didn't want him to hold back — not with me.

"Let it out, Nic," I whispered against his skin, my voice soft but commanding. "No one else matters right now.”

His arm fell away, reaching for the pillow under his head and burying himself under it as a deep, desperate sound escaped him. It wasn't just a moan — it was a release, raw and unfiltered, as though he'd been holding it in for far too long. His head fell back against the mattress, his eyes fluttering shut as his body surrendered completely to my touch.

"(Y/N)," he rasped, his voice cracking under the weight of his emotions. "I-I can't..." His hands gripped the sheets tightly, his knuckles white as he tried to ground himself. He pulled the pillow away slightly, "You're gonna ruin me," he groaned quietly, his tone a mix of exasperation and awe.

I smiled softly, trailing my lips back up his body. "Good," I whispered against his skin.

His hands moved instinctively to my hips as I straddled him, his touch trembling but firm. He looked up at me with wide, glassy eyes, his vulnerability laid bare in a way that made my chest tighten. He wasn't just undone — he was mine, and he was letting himself be seen in a way that few ever had.

"You're so beautiful," I whispered as I grabbed him by the base of his shaft and lowered myself on top of him. His cheeks were flushed, his lips parted as he panted softly beneath me. "Do you know how much I love you? How much you mean to me?"

He nodded his head, his hands gripping my thighs as he entered me. "I don't know what I'd do without you," he choked out, his voice rough.

Tears pricked at the corners of my eyes, but I blinked them away, leaning down to press my forehead against his, slowly starting to ride him "You'll never have to find out," I whispered. "I’m here."

Nicholas's hands trembled against my skin, his voice breaking as he whispered, "I need you. So much."

As I moved against him, his control unraveled further, his voice rising as he called out my name in a broken, desperate tone that sent a shiver down my spine. I guided him through every wave of pleasure, my hands and body coaxing him toward release as he gave himself over entirely to the moment.

When his body tensed under me, he buried his face into the pillow again, letting out a muffled groan as he clutched at the pillow like it was a lifesaver. I felt the evidence of his climax fill me completely, continuing to slowly ride him out as he came, his hands digging into my hips as his body violently shuddered under me. 

He laid beneath me, utterly spent and trembling. I dismounted him, lying beside him and pulling the blankets over us, curling up against his side as he buried his face in my hair. His arms wrapped around me tightly, his breathing uneven as he struggled to come back to himself.

“Thank you,” he whispered, eyes closed.

I brushed my fingers through his damp hair, letting the strands slip softly between my fingertips. His body was still trembling slightly as he held me close, his breath warm against my temple. “I know sometimes all I do is take,” I murmured, my voice soft and filled with affection, “but you’ve taught me it feels just as good to give.”

Nicholas pressed a kiss to the top of my head, his arms tightening around me as though he couldn’t bear to let me go. For a moment, we lay in comfortable silence, the world outside fading away until it was just the two of us. His chest rose and fell beneath me, steadying as the aftershocks of the moment began to subside. As we lay there, tangled together under the blankets, I felt a profound sense of peace settle over me, letting our breaths lull me to sleep.

I awoke in Nicholas’s grasp, his head under my chin as his head rested on my chest, the position different from the one we had drifted to sleep in. The room was bathed in soft, muted light, the faint glow of the early morning sun filtering through the sheer curtains I had swapped out the day before. The air purifier hummed softly in the background, a gentle white noise that blended seamlessly with the sound of Nicholas’s deep, even breaths. His body was warm against mine, his arms still wrapped tightly around my waist as though he’d been holding onto me even in his sleep.

I glanced down at him, my fingers lightly brushing through his tousled hair. He looked peaceful, his features softened in a way I hadn’t seen in weeks. His lashes rested against his cheeks, and his lips, slightly parted, moved faintly with each exhale. I smiled to myself, unable to resist tracing the curve of his jawline with my fingers. As I watched him sleep, I had the urge of wanting to greet him with breakfast in bed, the first way I would spoil him today.

The thought of surprising Nicholas with breakfast in bed made me smile. He had spent so much of last night making sure I felt loved and cared for, and now it was my turn to do the same for him. Slowly, I began to slip out from under his arms, careful not to wake him. He stirred slightly, his grip on my waist loosening, but his eyes remained closed, and his breathing evened out again. I tiptoed across the room, pulling on the pajamas I had left draped over the chair the day before that I never had the chance to put on.

The house was quiet as I crept down the hallway toward the kitchen, the early morning light casting a warm glow across the walls. My mom was always an early riser, so I half-expected to find her there, but to my relief, the kitchen was empty. I couldn’t imagine the teasing I’d endure if she caught me sneaking around this early for Nicholas.

I set to work quickly, gathering ingredients for pancakes and eggs, knowing they were his favorite. As I cracked the eggs into a bowl and whisked them, I couldn’t help but feel a warmth in my chest, a deep contentment that came from doing something simple yet meaningful for him. Every step, from pouring the batter onto the hot griddle to flipping the pancakes, felt like an act of love, a way to show him how much he meant to me.

The scent of freshly brewed coffee and warm maple syrup began to fill the kitchen, and I plated everything carefully, arranging the pancakes, eggs, and fruit just so. I grabbed a tray from the cabinet, setting the plate and mug on it. It was simple, but I hoped it would make him feel special.

As I carried the tray back down the hall, I couldn’t help but feel a little nervous. Nicholas was used to grand gestures and lavish displays in his world, and while this was far more humble, it came straight from my heart. I just hoped it would mean as much to him as it did to me.

When I pushed the bedroom door open and closed it back with my foot, balancing the tray carefully, I found him still curled up on the bed, his head nestled against the pillow where I’d been. The sight of him, so peaceful and unguarded, made my heart swell.

“Nicholas,” I called softly, setting the tray down on the bedside table. I brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, my fingers lingering against his warm skin. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

He stirred at my touch, his eyes fluttering open slowly. A sleepy, lopsided smile spread across his face as he blinked up at me. “Morning,” he murmured, his voice thick and raspy.

“Good morning,” I replied, sitting on the edge of the bed. “I made you breakfast.”

His eyes flicked to the tray, and his smile widened, lighting up his face. “You’re spoiling me already?” he teased, rubbing his eyes open and propping himself up on one elbow.

“You deserve it,” I said simply, leaning down to kiss him softly before reaching for the tray. I placed it on his lap as he sat up in bed, watching as he took in the neatly arranged plate and the little touches I’d added.

“This is perfect,” he said, his voice soft with genuine appreciation. He picked up the fork, taking a bite of the pancakes, and let out a low hum of approval. He grinned, taking another bite before setting the fork down and pulling me closer. “Thank you,” he said, his eyes locking onto mine. “For everything. Last night, this morning… for just being you.”

I smiled, resting my forehead against his, kissing the corner of his eye, “Always,” I whispered, feeling a sense of peace settle over me again as we shared this quiet, intimate moment together. It wasn’t grand or extravagant, but it was us — and that was more than enough.

I made my way over to my closet, starting to plan out today’s outfit. Thankfully, it wasn’t as cold as the day before, a nice and sunny 57 degrees Fahrenheit, so I made sure to choose a light sweater.

“Hey, come here,” I heard Nicholas softly call out to me.

I turned around to see Nicholas cutting up a piece of pancake, stabbing it into the fork before holding it out lightly as if it might fall off. I smiled at the sight, crossing the room toward him and taking a seat next to him on the bed. Nicholas’s lips curled into a playful smirk, his eyes glinting with warmth.

“I don’t want to enjoy these alone,” he said, holding the fork steady.

I leaned in, opening my mouth slightly as he guided the fork to my lips. The warmth of the pancake, combined with the sweet syrup and buttery richness, made me hum in delight.

“It tastes sweeter having you feed it to me,” I said after swallowing.

Nicholas laughed softly, setting the fork down for a moment and reaching out to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear. “You have no idea how much I love this,” he murmured, his voice lower now, carrying a hint of emotion.

“This?” I asked, tilting my head slightly, feeling the warmth of his gaze settle over me.

“This,” he repeated, gesturing vaguely between us, the tray, and the bed. “Being here with you. It’s everything. It’s so normal and perfect and… exactly what I needed.”

His words made my chest tighten with affection. I reached out to take his hand, squeezing it gently, “As long as you’re here, I want to make every moment count.”

Nicholas’s smile softened, his fingers curling around mine as he brought my hand to his lips, pressing a tender kiss to my knuckles. For a moment, we just sat there, the morning light streaming through the window and bathing us in its soft glow.

“So,” I began, breaking the quiet. “I have a pretty busy day planned for us, so why don’t I get ahead and hop in the shower while you finish eating up?” I asked, running my fingers through his hair before returning to my closet to finish planning my outfit.

I pulled out ol’ reliable, a plain shirt and jeans, setting it down on my desk chair, before making my way to my en suite bathroom. The morning air in the room was cool against my skin as I stepped inside, shut the door behind me, and switched on the vent fan to filter out the steam I knew I’d cause with my warm shower.

The bathroom was cozy, with soft white tiles and a single recessed shelf in the shower that was perfect for propping up my phone. I turned on the water, adjusting it until it was just the right temperature — hot enough to warm myself up from the night’s cold A/C air but not too hot to where I might boil myself alive.

As steam began to fill the room, I quickly set up my phone on the shelf, opening Hulu to catch up on the latest episode of the irreverent comedy show I was watching. Honestly, I wasn’t sure if I watched tv in the shower because I truly loved watching it or just because I had grown accustomed to having the constant chatter in the background while I worked through my hair, like I was in some sort of personal hair salon.

The water cascaded over me as I pulled back the curtain slightly and stepped into the full shower, the heat soaking into my skin and relaxing my muscles. I tilted my head back, letting the water run through my hair as the show played quietly in the background. The sound of the dialogue mixed with the steady rhythm of the water and the constant hum of the vent, creating a soothing atmosphere.

Just as I reached for the shampoo, I heard the bathroom door creak open. I knew it was Nicholas, so I didn’t mind at all, continuing to lather my hands up with shampoo and starting to work at my hair. In my head, I thought maybe he’d use the toilet or brush his teeth after finishing up his breakfast, so when I felt the curtain pull back slightly, I opened my eyes.

Nicholas stood there, leaning casually against the edge of the shower, his smirk both playful and mischievous. Steam swirled around him, softening the lines of his face as he met my gaze.

"You have your phone in here?" he asked, his tone teasing as his eyes flicked to the shelf where my show was still playing.

“I like the noise,” a laugh escaped me as I rinsed the shampoo from my hair.

He chuckled, shaking his head slightly before stepping closer. His hands reached for the hem of his t-shirt, and I watched as he pulled it off in one smooth motion. He stepped out of his jeans and boxers, pulling the curtain back more to join me. He stepped in, letting the hot water hit his skin. I tried to feign indignation, but the sight of him standing there, drops of water trickling down his chest, made it impossible to focus. His eyes flicked to my phone again, knitting his eyebrows at the show for a bit. It was almost like he was feigning interest, hiding his true intentions.

I worked the conditioner through my hair then proceeded to reach for the body wash. Nicholas stopped me, reaching for the bottle and the exfoliating glove on the wall, slipping it on. “You made breakfast for me. Can I return the favor?” He asked with a smirk.

I didn’t want to protest. The first time he washed my body during our weekend in Los Angeles, his touch was so tender. I didn’t want to deny myself that feeling again. Though, he had the teeniest glint of mischief in his eyes this time around, one that sent the heat through my cheeks.

I nodded my head, swallowing as I felt my pulse quicken watching him squeeze some of the body wash onto the glove. The rich, floral scent mixed with the steam, filling the small space. I stepped back slightly to give him room, though the shower was small enough that we were still pressed close. He motioned for me to turn around. I obliged, anticipating the moment I’d feel the glove against my skin.

Nicholas started at my shoulders, his touch firm but gentle as he worked the glove in slow, deliberate circles over my skin. The sensation was a mix of soothing and electrifying, his movements almost hypnotic. The exfoliating texture heightened every stroke, sending tingles racing across my body as he worked his way down my back.

"You've got tension here," he murmured, his voice low and close to my ear as he lingered at the curve where my neck met my shoulders. "When was the last time someone took care of you like this?"

"Hmm," I hummed, my breath hitching slightly. "Can't say I remember. Maybe six months ago,” I spoke, a tinge of teasing behind my words, knowing that was the last time he had seen me in the shower.

His lips ghosted over the damp skin just below my ear, not quite a kiss, but enough to make my breath catch. "I’m sorry, baby," he murmured. "Guess I'll just have to make up for it."

I bit my lip, my heart pounding in my chest as his hands moved lower, the glove brushing along the dip of my spine, down to the small of my back. His free hand moved up to my shoulder, pushing them forward into the tiled wall while my hips stuck out behind me. Nicholas's touch lingered as his hand guided me, my palms pressing flat against the cool tiles. The contrast between the hot water cascading over me and the rough yet gentle movement of the glove sent a shiver down my spine.

His free hand lingered around my neck, pulling on the necklace he had given me all those months ago, the one with his initial on the back of it. His fingertips toyed with the chain, tangling themselves in it. The slight tug of the necklace sent a ripple of sensation through me, a reminder of the connection it symbolized. His fingers teased along the chain, his knuckles brushing the sensitive skin at the base of my neck. The cool metal against my damp skin was a sharp contrast to the heat radiating from his body and the steam swirling around us.

"You still wear this every day," Nicholas murmured, his voice rough, filled with something deeper than desire. It was possessive, reverent.

I nodded, swallowing hard. "Always."

“Good." The single word was laced with satisfaction, his grip on the chain firming slightly as he leaned in, his lips grazing the shell of my ear.

His words sent a shiver down my spine, my breath hitching as I pressed my forehead against the tiles. My fingers curled against the tiles, desperate for something to hold onto as he pressed closer, his erection pressing against the small of my back. I could feel the heat of him behind me, his body a solid, grounding presence that made the rest of the world fall away.

"Do you feel that?" he asked, his voice a low rumble that seemed to vibrate through my entire body. "How much I want you?"

I nodded again, my voice caught in my throat. The glove was forgotten as it fell to the floor with a soft thud, his now-bare hand slipping around my waist to rest on my stomach, holding me in place as he leaned in further, his chest pressing against my back. His lips trailed down the side of my neck, alternating between feather-light kisses and gentle nips that made my breath catch.

"Six months without you," he murmured, his voice low and intimate, cutting through the sound of the water. His movements slowed, deliberate, as though savoring every second. "I don’t know how I survived."

The weight of his words made my breath hitch, my body responding instinctively as his touch continued its maddening rhythm. The hand on my stomach moved lover, brushing over my sensitive spot.

I let out an audible moan, not afraid of holding myself back with the water drowning out our noises now. He trailed kisses along my neck, his touch becoming more insistent as his hand continued to rub me. His lips grazed my shoulder as he pressed closer against me. I could feel the firmness of him against my back as his hands roamed freely now, exploring every inch of skin as though memorizing it all over again.

The steam in the shower only added to the haze between us, the air thick with heat and unspoken promises. The hand that rested against my hip came up to tilt my head back toward him. His lips found mine in a kiss that was both demanding and tender, leaving me breathless as I pressed back into him. Without breaking the kiss, Nicholas reached for my phone on the shelf, his movements confident and deliberate.

I pulled away slightly, my brows furrowing as I realized what he was doing. “Nic... what are you-"

“It’s okay; it’s only us," he murmured, his voice soft but commanding. His eyes met mine, dark with a mix of desire and sincerity. "Just something to tide me over for when I leave back to New York."

He paused the show and exited the app, his thumb hovering over the camera icon waiting for my nod. My pulse raced as I hesitated, but the vulnerability and care in his gaze melted any resistance. Slowly, I gave a small nod, my heart pounding as he tapped the screen and hit record, angling the phone to capture the two of us.

The atmosphere thickened as Nicholas positioned the phone carefully, the steam curling around us. The soft glow from the shower light reflected off the droplets clinging to our skin. His hand returned to my hip, steadying me as he pressed closer. I could feel the weight of his gaze even without looking at him, the knowledge that he was capturing every detail sending a shiver through me. The only other times I’ve had a camera pointed at me during moments like this was when Nicholas and I would have our private FaceTime calls in the dead of night, but never recording.

He shifted slightly, positioning himself, the anticipation making every second stretch. When he finally pushed into me, the sensation was overwhelming — a mix of fullness, heat, and undeniable connection that made my breath catch. My hands pressed against the cool tiles for balance, the contrast only heightening the sensations coursing through me.

The rhythm he set was deliberate and unhurried, his movements slow and deep as though savoring every second. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure rippling through me, the steam and heat making it impossible to tell where my body ended and his began. The weight of the camera, the idea of being seen through his eyes, added an edge to the experience, amplifying every sensation and emotion.

One of Nicholas’s hands slid up my stomach, his fingers brushing over my necklace before continuing upward to cradle my throat lightly. The pressure was gentle, his thumb grazing the pulse that beat wildly beneath his touch, a silent acknowledgment of the trust between us. His other hand steadied me at the waist, guiding me with a firm but loving grip that left no doubt of his control.

Nicholas leaned in, his lips brushing against the shell of my ear as his pace quickened slightly, the tension between us building with every movement. His breath was warm and uneven, his low groans vibrating against my skin and sending jolts of pleasure through me. I could feel his restraint, the way he held himself back, letting the moment stretch into something unforgettable.

The camera was still, its presence both grounding and exhilarating as I let myself be seen through its lens. The vulnerability of it, the rawness, made every touch and movement feel magnified, every emotion laid bare. Time seemed to stand still, the outside world fading away as we lost ourselves in each other.

Eventually, Nicholas reached for the phone, holding it in one hand as he pushed me further into the wall with the other, focusing the lens on his rhythm as he thrusted in and out of me. The lens captured the curve of my back, the way his hips met mine with each deliberate thrust, the beads of water gliding down our skin. His hand tightened on my waist, grounding me as l arched instinctively, pressing closer to him. The camera wasn't just documenting — it felt like an extension of his gaze, amplifying the way he took in every detail of our connection.

My breaths quickened, the intensity of his movements building with each second. His hand trailed up my back, tracing the ridges of my spine, before settling on my shoulder and pulling me back toward him, my head falling back on his shoulder. He shifted the phone around in front of us, switching to selfie mode as he recorded our faces, his groans mingling with the sound of my ragged breathing.

Suddenly, my phone started to ring, cutting our video short and displaying my mom’s name across the screen brightly. The vibration of my phone startled me, its muffled ringtone cutting through the steamy haze. My body tensed instinctively, but Nicholas didn't falter, his thrusts deep and deliberate as he tightened the grip on my phone.

He glanced at the screen, his lips curling into a wicked smirk. "Answer it," his voice rasped, low and commanding.

My eyes widened, my heart racing for a different reason now. "Nicholas, no-"

His hand tightened on my hip, his movements slowing but not stopping as he held the phone up to me, the name on the screen glaring back at me. “Answer,” he repeated, his tone leaving no room for argument.

I hesitated, my body trembling under his hold. I’m not sure what had changed within Nicholas, becoming even more maddeningly bold than he already was and increasingly more reckless with each of our hookups. I knew that filming had shifted something inside him, forcing him to explore a new side of himself that he held back. Maybe he just wanted to get back at my mom for her subtle snide comments all through dinner last night. Truthfully, I didn’t care for either reason — I was completely at the mercy of this new side of him, no matter the cause. Like I said, he could get me to do anything.

Nicholas’s thrusts deepened, his gaze locked on mine with an intensity that made it impossible to deny him. With trembling fingers, I accepted the call, bringing the phone to my ear. “Hello?” My voice was shaky, breathless, but I tried to steady it as much as possible. I was praying that the sound of the water running would be loud enough to mask my shakiness.

“Hey, sweetie,” my mom’s voice muffled through my ear. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”

“No, not at all,” I managed, forcing a lightness into my tone despite the heat rushing through me. Nicholas didn’t stop. If anything, the pace of his movements remained maddeningly steady, his hand on my waist firm, holding me in place as he thrust deeply, deliberately. “I’m just in the shower.”

I clung to the edge of the shower tile with one hand, the other holding onto Nicholas’s arm wrapped around my stomach as though it were the only lifeline keeping me grounded in reality. My mom’s voice filtered through, her casual warmth starkly contrasting the chaos Nicholas was wreaking on my body.

“I just wanted to tell you that I think maybe we should hold a small cookout today so the rest of the family can meet Nicholas before the New Year’s party tomorrow,” she said, oblivious to the tremor in my voice. “I know you might’ve made plans with him already, but how does that sound? I don't think he’ll mind. Is he awake?”

The mention of his name triggered Nicholas to lean in, his breath hot against my temple as he wickedly grinned into my skin. I opened my mouth to reply, but a sharp thrust from Nicholas stole my breath, forcing me to press my lips tightly together to stifle the sound threatening to escape. His free hand slid up my stomach, grazing my ribs as his movements grew more deliberate, testing my resolve.

“Answer her,” he murmured, his voice so quiet only I could hear it. His words sent a shiver down my spine, my body tightening under his touch.

I mustered every ounce of control in me to reply to her question, “I don’t know. He was still in bed by the time I came in to shower,” which wasn’t a total lie. It was the truth, before he decided to join me in the shower.

“Well, just let him know when you’re done,” my mom replied, her voice cheerful and completely unaware of my predicament.

Nicholas’s hand slid lower, his fingers grazing dangerously close to the spot where I was already struggling to hold myself together. My breath hitched audibly, and I had to cover it with a cough, turning my face slightly to avoid letting any sound betray me. He chuckled softly against my ear, his amusement sending a fresh wave of heat coursing through me.

“Yeah, okay,” I managed, gripping the phone tightly as Nicholas shifted his angle, driving me closer to the edge. I wasn’t even aware of what I had just agreed to. “Bye, Mom.”

Nicholas didn’t even wait for my mom to say it back before ending the call and setting the phone back down on the shelf. As soon as he placed the phone down, his movements became unrelenting, his pace quickening and his grip on my waist tightening. He pressed his chest firmly against my back, and turned my head back to face him.

“Good girl,” he murmured against my lips, his voice dripping with a mix of pride and desire. His hands moved possessively over my body, as if he needed to feel every inch of me to confirm that I was his.

The heat in the shower was nothing compared to the fire coursing through my veins. Every movement of his hips against mine sent waves of pleasure rippling through me, leaving me breathless and trembling. Nicholas’s grip on my waist tightened, his pace becoming deliberate and insistent, as though he wanted to draw out every last ounce of sensation from this moment. The intensity of his touch was almost too much, yet not enough, and I arched into him, needing more.

“Nicholas,” I gasped, his name a plea on my lips. My hands reached back, clutching at his hair as I turned my head further, capturing his mouth in a desperate, heated kiss. He groaned into my mouth, his rhythm faltering for just a moment before he regained control, his movements growing rougher, more desperate.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against my lips, his tone a promise, a vow. “Just let go.”

His words unraveled me. The tension that had been coiling tighter and tighter inside me snapped, and I was lost, the waves of pleasure crashing over me in a blinding crescendo. My body trembled violently in his arms, and Nicholas held me tightly, his own breathing ragged as he followed me over the edge moments later.

The world seemed to tilt as we clung to each other, the sound of the water cascading around us grounding us in the aftermath. Nicholas’s hands were gentle now, smoothing over my sides and back as he pressed soft kisses to my shoulder and neck. My head lolled back against his chest, my breaths coming in shallow, uneven bursts as I tried to steady myself.

“What was that?” I managed to ask through my panting, referring to his sudden emboldened and risky behavior.

Nicholas chuckled softly, the sound a low rumble that vibrated against my back. He kissed the curve of my shoulder, his lips lingering as if savoring the moment before finally speaking. “What was what?” he teased, his voice smug yet tender.

I turned my head slightly to give him a pointed look, though the effort was half-hearted at best. My body was still trembling from the intensity of it all, and his arms around me felt too comforting to fully protest.

“You know what I’m talking about,” I said, my tone a mix of exasperation and amusement. “Just last night, you hesitated hooking up because my family was still in the house and now you had me answer the phone while you were still inside me,” I spoke, not able to bite back the smile on my lips.

Nicholas grinned, his smug expression tempered by the playful glint in his eyes. He rested his chin on my shoulder, his arms tightening around me slightly. "I don't know what came over me," he said, though his tone betrayed no remorse. “I guess I was just sick of people interrupting us. Or maybe I just wanted to see if you’d do it.”

I watched as he reached for my phone again, unlocking it with my face and wrapping his arms around me, settling the base of my phone on my stomach as he rested his chin on my shoulder, swiping through to the Photos app.

I raised an eyebrow, twisting slightly in his arms to look at him. “What are you doing now?” I asked, my voice tinged with playful suspicion.

“Just making sure I have a copy,” Nicholas said smoothly, the corner of his mouth quirking into a smirk. His fingers worked deftly, and within seconds, the video was sent to his phone. “For safekeeping.” His grin widened as he set my phone down on the shelf and tightened his arms around me. “Don’t worry; it’s safe with me. No one else will ever see it.”

I let out a soft laugh, leaning back against him as the water continued to cascade over us. “I hope not. I’d hate for your manager to have to deal with that kind of PR disaster.”

Nicholas chuckled, pressing a kiss to the damp skin of my shoulder. “Trust me, baby, no one’s getting their hands on this. It’s just something to keep me sane while I’m stuck filming without you.”

His words were teasing, but there was an undercurrent of sincerity in his tone that made my heart ache just a little. I turned in his arms, wrapping my arms around his neck and studying his face. “You know I’d visit you every day if I could,” I said softly.

“I know,” he murmured, his hands settling on my hips. His expression softened, the mischief in his eyes giving way to something deeper, more tender. “But you’ve got your own life… work, family. I wouldn’t want to pull you away from that.”

For a moment, I wanted to open my mouth and tell him he could, but fantasy aside, was I ready to leave home, Nicholas or no Nicholas? The question lingered in my mind as Nicholas’s arms tightened slightly around me, his warmth grounding me against the stream of water. The idea of moving out had been an ever-present thought, especially ever since I moved back in with my family after college. Even though it was perfectly normal for other graduates to be in my situation, I still couldn’t help but feel… behind.

I wanted to leave, but every time I brought up the idea, my mom always managed to convince me otherwise. She wasn’t overtly cruel; that wasn’t her style, but she had this way of making me feel like I couldn’t function without her, like I was incomplete, ill-equipped, fragile.

“So, what did you end up roping us into with your mom today?” Nicholas’s question pulled me out of my thoughts.

I shook the thoughts away, sort-of remembering the conversation with my mom on the phone.

Nicholas and I finished our shower and got ready — styling our hair, picking our outfits, brushing our teeth, doing any finishing touches. Seeing Nicholas maneuver through the pastel-pink chaos of my room and bathroom was unexpectedly… hot. There he was, all broad shoulders and defined muscles, looking every bit like he belonged on a movie set or gracing a magazine cover, surrounded by a room that looked like a cupcake had thrown up in it. It was like he was my own personal Ken doll. He leaned down to tie his boots at the foot of my bed, his shirt stretching tight across his back, the quilt beneath him almost ridiculous in comparison. It was like watching a warrior prince step into a fairy tale cottage — out of place, yet somehow fitting in a way that shouldn’t make sense.

We emerged from my bedroom and made our way over to the living room, my mom, already ready for the day, and my eldest brother, still in his pjs, lounging around watching the tv.

My mom whipped her head, smiling, “There you guys are.”

I smiled, greeting my mom with a kiss on the cheek, while Nicholas gave her a polite hug, shooting me a knowing look over her shoulder. Blushing, I looked down at my feet. “By what time do you want us to be back for the cookout?” I asked.

My mom looked at her watch, “4-ish? Your dad will turn the grill on by then.”

“Okay,” I nodded my head, purposefully keeping our conversation short so she wouldn’t feel compelled to make any snide remarks. “We’ll be back by then.” I took Nicholas by the hand and smacked the back of my brother’s head on our way out, our usual form of greeting each other.

Nicholas followed me out to the car, his hand casually resting on the small of my back as we walked. The sun was shining, the air crisp and cool, a perfect day to explore. I had a plan that was simple yet meaningful: take Nicholas to the only bookstore in town, then my favorite coffee shop. Originally, I had also wanted to take him back to the island and show him one of my favorite spots near the dunes, but since we had that cookout now… I guess I wouldn’t be able to show him.

I figured the bookstore, to start, would perfectly ease us into the day. Nicholas and I loved our books; maybe I could spoil him and buy him a couple for him to take back with him to New York. The bookstore itself wasn’t flashy; it had just opened last year, our town’s first bookstore in 10 years, and I had been going almost every week since. In a way, it held a particularly special place in my heart because it’s where I had bought my used copy of White Oleander, the book Nicholas had asked me about at the beach when we first met.

“I thought we’d start at this cute little bookstore,” I said as we got in the car, glancing at him with a small smile. “It’s nothing fancy, but it’s got character.“

Nicholas’s eyes lit up with interest as he fastened his seatbelt.

The drive wasn’t long, but Nicholas spent most of it looking out the window, pointing out little details that caught his attention: the ridiculous amount of palm trees like he was back in Los Angeles, the colorful murals on the sides of buildings, and the fact our town only had one two-lane highway compared to the countless ones in LA or New York. His enthusiasm for the small-town scenery made me smile.

When we pulled into downtown, I scanned the one-way streets for parking. Luckily, there was a spot just a few shops down the road from the bookstore, an absolute win. I quickly parallel parked, switching the car off and exiting. I reached for Nicholas’s hand as he rounded the car, quickly tugging him toward the bookstore.

The store was warm and inviting, with wooden shelves packed tightly with books, their spines creating a patchwork of colors. The faint scent of aged paper and cedar hung in the air, mingling with the aroma of fresh coffee from the tiny café tucked in the corner.

Nicholas stopped just a few steps inside, taking it all in with wide eyes. “This place is adorable,” he said, pulling out his phone. He snapped a photo of the entrance, then another of the cozy seating area near the front. 

I chuckled, nudging his arm. “Wait until you see the rare books section in the back. It’s my favorite spot.”

As we made our way through the store, Nicholas couldn’t stop snapping pictures. He took close-ups of quirky book covers, candid shots of the well-worn wooden floors, and even a selfie with one of the whimsical murals painted on the wall near the children’s section. I couldn’t help but grin at his enthusiasm. It was endearing to see him so excited over something so simple.

We wandered down aisle after aisle, pausing every so often to thumb through books that caught our attention. Nicholas picked up a collection of photography essays and flipped through it, occasionally showing me a particularly striking image. I, in turn, found a few old poetry collections and shared snippets of my favorite lines with him.

When we reached the rare books section, his face lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. The shelves were filled with leather-bound tomes and first editions, each one encased in glass or displayed with care. Nicholas lingered over a signed copy of To Kill a Mockingbird, his fingers hovering just above the glass.

“No fucking way,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “It’s signed,” he looked at it with awe, bending down a bit to get a better look. “I was Atticus in my high school’s production of To Kill A Mockingbird, y’know?”

“You were?” I asked with a smile, carefully leaning against a nearby bookshelf, enthused to hear another anecdote about his life.

Nicholas nodded, his eyes still glued to the book. “Yeah. I was a junior. It was my first big role. I was so nervous during the auditions, but my teacher said I had the gravitas for it.” He chuckled, standing up straight and glancing over at me.

I smiled, watching the way his face softened as he spoke about it. 

Nicholas continued, his voice warm with nostalgia. “That role changed everything for me. I didn’t think I had the guts to be on stage, let alone speak in front of a crowd, but playing Atticus… it was like stepping into someone else’s skin, someone who was brave and moral in a way I admired.” His gaze returned to the book, and his expression grew more tender. “He’s stuck with me since.”

The sincerity in his voice hit me square in the chest, and I found myself wanting to do something to show him how much I appreciated him sharing this piece of himself with me. While he wandered further down the aisle, his attention drawn to a collection of leather-bound classics, I glanced back at the signed copy of To Kill a Mockingbird.

Without hesitation, I approached the store clerk, keeping an eye on Nicholas to make sure he didn’t notice. “I’d like to buy that,” I whispered, pointing to the book.

The clerk smiled sneakily, catching my drift. Without alerting Nicholas, the clerk retrieved the book and carefully packaged it in a protective sleeve before slipping it into a discreet bag for me. I paid quickly, my heart racing slightly at the price. If I thought $13 smoothies were expensive, how about a $400 signed book? But I didn’t care. It was worth every penny if it meant seeing Nicholas’s reaction. The clerk tucked the bag behind the counter, telling me he’d stick into a bag with whatever else we decided to buy.

I smiled and walked to the shelf of used books to pull out a random book, making my way over to the sofa and reading a few pages as Nicholas continued to peruse to his heart’s content. Some minutes later, Nicholas joined me at the couch, setting down a small stack of books on the table in front of us and wrapping his arm around my shoulder, kissing my head.

“What are you reading?” He asked quietly, rubbing the side of my arm.

I flipped back to the cover, “The Rise of Rome.”

He pulled me closer, resting his chin on my head, “Thank you for bringing me here. I can tell it means a lot to you.”

I smiled, leaning into him and closing the book on my lap. “It does,” I admitted softly. “This place is kind of a miracle for our town.”

Nicholas tilted his head slightly, intrigued. “What do you mean?”

I gestured around the cozy bookstore, the warm lighting and creaky wooden floors giving it a charm that felt like home. “It’s the first bookstore we’ve had in ten years. The last one closed down when I was in high school because there just wasn’t enough business to keep it afloat. For years, people had to drive to the next town over or order online for books, and it made me so sad to see something so important just… gone.”

Nicholas’s gaze softened as he listened, his thumb brushing absently against my arm.

I continued, my voice filling with a quiet passion. “This place only exists because the community came together to fund it. There were fundraisers, bake sales, even an auction to get the money together. A few local businesses pitched in too, and when it finally opened last year, it felt like a huge victory for everyone.”

Nicholas let out a low whistle, clearly impressed. “Wow. That’s amazing.”

“It is,” I said, glancing around. “But it’s still tough. Places like this don’t make a lot of money, even when people love them. I just hope it sticks around.”

Nicholas was quiet for a moment, his brows furrowing in thought as he glanced around the store. Then, a small smile crept onto his face, and he reached for his phone. “Do you think they’d mind if I posted about this place?”

I blinked, taken aback by his question. “Like on social media?”

He nodded, already opening his camera app. “Yeah. A little shoutout might bring some attention to it, maybe even some new customers.“

My heart swelled at the thought, and I couldn’t help but smile. “You’d do that?”

“Of course,” he said simply, his tone matter-of-fact. “This place deserves to be seen. Plus, I wouldn’t mind doing a little something to help keep it open for you,” he kissed my shoulder.

Nicholas stood up, his phone already poised to snap a picture of one of the store’s charming shelves filled with colorful spines and little handwritten recommendation cards. He even approached the clerk, striking up a conversation about the bookstore and asking his permission if he could post about it. Of course, the clerk was enthusiastic, excitedly posing for a few photos with Nicholas.

After a few clicks, he turned to me, a playful grin on his face. “Come here. I need you in the shot.”

I raised an eyebrow, shaking my head. “You don’t need me in it.”

“I absolutely do,” he argued, reaching out to pull me up from the couch. “You’re the whole reason we’re here.

Reluctantly, I let him guide me over to one of the shelves near the front of the store. Nicholas adjusted his phone, pulling me close so we fit into the frame. His arm wrapped around my shoulders, and he gave the camera his signature charming grin, while I opted for a softer smile, knowing he’d post this photo for everybody to see.

Satisfied, he turned the phone back to himself, quickly typing out a caption as I peeked over his shoulder.

Stopped by the coziest little bookstore today—it’s a real community effort, and the first one this town has had in ten years! Places like this deserve all the love they can get. If you’re in the area, check it out, or order something online to support! Keeping spaces like this alive is so important. 🖤

He added a few relevant hashtags and tagged the bookstore’s account before hitting post. Then he turned to me with a satisfied smile. “Done.”

I stared at him, touched by his thoughtfulness. “You’re really something, you know that?”

Nicholas leaned in, pressing a kiss to my forehead. “Anything for you,” he murmured. “And for a good cause.”

The rest of the visit felt even more special, knowing he’d done something to help. As we made our way to the register to check out, I handed over a couple of books we’d  picked out. The clerk gave me a knowing smile, expertly ringing everything up without giving anything away.

Nicholas glanced at me as I paid, raising an eyebrow. “You’re sure you don’t want me to cover this?”

“Nope,” I said, giving him a cheeky grin. “My treat.”

He didn’t argue further, and once we were back in the car, I handed him the bag with his gift. “Here,” I said, my voice warm with anticipation. “This is for you.”

Nicholas blinked, surprised. “What? You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“I wanted to,” I said simply. “Open it.”

He pulled out the wrapped book, his expression shifting from curiosity to awe as he realized what it was. “No way,” he whispered, carefully turning it over in his hands. “The signed copy?”

I nodded, biting my lip to keep from grinning too widely. “I saw how much it meant to you, and I couldn’t resist.”

Nicholas stared at the book for a long moment before looking up at me, his eyes shining with gratitude and a tear or two pricking at the corners. “(Y/N), this is…” his voice faltered. He took a deep breath, his thumb brushing over the edge of the book’s cover as though it were the most fragile, precious thing he’d ever held. “This is incredible,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion. “I don’t even know what to say.”

I smiled, feeling my chest tighten at his reaction. “You don’t have to say anything. I just… I know how much this story and that role meant to you. I wanted you to have something that could remind you of where it all started, no matter where you are.” I reached out, placing a hand over his. “You deserve everything, Nicholas.”

He looked up at me then, his eyes glassy but full of warmth, and set the book gently on his lap before pulling me into his arms. “I love you,” he murmured, his lips pressing softly to my temple. “I love you so much. I’m so in love with you, (Y/N).”

My breath caught in my throat at the words, my heart swelling as I wrapped my arms around him. “I love you too,” I whispered back, feeling the sincerity in every syllable.

We stayed like that for a moment, the car silent except for the faint hum of the world outside. It was one of those rare moments that felt timeless, like nothing else mattered but the two of us.

As I turned the car back on and we headed toward the coffee shop, I glanced at him out of the corner of my eye. He was still carefully cradling the book in his lap, his fingers tracing the edges of the cover as if grounding himself in its significance. His quiet joy made the short drive to the coffee shop feel serene, a shared moment of contentment that didn’t need words.

The coffee shop was as cozy as the bookstore, with mismatched chairs, soft lighting, and the scent of freshly brewed coffee mingling with hints of cinnamon and vanilla. Nicholas insisted on paying this time, shooting me a playful glare when I tried to argue.

We ordered our drinks and found a small table near the window. The afternoon sunlight spilled in, painting the space in a golden hue. Nicholas leaned back in his chair, taking in the charm of the shop as he sipped his drink. We lingered there for a while, talking about everything and nothing, the way we always did. Nicholas told me about a script he was considering, his excitement lighting up his features, while I shared stories about growing up in the town, painting a picture of my life before him.

When the clock crept closer to four, I reluctantly glanced at my phone. “I had more planned, but we should probably head back for the cookout,” I said, not wanting the day to end.

Nicholas sighed dramatically but stood, gathering our empty cups and tossing them into the bin before taking my hand again. “Lead the way, my charming tour guide.”

The drive back was filled with easy conversation and laughter, the anticipation of the cookout settling over us like a soft blanket. As we pulled into the driveway, the scent of grilling meat and the sound of chatter greeted us, signaling the start of what promised to be a lively evening.

Nicholas squeezed my hand before we stepped out of the car, his expression soft as he looked at me. He didn’t need to say anything more; his eyes gave me that exact comforting look that could calm every nerve in my body.

As we walked toward the backyard, the sight of my extended family bustling about brought a wave of emotions I hadn’t fully prepared for. My parents had set up the yard beautifully — twinkling string lights crisscrossed above the patio, and the grill was already sending plumes of savory smoke into the air. Folding tables were covered in colorful tablecloths, laden with bowls of chips, salads, and other sides my mom had been prepping all day. The scene was cozy and familiar, yet now it held a new significance.

I wasn’t nervous about Nicholas meeting my extended family at all. He had so expertly navigated dinner with my nuclear family yesterday, that I was confident that he could hold his own with the great aunts and cousins. I didn’t care as much about their opinions.

As we stepped into the yard, I couldn’t help but glance at him. He looked completely at ease, holding the signed To Kill a Mockingbird in one hand and my hand in the other. The family erupted in cheers and greetings as we entered the space. I felt overwhelmed at the loud greeting, having never been the center of attention at functions like these before.

The self-consciousness hit me like a tidal wave, even as I forced a smile and waved at everyone. My extended family’s enthusiasm felt overwhelming, almost exaggerated, and I couldn’t tell if it was genuine excitement or a spectacle made out of the fact that I, the one who had always flown under the radar, was finally here with someone.

Nicholas, of course, took it all in stride. His easygoing charm radiated as he greeted everyone, answering questions with a warm smile, shaking hands, and laughing at jokes I couldn’t hear from where I stood. For a moment, I envied his confidence — how effortless it was for him to win people over. Meanwhile, I couldn’t shake the weight of the attention on me.

Why now? I wondered. Why all this fuss? My older siblings had brought home significant others before, and while there’d been interest, there had never been this. No cookouts, no fanfare. It was like my family had been holding their breath for years, waiting for me to prove I wasn’t going to end up alone, and Nicholas’s presence had finally given them the opportunity to exhale. Is this why my mom wanted to throw a cookout? To embarrass me? I wouldn’t put it past her.

I found myself retreating a little, busying myself with setting up the side dishes or refilling drinks to avoid lingering too long in conversations. Nicholas noticed, of course, and his hand found mine whenever he was close, his touch grounding me in a way I desperately needed.

“Everything okay?” he asked softly at one point, his eyes searching mine as we stood off to the side.

I nodded quickly, offering a smile that I hoped was convincing. “Yeah, just… I feel like everybody’s watching me,” I glanced around the room to find some of the aunts whispering to each other and looking over. God, why are aunts so gossip-y?

He tilted his head slightly, studying me, but didn’t push. “Well, you’re handling it beautifully,” he said, brushing a strand of hair from my face, kissing my forehead.

I wanted to believe him, but I knew I was being awkward. However, my demeanor wasn’t for naught. My suspicions about this whole event were confirmed when my mom lowered the music and clapped her hands to gain everybody’s attention. Oh, boy.

As the music quieted and the hum of conversation faded, all eyes turned to my mom, who stood near the grill with a self-satisfied smile. She raised her can of Coke Zero, a signature move she always employed to command a room. My stomach dropped. I could sense what was coming before she even opened her mouth.

“I just wanted to take a moment to welcome everyone and thank you all for coming today,” she began, her tone dripping with charm. Her gaze swept over the crowd, lingering on Nicholas and me. “It’s so wonderful to see this backyard filled with laughter and love. And of course, a very special thank you to Nicholas for being here with us.”

The crowd murmured their agreement, a few raising their drinks in his direction. Nicholas gave a modest smile, nodding in appreciation. I squeezed his hand tightly, hoping that would be the end of it, but I should’ve known better.

“You know,” my mom continued, her voice taking on that overly sweet, theatrical quality that made my skin crawl, “this is such a monumental occasion for us because, believe it or not, this is the first time our lovely (Y/N) has ever brought someone home to meet the family. We were starting to get a little worried!” She joked, her humor landing with everybody except me and Nicholas.

I wanted to sink into the ground, to disappear entirely. My cheeks burned as I forced a tight smile, trying to pretend her comment hadn’t gutted me.

Nicholas turned to me, his eyebrows raised slightly in surprise. “You didn’t mention that,” he said softly, his tone more curious than accusatory.

I avoided his gaze, my mind racing for a way to recover. “I didn’t?” I mumbled under my breath, though my trembling hands betrayed me.

“Oh, don’t be shy!” my mom chimed in, clearly reveling in the attention she’d garnered. “We all thought this day might never come. I mean, after all these years…” She trailed off, laughing lightly as if it were all harmless fun.

The laughter around me felt suffocating. I glanced at Nicholas, his expression unreadable as he took in the scene. Was he embarrassed for me? Judging me? I couldn’t tell. The anxiety clawed at my chest, and I felt like I might explode.

“Mom,” I said quietly, my voice tight, but she either didn’t hear me or chose to ignore me.

“And isn’t he just the most charming young man?” she continued, gesturing toward Nicholas like he was some prized possession I’d finally managed to acquire. “(Y/N), you’ve outdone yourself. It’s about time, don’t you all think?”

The crowd chuckled, and I could feel their eyes boring into me, their judgment and curiosity palpable. I was a grown adult being paraded like a child who’d finally mastered tying their shoes. The humiliation was overwhelming.

“How’d you even get an actor as your first boyfriend?” A younger cousin asked. I didn’t fault her for her bluntness; she was 11. Kids are always blunt.

“Yeah, did you stalk him?” Another older cousin asked amusedly.

My throat tightened as the room erupted in laughter, my cousins’ teasing only adding to my growing humiliation. The questions stung, not because they were malicious, but because they reinforced the narrative my mom had so gleefully laid out: that Nicholas was someone I didn’t deserve, someone I had to trick into loving me.

I opened my mouth to reply, to defend myself, but my mom beat me to it.

“Oh, please, don’t be silly,” she said, her voice dripping with faux amusement. “(Y/N)’s not the type to chase after anyone. She’s always been so focused on her books and work.”

The words hit me like a slap, veiled as they were in a thin layer of praise. The crowd chuckled again, but the undertone of my mom’s statement hung in the air, heavy and cutting. I felt Nicholas shift beside me, his hand tightening around mine as he clenched his jaw.

“Actually,” Nicholas said, his voice calm but laced with a subtle edge that silenced the laughter immediately. He glanced around the room, his expression composed but firm. “I’d appreciate it if we could keep this lighthearted. (Y/N) doesn’t need to prove herself to anyone here.” His words cut through the tension, a quiet command that made my mom blink in surprise. She opened her mouth to respond, but Nicholas wasn’t finished.

“And just for the record,” he added, his tone softening as he looked at me, “(Y/N) didn’t stalk me,” he shot a glare to my cousins as he spoke, his tone stern yet sassy, “She didn’t even know who I was when we met. And I was the one that made the first move, not that that’s anybody’s business.”

The air seemed to thicken with Nicholas’s words, his voice carrying a quiet power that left the room frozen. My cousins exchanged wide-eyed glances, their earlier smirks fading into sheepish expressions. My mom, for once, was speechless, her usual charm faltering under Nicholas’s unwavering gaze.

“Honestly,” he continued, his tone sharpening ever so slightly as he turned his attention to my mom, “(Y/N) is incredible. She doesn’t need anyone’s validation, least of all mine, to prove that.”

The silence that followed was deafening. My mom’s cheeks flushed faintly, and she opened her mouth, likely to recover her dominance over the situation, but Nicholas still wasn’t done.

“I’m here because I wanted to meet the people who are important to her,” he said, his voice softening now, but his intensity unwavering. “So maybe we can just focus on enjoying the day.”

His words were measured but deliberate, leaving no room for rebuttal. It was like watching him in his element, his performance masterful and commanding, but there was no pretense in his words. He meant every syllable, and it hit me as deeply as it seemed to hit the rest of the room.

My mom looked like she was struggling to find a response, her lips pressing together in a tight smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “Of course,” she finally said, her voice a little too high-pitched. “I was just having a bit of fun.”

Nicholas nodded curtly, but his expression made it clear he wasn’t entirely convinced. He turned back to me, his eyes softening immediately as he reached for my hand again. “You okay?” he asked quietly, his thumb brushing against my knuckles.

I swallowed hard, my throat thick with emotion. It was like I was seeing him in a completely new light — one that was simultaneously thrilling and terrifying. There was something undeniably magnetic about his protectiveness, the way he’d stepped in and taken control of a situation that had left me feeling so small.

At the same time, there was an edge to him I hadn’t fully seen before. His confidence, the calculated precision of his words, the subtle yet sharp glint in his eyes — it was almost unnerving how easily he’d dominated the room. It was as though, for just a moment, the meticulous precision and simmering danger of Patrick Bateman had seeped into the real Nicholas. The polished charm that usually radiated from him had slipped, revealing something darker, more primal. It was intoxicating.

I knew he wouldn’t be able to shed the layers of playing Patrick Bateman in his new movie so quickly, especially during a two-week break when he had to return to filming afterwards. The sharp edge to his voice, the way his jaw tightened when my mom made her snide remarks, the deliberate pause before he spoke as if calculating the exact impact his words would have — it was all so… deliberate. Controlled. Powerful. The kind of presence that commanded attention without needing to raise his voice.

And then there was the way he looked at me. When he asked if I was okay, his eyes softened, his protective warmth flooding through me, but there was still a glint there — something unreadable. It wasn’t anger. No, this was something deeper, more complex. It was like he had momentarily stepped into Bateman’s shoes, harnessing the ruthlessness of the character, but redirected it into something strangely noble. For my sake. I was touched.

As the rest of the family awkwardly resumed their conversations, I tugged Nicholas’s hand lightly and led him to a quieter corner of the backyard. His body language shifted instantly, his shoulders relaxing as he turned to face me, his expression softening further.

“Thank you, Nic,” I murmured, my voice barely audible above the hum of conversation.

He tilted his head, studying me for a moment before his lips quirked into a faint smile. “For what? Stating the obvious?”

I huffed out a breath of laughter, shaking my head. “You know what I mean.”

His smile grew, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wasn’t going to stand there and let them treat you like that. Especially your mom. I could take it at dinner last night, but seeing her do it to you so easily….” He trailed off. “She should be building you up, not tearing you down.”

Not that I was ungrateful for him stepping in, but I couldn’t help but ask, “Are you okay?” tilting my head to meet his gaze.

His expression flickered, surprise flashing briefly before he nodded. “Of course,” he said, his tone gentle now. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

I hesitated, unsure if I should bring it up. “There’s an edge to you lately. Not that I don’t like it, because I do,” I stifled a chuckle, “I just wanna make sure you’re not overworking yourself too much for this movie,” I said as I cupped his face in my hands.

He let out a breath, a small smile tugging at his lips. “It’s just hard to shake, you know? Especially when everything about Patrick feels so effortless. And his controlling nature is so…”

I searched his face, trying to find the right words to ease the tension I could see building in him. “You’re an incredible actor,” I said softly. “And part of what makes you so good is that you give everything to your characters. But that doesn’t mean they define you. Patrick is just a role, Nic. A role you’re crushing, by the way,” I added with a small smirk. “And, believe me, I know that you like the control,” I teased, referring to our earlier tryst.

Nicholas let out a low chuckle, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly as his hands slid to my waist. “You’re not wrong,” he said, his voice carrying that familiar blend of mischief and warmth. “But trust me, any control I want is strictly consensual. And I’m pretty sure you don’t mind it.”

I felt my cheeks heat at his words, though I refused to back down. “I don’t,” I admitted with a grin, tilting my head to look up at him. “But just promise me you’ll keep Patrick on set.”

His expression softened, and he reached up to tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “You’ve got nothing to worry about; I promise you.” He paused, his thumb brushing gently against my cheek. “But thank you for keeping me grounded. I wish you could keep me in check while I filmed.”

My chest tightened at his words, the sincerity in his voice wrapping around me like a warm embrace. “Always,” I said softly, standing on my tiptoes to press a kiss to his lips.

Nicholas returned the kiss, his hand cupping the back of my head as if to hold me there just a little longer. When we finally pulled apart, his eyes were lighter, the edge I’d noticed earlier softened by the moment.

“Come on,” he said, his voice taking on a playful tone as he laced his fingers with mine. “Let’s survive this cookout together. Then we can sneak away,” he whispered the last part in my ear, triggering a tickle in me.

As we rejoined the gathering, the hum of conversation and the clinking of glasses enveloped us once again. But this time, I felt different. With Nicholas at my side, his hand in mine, the weight of the attention felt a little lighter, the lingering sting of my mom’s words a little less sharp. No one dared to tease me the rest of the night, even about things that had nothing to do with Nicholas. I was grateful for his protection. Though, I could feel my mom staring daggers at me, not quite amused that Nicholas had managed to turn something around on her.

The rest of the evening passed in a blur of polite conversation, laughter, and the usual family dynamics. Nicholas, ever the charmer, easily integrated himself into the flow, helping with the grill, chatting with my cousins, and winning my dad over more with his knowledge of football. If he noticed my mom’s thinly veiled irritation, he didn’t show it, handling her with the same calm poise that had disarmed her earlier.

Later that night, after the guests had trickled out and the dishes had been cleaned up, Nicholas and I lingered outside staring up at the stars. That’s when I thought maybe I should bring out my phone from charging so Nicholas and I could take a few photos of each other. Going inside and passing by my parents’ room, I heard their voices, low but unmistakably tense.

“I still think he was out of line,” my mom said, her tone clipped. “It’s one thing to defend her, but he didn’t need to make a spectacle of it in front of everyone.”

My dad’s response was immediate, his voice firm but calm. “He didn’t make a spectacle. He stood up for her because you pushed her too far. What were you thinking, making those comments?”

I froze outside the door, my heart pounding as I strained to hear.

“It was harmless teasing. You know how my family and I are,” my mom insisted. “It’s not my fault if she’s too sensitive.”

“It wasn’t harmless,” my dad countered, his tone sharpening. “You embarrassed her in front of the whole family. Nicholas was right to call you out. And even if (Y/N) was too sensitive, you taught her to be that way.”

I knocked on the door lightly before pushing the door open. “What are you guys talking about?” I asked, crossing my arms. “Because it sounds like you’re debating whether Nicholas was wrong to stand up for me.”

My mom sighed, clearly exasperated. “(Y/N), no one’s saying he shouldn’t have defended you,” she spoke as she lathered her legs up with her lotion, “but he could have done it more… tactfully. Calling attention to it just made it worse.”

“Worse for you, you mean,” I snapped, stepping further into the room. “The fact that you made me feel like some awkward charity case in front of everyone? Or that you couldn’t resist making my relationship with Nicholas the punchline of your little jokes?”

Her expression faltered for a moment before she straightened, her voice adopting that overly calm tone she always used when she felt cornered. “I was just trying to lighten the mood. It wasn’t meant to hurt you.“

“Well, it did,” I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “And you didn’t even apologize. Nicholas was the only one who had my back tonight, and now you’re mad at him for it?”

“I’m not mad,” she insisted, though her tone betrayed her. “I just think he could have handled it better. It’s not his place to—”

“Not his place?” My dad interrupted, his voice rising slightly. “That young man cares about our daughter. He didn’t raise his voice or make a scene. He handled it exactly as he should have — better than I would have, to be honest.” I looked at my dad, surprised by the fire in his voice. He turned to me, his expression softening. “Nicholas did the right thing, sweetheart. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad he did. I should’ve stepped in; I didn’t know your mom would do that in front of everybody.”

Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked them away quickly. “Thanks, Dad.”

He nodded, his gaze steady as he turned back to my mom. “You owe her an apology. And you need to think about how your words come across. You’ve done this before.”

“I—” My mom started to protest but stopped herself. She sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “Fine. I’m sorry, (Y/N). If I hurt you, it wasn’t intentional.”

The apology felt half-hearted, but it was something. I nodded, not trusting myself to say much more without breaking down. “Goodnight,” I said finally, turning to leave.

As I walked out, I heard my dad’s voice again, low but firm. “You need to let her grow up. She’s not a child.”

I didn’t stick around to hear her response. Instead, I headed back outside to join Nicholas under the lit pergola. He was leaning against the wooden post of the pergola, his head tilted back as he gazed up at the stars. The soft glow of the string lights gave him a golden halo, accentuating the sharp lines of his jaw and the relaxed curve of his lips. He looked so peaceful, completely unaware of the tension that had just played out inside.

I stepped forward, my footsteps crunching on the gravel, and his eyes shifted to meet mine. His smile was immediate, warm and inviting, but it faltered slightly as he studied my face. “Hey,” he said softly, straightening. “You okay?”

I nodded as I reached him, but the words were caught in my throat. His expression tightened with concern, and he took my hand, pulling me closer.

“Talk to me,” he urged, his voice steady but filled with worry.

I took a deep breath, trying to steady the jumble of emotions swirling inside me. “I overheard my parents talking,” I admitted, glancing at the ground. “About you. About tonight.” Nicholas’s grip on my hand tightened slightly, but he stayed silent, waiting for me to continue. “My mom thinks you were out of line for standing up for me,” I said, my voice small. 

His brow furrowed, a flash of frustration crossing his features. “I didn’t mean to—”

I cut him off, shaking my head. “No, Nic. That’s not… I don’t think you were out of line,” I clarified, my voice firm. “In fact, I think you handled it perfectly.”

His gaze softened, but he still looked uncertain. “Then what’s bothering you?”

I hesitated, my eyes darting back to the house before returning to him. “It’s not just about tonight,” I confessed. “Things with my mom have been tense for a while. She has this way of… I don’t know, making me feel small. Like I’m not good enough, or like I need to justify every decision I make.” I paused, my throat tightening. “And now, with you here, it feels like everything’s about to boil over. Like it’s all going to explode at any minute.”

Nicholas frowned, his hand reaching up to cup my cheek. “Hey,” he said softly, his thumb brushing against my skin. “None of this is your fault. Your mom’s behavior isn’t okay, but it doesn’t reflect on you, and it sure as hell doesn’t change how I feel about you.”

I blinked back tears, leaning into his touch. “I just don’t want you to think you’re the reason for any of this tension,” I murmured. “It’s been building for a long time. You standing up for me tonight… it meant more than you know. Really.”

Nicholas exhaled slowly, his other hand coming to rest on my waist. “I’ll admit, I don’t like seeing anyone treat you the way she did tonight. But this isn’t about me, (Y/N). It’s about you. You deserve to feel safe and supported, especially with your family. And if I made things worse by speaking up—”

“You didn’t,” I interrupted firmly, placing a hand over his chest. “If anything, you reminded me that I don’t have to take it. That it’s okay to expect better.”

He tilted his head, studying me intently. “You’ve always deserved better,” he said quietly. “You’re incredible, (Y/N). Anyone who doesn’t see that is blind.”

His words hit me square in the chest, and I felt my defenses crumble. I leaned forward, resting my forehead against his shoulder as a tear slid down my cheek. “Thank you,” I whispered, my voice barely audible. “For being here. For standing up for me.”

Nicholas wrapped his arms around me, pulling me into a warm, protective embrace. “Always,” he murmured against my hair. He was quiet for a moment, but then spoke up again, “Hey, I have an idea.” I pulled away from him, curious. “I know this cookout interrupted some of the plans you had for us today, but that’s over now and we still have some time left. Why don’t we continue our day together?”

I smiled at him, appreciating his effort to shift the mood. “Yeah,” I said softly, “I’d like that.”

Nicholas stepped back slightly, his hands resting on my hips as he looked at me expectantly. “Where to next?”

There was only one place I could think of — a spot I hadn’t shared with anyone else before. A place that was mine, where I’d always gone to feel at peace. “How do you feel about going for a drive? There’s somewhere I’d like to take you.”

His eyes lit up with curiosity. “I’m intrigued. But why don’t I drive us this time? Give you a break?”

I shook my head, a small smile tugging at my lips. “I appreciate it, but this is one of those drives you just have to feel. Trust me; I’ll explain along the way.” Nicholas studied me for a moment, then nodded, his curiosity only growing.

We got into the car, and as soon as I turned the engine on, I felt a sense of relief. I’m glad Nicholas suggested we continue our day together, allowing me to forget what happened earlier.

The first few minutes of the drive were quiet, the only sounds coming from the hum of the car and the faint echoes of cicadas in the distance. The air was warm, the faint scent of barbecue still lingering as we left the neighborhood. I rolled down the windows slightly, letting the cool breeze sweep through the car.

“The beach?” Nicholas asked after a while, his gaze flicking to the road signs as we approached the causeway over the bay.

I’m sure he remembered the drive to the island from when he first visited those 10 months ago. I always wondered what went through his head when he first arrived here for that weekend.

“Yeah,” I said, glancing at him briefly before returning my focus to the road. “There’s a spot at the end of the island I think you’ll love. It’s… peaceful. Feels like the edge of the world sometimes.”

Nicholas leaned back in his seat, his eyes drifting out the window. “Sounds perfect.”

The drive over the causeway was always my favorite part. The bridge rose high over the bay, the water stretching endlessly on either side, shimmering under the moonlight. It felt like entering another world, a quiet escape from the noise and chaos of reality.

“The beach means a lot to you, doesn’t it?” he asked softly, breaking the silence.

I nodded. “It does. My family used to come out here all the time. Over time, the trips became more sporadic until we stopped visiting completely. When I first started driving, I promised myself to visit as often as I could, even if it was just for a couple of hours. It’s like the ocean… resets me, I guess.”

Nicholas turned to me, his expression thoughtful. He reached out to squeeze my thigh, “It means a lot to me, too.”

I glanced over to him, knowing what he had meant. The sincerity in his voice made my chest tighten, and I couldn’t help but smile.

We drove in comfortable silence for a while longer. At some point, we had driven past the hotel where we first met, the both of us squeezing each other’s hands as we passed by it. The streets grew quieter as we left the main part of the island behind. The road narrowed, the buildings thinning out until there was nothing but dunes on either side of us.

The headlights cut through the darkness as the road turned into a hauntingly quiet path bordered by dunes on either side, high and low. The sand on the road danced around like snakes in grass, side to side gracefully with a rhythmic pattern.  The air was crisp with the salty tang of the ocean, growing stronger with each passing mile. The farther we drove, the more the world seemed to fall away, leaving nothing but the sound of the engine and the rhythmic crash of waves faintly echoing in the distance.

Nicholas rolled down his window further, letting the cool air sweep into the car. “The ocean sounds so close,” he murmured, his voice quiet, as if not to disturb the tranquility outside.

I smiled, focusing on the road ahead as it started to blend with the sand. “That’s when you know you’re almost there.”

The headlights illuminated patches of sea oats swaying gently on the dunes, their slender stalks casting long, delicate shadows. In the distance, to our right, the moonlight shimmered on the surface of the water, breaking through the gaps in the dunes. The scene was hauntingly beautiful, the kind of place that felt untouched by time.

Eventually, the pavement started to blend into the sand, a yellow sign on the side reading ‘Road Ends Here’ to warn drivers. I slowed the car to a stop, pulling over right at the end of the road and switching off the car. The car settled into the stillness, the sound of the engine fading into the background as the night took over. The stars above were brilliant, like shiny, little fish in a dark ocean.

I turned to Nicholas, a slight smirk on my face, “Wanna guess what they call this place?”

Nicholas turned his head to me, a curious smile playing on his lips. “Hmm,” he murmured, glancing out at the scene before us. The moonlight painted the sand dunes in soft silver, the ocean beyond dark and infinite, stretching into the horizon. “Something dramatic. Maybe… The Edge of the World?”

I chuckled, shaking my head. “Close, but not quite. They call it The End of the Road.”

He raised an eyebrow, letting the words sink in as his gaze drifted back to the landscape. “Fitting,” he said softly.

I nodded, the wind catching my hair as I reached for the door handle. “Come on, you’ve gotta experience it outside the car.”

Nicholas followed my lead, stepping out into the cool night air. The sand shifted beneath my bare feet as I walked toward the crest of a nearby dune, the sound of the waves growing louder with each step. Nicholas trailed behind me, his shoes crunching softly against the sand until he paused to kick them off.

The sound of the ocean was a constant rhythm, steady and soothing, as if the world itself was breathing. The vast openness of it all made me feel small in the best way, like every worry and frustration from earlier had been swept away with the tide.

“This is unreal,” Nicholas said quietly, his voice barely above a whisper. He stopped beside me, his hands resting on his hips as he took it all in. The wind tousled his hair, and for a moment, he looked like he belonged here, like he was part of the landscape.

I turned to him, watching his expression soften as he gazed out at the ocean. “It’s my favorite place,” I admitted, my voice carrying an edge of vulnerability. “Whenever I need to clear my head, this is where I come. There’s just something about being here that makes everything else feel… smaller.”

We stood there for a while, letting the stillness envelop us. The only sounds were the gentle crash of waves and the faint rustle of the dunes in the wind. I felt a sense of peace settle over me, the weight of the day finally lifting.

“This might be the most beautiful place I’ve ever been,” Nicholas said after a long silence, his voice tinged with awe.

His sincerity made my heart tighten, and I smiled, reaching out to take his hand. Nicholas squeezed my hand, pulling me closer until our shoulders touched. The silence between us felt comfortable as we walked further toward the shoreline, the soft crunch of sand beneath our feet blending with the rhythmic crash of the waves. Nicholas slowed his pace, his gaze fixed on the waves that lapped at the sand with a steady, soothing cadence. I glanced at him, the corners of my lips tugging into a soft smile at the awe in his expression. He looked completely at peace, his usual confidence tempered by a quiet wonder. It wasn’t a side of him I got to see often, and I found myself savoring it.

When we reached a spot where the sand felt cooler and damp underfoot, I stopped and motioned for us to sit. Without a word, we sank onto the ground, the soft grains shifting beneath us. I stretched my legs out, my fingers absently trailing through the sand, while Nicholas propped his elbows on his knees, leaning slightly forward as he watched the waves roll in and out.

Neither of us spoke, and we didn’t need to. The ocean filled the silence between us, its endless rhythm steady and grounding. The stars above seemed brighter here, unspoiled by the town lights.

After a while, Nicholas turned his head to look at me. His brown eyes softened, his lips curving into a faint smile. I smiled back, my heart swelling. He reached out, his fingers brushing against mine in the sand before he intertwined them gently. The warmth of his touch was grounding, even as my pulse quickened at the simple gesture. For a while, we just sat there, our hands loosely clasped, the ocean stretching endlessly before us.

Then, slowly, he turned to me fully, his free hand lifting to brush a strand of hair from my face. His gaze lingered, intense but tender, as if he were memorizing every detail. “Thank you for bringing me here,” he said softly, his voice thick with emotion.

The sincerity in his words left me momentarily speechless. All I could do was smile and nod, my throat too tight to trust my voice. He didn’t look away, his eyes searching mine for something unspoken.

And then he leaned in.

It was slow, deliberate, like he was giving me every chance to close the space between us. I met him halfway, our lips brushing softly at first, tentative and sweet, before deepening into something more. His hand slid to the back of my neck, anchoring me to him as the kiss grew more passionate, the world around us fading into the background. The taste of salt lingered on his lips, a perfect complement to the cool breeze that swirled around us. My fingers found their way into his hair, tangling there as I lost myself in him, in the moment, in the feeling of being completely and utterly seen.

When we finally pulled apart, the only sounds were the waves and the rapid thrum of my heart. Nicholas rested his forehead against mine, his breath mingling with mine. My chest tightened, a mix of overwhelming affection. Nicholas shifted slightly, his hand still resting against my cheek as he pulled me closer. His touch was no longer tentative; it was insistent, a magnetic pull that I couldn’t resist. His lips found mine again, this time with a passion that made my head spin. The world around us dissolved, leaving only the heat between us and the cool sand beneath. I leaned into him, my hands clutching at his shoulders as the kiss deepened. His fingers slid into my hair, tilting my head back as his lips trailed down to my jaw, then to the sensitive skin of my neck. A soft gasp escaped me, and I felt his grip tighten, his need mirroring my own.

The cool breeze from the ocean contrasted sharply with the warmth radiating between us, heightening every sensation. Nicholas’s lips continued their descent, lingering on my collarbone, sending shivers down my spine. His hand skimmed my waist, pulling me closer until there was no space left between us.

“Tell me if you want me to stop,” he murmured, his breath hot against my skin. His voice was low, almost reverent, filled with equal parts desire and restraint.

I shook my head, my hands tightening on his shoulders. “Don’t stop,” I whispered, my voice trembling but certain.

That was all the encouragement he needed. Nicholas shifted, laying me back gently onto the sand. His weight pressed against me in the most intoxicating way, grounding me even as my senses seemed to scatter. The stars above us felt impossibly close, their light mingling with the moon’s glow and the shadows of our movements.

His hand slid under the hem of my shirt, his fingers grazing my skin with a lightness that left me breathless. I arched into his touch, my hands sliding under his own shirt, exploring the planes of his back, the warmth of his skin beneath my palms. He groaned softly at the contact, his lips returning to mine with a renewed urgency.

The waves crashed in the background, their rhythm a steady pulse that matched the quickening beat of my heart. Nicholas’s hands were everywhere — tracing, exploring, learning every inch of me as if he couldn’t get enough. Each touch, each kiss, was deliberate, as though he was trying to memorize the moment, the way we fit together.

His fingers found the button of my jeans, hesitating for a heartbeat as his eyes sought mine. I met his gaze, nodding, my breath hitching as I helped him slide the fabric away. The cool air kissed my exposed skin, but the warmth of his touch quickly chased away any chill.

The sand beneath us was soft, molding to our shapes as we moved together, the lines between where he ended and I began blurring with every shared breath. His name fell from my lips in a soft gasp as his hands traveled lower, his touch setting me alight in ways I didn’t know were possible.

The tension between us thickened, the air charged with the electricity of anticipation. Nicholas moved with deliberate care, his every touch igniting a fire beneath my skin. His lips found mine again, their urgency undeniable as his hands pulled down at my underwear. He pulled away from my lips, looking down at me as he undid the zipper and button of his pants, pulling his pants and briefs down just enough to free himself.

He settled between my legs, looking down at me with such commitment that my breath hitched, and for a second, I grew timid under him. His hands moved to cradle my face, his thumbs brushing along my jaw as though grounding himself in the moment.

The sand shifted beneath us as he adjusted his position, his body lowering slightly to meet mine. He leaned closer, his breath warm against my ear as his hands guided my legs around his hips. His touch was steady but unhurried, his fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of my inner thighs, sending waves of anticipation coursing through me. The weight of him against me, coupled with the cool sand beneath, grounded me in ways I hadn’t expected.

He exhaled deeply, his hands tightening on my hips as he inserted himself, his movements slow and deliberate. I gasped softly, my hands instinctively clutching at his shoulders as he stilled for a moment, his forehead pressing against mine. His breath came in shallow, uneven waves, matching the fluttering of my pulse. For a fleeting second, everything felt suspended — the stars above, the restless ocean, even time itself — until he moved again, his motions slow and purposeful.

Every sensation was amplified—the way his hands gripped my hips, firm yet tender; the way his lips brushed against my temple, leaving a trail of heat in their wake. He was careful, attentive, his movements speaking of restraint and reverence. It was a complete 180 from this morning, and I loved both versions of him.

Nicholas whispered my name, his voice low and thick, the sound vibrating through me like a prayer. I tilted my head back, my eyes closing as the waves in the distance seemed to echo the rhythm of our bodies. His movements quickened, the controlled precision of his thrusting giving way to something rawer, more urgent.

My fingers threaded through his hair, pulling him closer as I felt the tension within him build, his control slipping. The vulnerability in his gaze as he looked down at me, his brows furrowed in concentration, made my chest tighten.

“I love you,” he whispered again, his voice trembling, as though the words were the only thing grounding him.

The words struck me like a lightning bolt, sending a ripple of warmth coursing through me. Nicholas shifted slightly, his grip on my hips firm but gentle as he pulled me closer, deepening the connection between us. His forehead pressed against mine again, his breath warm and uneven. I could feel the tremble in his hands, the tension in his body as though he was holding something back, trying to pace himself. He whispered my name again, his voice barely audible, and it sent another shiver through me.

The crescendo between us built, a perfect harmony of movement and emotion, until it finally crested like a wave, leaving us both trembling in its wake. Nicholas collapsed against me, his weight grounding me as his breath came in shallow, uneven gasps. My fingers traced idle patterns along his back, grounding myself in the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against mine.

We stayed like that for a long moment, wrapped in the stillness, the sounds of the ocean surrounding us. Nicholas lifted his head slightly, his hand brushing gently against my cheek. His eyes were soft, a mix of love and hesitation lingering in their depths.

Nicholas had driven us home that night, letting me nap in the car as he held me by my thigh the entire way. When we finally arrived home, the hum of the car’s engine quieted as Nicholas turned it off. He squeezed my thigh gently, a silent reassurance as I blinked myself awake, the world around me still tinged with the haze of exhaustion and contentment.

“We’re here,” he said softly, his voice low and warm. I nodded, my body heavy with the aftereffects of the evening. The beach, the intimacy, the weight of emotions — it all lingered like a soft buzz beneath my skin, the tension between my mom and I long forgotten.

Nicholas helped me out of the car, steadying me with his arm around my waist. The night air was cool against my flushed cheeks, and I leaned into him instinctively, letting his strength guide me inside. The house was quiet, my parents presumably asleep or silently fuming over the events of the day. Either way, I was grateful for the stillness.

As we stepped into my room, the door clicking softly shut behind us, Nicholas paused. He turned to face me, his hands resting lightly on my hips as his eyes searched mine. “You okay?” he asked, his voice barely above a whisper.

I nodded, a tired but genuine smile tugging at my lips. “I’m better now,” I said, resting my forehead against his chest. His arms wrapped around me, holding me close, and I let out a content sigh, the tension in my body finally beginning to dissipate.

“Let’s get you to bed,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of my head. I nodded again, too drained to argue, as he gently led me toward the bed. I kicked off my shoes, and he helped me out of my clothes, his hands careful and unhurried.

Nicholas pulled back the covers, and I slid beneath them, the cool sheets a welcome contrast to the warmth of the room. He moved to the other side, quickly shedding his own shirt and jeans before slipping in beside me. The bed dipped under his weight, and he pulled me close, his arms wrapping around me like a cocoon as I drifted to sleep. And if I had known that the day after would be a disaster, I wouldn’t have woken up.

The morning came far too quickly, the soft light filtering through the curtains stirring me awake. Nicholas’s arm was draped over my waist, his steady breathing warm against the back of my neck. But as my mind sharpened, the memory of yesterday crept back in, and with it, the weight of the inevitable confrontation with my mom. My stomach twisted at the thought, the familiar anxiety bubbling to the surface. Today was New Year’s Eve, and while the party preparations would serve as a distraction, I knew it was only a matter of time before the tension boiled over. It’s the only thing that ever happens during holiday parties.

Nicholas stirred behind me, his arm tightening slightly as he pressed a sleepy kiss to my shoulder. “Morning,” he mumbled, his voice rough with sleep.

“Morning,” I replied softly, turning to face him. His eyes were still half-closed, his hair adorably tousled. Even in the midst of my unease, I couldn’t help but smile at the sight.

“How’d you sleep?” he asked, his brow furrowing slightly as he studied my expression.

“I mean, I slept, but it doesn’t feel like I did,” I stifled a chuckle. “I still feel… tense.”

Nicholas’s lips pressed into a thin line, his hand coming up to brush a strand of hair from my face. “Remember, I’ve got you,” he said firmly. “And you’ve got me.”

His words were a balm to my nerves, and I leaned in to kiss him, letting the simple gesture convey my gratitude. “Thank you,” I whispered against his lips.

We stayed like that for a few more minutes, not wanting to move, but the promise of today’s plans had coaxed Nicholas out of bed. “Okay,” he slid out from under the covers, clapping his hands, his muscles flexing with every movement, “Double-time. It’s New Year’s Eve,” he smiled.

That morning, my dad announced his plan to take Nicholas and my brothers out to pick up fireworks for the party.

“Are you guys up for an adventure?” my dad said as he walked into the kitchen, a playful grin spreading across his face. He leaned against the counter, eyeing Nicholas and my brothers. “We’re going to pick up fireworks for tonight. Biggest haul we can find, best show we can put on. You in, Nicholas?”

Nicholas’s face lit up like a kid being handed the keys to a candy store. “Absolutely. Count me in,” he spoke, his voice brimming with excitement.

I couldn’t help but laugh at his enthusiasm, especially when he turned to me with an almost boyish grin, as if asking for permission. “Go,” I said, nudging him playfully.

My dad clapped Nicholas on the shoulder, clearly pleased. The men all exchanged grins as they grabbed their coats and prepared to leave. Nicholas bent down to kiss me on the cheek before heading out the door. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised, his hand lingering on mine for a moment before he followed my dad and brothers out.

As the door closed behind them, the house felt strangely quiet. I sighed, turning to the pile of decorations still waiting to be hung. Being left alone with my mom wasn’t ideal, but I appreciated that my dad had gone out of his way to include Nicholas. It wasn’t just about fireworks; it was about making Nicholas feel like part of the family.

And I’m sure it was his way of apologizing for what happened last night, for ever letting my mom go as far as she did with her comments without stopping her, and forcing Nicholas to interject. I’m sure watching what happened had hurt my dad, as well, knowing how he had never liked it when my mom shifted her scrutiny onto someone else, especially me.

I could see the guilt etched on his face as Nicholas stepped in to defend me. He had stood by, likely unsure of how to intervene without escalating the situation, and I couldn’t entirely blame him. My mom was a force of nature — headstrong and relentless in her need to control the narrative of every family gathering. But my dad had always been the quiet counterbalance to her sharp edges. Where my mom used her voice to dominate a room, my dad used his to steady it. He’d always been the one to pull me aside after a heated moment with her, offering a hug or a reassuring word when I felt small. Last night, though, he hadn’t had a chance to step in before Nicholas did, and I could tell it weighed on him.

Including Nicholas in their “guys’ trip” today was his way of making things right — not just with me but with Nicholas, too. My dad was old-fashioned in the best way; he believed that shared experiences were what built trust. And nothing screamed bonding more than taking a group of men out to buy enough fireworks to light up the entire neighborhood. Nicholas fit in so effortlessly, and his excitement about today’s plans only made me love him more. I could picture him now, standing with my dad and brothers in front of some over-the-top fireworks display, probably offering to carry the heaviest boxes or cracking a joke to ease any awkwardness.

I appreciated how Nicholas didn’t just see me — he saw my family, even the complicated parts of it, and he was willing to embrace it all. My dad clearly appreciated it, too. As much as I knew he loved me, my dad had always been reserved when it came to my relationships, carefully observing from a distance. But with Nicholas, I could sense a shift. There was a warmth in the way he talked to him, a respect that had been given wholeheartedly.

The sound of the front door shutting jolted me from my thoughts, and I looked up to see my mom stepping into the living room with a box of decorations in hand. “Ready to spruce the house up?” She asked with a smile, almost genuine this time.

I nodded, brushing my hands against my jeans as I stood. “Yeah. Let’s get started.”

For a while, we worked in relative silence. The house was already half-transformed, twinkling lights strung along the walls and a table in the dining room piled high with party supplies. I busied myself with hanging garlands and arranging centerpieces, determined to keep the peace. But my mom, of course, couldn't resist making her usual remarks.

“So, Nicholas seems... intense," she said casually, handing me a string of lights. Her tone was light, but the pointed edge was impossible to miss.

I paused, glancing at her before continuing to wrap the lights around the column. "He's passionate," I replied evenly, refusing to take the bait.

“Passionate," she echoed with a faint smirk. "Is that what they're calling it these days?"

I bit back a sigh, focusing on the task at hand. "He's a good person, Mom. He cares about me. That's what matters."

She hummed in response, her eyes narrowing slightly as she adjusted a vase on the mantle. "I'm sure he does. But don't you think it's a little... much?”

I turned to face her, my patience wearing thin. "He stood up for me because you put me in a position where I needed someone to stand up for me," I said quietly but firmly.

Her expression hardened, the faint smile vanishing from her lips. "I was joking, (Y/N). You're too sensitive."

"Maybe you're too cruel," I shot back before I could stop myself.

The silence that followed was deafening, tension crackling in the air like static electricity. My mom straightened, her posture stiff as she fixed me with a cold stare. "I'm only trying to help you," she said tightly. "You don't see it now, but you will.“

There it was. Those few calculated words that could disarm me at a moment’s notice. I took a deep breath, feeling the familiar weight of her words settle on my shoulders. My mom had perfected the art of spinning everything to make herself the victim while simultaneously positioning her actions as some twisted version of “help.”

I swallowed the rising lump in my throat, deciding once again to bite back the sharp retort I could feel forming on my tongue. “Let’s just focus on finishing this,” I muttered, turning back to the decorations and forcing my hands to steady as I worked.

The rest of the setup passed in a strained silence, the unspoken tension between us lingering like a storm cloud. The house transformed gradually as the day unfolded, taking on the appearance of a holiday wonderland with every light, garland, and carefully placed decoration. Twinkling string lights were draped across every available surface, casting a warm, golden glow that softened the sharp edges of the tension simmering beneath the surface. The dining table became a centerpiece of abundance, laden with platters of hors d’oeuvres, bowls of brightly colored dips, and towers of flaky pastries waiting to be devoured. Candles flickered on every available surface, their flames dancing in time with the faint hum of music playing in the background. The scent of pine, cinnamon, and something sweet — cookies, perhaps — filled the air.

The backyard was similarly transformed, fairy lights strung between the trees and along the fence, creating an almost magical atmosphere. Tables and chairs were set up on the lawn, each adorned with crisp white tablecloths and small centerpieces of fresh flowers and sprigs of eucalyptus. A small fire pit had been prepared in the far corner, surrounded by cozy chairs and blankets for those who might venture outside when the evening chill set in. The focal point of the yard was the stage my dad had insisted on setting up for the fireworks. It was a modest affair — a few raised wooden planks decorated with strings of red, white, and silver bunting — but it was enough to hold the stockpile of fireworks he and the guys would inevitably bring back. Nearby, a cooler brimmed with drinks, its contents glittering with condensation.

It was beautiful, objectively perfect even, the kind of setting that would make for a stunning photo or a magazine spread. But beneath the glitter and glow, the cracks in the foundation remained, and I desperately wanted Nicholas back home.

As the afternoon turned into evening, I retreated to my room to get ready. I stared at my reflection in the mirror, carefully applying makeup to cover the exhaustion I felt creeping into my features. A soft blush, a swipe of mascara, and a bold lip color — it was enough to present a polished exterior, even if my nerves were unraveling underneath.

The sound of the first guests arriving reached me before I stepped out of my room, their laughter and chatter mingling with the faint strains of music that floated through the halls. Upon leaving my room, I was struck by how effortlessly the house had shifted into party mode. Every detail created the perfect atmosphere of warmth and celebration, to which I was hoping I could participate in without the nerves gnawing at my stomach.

Guests mingled in the living room, their voices overlapping in a pleasant hum. Some had already taken to the backyard, where the fire pit flickered against the darkening sky. The clinking of glasses and bursts of laughter punctuated the air as people toasted to the end of the year. The energy was contagious, a current of excitement that made it easier to push aside my earlier unease.

By then, Nicholas, my dad, and brothers returned from buying fireworks. Nicholas had quickly found me amongst the guests, embracing me in a quick, warm hug, “Let me get dressed, and I’ll come find you again.”

I nodded, smiling as Nicholas disappeared toward my room, the soft tread of his footsteps a grounding reminder that he was here, with me.

As the minutes ticked by, the party atmosphere grew more vibrant. The house pulsed with life, a blend of festive energy and the rhythmic hum of voices overlapping one another. The entire neighborhood was basically all packed in here. The living room had become a hub of activity. Groups of guests lingered near the fireplace, where stockings from Christmas still hung, adding a nostalgic touch to the evening. The table of hors d’oeuvres in the dining room was a constant draw, the platters slowly depleting as guests indulged in bite-sized treats and toasted with champagne flutes that sparkled in the soft glow of the overhead chandelier.

Through the living room window, I could see that the backyard had turned into its own gathering space. The fire pit crackled merrily, surrounded by guests wrapped in light blankets. Children darted around the lawn, their laughter carrying through the air like the chiming of tiny bells. The fairy lights strung along the fences cast a golden glow over everything, making the scene look like something out of a holiday postcard.

Nicholas reappeared shortly after, dressed in a sharp navy blazer over a white shirt, his hair neatly combed but still carrying its usual slightly tousled charm. His presence immediately put me at ease, the tension from earlier melting away as he made his way through the crowd to my side.

“You look beautiful,” he relaxed into a sigh as his hands found my waist.

“How was hanging out with my dad and brothers?” I asked, resting my hands on the lapels of his blazer.

Nicholas’s lips quirked into a grin as he pulled me closer, his thumbs brushing lightly against my waist. “Honestly? It was great. Your dad’s got this calm, no-nonsense energy, and your brothers… well, let’s just say they made sure to warn me about what might happen if I ever hurt you.” He chuckled softly, a hint of affection in his tone. “But they were kidding. I think.”

I rolled my eyes, though a smile tugged at my lips. “Maybe,” I shrugged my shoulders, letting out a soft laugh. “I don’t know. They’ve never really had a chance to tell that to anybody else before.”

Nicholas laughed with me, his fingers tightening slightly as he leaned in closer, his voice dropping. “Well, I’m honored. I think?” He kissed my forehead, his gesture grounding me amid the swirl of the party.

The moment felt safe, a brief pocket of calm in the chaos around us. I leaned into him, letting myself enjoy the quiet reassurance of his presence. But the peace was short-lived, as it always seemed to be when my mom was nearby.

I caught sight of her moving through the crowd, her sharp eyes scanning the room like she was mentally cataloging everything out of place. The sight of her was enough to set my nerves buzzing again, and I reluctantly pulled away from Nicholas, smoothing my dress as I did.

“Come on,” I said, forcing a smile. “Let’s make the rounds.”

We wove through the crowd together, exchanging pleasantries with family friends and neighbors. Nicholas was effortlessly charming, his laugh infectious as he listened to stories and humored even the most insistent questions about his career. For a while, it felt easy — normal, even. I almost forgot about the inevitable tension that had been building all day.

Almost.

The moment came during a lull in the party when most of the guests had either drifted outside to the fire pit or gathered in the backyard to admire the fireworks my dad started to light about an hour before midnight. There was a slow, rhythmic boom every few minutes. Obviously, he was saving the bulk for midnight.

I was in the kitchen, refilling a tray of snacks, when my mom appeared behind me, her presence as sharp and cutting as a blade. She seemed meek at first, acting as if she didn’t know what to say when she knew exactly what she was going to say. "I just want what's best for you, honey," she said softly. "I wish you could see that.”

I turned to face her, my jaw tightening at her feigned sweetness. “What’s best for me?” I repeated, my voice low but sharp. “You mean what you think is best for me, right? Because let’s be honest, Mom, you’ve never actually cared about what I want.”

Her expression hardened in an instant, the veneer of concern slipping to reveal the cold edge beneath. “You’re too young to understand,” she said evenly, crossing her arms. “Nicholas is… exciting now, sure. But men like him don’t settle down. They don’t build lives with girls like you. They don’t stick around; they never do.”

I felt the anger rising in my chest like a tidal wave. The party sounds in the background seemed distant, muted against the roaring in my ears. “Enough,” I snapped, my voice sharper than intended.

My mom blinked, her smile freezing in place as the room seemed to hold its breath.

"Excuse me?" she said, her tone clipped.

"You've made your point," I said, my voice steady despite the adrenaline coursing through me. "We all get it. Nicholas is amazing, and somehow, you're surprised I could end up with someone like him. But you don't have to keep pointing it out."

“I just don’t think Nicholas is right for you,” she cupped my face.

I swatted away her hand, turning my cheek, "That's not your decision to make," I said, my chest tightening with anger. "I'm an adult, Mom. Even if it doesn’t end up working with Nicholas, I’m allowed to make my own mistakes.”

My mom’s eyes flashed, and for a moment, I thought she might back down. But then she squared her shoulders, her voice cold and cutting as she spoke. "Maybe it's time you proved that," she said. "If you think you're so grown up, then act like it. Move out. You’re 23 years old, for god’s sake.“

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut, and I stared at her in disbelief. "You're kicking me out?" I asked, my voice trembling.

My mom didn’t flinch. She crossed her arms tightly over her chest, her gaze unwavering. “It’s the only way you’ll see that I’ve only ever tried to protect you.”

My breath caught in my throat as the reality of her words settled over me like a suffocating weight. I clenched my fists, trying to keep my composure, but the anger and hurt bubbling inside me were impossible to suppress. “You think this is protection?” I said, my voice shaking. “You think controlling every part of my life and tearing down the people I love is protecting me?”

Her eyes narrowed, and she took a step closer, her voice dropping to a dangerously low tone. “You’re not ready for the real world.”

The roar of blood in my ears drowned out the hum of the party beyond the kitchen. But no matter how angry I was, the sadness in me broke through first, turning me into a bubble of tears as I continued to speak, my voice cracking all the while, “You don’t get to live your life through me and then punish me when I want to make my own decisions.”

I heard the faint creak of the sliding door behind us from across the living room, and before I could process it, Nicholas’s calm but firm voice broke through the tension. “What’s going on?” He asked as he slowly crossed over to the kitchen.

Both my mom and I turned, her face twisting into a mask of forced civility, while mine burned with humiliation and fury. Nicholas’s gaze flicked between the two of us, his jaw tightening as he stepped closer.

“This is between me and my daughter,” my mom said quickly, her voice strained with a brittle kind of authority. “It doesn’t concern you.”

Nicholas’s brow furrowed as he looked at me, his hand finding the small of my back. “If you’re talking about me and our relationship, it does concern me,” he said, his tone steady but edged with warning.

I interjected, not wanting this to escalate between my mom and Nicholas. Even with our arguing, I didn’t want my mom to hate him. A cruel wish, wasn’t it? “Nic…” I sniffled quietly, squeezing his hand to let him know this wasn’t his fight. It was mine and mine alone. I had to see this through. I turned to my mom, tears in my eyes, “Why can’t you just support me — us? You never controlled my brothers the way you control me,” I spoke, my voice calm. My mom opened her mouth to continue her arguing, but I interrupted her. “We’re not talking about this anymore if we’re just gonna keep arguing about the same thing over and over.”

By then, people started to trickle back into the house to grab their champagne glasses for the New Year’s countdown, giving my mom no opportunity to argue back. Instead, she flickered her gaze between Nicholas and I, watching him pull me closer to him before she rejoined the party.

As the living room filled with laughter and chatter once more, I clung to Nicholas’s side, grateful for his steady presence. He placed a protective hand on the small of my back, guiding me gently through the crowd. I could feel the weight of my mom’s glare on us, but I forced myself not to look back. The tension from the kitchen hung over me like a storm cloud, but I was determined not to let it ruin the rest of the night.

The countdown was already playing on the television, the screen flashing with the glittering ball in Times Square. While some guests gathered around inside, glasses of champagne in hand, Nicholas led me outside to the front of the house, away from the party happening at our house..

“You okay?” he asked softly, his breath warm against my ear.

I nodded, but the lump in my throat betrayed me. I leaned into him, letting his presence steady me. The cool night air hit my cheeks, a refreshing contrast to the stifling tension I’d just escaped. The street outside was alive with the quiet chaos of New Year’s Eve. Cars lined both sides, muffled music spilled from neighboring houses, and the occasional laughter of partygoers drifted through the air.

Nicholas tugged me gently toward the sidewalk, away from the trees that were blocking the sky. “You sure?” he pressed, his tone low and concerned. His hand found mine, his thumb tracing soft circles against my skin.

I exhaled, my breath visible in the crisp air. “It’s just a lot,” I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper.

Just then, I could hear the faint chant of everybody counting down inside and in the backyard. Nicholas pressed a quick kiss to my temple, his touch grounding me as the crowd began chanting. “Ten… nine… eight…”

Nicholas tightened his arm around me, and I felt a rush of warmth. I looked up at him, his profile illuminated by the glow of a nearby street lamp, and my heart swelled.

“Three… two… one… Happy New Year!”

Just then the entire street erupted into a cacophony of fireworks for miles, the sky bursting with fiery colors that painted the darkness in brilliant hues of red, gold, and blue. The vibrant blooms of light sparkled and faded, giving way to more, as though the universe itself was celebrating.

I was unable to tear my gaze away from the sight above. The explosions seemed endless, each one more vibrant and dazzling than the last. Trails of glittering sparks cascaded down like falling stars, and for a moment, it felt as though the entire world had stopped to watch with me.

Nicholas turned to me, a soft smile on his lips as he cupped my face in his hands. “Happy New Year, baby,” he said, his voice low and intimate, meant only for me.

Before I could reply, he leaned in, his lips meeting mine in a kiss that was both tender and full of promise. The chaos of what had gone on inside melted away, leaving just the two of us in that moment. When we pulled apart, his forehead rested against mine, and I could see the flicker of something unspoken in his eyes.

“Come with me,” he murmured, his voice barely audible over the noise of the thunderous fireworks going off.

I blinked, taken aback. “What?”

Nicholas pulled back slightly, his hands still cradling my face. “Come back to New York with me,” he said, his gaze unwavering. “At least for a little while. There’s only a few weeks left of filming. I don’t want to leave you here; I want you to be with me, there.”

The words hit me like a wave, and for a moment, I couldn’t speak. My mind raced, caught between the pull of his offer and the ties that still held me to this place. “Nicholas…” I started, my voice hesitant.

He shook his head, his thumbs brushing gently against my cheeks. “I know it’s sudden, with your job and everything,” he said quickly. “ I want you there with me, grounding me while I finish filming. And you deserve a fresh start, even if it’s just temporary. We can both get what we want.”

The sincerity in his eyes made my breath catch. I searched his face, my mind racing with a hundred conflicting thoughts. “I—”

He smiled, “You don’t have to decide right now,” he interrupted gently. His voice was soft, reassuring. “Just think about it.”

I nodded, feeling the lump in my throat return. “Okay,” I whispered, my voice barely audible over the fireworks. “I’ll think about it.”

Nicholas kissed my forehead again, his lips lingering for a moment. “That’s all I need,” he said softly, his arms wrapping around me as the sky continued to light up above us.

We stayed outside a little longer, the distant echo of cheers and music from neighboring houses blending with the vibrant bursts of color. We watched as the fireworks continued to burn until they stopped an hour or two later. Slowly but surely, people started to walk to their cars and leave to their own homes, the street growing lonelier and lonelier the more the night stretched on.

Later that night, as we lay in bed, the house finally quiet, I couldn’t sleep. Nicholas was next to me, his breathing deep and steady as his arm rested lightly across my waist. My thoughts churned as I stared at the ceiling, replaying the evening’s events. My mom’s words, her dismissal of my feelings, and then Nicholas’s offer — so simple, yet so monumental.

I turned to face him, the faint moonlight from the window casting soft shadows across his face. “Nic,” I whispered, my voice barely above a breath.

His eyes opened slowly, a small smile playing on his lips as he focused on me. “Hey,” he murmured, his voice thick with sleep, fluttering his eyes closed again, “You okay?”

I nodded, biting my lip. I took a deep breath, my fingers fidgeting with the edge of the blanket. “I’ll go with you,” I said finally, my words soft.

Nicholas’s eyes fluttered open again, his brow furrowing slightly as if he was processing my words through the haze of sleep. Slowly, a soft smile curved his lips, and he pulled me closer, his arm tightening around my waist. He didn’t speak, but the way he buried his face against my shoulder, holding me like I was the only thing grounding him, said enough. I let my eyes close, exhaustion finally tugging me into sleep with the steady rhythm of his breathing lulling me.

The next day came. As if nothing had happened the day before, my mom announced she was going to the stores for a few hours to take advantage of any last minute New Year’s sales, which had given me the perfect opportunity to explain to my dad Nicholas’s and I’s plans.

My dad was in the garage when I found him, organizing empty boxes of holiday decorations to anticipate the day he and my mom would be taking everything down, which would come soon. He turned when he heard me step inside, his face lighting up with a small, warm smile. For a moment, I hesitated, not sure how to begin. My dad had always been my quiet confidant, the one person I could count on to listen without judgment. But this felt different.

I cleared my throat, stepping closer. He set down a plastic box of old Christmas lights he’d been holding and gave me his full attention, his brow furrowing slightly in concern. He didn’t speak, waiting patiently for me to find the words.

“Dad, I’m leaving with Nicholas. Not long, just some weeks,” I said finally, my voice quieter than I’d intended. The words felt heavy, hanging in the air between us.

My dad���s face softened, his expression unreadable for a moment. He glanced down at his hands, rubbing his palms together as if considering what to say. When he looked back at me, his eyes were filled with a mix of emotions — sadness, pride, and something else I couldn’t quite place. He didn’t say much, but he didn’t need to. He reached out, pulling me into a tight hug, the kind that made me feel like a little kid again. His arms were strong, steady, and reassuring, and for a moment, I let myself sink into the comfort of it.

When he pulled back, his hands rested on my shoulders, his eyes searching mine. There was a quiet acceptance there, a recognition that this was something I needed to do. He didn’t argue or try to convince me to stay. Instead, he gave me a small, almost bittersweet smile.

My dad had always been supportive in his own quiet way, and this moment was no different. I could see the sadness in his expression, the heartbreak of watching his daughter leave the home she’d grown up in. But there was pride, too, and an unspoken understanding that I was ready to take this step.

He walked with me back into the house, where Nicholas was waiting in the living room, flipping through the pages of a book he’d pulled from the shelf. My dad paused in the doorway, his gaze lingering on Nicholas for a moment before he stepped forward, extending a hand.

Nicholas stood quickly, setting the book aside as he shook my dad’s hand. There was a moment of silence between them, a subtle exchange that felt heavy with meaning. My dad gave Nicholas a nod, his grip firm, before letting go. There was no hostility, no doubt, just a quiet expectation that Nicholas would protect and cherish me in the way he knew I deserved. Nicholas seemed to understand, his own expression serious as he met my dad’s gaze. There was a promise in the way he nodded back, a silent vow that he would do right by me.

As my dad stepped back, giving us space, I felt a rush of gratitude for him. He had always been a steady presence in my life, quietly supporting me through every challenge. And now, as I prepared to leave, he was still that same unwavering pillar of strength.

The rest of the day was a whirlwind of packing for the bitter chill of a January in New York. As I pulled out my suitcase from the back of my closet, a strange mix of emotions settled over me. The weight of what I was doing hit me fully as I began folding sweaters and tucking them neatly into the bag. Excitement and dread warred in my chest, a constant push and pull that made every movement feel heavier than it should have.

The thought of leaving home, even temporarily, filled me with an ache I hadn’t anticipated. This house had seen every version of me — the child who scraped her knees in the backyard, the teenager who hid away in her room to escape the chaos, and now, the adult preparing to walk out the door with no clear plan for what came next. I could feel the walls watching, as if they knew this moment carried more weight than I was ready to admit.

I was angry at my mom, yes, but leaving felt like I was giving up something I couldn’t quite name. Was it the hope that things could change? That she might finally see me, accept me for who I was instead of the version she wanted me to be? The thought made my chest tighten.

The sound of the front door opening jolted me from my thoughts. My mom was home. I froze, my hands hovering over the half-packed suitcase. For a moment, I considered closing the closet door and pretending I wasn’t doing this, but the heavy footfalls of her heels against the tile told me it was too late.

“(Y/N)?” she called out, her voice carrying through the house. “Where are you? Look at all the stuff I bought!”

“In here,” I called back, my voice steady despite the storm of emotions swirling inside me.

Her footsteps grew louder until she appeared in the doorway of my room, shopping bags dangling from her arms. Her gaze landed on the suitcase instantly, and the shift in her expression was immediate. Confusion, then realization, and finally something that looked almost like regret.

“What are you doing?” she asked, her voice tight.

“Packing,” I said simply, refusing to look away.

“For what?” she pressed, her eyes narrowing. “You’re not actually leaving.”

“You told me to move out,” I reminded her, my tone calm but firm. “So I’m going.”

Her laugh was sharp, almost incredulous. “Oh, don’t be ridiculous. I didn’t mean it.”

I straightened, the weight of her dismissal settling heavily on my chest. “You meant it in the moment, Mom. I won’t be gone long, but I’m choosing to leave either way.”

She stepped into the room, dropping the shopping bags onto the floor. “(Y/N),” she started, her tone softer now, almost pleading. “You know I didn’t mean it like that. I was upset. It was the heat of the moment. You’re my daughter. Of course, I don’t want you to leave.”

For a second, I hesitated, her words tugging at the part of me that had always wanted her approval. But then I remembered the way she’d dismissed my feelings, the way she’d belittled me in front of everyone, and the sharp sting of her words the night before.

“You say you’ve done everything to protect me,” I replied quietly, my voice steadier than I felt. “I’m telling you right now that I don’t need it anymore. I’m ready for whatever the world has to offer — good and bad.”

Her face faltered, and for a brief moment, I thought I saw a flash of guilt. Her lips parted as if to respond, but she hesitated, the words caught somewhere between her pride and regret. Finally, she sighed, the sound heavy and unfamiliar coming from her. “You’re serious about this,” she said, more to herself than to me.

I nodded, swallowing hard. “I am.”

She stepped closer, her gaze softening in a way I hadn’t seen in years. For a moment, it was as if the weight of our complicated relationship melted away, leaving behind only the raw, unfiltered emotion of a mother seeing her child take a step she wasn’t ready for. “You’ve always been stubborn,” she said quietly, her voice trembling just slightly.

I didn’t reply, afraid that any words might shatter the fragile moment between us.

“I just…” she started, her voice breaking slightly before she composed herself. “I just don’t want you to make a mistake you can’t come back from.”

“I know,” I said softly, taking a step closer. “But that’s part of growing up, Mom. It’s part of learning who I am, outside of who you think I should be.”

She closed her eyes briefly, her shoulders sagging under the weight of her own emotions. When she opened them again, there was a flicker of something I couldn’t quite name — acceptance, maybe, or at least a step in that direction. “You’ll let me know if you need anything?” she asked, her voice softer now.

I smiled faintly, a small sense of relief blooming in my chest. “Of course.”

She nodded once, stepping back toward the doorway. Her hand lingered on the frame as she glanced back at me. “I’ll… I’ll help you finish packing,” she offered hesitantly.

The words caught me off guard, and for a moment, I couldn’t respond. Then, slowly, I nodded. “I’d like that.”

She nodded again, her lips pressing into a thin line before she disappeared down the hall, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I exhaled shakily, the tension in my chest easing just slightly. It wasn’t a perfect resolution, and it wouldn’t fix everything between us, but it was a start. When she returned, she carried a small stack of my favorite sweaters and a carefully folded blanket from the living room. She set them gently on the bed beside my suitcase, her movements deliberate and quiet. We worked side by side in silence, the unspoken understanding between us saying more than words ever could.

As I zipped up the suitcase and clicked the latches into place, I felt a strange mix of emotions — relief, sadness, hope. This wasn’t the ending I’d envisioned, but maybe it didn’t have to be an ending at all. Maybe it was just a new chapter. A chance for both of us to grow.

The airport was quieter than I expected for a New Year’s Day. Nicholas and I stood at the curb, my suitcase already unloaded and waiting beside us. The cold January wind nipped at my cheeks, but I barely felt it. The weight of the moment pressed against my chest, each passing second stretching into eternity.

My dad was the one who drove us, his calm presence offering an unspoken reassurance during the ride. He stood a few paces away now, giving us space but still close enough to send a quiet message: You’re not alone. My mom hadn’t come. It was too much, too soon, for either of us, and I was grateful she didn’t push.

Nicholas adjusted the strap of his duffel bag on his shoulder, his free hand finding mine. His fingers intertwined with mine, warm and grounding, as his gaze searched mine. “Are you sure about this?” he asked softly, his voice steady but tinged with uncertainty.

I nodded, swallowing the lump in my throat. “Yeah,” I said, my voice barely above a whisper. “I’m sure.”

He gave a small, relieved smile, his thumb brushing against the back of my hand. “Good,” he said simply, his tone carrying more weight than the single word implied.

We stood in silence for a moment, the world around us bustling with the sounds of car engines, rolling suitcases, and distant announcements over the airport speakers. But it all felt far away, like background noise to the gravity of this moment.

“I meant what I said last night,” Nicholas said, his voice breaking the silence. His eyes held mine, unwavering. “I don’t want you to feel like this is something you have to do for me. I want you to come because it’s what you want.”

I squeezed his hand, my heart swelling with both gratitude and affection. “I’m doing this for us,” I said firmly, my voice steadier now. “Because I want to be with you, Nicholas. Wherever that takes me.”

A faint smile tugged at his lips, and he exhaled slowly, his shoulders relaxing just a fraction. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low and filled with wonder. “You know that, right?”

I huffed out a quiet laugh, my cheeks warming despite the cold. “You tell me enough.”

“Not nearly enough,” he said, his tone serious. He cupped my face with one hand, his thumb brushing lightly against my cheek.

Tears pricked my eyes, and I blinked them away quickly, not wanting to cry here, in the middle of the airport curb. 

Nicholas leaned in, his forehead resting gently against mine. For a moment, the world around us seemed to fade away, leaving just the two of us standing together, on the cusp of something new.

“Let’s go make a life together,” he said softly, his words a promise as much as an invitation.

I nodded, a small smile breaking through the emotions threatening to overwhelm me. “Let’s do it.”

He kissed me then, a soft, lingering kiss that felt like a vow, sealing the moment between us. When we pulled apart, he grabbed my suitcase with one hand and reached for my dad with the other, shaking his hand firmly.

“Thank you,” Nicholas said, his voice steady but filled with meaning. My dad nodded, his grip firm as he clapped Nicholas on the shoulder.

“Take care of her,” my dad said quietly, his voice low but carrying the weight of a father’s love and trust.

“I will,” Nicholas replied, his voice unwavering.

As we turned toward the airport doors, I glanced back one last time. My dad stood there, his hands in his pockets, watching us with a faint but proud smile. I gave him a small wave, and he nodded, his expression a mixture of sadness and pride.

I knew my relationship with Nicholas was passionate, fiery. What I didn’t anticipate was how it would ignite a revolution within me — one that would burn away the old version of myself. That version of me was timid, too caught up in her own head, second-guessing her worth, constantly wondering if she was enough. She lived under the shadow of others’ expectations, her mother’s most of all, like a flame too afraid to burn brightly. But with Nicholas, that flame wasn’t snuffed out; it was set free.

It wasn’t just his presence or his love that changed me — it was the way he saw me. He didn’t just love the version of me that I tried to present to the world. He loved the flawed, messy, confused parts of me that I tried so hard to hide. And in doing so, he showed me that I didn’t need to keep hiding. That I could let go of the suffocating need to measure myself by other people’s standards, to live up to expectations that were never truly mine.

The fire between us wasn’t always gentle. It challenged me, forced me to confront parts of myself I had buried for so long. At times, it felt overwhelming, like the heat might consume me. But through that fire, I found strength I didn’t know I had. I learned how to stand tall, how to take up space in my own life instead of folding myself smaller to accommodate others. With Nicholas’s support, I began making room for myself — not just in his world, but in my own.

It still feels surreal sometimes, to think that it all began with something as random and mundane as a hotel room assignment. Two strangers, their lives running parallel for a fleeting moment, brought together by sheer coincidence. If either of us had arrived a day earlier or later, if our rooms had been just a floor apart, none of this might have happened. And yet, it did.

The simplicity of that beginning only makes what came after feel more profound. That brief collision of our worlds wasn’t just chance; it was the spark that lit the fire. It was as if the universe had nudged us together, knowing that we were exactly what the other needed — even if we didn’t know it at the time.

And now, as I stand on the other side of that fire, I feel renewed, like I’ve shed a skin I no longer need. The woman I am now is no longer shackled by fear or self-doubt. She’s bold, unafraid to claim her happiness, her future. And while I’ve built this version of myself with my own hands, I know it was Nicholas who first handed me the match.

Continue the story with Room To Breathe (Part 4)

[vioshortforviolence]

Yes!!

This is one of my favorite things about the series as a whole: Happy graphics that mask a darker story and themes.

I've always loved that kind of contrast in games.

Even Twilight Princess - one of the most "serious" entries in the series - is still full of fun and goofy moments!

I mean, have you seen Link's face when he discovers the Fishing Hole?? lol

And don't even get me started on the Ooccoo...

(Link's face here is also great.)

The Zelda series has a case of "judging a book by its cover" - or in this case, by its graphics; it isn't really quite as "kiddie" as people outside the fandom tend to think it is.

The Shadow Temple from Ocarina of Time comes to mind, especially the original version with all the blood splatters everywhere.

"Here is gathered Hyrule's bloody history of greed and hatred..."

ALSO DEAD HAND

Just what the heck was this mini-boss, Nintendo?! LOL

Anyway.

The Wind Waker: A happy sea-faring adventure that actually takes place in a post-apocalyptic world where the entire kingdom drowned because the hero wasn't there to save them.

Majora's Mask is its own brand of deep and depressing moments - but as OP said, it's still full of themes of hope and forgiveness.

And... ah, the ending of Link's Awakening. Mhm.

It's funny - whenever I see a doubting YTber play the Zelda games for the first time, they're always pleasantly surprised to see their own assumptions about the series being super kiddie be torn to pieces, lol.

This series is happy, goofy, serious... but most importantly, it's heartfelt.

I could go on and on about this series...

Anyway.

am i the only person in this fandom that wants this series to have more hopeful stories rather than completely dystopian and depressed stores? and i genuinely feel like the series darker moments have way more impact in the more “light-hearted” entries in the series…i seriously can’t be alone in this 😩 why do people want this series to be dark and gritty so bad? these games have always been a healthy mix of hopeful and tragic and i wouldn’t want that to change at all

[callsign-rogueone]

faking it - s.h.

Sawyer Henrick x healer!reader  When Sawyer's friends hear that an infantry guy has been bothering you, they suggest an unconventional way to get him to leave you alone. words: 1.7k 🏷: Iron Flame spoilers in future chapters, feminine healer reader who was childhood friends with Sawyer (no pronouns used here, but future chapters will use she/her), mentions of needles (one immunization), mentions of harassment from an original character, Sawyer has a huge crush on you, and his entire squad ships it, fake-dating trope. here begins the story of Sawyer and Peach! I hope y’all like her 🥺

You fight the urge to yawn as you continue to restock the bandages and straighten things up for the day — you didn’t sleep well, and you’ve never been a fan of the early mornings that the war college requires. 

It could be worse, you tell yourself. You could still be working nights like you did your first year. That was even more exhausting.

There’s a soft knock on the doorframe. “Is Cadet Lowen working today?”

Your classmate bristles, drawing herself up to her full height, but it isn’t very intimidating— she’s even smaller than Violet. “Who’s asking?” 

You laugh, setting the box down and smoothing out the creases in your pale blue robes. “It’s okay, Sarah. He’s a friend.”

He gives her a disarming smile, but she still eyes him with suspicion for a few seconds before she disappears into the other room. 

You instantly start checking him over for injury, but it’s too hard to see anything under all that black fabric and leather.

He smiles. “I’m fine. I just came to give you this. I don’t know if they’re still your favorite, but…”

You take the small paper bag he’s holding, that cute little concerned frown quickly turning into a grin as you see the blueberry muffin inside — just like your mom used to make. “Thank you. What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion. Just making sure you’re taking care of yourself,” he answers, blushing. There’s a moment of silence before he starts to bail out. “I know you’ve been busy, let me get out of your hair-”

You don’t want him to leave.

“Did you get your flu shot yet?” you interrupt.

He laughs at your spontaneity. “I did not,” he answers truthfully.

You put the bag down, moving to go wash your hands. “Sit.”

“I brought you the perfect muffin, and you still want to stick me with a needle?” he asks.

You raise an eyebrow at him. “It’s for your own good, and the good of the quadrant. Unless you can’t take a little pinch…”

He straightens up a bit, scoffing. “Of course I can.”

You smile. You know exactly how to get these army boys in line. Pride is the biggest motivator they’ve got; they’re always eager to prove that they can handle whatever task at hand.

“Your full name and date of birth please, sir?” you ask, picking up a clipboard.

He knows you know it, but he humors you anyway — it’s cute seeing you in nurse mode. “Sawyer Henrick, July 15th, 612.”

You write it down as he unbuttons his shirt, pulling one arm out of its sleeve.

Your heart races at the glimpse of the rider’s relic spanning his back; a swath of bright red contrasting with his pale skin. You certainly don’t remember him being this strong, either — all that crazy shit they make riders do has paid off, you suppose.

You take a moment longer than appropriate to get the tension out of the muscle before making the injection and smoothing a bandage over the skin. “All done.”

“Do I get a sticker?” he asks, clearly joking.

You rip your eyes away as he does the buttons back up, turning to wash your hands again. “Fresh out, sorry. I’ll give you a rain check.”

You need to get him the hell out of here before your classmates start asking questions, and before he melts the rest of your brain. “Thank you for the muffin.”

“Thank you for the flu shot.”

You can’t help but smile at him. “I really missed you, you know. I’m glad our paths crossed again.”

“I missed you too, peach.” There’s a pause as he works up the courage. “Do you want to come to town with me and my squadmates on Saturday? They all really liked you.”

While the land-nav exercise hadn’t gone according to plan at all, you’d still enjoyed your time with them. “I’d like that.”

“Alright,” he says with that shy smile you’ve missed so much. “Meet you at the front gates around three?”

“Sounds like a plan. Now scoot,” you prod gently. “I’m sure everyone is wondering where you ran off to.”

He glances at the clock — he’s definitely going to be late for battle brief, but the scolding from Dain will be worth every minute.

He gives you one last soft smile before he leaves, one you’ll be thinking about all day.

------------------------------------------------------------

Sure enough, he finds you waiting outside at three o’clock sharp.

It’s been years since he’s seen you in civilian clothes. You look exactly how he remembers you, only somehow even more beautiful. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, he supposes.

You’ve swapped out the healers’ robes for something more fitted and more seasonally appropriate, a new pair of denim pants and a sleeveless light purple tunic. You’d even let your hair down for the occasion, leaving it out of the usual no-nonsense style you’re required to wear during your shifts.

Him and his friends are all dressed in their usual solid black. “I guess I didn’t get the memo,” you jest.

Violet smiles. “Don’t worry. It’s nice to see some color every now and then.”

You bring a hand up to swat away a fly, and Rhiannon’s eyes widen. “You guys are allowed to paint your nails?”

“There’s all kinds of rules about what colors and how long they can be, but yeah. I do them every Sunday afternoon. It makes me feel pretty, even with those terrible robes on,” you laugh.

Sawyer pushes down a remark about how you’re always pretty, clearing his throat instead. “Everyone ready?”

There’s a chorus of agreement from the squad. 

It isn’t long before you’re all sitting around a table at the tavern, laughing over stories from your years at the school. “And then I told her that if she wanted to act like that, she should-”

The door opens, the small bell hung on it jingling. Everyone watches you fall silent, pressing your lips together and shrinking yourself as small as you can until the group of infantry passes. They head off to the bartop, out of sight, and you finally let out the breath you’d been holding.

“Are you okay? You look like a sheep that just saw a riot of dragons walk by,” Ridoc says, but there’s no humor in his tone.

You shift in your seat for a moment, uncomfortable, but the way your new friends are all looking at you with genuine concern has you admitting the truth. 

“I stitched up the blond — James — a month ago, and now he thinks we’re soulmates or something. He keeps showing up at the infirmary with his friends, asking me on dates, and I keep turning him down, but he won’t take no for an answer. I’ve considered faking my own death just to get him to leave me alone,” you joke, but it’s obvious that you don’t find it funny. “It’s starting to freak me out.”

Violet frowns. “Have you talked to Nolon about it?”

“I have, but we can’t refuse care to anyone, so we’ve just been saying I’m busy and having the other girls deal with him, but they shouldn’t have to do that. I’ve tried everything. He just doesn’t seem to understand that I’m not interested.”

“Maybe not everything,” Rhiannon offers.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, those kind of guys won’t listen to you, but they will listen to another dude. They need to see another guy on your arm, because they don’t respect you as a person, but they will respect another man’s claim to you.”

Everyone looks at her, quizzical.

“I’m not saying it’s right,” she says, putting her hands up in defense, “I’m just saying it’s true. Get yourself a boyfriend, or a fake one, even, and he’ll back off, guaranteed.”

You chew your lip, pensive. “That might work. But I’ve been too focused on studying to go on any dates. I don’t know anyone who would be willing to…”

“Look to your left,” Ridoc offers dryly, taking a sip of his drink.

You glance over at Sawyer. Are they really suggesting…?

“It’s a logical choice,” Violet adds, shrugging. “You two already know everything about each other.”

You can’t quite read the look on his face, but it’s clear from his reddened cheeks that he’s uncomfortable. You shake your head quickly. “I couldn’t make you do that.”

“You wouldn’t be making me do anything. I’d be helping you, because I care about you, and because that guy’s a fucking creep.”

You’ve never heard him sound so firm before.

Your gaze drifts back to the bartop, where James is still sitting with his friends, several empty glasses in front of them. You’ve never seen him drunk before, but you know it can’t be pretty. 

He laughs, too loudly, likely at some crude joke his friend had made, clapping the other boy on the back. 

You wince, sinking deeper into the worn upholstery and praying they don’t see you, but you stick out in the crowd of riders and infantry — you’re the only person in the room who isn’t wearing all black, save for the bartenders.

“Breathe,” Sawyer coaxes, laying a hand on your knee beneath the table. It simultaneously soothes your anxiety and gives you butterflies, a feeling you can’t really describe.

You take a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “Sorry,” you manage, offering them a weak smile. “Didn’t mean to kill the mood.”

“Don’t apologize,” Ridoc says gently. “you’re one of us now, and we look out for our own.”

“He’s right,” Sawyer adds. “I promise I will do everything I can to get this guy gone, but I don’t want to cross any boundaries. We don’t have to do anything you’re uncomfortable with. You’ll be one hundred percent in control here, okay?”

You nod, entranced by the softness in his eyes as he looks over at you. “Okay,” you agree quietly.

“Attagirl,” he praises, tucking a lock of hair behind your ear.

You think your heart might give out.

“That’s actually really believable,” Violet comments with a soft smile, snapping you out of your train of thought and reminding you that you have an audience.

You tear your eyes away from Sawyers’, picking your drink back up. He moves his hand from your leg, resting his arm on the back of your chair as the conversation resumes, Ridoc bringing everyone back into a light mood again with another terrible joke.

This could work, you decide, but it could also go horribly, terribly wrong.

[mandacantu]

10 Reasons Why I Actually Loved The Crow Remake

FKA Twigs - I'm not going to sit here and pretend I am not a huge twigs fan, because I love anything she touches and especially her music. This was her first time as a leading lady and I thought she did a good job. I do think there were some points where her line reading could have been a little more fast paced in some spots, but overall, I think she was captivating, eloquent and emotional. And wow, so many stunning visuals that we got of her from this movie!

2. We didn't have to see depictions of brutal and violent deaths of women in this film. I didn't want to spend too many of my thoughts on comparisons to the original The Crow, but one thing I noticed was that I didn't have to endure the violent and sexually abusive death of Shelly or any other woman in this movie. I do like the original movie but never cared for the way they went all in on Shelly's death. In this remake, we still see Shelly die but we don't have to endure gratuitous SA scenes whilst losing the leading lady. I appreciated that and was able to relax more, honestly.

3. The villain had actual motivation for killing and being a villain. There was some decent backstory and character development for the villain and that is something that I always appreciate. Some of my favorite pieces of media (like Spirited Away and Knives Out) do well to at least give the villain a story or a reason for being bad. I think it adds depth to the story and for me, helps immerse me into the plot more.

4. It felt like a comic book come to life. From the color grading and palette to the way scenes were cut and moved from one to the next, it felt like I was flipping through a comic book. There were moments that were very whimsical in depictions of love and then very gritty scenes. The contrast in some of those scenes felt similar to flipping a page in a comic.

5. It was very romantic and spent a lot of time focusing on their love story. I thought their love was believable and felt like that whirlwind kind of love where you just want to party and kiss all night. It gave me a reason to care about both of the characters and it gave Shelly a place in the spotlight where she becomes so much more than just a symbol of loss for character development. Focusing on their love and giving us some romance was a timeless decision and puts their love story up there with Romeo and Juliet or Christian and Sateen.

6. Soundtrack was amazing! If you are into some new wave, some goth tunes and some dance tracks, this is the playlist for you. Beyond just the soundtrack, it was truly a different experience to see it synced up to parts of the movie as intended. The intro was amazing, I thought it was like a James Bond meets Underworld mixed with some NIN music video sprinkled in there. The folks who worked on the score deserve a standing ovation. There were moments where I was tearing up because of how well the music paired with the scene. Most memorable and moving was Joy Division's Disorder when they bust out of rehab together and a perfectly placed Boadicea by Enya. There were so many other good ones too, I'm seriously considering seeing it again just for the mini music videos you get from the film.

7. It was aesthetically pleasing. And I'm not just talking about the eye candy that was Bill Skarsgård, though lets give him his flowers for being a true Mr. Fanservice! The actual visuals were beautiful. I loved the cinematography and color choices. It was truly a feast for the eyes. Just take a look at this beautiful gif set by pizgif!

8. I could easily see a story about grief and the longing for justice for loved ones. I thought it was a good story and as I watched it, I thought to myself that the person who wrote the original comic must have gone through an immense loss. It wasn't until I looked it up that it seems to be confirmed that The Crow was inspired by such loss. The moodiness of the movie itself added to the weight of the tragic storyline. In that, I liked that it takes a while for Eric to become The Crow. Losing someone you love transforms you and in this sense, the movie is all about that transformation and pain and longing.

9. I liked the ending. I don't want to say too much to spoil it, but I enjoyed the different ending and I was definitely teary eyed and sniffling as I left the theater.

10. It was goth as fuck. I think goth can be a multitude of styles and honestly shouldn't be something that has a gatekeeper. This was emo-boy-goth, it was e-boy-tiktok-hottie-goth, it was goth in a different flavor. I think folks are quick to see this new Eric not dressed like a new-wave-leather-daddy-goth as decidedly not dark enough. To quote a favorite musician, he was "goth as fuck, even when [he's] not in black, gothic is the pain you feel and not the clothes that's on your back."

Closing thoughts: A lot of the negative criticism is coming from men or diehard fans of the 1994 movie, so I am not surprised. This rendition felt like the same story, just done differently and with more emphasis on the love story than the revenge plot. There is nothing wrong with that and nothing wrong with a gothic romance heavy action flick.

This was intended to be a different version of The Crow and that isn't a bad thing. I personally think that if they had done the styling to be an exact replica of Brandon Lee's rendition then the movie would still get tons of hate, if not more. It was a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation for sure. I'm glad they took a risk and deviated from the '94 version.

We have been doing remakes since the creation of art. It has always been common to hear that the new movie coming out is actually a retelling of this classic tale or continuation of that scary story. Remakes are not a new concept and some of them do well to tell the same story in a different way. We are in the day and age where there isn't really an original idea anymore, anyway. In a world full of countless retellings of Batman/Joker and Spiderman movies, why not remake The Crow? I say fire it up!

I think they do a good job to pave the way for others to retell this love story in the same vein as The Joker and Harley Quinn. Hell, I would say to keep going, next let's see a remake where The Crow is about two badass lesbians. (I might have gotten too peppered up watching the movie, it was hot.)

P.S. I loved that there were little things like Eric wearing Shelly's jacket later in the movie. I feel like a lot of critics saw him wearing this jacket and were quick to bash the costume design too, but this is the kind of attention to detail that made their love believable to me. And I thought he looked cute as hell in it.

Okay, the end.

[atinylittlepain]

Nothing to Hide - A Joel Miller Story

no outbreak!joel miller x f!reader

joel miller masterlist

she learns a couple new things about her man over the course of a night.

warnings | 18+ SMUT, and nothing but(t), yes this is a pegging fic

a/n | it's here! welcome, everyone, to the inaugural night of the Peg that Middle-Aged Man Campaign 2023! over the course of the next week or so, I as well as a handful of my favorite writers will be putting out some excellent fics under this campaign for the whole spectrum of Pedro Pascalian characters! so keep your eye out! much more to come, muahahahaha

i know for a fact that both @beskarandblasters and @wannab-urs will be posting or have already posted two other spectacular PMAMC fics on this fine evening, so go check those out as well!

.......................................................

“What is that?”

“Don’t– you can’t laugh.”

“Oh my god, Joel. What the fuck is it?” 

“Well what d’you think it is?”

“I think you lost a bet is what I think.” He’s silent for a moment, his lack of a reply all the answer she needs to burst out into laughter.

“No, really?” Joel lets out a huff.

“I was really really drunk and dumb, ok? Jesus, woman, stop looking at it!” She stifles her laugh enough to turn him around by his shoulder so he’s facing her, running a quick hand through his curls, his face flushed and set in a scowl.

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna be looking at it a lot with what I’m about to do to you.” She can see the bob of his throat in the faint light of her bedroom, the way his eyes go a touch hazy, drooping under his lashes. He’s pretty, something she’s known since they started dating, though she also knows he’d probably short-circuit if she ever called him that. But tonight, she intends to treat him like it, giving, providing, where he’s always so eager to do the same. 

“Why don’t you lay out on the bed for me, handsome?” He gives her a jerky nod, seeming to think twice before he cups her cheek in his palm, dragging a hot kiss from her before he complies. He’s still in his boxers, long expanses of tan, bare strength laid out on her sheets, propped up on his elbows to watch her as she rifles through a dresser drawer to find a few things. His eyes widen when she turns back to him, baby pink strap in one hand and a bottle of lube in the other. 

“Don’t worry about it, baby. We’re gonna work you up to it, ok? And if you don’t like anything, just tell me and I’ll stop.” It’s setting heat threading through her core, thick and warm, the silk of her panties sticking to her cunt from the pulse of arousal, coaxed on by the stark contrast of how he normally is to how she gets him right now. Her man, always in control, always the strong one, the dominant one, the giver, laying it all willingly at her feet.

It had started with a bit of pillow talk one night. Joel knew that she had been with women in the past, but he had never been so bold as to ask anything about it, not until that night, drunk on sweat and sex, a boyish grin slipping across his lips, turning dark and reverential fast when she was more than happy to tell him about her experience, going so far as to show him the toys she had held onto. But what she hadn’t been expecting was Joel Miller, the walking homage to southern masculinity, asking his next question.

“You ever used that, um, with– with men?” 

They had talked about it more afterward, Joel eager to bring it up, ask questions, seemingly just as perplexed as she was that he was so interested in it.

“I don’t know, I mean– never thought about something like this before. But, with you it just– fuck, it seems kinda hot.”

And that’s how they’ve ended up here, her kneeling between his spread legs on her bed, palms rubbing up and down his thighs as she leans over and lays a kiss to the little swell of his belly, smiling against the jump of his muscles. 

“Relax for me, Joel. I promise I’m gonna take good care of you. You trust me, right?” 

“I– yeah, I do.” She slides one palm up from his thigh to his chest, pressing lightly to get him to lay back.

“Then just let me do all the work, alright? Gonna make you feel good.” With that, she draws her attention back down to the waistband of his boxers, hooking her fingers in the sides to tug them down and off his legs before settling back between his thighs, her fingers tapping the joints of his knees as a light command.

“Can you bend your knees for me, baby? Need you a little more opened up than this.” She’s surprised by the groan he lets out at her simple question, a breathless shake of his head.

“Fuck, I– you– that–” She cuts off his floundering, her palm rubbing a soothing circle against his chest.

“Hey, if you don’t feel comfortable, we don’t have to do anything different, seriously.” “No! I mean, no, I want to. It’s just– different. But different’s good. I’m good.” How could she say no to that?

“Ok, baby, I’m gonna warm you up. You tell me if I do anything you don’t like, alright?” He nods, his eyes staying glued on hers as she ducks back down, lips ghosting over the underside of his already hard cock before lapping gently at the tip. She works him over with her mouth for a while, taking him down as far as she can, her hand stroking the rest, reveling in the way his muscles slacken and tense beneath her ministrations, the way he starts to let himself go to the pleasure, his head pressed back into the pillows, eyes scrunched shut, shaky pants and curses leaving his lips. When it seems like she’s gotten him nice and relaxed, she pulls off of him, continuing to lap at his length while she fumbles around for her bottle of lube, spreading a dollop between her palms before getting her hands on his length.

“Just want you to get used to the feel of this stuff, alright, baby?” He hisses at the cool contact, but lets out a breathy, low-rumbled uh-huh as she swirls her slicked-up palm down his cock, slipping her hand down to cup his balls, a move that sets a broken groan thrumming in his throat. Her other hand presses against his thigh, getting him to open up more for her as she slips a finger down a little further, finding that tight ring of muscle and applying a bit of pressure, Joel’s hips bucking up at the sensation. 

“Easy, baby, gotta stay relaxed for me if I’m gonna open you up.” He lets out a disbelieving laugh, throwing his head back as she presses her finger in, her other hand lazily stroking his cock as she does.

“Jesus, fuck– you��re good, so fucking good. Never felt anything like this be-before.” She smiles up at him, pressing a kiss to his hip as she slowly pumps her finger inside of him, only stopping to lathe more lube over her hand.

“Think you can take another one, baby? You ready for that?” He nods, a long sigh leaving his lips, but that’s not good enough for her.

“Need words, Joel. You gotta tell me what you want.” 

“I– yes, more, please. Want more.” To get a please out of Joel Miller is no small feat, and she revels in it, just a little, easing a second finger in along her first one, stretching him out even more. He’s a vision, chest flushed, cheeks ablaze, one hand tugging at his mussed-up hair, the other balled into a tight fist in the sheets as she works him open. It’s messy as hell, lube slicking up everything, dripping between his thighs, his cock throbbing in her hand, his words a filthy slur of praise and curses that go straight to her aching core.

“Do you wanna finish like this, baby? Or do you wanna take it a little further?” 

“More, yeah, want you– want you to go further.” She slips her fingers out of him with a smile, crawling further up the bed to steal a kiss, his mouth insistent and devouring before she pulls away with a lewd smack. His eyes trail up and down her body as she stands at the foot of the bed, first slipping her bra off, followed by her panties, before reaching for the strap. And he’s an intent and willing audience, following the way she slides the harness over her hips, deft fingers fitting it snug to her body.

“Can I have you on all fours, handsome?” He moves tentatively, a dazed look on his face when he glances over his shoulder at her, trying to watch as she spreads lube over her silicone dick. Her eyes, meanwhile, are focused back on the thing she had been so shocked to see earlier, moreso surprised that he had somehow managed to hide it from her over the months that they’ve been dating. Thick, dark ink, one of those culturally insensitive, faux-tribal numbers she’s sure he walked into a parlor and just pointed at on the wall, goaded on by Tommy and his construction crew buddies no doubt. There’s no two ways about it, Joel Miller has a tramp stamp, and she can’t help but lay a giggling kiss to it, causing him to let out a huff over his shoulder. 

“I’m gonna get it removed, ok? Just– haven’t gotten around to it yet.” 

“And what if I kinda like it?” She can barely keep a straight face saying it, biting back a laugh as he huffs at her again, though she’s quick to soothe him, running a palm up his spine before her hand settles at his hip.

“I’m sorry, baby, no more teasing. You ready for me?” When all he does is nod, she taps him on the ass, a few pats of her palm seeming to remind him what she wants.

“Yes, fuck, ready.” She keeps one palm splayed over his lower back (and his tattoo), holding him steady as she slowly presses forward, easing him into it with gentle rocks of her hips. He’s breathing hard, little groans loosing from his chest, but he doesn’t tell her to stop, letting out a long sigh when she’s finally seated fully inside. She curls over him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder, her words a faint rasp into his skin.

“Doing so good for me, Joel. Tell me when you want me to move, baby, take your time.” He cranes his neck, looking for a kiss she’s happy to give him, a desperate tangle that’s still so sweet. 

“You can move, I just– fuck– it’s good, feels really fucking good.” It’s what she wants, wants him to feel good, and to keep feeling good, leaning slightly back on her knees to find a slow rhythm with her hips, one hand reaching around to stroke his throbbing cock, Joel letting out a harsh moan when she does. She’s never heard these sounds from him before, broken grunts and breathy chants of her name with each thrust of her hips, completely losing himself in the sensation. She curls back over him, her hips set in a deep grind as she drags her lips over his temple.

“That feel good, baby? Nice to have someone take care of you, huh? Taking it so good, Joel. You gonna come for me? Gonna let me have it?” 

“Jesus fucking christ, feels so fucking good– you’re gonna kill me, shit– fucking close, so fucking close.” With one more pass of her hand over his cock, one more rock of her hips, he comes on a punched-out exhale, slumping down onto his elbows with a shuddering heave. She presses kisses all over his shoulder blades as she pulls out, trying to soothe the hiss he lets out at the ache, quick to guide him onto his back so he doesn't flop down into a pool of his own spend. If he hears her low-murmured be right back, he doesn’t show it, forearm slung over his face, chest still heaving as she slips out of the bedroom to get him a glass of water.

“Is this how you feel? After we– when I– when we–” She cuts off his stumbling question with a light laugh, sitting down on the side of the bed next to him and coaxing a few sips of water out of him. 

“So you liked it?” He quirks a brow at her, one of his hands coming to rest on her thigh, squeezing the swell of it when she laughs again at his expression.

“Gotta be honest, darlin, my expectations were low. Kinda wanted to try it just to see, I guess. But fuck, that was, uh, that was something else.” She can’t help herself, leaning down for a quick kiss that he chases after with a much deeper one, greedy hands squeezing and pulling until she’s getting dragged onto his lap, wincing at the slick stick of it and pulling away.

“What? What’s wrong? C’mon, darlin, wanna take care of you now.” Though he tries to pull her back in for a kiss, she plants a firm palm on his forehead to hold him back, stifling a laugh at his perplexed expression.

“That sounds nice, but you are covered in lube and it’s sticking to everything. Can we continue this in the shower, baby?” Ever the gentleman, Joel acquiesces to her request, letting her get up before shuffling into the bathroom in all his bare glory to get the water warmed up. 

It’s an irresistible urge, walking into the bathroom, seeing his back facing her, his cute little ass and the hilarious art just above it, and she just has to give a quick pinch to his hip before raking her nails over the ink, grinning at him as he turns around with an exasperated huff.

“Ain’t ever gonna let me live this down, are you?” 

“That depends, do you have any other tattoos you’ve been hiding from me?” His grin goes smarmy, drawing a gasp out of her when he pulls her into him with a hooked arm around her waist, pressing a hard kiss to her lips.

“Nothing else to hide, darlin. Think you’ve seen it all now.”

...........................

tags for folks who i think would enjoy this lmao: @wannab-urs @beskarandblasters @jksprincess10 @cutesyscreenname @swiftispunk @northernbluess @pr0ximamidnight

[crimsoncold]

AEMONDSA: A crack ship with unexpected depth and appeal

A treatise (in four parts) on the intriguing parallels and complementary contrasting of Aemond and Sansa and the subsequent allure of them as a romantic pairing in Fanfic

- from the perspective of a sansa-stan, jonsa + sansa-centric multishipper, and someone who is generally Targ critical

Now while my general stance of "ship and let ship/don't worry so much about what other people in fandom focus on or ship/etc" still stands i wanted to do a little write up on what I've found so appealing about this particular crack ship.

Not to justify it (again fandom and shipping in general is just about enjoying/thinking about fictional characters and scenarios... no one needs to justify why their imagination likes to think about two characters interacting romantically) but because there isn't a ton of metas addressing the interesting parallels between these characters and the appeal of them as a ship so I wanted to make one so the handful of people who do ship it get to see some more positive engagement/responses to this pairing.

I just unexpectedly ended up loving this pairing so much and I always have a particularly strong urge to contribute to fandom content on the rare pairs/crack ships that I like....So here have a deep dive into the parallels, and contrasting but complimentary aspects of Aemond and Sansa, and the unexpected appeal of Aemond x Sansa as a pairing in fanfiction...

PART 1: MY EXPERIENCE WITH ASOIAF/GOT & HOTD FANDOM AND WHY AEMONDSA IS A PLEASANT SURPRISE

So I'm going to be drawing from both book and show elements when I consider and compare Sansa and Aemond's characterization and plot arcs (particularly since this tends to be how they are handled in fanfic- which all have differing combinations of book or show canon for both characters)

(this is a HOTD S2-free zone though... HOTD's writing has certainly not improved and it's inconsistencies even compared to their past writing and characterization of many characters including Aemond has made such an absolute mess so for this post I'm ignoring the worst part of HBO's attempt at making hotd fanfiction i.e. S2- and I am basing my understanding of Aemond on a combination of what can be gleaned from book canon and s1 because that was what initially interested me AND because that is what the aemondsa fanfic I've read has also been based on)

Now Just to set the scene for my journey as a stark fan, jonsa shipper, and generally targ critical person to become an appreciator of aemondsa...

GOT had a steep decline in quality in the later seasons and HOTD despite the incredible effort of the actors/sfx people was not particularly good to start with in terms of writing/storytelling...yet disappointing or poorly written shows are not without their appeal for participating in fandom and reading/writing related fanfiction, particularly when there is a handful of interesting characters-looking at you stark kids who suffered through the writing of GOT's later seasons and HOTD's team green-that fans want to rescue from the terrible writing/butchering by the showrunners and to explore alternative stories/endings for them... sometimes it is even one of the most appealing sort of set up for fandom/fanfiction to take over and fix things.

I was already a huge Sansa fan, and she was the original draw for me towards asoiaf/got fandom and fanfiction, and while jonsa has been and remains my favorite pairing for her I've always been open to dabbling in various other sansa pairings/crack ships.

(While the parallels don't take the exact form as the ones between Sansa and Jon- and obviously aemondsa isn't accompanied with the incredible foreshadowing and potential that jonsa is- this pairing still feels similarly compelling due to the sheer amount of parallels between the two characters and for the fact that its a ship that is appealing and seems quite fitting without fanfic writers having to stray too far from canon personalities/back stories to make them work as a romantic pairing- beyond you know the obvious aspect of them being alive at the same time)

When HOTD first came out and before i discovered Ameondsa was a thing I was staying away from HOTD fanfic for the most part despite my interest in a few of the characters

HOTD's most predominant focus in both it's fandom and fanfiction seemed to be Rhaenyra/Team black/ Daemyra centric- all of which I was at just personally not drawn. Aemond (hot dramatic anime antagonist transported into hbo's HOTD and personal favorite of mine) centric fics unfortunately tended towards shipping him with various TB characters or TB OCs but both as a concept and due to the handling/set up these fics were generally not appealing to me (more on this later).

Furthermore hotd fandom itself seemed to be shaping up into a new edition of targ stan centric fandom- specifically a new "team black only" brand of stanning... which is definitely not something I am interested in.

Being someone admittedly anti targ/targ critical in general who just happened to be more intrigued (and sympathetic) to the greens in HOTD it did seem that the bulk of hotd fandom was probably going to a similar if even more extreme form of what I encountered with targ-stan segments of the GOT fandom as a sansa-stan/jonsa shipper (ie. Less posts/fanfic that i would personally agree with or be interested in from these fans and potentially hostile and unpleasant responses or takes from the majority of these fans)

As a result of my general avoidance of hotd (i.e. the very pro targ/pro TB fanfiction that hotd fandom offered) Aemondsa, already an extremely rare pair and crack ship, wasn't even a pairing on my radar until one of the authors i was subscribed to started a hotd time travel fix it aemondsa fic...I have an appreciation for well written crack ships, and I am willing to give most pairings or fandoms a chance when I'm already a fan of either the story's main characters or of the author specifically ...but I was actually incredibly suprised how compeling Aemondsa was as a pairing in this story..as well as how much I enjoyed the other Aemondsa fics that I checked out afterwards..it seemed this was a niche segment of hotd fandom that i was going to absolutely obsessing over.

There was a lot of depth to them for a crack ship, which was achievable without altering their personalities and backstories very much from canon (dont get me wrong I love crack ships even ones where people and the plot are altered significantly to make a ship feel possible but there is something uniquely compelling when characters fit together without having to be too ooc) so I just wanted to write a bit about what is so fascinating about this ship since it's such a new rare pair that hasn't accumulated a massive audience or a ton of discussions or write ups yet.

PART 2/4. THE SURPRISING AMOUNT OF PARALLELS BETWEEN SANSA AND AEMOND (FANDOM, PLOT-WISE, but most of all regarding FAMILY)

(Uh ....Brace yourself? this section ended up way longer than expected)

For me the initial appeal comes down to intriguing Character parallels between Sansa and Aemond which fanfic at least offers the opportunity to explore in a story format ....

On a surface level they are (in the shows particularly) both intelligent and underdog figures with fantastic little sassy moments - true queens of dealing out backhanded and cutting compliments, or being unapolegetic critical towards some of the flawed and extremely privileged individual's they encounter who are used to receiving only coddling and fawning worship.

Both characters seem to get shit treatment, sometimes from the fandom other times due to the terrible choices/handling by the writers/showrunners.

Both were characters I personally found interesting and sympathetic despite how fandom- some of it for aemond and a significant amount of it for sansa- had deemed these essentially young and still innocent characters worthy of being reviled and harmed for the ways the adults in their lives had set them up for failure or abuse. Forever dismayed by the way they (unlike certain fan favorites) were somehow never deemed by fandom as deserving of sympathy for the horrible things that happened to them, and how notably they never recieve the same feverent forgiveness/understanding/support for their more dangerous or dark actions the way other characters did

Looking at the difference in fan responses to show!Arya or Dany compared to Sansa- though when it comes to the sheer amount of violence, destruction, and murder or the act of threatening their kin obviously despite what Sansa-antis say Sansa is the only one who should not even be part of the discussion, and how Dany or Arya always recieves excuses, sympathy, forgiveness, or outright praise from the core audience for their more questionable actions while somehow Sansa is deemed as the unforgivable, dangerous, evil, traitorous, and foolishly reckless character

How Aemond (and all of TG really) are set up and considered by TB stans to be unworthy of their house/rightful inheritance and the ones most at fault for the onset and destruction caused by a civil war... never victims mistreated or endangered by the more privileged and powerful members of their family... just the people who only ever deserved what was inflicted on them by TB for the crime of being forced to wed a disgusting and neglectful King or for being threats to Rhaenyra's family or throne simply by existing? How the morally questionable or violent actions of Rhaenyra, her sons, or more particularly her uncle-husband will always be seen as either justifiable, in the right, excusable, or literally worthy of praise the way Aemond's and his family's actions will never be viewed by this core audience

I think about how much like segments of asoiaf fandom bash Sansa by deeming her too southern/too Tully/Too Catelyn-like to be a real Stark (unlike her "truly northern" siblings) their are also segments of hotd fandom that have chosen to see Aemond and his full siblings as only Hightowers who are wrongfully stealing from TB/the "true Targaryens"

But there were even more striking parallels when it came to their characterization and plot.

Both younger (non heir) children, presented as being intelligent, incredibley dutiful and studious, with a very close relationship to their mother, in a sort of intense people pleaser manner - trying their best to excel at all the skills/duties that their parents/society deems necessary for their position and sex because that is the way they receive acceptance, attention, or praise from their family/the adults in their life

Aemond and his studies, his apparently dedication and success in training with the sword despite his own disability, his determination and recklessness to finally become a dragon rider like the rest of his Targaryen family- as it is what is expected and what he has long been mocked over by some of his targ kin, how despite his own ambitions and the way he thought himself particularly suitable for rulership he remained the dutiful and loyal younger brother who served as regent for his gravely injured older brother but did not attempt to stylize himself as King and steal Aegon's throne.

the way that Alicent seems to be the only family member he allows himself to be vulnerable with, the one with whom he turns to for consolation and comfort, Alicent being absolutely devastated and incensed over the loss of Aemond's eye and the lack of punishment for the assault on his person, the only one to demand recompense, the only one to raise a knife to the blacks when she is denied, how Aemond is the one person who tries to console his mother in the aftermath, how despite having just lost an eye he is the one who actually tries to sooth his mother to bring a stop to the increasing and dangerous level of tension and conflict that had erupted between the blacks and greens at driftmark, Aemond's own longstanding protectiveness of and devotion to his family- most especially his mother- that lasts until his own demise.

Sansa and the way she thrives and enjoys the type of world and training that is more of a noble woman's or specifically her mother Catelyn's domain- unlike her wilder other siblings she is generally a steadfastly proper and gentle girl- no doubt a comfort to her mother not just because she is generally so well behaved but in the fact that unlike her siblings she is not shown to be obviously or very publically close with Ned's illegitimate child- who for Catelyn would be the literal personification of Ned's infidelity, the disrespect and humiliation he puts her through by raising him in their house along side their children, and her deep seated fear that he loved and will prioritize another woman and her child more than his own wife and family.

Sansa is the child who seemed to love all things "southern" the most (though undeniably despite how Sansa is looked down upon for her love of romantic stories and song her other siblings also certainly enjoy legends and tales of Knighthood or Southern Princes and warrior Princesses) and to be fascinated by the environment her mother is from, the one who is drawn to and practice her mother's faith in addition to keeping to the old gods,

How Catelyn though she truly grieves letting her daughter go seems to accept it not just because her belief that Sansa would excel as a princess and future queen but because she thinks Sansa would thrive simply through getting to experience the south...Catelyn seems to grasp the things Sansa dreams about and unlike many other family members she does not view Sansa and her interests with the same condescension, dismissal, or disdain.

Catelyn loves all her children immensely but there is something so tragic and beautiful in her love for her daughters, the desperate lengths she is willing to go to to ensure the saftey of both of them while the lords/males in her family have already given them up as a lost cause and inevitable and necessary casualties in their war for vengeance and northern independence

Despite this affection though there is a lot of pressure on both of them... almost to the point that their treatment by the adults in their lives has a bit of a "parentification" dynamic- a manner that sometimes puts the onus on them to be a support and a comfort to their mother amid any tension in the family/marriage (Aemond) or to be the perfectly behaved role model or minder for their less dutiful siblings (Sansa)

Sansa, in everyone's eyes a lady at three and a queen destined to be, the determined effort she puts into excelling at being studious, accomplished, proper, and ladylike, how much she tries to exemplify the behavior praised and exemplified by her mother and her septa

set up by the adults in her life as a go between for the stark sisters...used as the benchmark for their demands and expectations of Arya, being held up as the bar for perfect, proper, and praise worthy behaviour that Arya is presssured to also attain, the daughter who gets censured on the few occasions she acts out while her younger sister typically gets away with her poor behaviour (at least when it comes to their parents)... Sansa isn't just under the pressure of the exacting expectations for a lord's daughter she also experiences the stress of being put in the position of exemplar for her wild untractable younger sister.

Aemond, apparent dutiful student in many areas expected as a child of nobility, who is expected to support Aegon in his rulership and war and (in the show) even takes responsibility for trying to keep his older brother in line, the one who after losing an eye takes the effort to comfort and console his mother's grief and rage when their father does nothing in response to an attack on Aemond other than threaten and intimate his wife and his children with Alicent in order to support his firstborn daughter, who becomes the human equivalent of not just a wrecking ball but a literal weapon of mass destruction sent out on behalf of the advancement of his family or later to enact terrible bloody vengeance on his family's behalf, his life his purpose and his death is all for his family's sake more than his own.

They put so much effort into being well behaved, to reach the exacting standards for a child in their position, setting an example for the less obedient/well behaved sibling(s) all of which in turn adds to significant strain or conflict between said sibling.

Sansa and Aemond are the sibling expected to and determidly striving to live up to the high expectations that the adults in their life put on them and to survive the extremely dangerous and high stakes scenarios they are put in (as a lord's daughter, prince's betrothed and future queen, a hostage and target for the machinations and ambitions of others, the older sibling, a ruling lady, and elected queen; a prince, dutiful son and brother, ruthless and dutiful defender of his family, and regent)

Meanwhile they have other siblings who struggled to meet said expectations or have given up attempting to all together (Arya, Rhaenyra, or to some degree Aegon)

Siblings who must from the perspective of Sansa and Aemond (who are still young, inexperienced, and have had a great deal of conflict with said siblings) seem to flaunt all expectations free to rebell, flaunt the rules, and generally ignore the high pressure expectations that children from their class face.

Undoubtedly frustrating since, much like their more rebellious siblings have failed to sympathize with the more responsible ones, Ameond and Sansa too have not (yet) been able to recognize the ways their less successful/dutiful siblings also suffer under the highly restrictive expectations of their class and position even if they do not choose or succeed in conforming to them.

They see that despite how they may excel in studying, striving and succeeding in their roles, and ultimatley exemplifying the high standards they were raised to it is these other siblings who seem to get rewarded (experiencing in their eyes at least what appears to be more freedom, less pressure, minimal censure or punishment for their misbehavior... while simultaneously receiving the bulk of the reward in terms of their inheritance, the attention they recieve, or even with regards to the amount of affection given by some of the authority figures in their lives, i.e. their fathers)...

To them it must seem that these siblings get to be not just easily forgiven for their mistakes and misbehaviour, but accepted as or outright adored simply the way they naturally are, whereas dutiful and non problematic children like themselves tend to be overlooked or underappreciated, and quickly criticized on the rare cases they misbehave... the acceptance and affection they recieve appears far more conditional on them behaving well according to the expectations of their family or various instructors/minders... whereas the affection their siblings receive, from say a certain parent, is show to be rather unconditional

Seriously they both give me such severe "easy" (i.e. overlooked) and "gifted" child trauma vibes... how much of their behavior is simply in their nature and how much is what they conform themselves to to make the adults around them proud... because as the quieter child or apparent outsider amindst their family/siblings this is the only action that comes natural to them and gets them some (hard earned) attention/praise in a rather large and loud family they otherwise seem a bit lost in... how much of their striving to succeed is dependent on the sincere belief/understanding that their saftey and potentially the future, saftey, and wellbeing of their family depends on it.

They both have a far more distant relationship with their fathers who favoured another sibling- a sister over them... father's who either didn't seem to know how to connect with them - Ned- or never really bothered to try- Viserys...

while i do believe Ned loves his children and they adored him in return i feel its obvious that he neglected in preparing any of them for the true dangers and realities of the world away from the satey and protection of winterfell and their Stark family, and he absolutely dropped the ball on keeping either of his daughters safe and supervised when he took them along into a very dangerous situation in kingslanding

Furthermore Ned never quite seemed to connected with or pay attention to Sansa they way he did with Arya... just something about the fact that when he follows the orders of his king/supposed best friend to kill Sansa's direwolf (the very symbol of their house) it is in replacement for Arya's Direwolf who was allowed to escape the cruel wrath of the Queen and Prince...and how he continues to fail Sansa in the aftermath

It's something about the gifts he gives his very angry and traumatized daughters to comfort them after- in lieu of truly trying to actually connect with and console both of them or to even properly mediate their increased fighting.

Arya (in the show and book) is given lessons with a "dancing" master who teaches her swordplay/water dancing, she was so excited and she always wanted to be outside learning to fight like her brothers got to, in this moment to her understanding she is not just seen by her father she is accepted and supported (a careful reader may see that Ned's attitude appears to be slightly condescendingly indulgent on the matter of her learning swordplay... but Arya gets the chance to do something she loves all the same)

Meanwhile (in the show) to try to console Sansa Ned gives her... a doll? (Honestly I can't recall any equivalent gift from Ned to Sansa in the books? the mention of her possibly getting harp lessons in Kingslanding was actually a promise Catelyn made to her on Ned's behalf rather than his own effort... and was something that Ned didn't actually ever arrange in the books)

But is this doll meant to be an appropriate gift to make up for the death of her direwolf? Is this gesture enough to comfort her and make amends after Ned killed her direwolf (notice its not exactly as spectacular, meaningful, or comforting a gift as arya's "dancing lessons"... certainly there is no indication that he has any particular understanding of Sansa or has given much thought into her talents, interests, or personality beyond the most shallow perusal)

In the aftermath of Lady's death Ned does nothing to truly protect Sansa or keep her away from the obviously dysfunctional and dangerous family he has promised her away to.

Yet he can take the time to comfort and have a frank conversation with Arya about how important staying together and supporting eachother as family is- especially when they are amongst dangerous people who mean to harm or separate them- and the specific importance her and Sansa will have to one another as sisters who share the same blood... further explaining how just as they will need eachother Ned needs them as well

Ned has no such comforting or distinctly meaningful exchange with Sansa... he doesn't explain the reality of the Lannisters/Joffrey/Robert (i.e. the truth of the people he has agreed to give his young daughter away to despite the fact that he either personally has no respect for most of them or has not been around them long enough to know anything about their true nature)

Yes it is the risk to his daughter that makes him willing to falsely confess to treason, yes eventually he decides its best to send his daughters back to winterfell, yes he finally wants to break the betrothal and he makes a beautiful promises to make her a match with "a high lord who's worthy of [her], someone brave and gentle and strong" ... but he is much too late to get both of his daughters away from the lannisters/kingslanding, way too late in his attempt to keep them safe, and he fails to handle Sansa with age appropriate respect and frankness and to actually tell her how dangerous things are in kingslanding and why joffrey (false prince -bastard born of incest) is such an ill suited match.

Maybe if he had put any effort into explaining things to her...or simply spending time with her, speaking to her, trying to understand her, comforting her amidst the loss of lady and the increased fighting with Arya, or doing literally anything other than just neglecting her and her saftey Sansa would have actually trusted his decision and seen it as him wanting what was best for her.

Maybe if he had been more proactive and focused on his daughters well being he wouldn't have brought both of them south after the altercation over their direwolves... or maybe he could have been successful at getting both his daughters out of kingslanding before everything went to hell.

Its almost like the whole point of the Ned/Arya/Sansa and the Ned/Cersei/Sansa dynamic isn't to show that Sansa is a naive girl who betrays her family for the lannisters but is instead to show that when you neglect your child emotionally they will turn elsewhere for comfort and will be particularly vulnerable to being manipulated or abused by other adults... its almost like this part of A Game of Thrones is more about the way even someone like Ned- a man who does strives to do what he thinks is right and a parent who does loves his children- can still fail.

Ned's treatment of Sansa is specifically intriguing, though i don't know if it will be addressed specifically since her relationship and dynamic with Ned is one that much like Robb ended with his tragic and unjust murder (leaving behind a grief stricken Sansa helplessly longing for the return of her family and home, grieving with a near devotional regard for her lost father and brother)... Sansa will never get to confront or reconcile with them over the many ways she was let down and left unprotected by her male relatives- and who knows if a traumatized and grieving Sansa will ever even recognize and admitt to herself the ways the people who she loved the most failed to live up to her expectations of them... how clearly that despite their love for her she was rarely their first priority ... how they both seemed to fail to follow their family mottos ... the lone wolf dies but the pack survives.... family before duty or honor... she was family yet duty and honor came before her in Robb's eyes... she was part of a pack but through Ned promising her to a marriage in the south, in him taking her and Arya away to kingslanding, in him failing to prioritize her saftey until they all were practically already on the chopping block, and in Robb abandoning any hope or plan of rescuing her she truly was abandoned by them ...to be a lone wolf without a pack to help her survive

Then there is Viserys who at the very least had a much stronger regard for Rhaenyra than all the kids by his second wife ...but can also quiet easily be accused of outright neglecting and mistreating them

The lack of guidance holds true for all his children really but with Rheanyra at least it is accompanied by an (ultimatley harmful) spoiled indulgence that he offers only to his eldest daughter- covering up her obvious blunders and threatening anyone who would speak the truth of her questionable actions and her children's legitimacy including his own wife and sons ... going against traditional succession not because he wants to promote first born succession/succession by "merit"/or treating daughter equal to sons in terms of inheritance or anything like that but because of guilt and unashamed favoritism.

Viserys refuses to give to his son what westeros society at least would deem as Aegon's birthright, while also failing to make arrangements for any his non-Rhaenyra children to have a future and saftey separate from the throne.

He doesn't arrange matches with other kingdoms and give them allies, protection, family, independence, or a power base independent of the crown/hightowers instead leaving them dependent only on the crown, vulnerable targets to be handled (i.e. no doubt killed on the orders of Rhaenyra and/or her uncle husband Daemon) as living they would remain the most significant threat to the legitimacy of their rulership.

Viserys looks the other way when Aemond specifically is permanently maimed by Rhaenyra's son...his only action after his son loses his eye is to threaten his second family, to intimidate them into staying quite on the topic of the legitimacy of Rhaenyra's children before he deems the matter concluded... as if the worst part of that altercation was Aemond calling them bastards rather than say four children ganging up against one and how one of these children attacked using a knife and cost the other their fucking eye?

That for Aemond more than anything must cement his understanding of his father's feelings about Aemond and his full siblings and mother. To Viserys they simply matter less than Rhaenyra and her children.

In fact their well being or saftey matters less than even an offense made to Rhaenyra's reputation... which shows Alicent and her children without question that they are in danger from the blacks and the King will do nothing to prevent the blacks from trying to severely physically harm Aemond or his siblings, and in fact that there will be no punishment for the blacks when they succeed in doing so.

A civil war between the blacks and the greens was inevitable... Viserys actions of protecting and favoring Rhaenyra while also not ensuring she is instructed on and practices/proves her ability to rule, willfully ignoring that she violates her own vows and that she passes off her obviously illegitimate children as trueborn heirs, of permitting her not just to inherit (and position her illegitimate son as the next heir to) what most considered the birthright of her brother but also for her to steal the birthright of her own cousins by supplanting them with her other bastard and demoting them to being simply their brides/consorts, him keeping her as heir not just after he has multiple trueborn sons but also after Rhaenyra gets remarried to the exact violent bloodthirsty man that so many feared and Viserys himself had previously removed as his own heir in favour for Rhaenyra.

Viserys doing all of this while still choosing to remarry and have MULTIPLE children with his new wife... the neglectful and disrespectful way he treats his second family... all of this ensured that the death of some (if not all) of his children, via either assassination or in outright civil war, would always have been inevitable.

There is so much hatred, fear, distrust, and tension between Viserys' family members... and not only did he fail to intervene or improve things he was the one most responsible for it ....so much of the environment Alicent lived in and Aemond and his full siblings were raised was permeated by not just a sense of deep injustice (particularly in Aemond's case with his treatment by not just the blacks but his own father) but also an undercurrent of desperate fear over what will happen to them and their family in the wake of a brewing succession crisis

The mommy, daddy, and sibling issues are so strong with these two and I'm so obsessed with how the complicated family dynamics and tragic family losses that Ameond and Sansa experience echoe one another in so many ways...there is just so much love, grief, rage, unpacked trauma, and hurt in them and I am always obsessed with stories that allow the narrative or characters to address such trauma.

PART 3/4. THE CONTRASTING AND COMPLIMEMTARY ASPECTS OF THEIR STORIES (SUFFERING AND GRIEF)

They were both were so young when they became targets of the wrath and dislike of powerful and corrupt "Queens"

Sansa who loses her direwolf at the demand of Queen Cersei, a queen who after long being abused by her own husband sees a perhaps more extreme form of that sort of violence in her own mad son being directed at Sansa, who rather than expressing or experiencing compassion or sympathy instead takes the chance to revel in the destruction of Sansa's innocence, to mock and emotionally abuse Sansa when she has lost her father and her only protection in Kingslanding, leaving her a hostage of war at the mercy of a violent and corrupt royal family

Aemond who after losing his eye to an attack instigated by Rhaenyra's children receives no apology or recompense...instead his own sister asks for her mutilated little brother to be tortured sharply questioned due to the offense he caused by accusing her sons -accurately mind you- of being bastards... Aemond and his siblings who were never truly ever treated by Rhaenyra as her siblings only ever the offspring of Alicent and thus obstacles and threats for her (and her uncle's) right to the throne.

Both were physically harmed or tormented by (or with the approval of) young members of royalty, with very little being done to intervene, stop, or punish those involved despite their own highborn status- which would generally deem them unacceptable targets for such abuse.

Young Sansa a hostage but still a high born daughter descended from two of the seven ruling houses in westeros, The Warden of the North and the Lord Paramount of the Trident, and niece/cousin to the rulers of a third kingdom, the Lord Paramount of the Vale. Who while under the "care" of the crown is tormented, stripped, and beaten in open court at the behest of a mad boy king... forced to look upon the severed heads of her father and household, forced into being an unwilling child bride to the house of her family's enemies, who is molested and threatened with sexual assault on multiple occasions

Prince Aemond son of the King who is mocked by his brother and nephews (or his king and father in the books) over the fact that he hasnt yet claimed a dragon, and when this makes him reckless enough to approach and claim the largest dragon in existence the torment doesn't stop it gets dangerously worse as the tension between the children of the blacks and greens escalate to the point of a violent confrontation between Aemond and his nephews and cousins... and the resulting loss of of his eye when one of his attackers brings out a knife. None of the children who banded together to attack Aemond would face any consequences, only Aemond himself and his mother and older brother would censure and outright threats from their King Father and Older sister. Whose earliest sexual experience- done at the behest of his older brother- was implied to be at the very least coerced, traumatizing, and humiliating- if not outright non consensual on his part.

Both Sansa and Aemond face a terrible sort of loss when they begin losing their family members to mass civil war ...often in a manner that is distinctly horrific or against all laws of decency in the 7 kingdoms

her father Ned unjustly executed for treason and whose decapitated head is displayed and used to torment her, her younger sister Arya gone missing for years and long thought dead, her home sacked and younger brothers Bran and Rickon supposedly murdered by her family's ward- a boy who grew up alongside the stark children- the burned/mutilated heads and bodies of two young boys being being put on display at winterfell, her older Brother and Mother slaughtered when their traitorous allies and bannermen men break sacred guest rights at a wedding, both their bodies desecrated in a mockery of their houses... Robb decapitated his direwolves own head placed ontop of his body while his enemies parade his remains around, her mother Catelyn's throat slit and her body dumped naked in a river and left to rot.

(In the show) Rickon being cut down before his siblings eyes by a madman who betrayed their house and had tortured Sansa herself, her "half brother" Jon betrayed and murdered by his men and later sent off into a lonley exile away from his family and home for the "crime" of taking out an invader who had just committed mass murder... Sansa being left to rule the north all alone with many of her family members long dead and the surviving ones being set on a path away from the north/winterfell while she is left to handle rulership in isolation

Aemond who after commiting the first Kinslaying of the "war of dragons" by attacking his own assailant and nephew Lucerys proceeds to lose all of the family that he loved.

Starting with the tragic murder of his innocent young nephew at the behest of his elder sister/uncle- who arranged for his mother Alicent to be attacked tied up and forced to bear witness to the gruesome murder of her grandchild,

His sister Helaena -who plead for her life to be taken to spare her son- forced under the threat of the rape of her young daughter to choose which of her young sons will be murdered. Only for all of them to be traumatize further when they kill Jaehaerys and leaving Maelor the son she "chose" to die to survive with the message that his own mother wanted him dead... the emotional torment this caused the whole family but most of all his sister who refused to eat, bathe, or look upon her remaining son due to her immense feelings of guilt

his older brother Aegon who has lost his son and heir, and whose sister/wife is in a grief so deep she cannot care for their remaining children, who is attacked and maimed but survives to live on in total agony,

the murder of Maelor, Aemond's remaining nephew at the hands of a mob

Aemond's last stand, sacrificing his dragon and his own life to take out his Uncle (the biggest threat to his family and the orchestrator of Jaehaerys' brutal murder)

The many tragedies that continued after Aemond's own death- his sister's eventual suicide, the death of his younger brother Daeron, his oldest brother outlasting all of his siblings and his own two sons only to be taken out by poison once the war is over, his mother spending the last of her years in confinement until she passes from sickness,

His niece Jaehaera, after the loss of her entire family, married off as a child in the name of "peace" and dying young and alone- of suicide or murder

There is just such fascinating potential when two characters would have so much mirroring grief and trauma ...there is such an undercurrent of helpess rage, guilt, and grief to them in their youth and a undoubtedly a feverent desire for either vengeance or justice against the many people who harmed them or slaughtered their family...

And here is where things begin to differ between the two in interesting ways

with Sansa who has these violent wishes/impulses but is not in a position to see them fulfilled herself- her desire to push Joffrey to his death even at the cost of her own life, her wish that someone will throw Ser Meryn Trant down and cut off his head, her hope that various people will fall/be unhorsed...

Sansa who recieves a direwolf, Lady, the very symbol of her house and potentially a companion that would have offered a connection that was an extension of her own soul only for Lady to be cut down so quickly and unjustly... Sansa who loses not just the connection/companionship she recieved from Lady but also the protection such a bond would offer her ... she is left vulnerable in so many ways and has no promise of reuniting with her own direwolf later on... that will never be a comfort or form of security offered to her after all the danger and trauma she experiences

While Aemond, who spent much of his young life similarly helpless to act or respond to insults and assaults on his own person or immediate family, (that his father/king either never deemed worthy of interference or punishment... that is when it wasn't the King himself who was the perpetrator of such offenses) unlike Sansa experiences a change of fortune in the form getting to bond with the symbol of his house

He gains (and gets to keep until his own death) a bond with a different sort of mythical beast companion... a dragon and as a result recieves all the potential for power and destruction that comes with being a dragon rider

By claiming Vhagar Ameond is the closest he will ever be to untouchable, not just from the harassment he personally experienced from his family but with regards to how grave and dangerous a threat/target he had now become for the blacks during the dance of dragons

Aemond now a dragonrider of the largest living dragon, a child and later teenager who is in control of the narrative equivalent of a weapon of mass destruction, and he is no longer held back from acting on his anger once the rule and interference of his neglectful father king is over,

he is in control of the most massive beast of pure destruction and unlike Sansa, who for now in the books- or for much of her story in the show- remained an unprotected hostage or pawn in the hands of those who mean to harm or use her... who handles her trauma very internally as she is not in a position to fight back, and must rely on her words, intelligence, and ability to read and strategically interact with people as a way of defending and keeping herself safe, Aemond is now in the position to enact every bloodthirsty impulse of revenge he ever experienced

He was held back from enacting vengeance only through his own will, which ultimately proves not enough- he commits the first kin slaying and soon the actions of each side escalated into a horrific bloodbath where nobility and small folk alike suffered or die en masse

While Aemond's story may be one of family devotion and loyalty, mistreatment, injustice, and suffering that ends by showing the terrible outcomes of revenge and uncontrolled cruel brutality Sansa's story feels like one where grief, rage, and mistreatment exist but where family, love, compassion, kindness, justice, and integrity will win out in the end.

Sansa was certainly developed into a more discerning strategic and ruthless figure in the show but justice, duty, and forgiveness were still very prevalent in her storyline

she does have ramsay killed in a fittingly horrific manner, but she later holds a public trial for littlefinger- who was responsible for much of her familys suffering, the death of her father, and her own torment and rape- before she has him executed,

She feels compassion and forgiveness for theon the man who had betrayed her family and drove her young brothers out of their home, who only after experiencing significant torture himself became devoted to protecting the remaining starks and was able to find the courage to disobey his own torturers in order to help Sansa escape,

She possessed a concern for other people that few ruler do in asoiaf/got... speaking up against Joffrey's cruelty even as a powerless hostage, being the person concerned with the more practical matters of caring for and feeding their people during a harsh winter- a notable development in comparison to say everyone else just focusing on battle tactics and the upcoming battles (as though feeding an army is not an essential part of warfare), and the invader who just burned westeros' food stores en masse and now expects others to feed not just her armies but also demands that her dragons be fed "whatever they want"

I think in the books however that despite Sansa's internal grief and rage and her burgeoning political acuity there will be a gentler end to her arc where her own innate sense of duty and her (now more discerning) sense of compassion will win out in the end when she takes back her name, identity, and birthright ... that she along with her surviving family will have justice administered in the name of their lost family and people... efficiently bringing down righteous and necessary judgement on those that harmed and betrayed them rather than simply dealing out some form of mass, bloody, cruel revenge on her enemies (I'll leave that for lady stoneheart) ... and that a satisfying ending for her and the other starks will balance them realistically addressing the dangers and betrayal they faced with their own personal resolve to hold true to the values imparted to them by their parents.

... yet after all her suffering (and the frustrating lack of trust, consideration, or support she was given by her own family in the later GOT seasons) there is something darkly appealing to the idea of her getting (not a hero precisely) but a ruthless and devoted sort of monster to support her and bring down unholy vengeance on her various tormentors

PART 4/4: THE RESULTING DRAMATIC AND EMOTIONAL APPEAL OF AEMONDSA FICS

This after their many parallels and complementary contrasts is what intrigues me the most...the interplay of a potentially wary, cautious, traumatized but still duty and justice oriented person and a companion or lover who is comparatively more ruthless, unhinged, capable of atrocities, and who is more equipped to dole out violence en masse... (guys the pipeline from dark jon/dark jonsa to aemondsa just makes so much sense)

the question in Aemondsa fics of what will win out in the end- the shared grief and rage or them both controlling/channeling such impulses into strategic righteous fury and justice is always fascinating... and most of all the idea of Sansa (after all the trauma mistreatment and grief she has experienced) attaining the interest and eventual devotion of someone who despite being capable of monstrous actions is also incredibly loyal, devoted, and ruthless in the pursuit of their loved ones interests ("I want you to put out your eye ... plan to make it a gift if it to my mother" indeed) is just as appealing as the idea where an isolated, lonely, traumatized, grieving, and dangerously angry young man like Aemond gets to find acceptance, affection, companionship, and belonging with an intelligent strategic but more importantly an exceptionally compassionate person like Sansa.

Its just a dynamic far too intriguing to ignore especially for someome who already loved Time Travel/Reincarnation Fix IT AUs in fanfiction

While emotional catharsis and Sansa returning home and having the dreams she had wrote off as impossible be fulfilled (i.e. building a loving partnership and marriage, having children with someone who loves and wants her more than her claim itself, reuniting with her family) is something I love- and what I want to happen in canon (hence my otp being Jonsa)- there is always an interesting/guilty pleasure aspect of fanfic where Sansa (or the Starks in general) get to wreck terrible bloody victory and vengeance on those who betrayed and butchered their family and people (not really the ultimate message or point of the book but definitely emotionally satisfying in fanfic)

Just like there is a sort of appeal that exists in hotd fanfic that is sort of the opposite ...ones that alter the violent senseless and tragic trajectory of the dance of dragons... to either change the course of a brutal civil war or prevent it all together

and the Aemondsa pairing's time travel or reincarnation fics provide an opportunity to explore both of these diverse dynamics.

Sansa will always deserve the world... in canon and in fanfic i want to see all her dream and hopes come true whether it is with a truly good and just partner with whom she gets to build the life and home she always dreamed of or through her getting her very own devoted monster who would do anything to keep her safe from the scores of people who wish to misuse or harm her

and I always wish that hotd fanfiction offered more Aemond centric fics with a love interest that you know actually likes, sympathizes with, or understand him? He feels too tragic a character for me to want him to experience the typical hate and love (enemies AND lovers) treatment he tends to get in fanfic... its not really satisfying for me seeing his typical pairing up with whatever team black character (or really TB character rewrite) or some Daemon's or Rhaenyra's daughter OC that is the frequent choice for aemond centric fics...him being portrayed as some impusive awful and villainous love interest who changes sides and abandons his family just to be with his lover/obsession feels so out of character in a way that erases the best, most compelling, and sympathetic parts of his canon personality, motives, and actions.

Luckily Aemondsa fics seems to be a pairing that offers everything I like in Ameond or Sansa centric fics....

In conclusion Aemondsa is surprisingly compelling and versatile dynamic in fanfic and I think that is why I've become such a fan of Firesteel/Aemondsa fanfiction (in a way I'm NOT at all a fan of the actual HOTD show writing lol)

I'm a proud support of crack ships/rarepairs and I'm always willing to add to the fandom appreciation of pairings that gets less attention or fandom related works... so expect to see the occasional Aemondsa fanart/fic recommendation post from me amongst my typical jonsa content (in fact expect one in the next in a day or so)

Otherwise I just hope established Ameondsa fans (or people who haven't ready any aemondsa fics but are fans of either character/curious about this pairing in general) have enjoyed seeing me fangirl about these two characters/this crack ship and feel inspired to check out or even make their own Aemondsa content!

-Crimsom Cold

[inkyycapp]

how i think characters would react

if you got (very) hurt: adventure time edition.

tw/cw : angst, fluff, blood, violence, gore?, terrible story building, implied romance, fionna and cake spoilers, a lot of cringe, self-indulgence, character hcs, etc...

[a/n: this is very sloppy and rush as i made this between classes so it's half edited half not and not at all proof read. forgive me. thank you for the love on my last posts!! i wasn't expecting my adventure time hcs to get the attention it did, thank you so much!! i have finished fionna and cake(twice) so, my hcs might slightly shift a bit. at the moment. thinking of cross posting on ao3. reader is usually always gender neutral in all my posts unless stated otherwise. that's all! i'm open to requests and my dms/pms are open. thank you! new additions as well!! this is all i have, i'm sorry. a few more are in the drafts. please tell me if i missed anything tag and cw/tw wise! thank you.]

[holy shit, fionna and cake's finn. honka honka. i don't deserve a platform.]

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|| it all happened so fast. you could barely recall what happened. one moment you're up-right, after the next you're trying to pick yourself off the ground. your breathing grew more labored at every attempt, and the smell of iron hung heavy in the air. the warm liquid on your hands was a stark contrast to cold that began to wrack your body. it wasn't long 'til your vision faded to black, leaving only questions behind into your last fleeting thoughts. ||

finn.

(the favorite. my favorite.)

-the both of you were exploring an old cave. deep, dark, and damp. it was said to hold treasure far back into the cave, and out of curiosity you both went to explore. what you didn't know was that many people sought out that treasure. many dangerous people.

-going deeper into the cave, you and finn found the treasure, though nothing cool to take back except for a few cool rings. turning on your way out, with your back to the entrance, a sharp pain was felt through your body. looking down you saw the bloodied blade of a sword. you had no time to react as you were shoved off the blade and onto the ground. from there, it was a blur.

-finn would (violently) remove anyone involved. while brutal, he makes sure to end it quick--he doesn't have time for them when you're bleeding out on the ground.

-finn never stopped talking to you, even if you're asleep. it's always optimistic-- he talks about; new things he's found, friends he talked to recently, any new news, old and new stories, the next date he'll take you on, etc... he rambled hours on end in a one-sided conversation. it's how he copes.

-finn's trying to be uplifting. but, by himself he's a mess. he rarely stays at the treehouse because he's too restless. he feels weak, and unable to do anything. when finn's not at your side he's fighting through his feelings. finn had learned it wasn't healthy to use violence as his only outlet, but it makes him feel something that isn't the heavy stone in his chest when he sees you.

-he's a patient man, he knows you'll wake up soon. he just had to be patient. but after around a few days he doesn't want to be "patient" anymore. he wants you to wake up now. finn knows he can't make that happen, but it was a selfish want to keep himself going.

-when you did wake up, he was all over you. there wasn't a time when he wasn't with you, or at least in the same vicinity as you.

-good luck trying to pry yourself away from his arms. this man has fought monsters thrice his size for fun. even your prettiest please wasn't going to work, not this time. you almost died. you could've died and he couldn't do anything about it. those memories never left his brain basket, even when your recovery was going smoothly.

-very anxious about letting you tag along, but knows you'll probably go off on your own if he refuses to take you along. he feels it's safer to allow you to come along, rather than go off on your own. with him, he knows that at least this time he could do better. he won't ever have a repeat of last time.

-finn keeps you close during each adventure, even losing sleep watching the surroundings to be sure no one sneaks up on you. he will refuse to sleep, so you'd have to force him. please give this man all the reassurance, he really needs it. it won't stop his anxiety, or his fear of it happening again, but it puts him at ease. even if it's just a little bit, it helps, nonetheless.

-

fern.

-the green knight has plenty of enemies. of course, fern could protect himself, and you could do the same. however, even if you could protect yourself, there wasn't any chance to protect yourself getting jumped, and a dirty stab to the back. the most dishonorable way to lose to a foe. the amount of ever growing disrespect.

-he loses his shit. sure, he gets mad quickly, but if you were awake to see him like this: holy shit. he grows plentiful thorns, and poison flowers all over himself subconsciously. (he's actually very pretty like this.)

-he's livid, and you're not conscious to do anything about it. and that's just it, you're unconscious, bleeding out on the ground. fern couldn't quite process it just yet. normally you'd stop him from going too far, but you can't right now. that's supposed to never happen. he's confused and angry, and you're not waking up. you're not moving. so, he cuts down anyone involved in a quick motion. he doesn't care how brutal, as long as it's quick. fern wastes no time in picking you up (after managing the thorns and flowers) and taking you to doctor princess.

-fern can't stand seeing you like this. laying weakly on that hospital bed.

-if you think finn's not good at coping, fern is much worse. he doesn't even cope. he's just...there.

-he's so confused, and just shuts down a bit. like he's still there, he's still the green knight-- fern. but, he's just distant. not quite himself-- off.

-fern is unable to wrap his head around what happened to you, but he goes about his 'normal' life. he tries to just go about his casual life without you there, and he's just confused. it doesn't take long before he grows upset, allowing the rage to boil.

-'they used to do that.' 'this was their favorite color.' 'they were supposed to fix that.' 'they like bird houses.' everything reminds him of you. it's impossible to go a single day without a reminder that you're still unconscious.

-i think it gets more apparent when he's out and about as the green knight. he's more violent. but, he doesn't mean to be. it just...happens.

-he's likely not there when you first wake, but when he gets there fern's complaining about everything under his breath. but when he sees you up, that bed isn't just for you anymore.

-he's holding you close, with a firm hold and refusing to let go. he's scolding you for not waking up sooner, and complaining about how life without you was too different. he tried to be casual, but he missed you a bit too much.

-there is also no prying fern off of you-- a common thing between all of them. once you're up, there is no separating you both for a few hours at the least.

-fern is also hesitant about letting you rejoin him on the adventures, but as long as you stay close, and keep weapon on you at all times, he'll agree. but, all of your wounds-- every. single. one.-- had to be medically evaluated as ok, and no threat to your health before anything.

-

farmworld!finn.

(post crown -- pre fionna and cake.)

-he's in shock, not moving for a few moments. he knew why he'd be hated, or hunted down, killed even, but why you? why did they have to drag you into this?

-someone in the many gangs around the parts found you somewhere in the clearing waiting for finn. you both had previously planned a picnic out in a nice clearing in the woods. he was running late. but, once he found you bleeding out and onto grass, he's thrown way off guard.

-finn is quickly trying to pick you off the grass, trying to get you out of there, and dragging you back to his cabin. finn manages to tend to each of your wounds. though, the moment he's done, and you're in a stable condition-- he's leaving the cabin for a few hours.

-he finds whoever did this to you, and doing what he couldn't earlier. finn is driving in the same injuries they gave to you over and over again. he doesn't let up until he's in tears. finn knows that this changes nothing. he knows this won't make him feel better, but he needed to do something. anything. even if it's for his own sadistic pleasure to see the regret on their faces-- to see them like this. pathetically clawing at the dirt in an attempt to ground themselves through the pain-- trying to crawl away from his bloodied hands.

-(robot hand included.)

-finn leaves them with their lives(barely), and a warning before disappearing into the woods.

-he is struggling to cope. finn hold your hand in his abnormally cold one running his thumb over your knuckles. he's constantly checking in on you, and rarely leaving your side. sleeping, and eating could wait. after all that's happened with the crown, you're all he has left. he can't lose you too.

-he stays by your side as much as he can. finn knows he should probably take his mind off of...your condition and stay productive but it's difficult. the only reason the cabin is warm is because if it got too cold you'd start to shake. he makes food only because if you wake up you might be hungry.

-he doesn't know what to do for the most part, just waiting and hoping that you'll be better in no time. a fear lingers deep inside him that you'll worsen the moment he closes his eyes. so, finn stays up. there are times when he has passed out around the house, and when he wakes up he's absolutely terrified; running to check on you, checking to make sure your wounds haven't reopened, making sure you're alive.

-a deep seeded fear the you'll wilt away in his arms. it keeps him up at night-- it eats at him day by day.

-you're finally awake, but even then the fear doesn't fade. he's at you're every call so much that it begins to worry you.

-you'll have to force him, and i mean force him to sleep. you're ok, he's ok-- everything is ok. he can finally rest.

-he's just happy you're still there with him.

-

prismo.

-you? hurt? nope. not on his time watch. prismo has you out of the situation in seconds, without a scratch. he refuses to ever see you in any pain.

-though, hypothetically, if there's ever a time where you do get hurt, and your wounds cannot be fixed with his wish master magic, and he's "too late", he's not so well.

-you're on a comfy little bed in the wishing room, laying on top of him. your wounds are bandaged up, and cleaned, with your breathing finally stable.

-he never leaves you side once. (sensing a pattern in everyone.) it's either him, or a copy of him. when he's granting wishes to whoever manages to make it to his wishing room, he keeps you in the cube with a copy of himself to watch over you.

-tries to make small talk with your unconscious self...it doesn't go well. the owl visits more often only to lay it's eyes upon the slum prismo is in.

-the cosmic owl tries to ease the depression, though fails miserably. if jake is still alive; his visits, brings gifts, barber sessions, the whole mile for his other best bud. it does kinda help, even if it was just a bit-- but, he's greatful nonetheless.

-while he could be doing better, prismo is doing the best out of everyone to be honest(if jake is around). jake's visits have been more than helpful to this guy, and honestly without jake, he'd be worse than just a mess.

-when you wake up he doesn't believe it at first but he's ecstatic. there is never a time where he's not with you, talking your ear off on how horrible it was without you. and while prismo wants to contuine talking you to your grave, he can't deny hearing your voice after so long does wonders to him.

-bonus if jake's around and prismo's like "and i like...really miss her. y'know? like she's right there but she's not..." "no, dude, i get it..." "i'd kill just to hear her voice just once..." "...prismo..." "ah, shit now i'm hallucinating!!" "no prismo, behind you." "jake, don't play into my delusions!" "god dammit prismo." "YOU'RE AWAKE!? FINALLY."

scarab.

-this man is already insane. he already needs therapy. the anger issues on this psychotic man are insane.

-he loses all sense of morality(that he had left) but surprisingly holds off and tends to you first. by sending you back to headquarters for someone to tend to your injuries while scarab spends the next few hours tearing their molecules apart.

-honestly the worst out everyone. like, if he has a chance to off someone, they're going to die but in the most unconventional, painful, most gruesome way possible. he's....coping?

-at this point it's hard to tell with him, one moment he's rambling under his breath about annoyances, the next....he's offically lost it!!

-sadly he can't be at you're side at all times even if he really wants to, but with his job and all that. when given any chance he's right there next to you. he excuses this behavior as protecting you against anyone who might try anything, but in reality: it's just hard to stay away when you're like this. he wants to stay close even if he can't sometimes.

-scarab has difficulties with intimacy, so he finds it difficult to express his concern the "right" way. others see him as uneffected, and taking it too easy, but he is genuinely scared. he's scared that he loses the one person who can see him for what he is. an emotionally fucked up person who can't stand rule breakers.(joking).

-he finds holding your hand a way to ease the tension.

-when you wake up, he just sitting there, holding your hand.

-he's never letting you go anywhere without a weapon three times your size. of course he teaches you how to use it, but just because he wants you to protect yourself when he cannot. scarab views your injuries as him failing as a partner in more ways than one. he should've made sure you could protect yourself even when he couldn't.

-later on after your wounds have healed you're allowed with him on his missions. he denies being scared. reassure him anyways, he really needs it.

e/n: sorry prismo's and scarab's are short! first time writing them :')

[nyaagolor]

What are your thoughts on Apollo Justice (the character)?

OH BOY. OHHHHHH BOY. I have a fever and some free time lfg.

So honestly, I think part of the reason I love Apollo so much is because he runs parallel to Phoenix but also counter to him at the same time. I always saw Simon and Athena as the successors-- in terms of ideology and job and all that other stuff-- to the Phoenix-Edgeworth dynamic and status rather than Apollo and Klavier. Athena and Simon, to me, feel like extensions of the arcs of Phoenix and Edgeworth + the vibes of the original trilogy. Apollo and Klavier ( who I will not talk about bc we will be here all day)? They're the antithesis.

Apollo Justice The Game directly foils the original trilogy in so many ways, but I think even on a more base thematic level it runs counter to a lot of the ideas that we take for granted about the original trilogy, and because Apollo sits at the center of this, the things I love about the game are encapsulated in why I like him. There are a ton of themes in the ace attorney trilogy-- support networks, faith, trust, the truth-- and Apollo is defined by their limits, their failures, and their absence. He is let down, kicked around, defined by abandonment and betrayal and distrust. Apollo is defined by everything that Phoenix is not, and bc of how the timeline goes we don't really get any retribution for that, just a steady march forward, and I think that gives me a lot to think about with his character

Phoenix's arc right from Turnabout Sisters is about the building of a support network, and the ways that developing this support is integral for when things go wrong. We contrast Phoenix with Godot, Maya with Dahlia, and see how people left to stew in their resentment can chase vengeance to dark places (wow I wonder who also does this after the death of a dear friend leading to a crusade of misplaced revenge that almost leads someone they care about being killed.). With Apollo we get to stand on the precipice of resolution, but the important part is we don't get it. Apollo's life falls off the rails, and he's the one left to pick up the pieces.

We see through him how our trust can be betrayed by people of good and bad intentions, and the lingering consequences that has on one's ability to not only trust the people around them but themselves. And yeah!! That's why I adore him so much-- he's tested not by the possibility of failure like Phoenix often is, but climbing up from the reality of it. It's less "how do we make our way out of this mess before it goes nuclear" and more "things are already destroyed-- where do we go from here?". It has more of an element of recovery than prevention to me, and I think that's a fascinating avenue to explore in stories like these. Apollo pushes the envelope of the themes of the narrative and the characters-- he is the epitome of what it looks like when things fall apart, and it gives him and the trilogy characters something to reconcile

A lot of people have complained that Apollo barely feels like the protagonist in his own game, but that's honestly a huge part of the reason why I love him so much. He's defined by the spaces between, the limits and failures of things we had up to this point taken to be true, and left with a pretty limited degree of autonomy through it all. He's pushed around and puppeteered by people who mean well and those who don't, and I feel like a major theme of AA4 that I love but don't often see talked about is "what does it mean to have autonomy-- and by extension, control? What does it mean to take it back? What does it mean to lose it, and what does it mean when you'd do anything to keep it." Most of what I said is only partially resolved bc AA4 is... a game. A technically finished game. but!! Because it eviscerates our expectations of the franchise so thoroughly AND leaves open so many avenues, it makes Apollo and the rest of his crew some of my favorite characters because there's so much you can think about and do with them!!

also he's like. An insect to me. <3

[applestorms]

the demons got to me and i’m thinking about mello again.

god i so desperately wish we could’ve seen him interact with L in canon. near too, but mello in particular— i’ve already written my mello & misa parallels post so i won’t reiterate all that here but, fuck. i think their similarities would’ve been so obvious if we had actually seen mello’s hero worship of L in practice, like more than just his freak out at roger upon hearing about his death.

do you think he would’ve been loud, in his face about it? i don’t think so. i can’t help thinking back to near’s explanation of why L picked the two of them out to be his successors— the two quiet kids at the back of the room, glowering and watching while everyone else asked their questions. the obvious implication is that L picked them out because they seemed to idolize him, to respect him the least. near at least seems to have managed to stick with that mindset for most of canon… but when did mello’s view start changing? was he just better at hiding it? did his feelings ever become more, less mixed? did he worship L like a cold, distant god— or grow to respect the minor points of humanity that seeped out from the corners?

speaking of: how the FUCK did that conversation about the LABB murder case go? how much of that story was actually, directly told to mello, and how much was his own fantasy, filling in the blanks? he clearly projected onto BB. did he join the mafia with that knowledge in mind, that the desperate, inferiority complex-riddled serial killer was the archetype he fit into better than the world famous detective? did he care about justice, any kind of moral standard— did he bloody his hands or find ways to work around it?

mello knew was never going to be L’s successor, not if he played the game according to its established rules. did L ever imply such things to his face? actually, what the hell did L think of near? was he aware of the burden he put on those fucking kids, did he ever care for even a second? did he mistakenly assume his own immortality, even in the face of a supernatural murder?

(clawing desperately at the walls of my enclosure. L getting annoyed at his pet orphanage of super-geniuses for distracting him from his evil boyfriend is one of my favorite fic tropes of all time, if you gimme recs for that i’ll kiss you)

i wonder if mello ever saw the parts of L in near that everyone else seems to unable to see past. maybe he did, but even so— i think he, of all people, was most aware of all the ways in which near was himself. how easily he fit the role but all the ways in which he broke out of it as well, the similarities in their intelligence & methods of thinking but the minor details that meant near could win where L never could. where mello himself never could. he probably knew how that guy functioned better than anyone, maybe even better than near himself, though i doubt he’d ever do much with that knowledge. it’s one of the few places where i see mello & near switching in terms of passivity— mello knowing Everything about near but doing very little about it, paralyzed by his own self-doubt, while near comparatively struggles to claw as much Mello Knowledge as he can, poking and prodding and pushing him in every direction, all while getting continually blind-sighted as he explodes in random ways he can barely fathom.

i like to think that, in contrast with near’s extreme codependence, mello is actually quite self-sufficient. weirdly, he seems to me like the DN character to be the most likely to actually go to therapy at some point. i think he’s a lot more self aware than he lets on, if only because his inferiority complex drives so much of his self hatred, pushing him to always be better, stronger, more independent. i like to imagine that his apartment or room or wherever the fuck he lives is actually quite clean, that he pushes himself to learn how to cook, how to take care of himself. L never sleeps and near probably sleeps too much but mello needs a consistent, solid 7-8 hours a night or he starts getting cranky— the kind of person who functions better in the sunlight, to take from a fic i read recently.

i wonder how much of his life he remembers from before the orphanage. he seems like he might have emotional ties there, but something he’d never or only very rarely speak about— glimpses of a past life that keeps him up at night on occasion, where near is blessed with a complete lack of any earlier memories. mello just seems more inclined towards sentimentality like that, extreme in all his emotions, particularly when they’re utilized for the purpose of self-destruction. he wears a rosary, has a cross on his gun, chooses to die in a dilapidated church. good lord, he chooses to die in a church.

did he grieve matt? he apologizes, yes. but did he already know he was to join him so soon?

i desperately wish to see a version of mello who had the time to commit to his name and chill the fuck out for a while. get some meds, separate himself from the burdens of L, of the rivalry, and allow himself the chance to relax and breathe and properly heal. part of the reason why his death in particular hits me so hard is the fact that it all seems so possible with him, that he has the most potential to genuinely get over this shit— to not just stew in the corners of the earth and let time wash over him (like a certain someone), but actually, literally get his fucking life back.

he’s explosive, yes, he’s neurotic and emotional and lashes out at everyone and anyone he pleases— but in that same way, he’s honest. mello and near do not bullshit themselves in the ways that L and light do so consistently, they don’t bother lying to themselves or putting on airs about the kinds of people they are or the kinds of things they want. they know their place in the world, the expectations on their shoulders.

everybody likes thinking about “L wins” and “KIRA wins” scenarios, but you know what i really want to consider? what the fuck would mello winning look like? i mean, he’s a character whose primarily fucking trait is the fact that he loses, that he’s always second place. i almost feel like mello winning could’ve been one of the best case scenarios— because for mello to truly win, to not just overpower near and tell him to suck it (a situation which would not make mello legitimately happy, just put him in the same situation as light killing L), he’d have to get over the biggest hurdle of his own bullshit and legitimately grow as a person.

i yearn to see a near that got the chance to grow up with his other half, and a mello who got the chance to live for himself again. they deserve that: quiet afternoons to bitch at each other and argue over whatever book they decided to read that week, near whining about having to do chores and mello yelling at him to clean up his fucking legos, matt shaking his head in the corner.

get those kids a fucking happy ending.

[marblemoonstones]

🩵 catharsis ~ chapter ten

main masterlist

series masterlist 

pairing: bts ot7 x reader

genre: collegestudentreader!au 

warnings: ❗️any characters in the story have nothing to do with their real life counterparts❗️f reader, reader with glasses, curse words

*lmk if i missed any*

word count: ~6.9k (longest i’ve ever written omg)

a/n: feeding you all with a loong chapter!! also, likes and comments motivate me to keep writing, so please let me know your thoughts! 🤍

……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

The next day I wake up at ten, thankfully being able to sleep in a bit later today. That and I also was not woken up by the maknaes. I stretch and rub my eyes then grab my glasses. 

I go about my mundane morning routine, showering and brushing my teeth and attempting to tame my hair. I slip into jeans and look for a sweatshirt. Just my luck, it’s laundry day for me and I don’t have any clean ones. 

I grab a t-shirt and change then go into Jungkook’s room. He’s at the film festival again so it’s dark. I switch on the lights and roll my eyes at his messy room. Stepping over piles of schoolwork and clothes (is that my tshirt?) I reach his closet. Sifting through I choose a navy blue sweatshirt with a tiny anchor embroidered in the corner. It’s one of my favorites of his and so soft to wear.

I change then head downstairs. Namjoon is at the table reading while drinking coffee and I can see Jimin and Hobi in the living room watching tv.

“Good morning Y/n,” Namjoon says, putting down his book. 

I smile. There’s something about him looking so domestic that makes me warm.

“Good morning Namjoon. Is everyone else at their events already?” I ask, grabbing a piece of toast and buttering it.

“Yep. Remind me, what time were you going to visit Tae?” He asks as I take a bite.

I chew and swallow then respond, “11:30 or so.” 

“Ah okay,” Namjoon says as Jimin and Hobi come over.

“Hey Y/n!” Jimin’s very energetic this morning, but that’s nothing new. 

What is new is that he gives me a giant hug and I laugh as I’m almost bowled over.

“Hi?” I ask, confused at why he’s so giddy. 

“Guess what?!” He asks, making me scrunch my brows.

“What?” It’s like talking to a five year old.

“I have a gift from Tae to you!” He cheers, grabbing my hand excitedly.

I feel warm at his touch, but try to ignore it, as I always do.

“That’s so sweet of you and Tae,” I say, thinking of how it was just yesterday that I got a new dress from Namjoon (even if Jungkook spilled coffee on it).

“Let’s go get it now!” Jimin pulls me gently to the stairs and I look at Hobi and Namjoon but they just wave us on, grinning.

“Is it another dress, Jimin?” I guess, based on how Taehyung is literally a fashion designer. 

“Nope. Tae wanted to do something different, so he and I came up with another idea.” We’re in front of Taehyung’s room and Jimin opens the door without a second thought. 

“Now, where did he put it?” He asks absentmindedly, searching through Taehyung’s desk drawers.

I just stand there awkwardly, unsure of what to do with myself.

“Aha! Here it is.” Jimin gives me a small box that looks suspiciously like a ring box.

“Well, open it!” Jimin urges.

I hesitantly open the velvet box, and there inside is a gorgeous ring. I gasp as the precious gems shine in the light of Taehyung’s chandelier. 

Jimin has a soft smile on his face, a stark contrast to his previous childlike energy.

“Do you like it?” He asks quietly, and I can feel him looking at me.

“It’s gorgeous,” I whisper, unsure of how I can even wear this properly. It’s meant for the rich main lead in a kdrama, not a broke college student like myself. 

“Let’s put it on.” 

Jimin takes it carefully out of the box and slips it onto my right ring finger. It’s perfectly snug there, and I can’t stop staring at the way the stones glisten and gleam in the warm light.

“You know, there’s a meaning behind each stone,” Jimin says. 

I look at the big stone, which so happens to be my birthstone, and the seven smaller ones nestled around it.

“The big one is your birthstone, obviously,” Jimin says, then points to the smaller ones around it, “And these are all of our birthstones. It took a while to make, but it was worth it.” 

Jimin looks at me and I look at him. We lean in closer, and my breath hitches. I study his face. The shape of his brows, the crinkle of his eyes and the deep color of them. The slope of his nose and his perfect pink lips. He’s so beautiful; an angel in both inside and out. 

He blinks and I snap out of my stupor. I lean back into normal proximity and thank him.

“Oh, Jimin. It’s so wonderful,” I say, trying to make my voice sound normal and not as if we were just about to kiss, “You and Tae are so creative.”

“I’m so glad you like it. Make sure to wear it to his gallery.” 

Jimin looks like he wants to say something else, but doesn’t. Instead he nods then leaves. 

I stand there looking at the ring. Specifically the seven stones that circle my birthstone. The shades of purple, white, and three hues of blue shine bright. This gift feels more meaningful than all the others. 

It’s almost like…a promise ring.

~

I drive to Tae’s gallery and park. The ring sparkles all the way there, and I decide it looks better in the sunlight.

I hop out of the car and lock it. Stowing the keys away in my purse I make my way into the fashion gallery. This event is honestly more casual than the art gallery that Namjoon and I went to yesterday so my jeans and Jungkook’s sweatshirt looks normal here. It’s funny to see everyone in casual clothing around avant-garde clothing, though.

I look at the signs and make my way to Tae’s gallery. Each designer has ten pieces they’re showing, and I pass some amazing pieces on my way to Tae’s. Just like the art gallery, the designers have the option to sell some (or all) of their clothing. 

Finally I see a familiar face. Scratch that, two familiar faces. What’s Jungkook doing here? 

Taehyung’s face lights up as he sees me and waves me over.

“Y/n!” 

I walk faster and Jungkook turns around and grins too.

“Hey guys!” I bounce on my toes, excited to see them.

They laugh and Jungkook says, “You’re probably wondering why I’m here, right Y/n?” 

I nod, and say “Yes! Wait, no, but not in a bad way. Just like curious because I thought you had to be at the film festival-“

“It’s all good Y/n. I’m here because…” Jungkook trails off and I want to smack him.

“Just spit it out!” I frustratedly say.

“Fine. Because I wanted to be,” he cheekily says.

I scoff at his answer.

“Wow, Y/n that ring looks so great on you!” Tae burst out, reaching and inspecting my finger. 

“Wait, you really went through it?” Asks Jungkook, also now looking at my finger.

“Yes. Don’t I have good taste, Kookie?” Taehyung boasts. 

“Fine. I will admit that it looks great, babe,” Jungkook admits, snapping a photo of it with my phone.

 I pull my hand away, embarrassed, then say, “Thank you both. Now can we look at Tae’s designs?” 

Jungkook and Taehyung cheekily grin at my reaction.

“Of course.”

Taehyung gives us a tour of his ten pieces.

“So, my theme for this collection is love,” he explains, walking us back to the start of his designs. 

“It’s so cliche,” Jungkook whispers loudly to me, making me stifle a giggle. Taehyung acts like he didn’t hear him and carries on.

“Each design is inspired by one of the boys, myself included. Because self-love is important too, right? But each design is more detailed than what a normal person would wear. The remaining two represent our love as a whole,” he says.

That’s so cool-wait. That’s only nine. What about the last one?

“Wow, I love that they inspired you. That’s so sweet,” I praise, still curious about the last piece.

“Thank you. Now, Y/n, I have a challenge for you,” Taehyung says, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

“What?” I ask suspiciously.

“Try to guess which designs are inspired by each of my boyfriends,” Taehyung challenges.

I agree, only because we’re celebrating Taehyung’s designs so I feel bad saying no to him.

“Hmmm…” I wonder aloud. This should be easier than it is. My first guess is that the black and white ensemble represents Jungkook. It has his signature chunky boots, and I look closer and see that they are embroidered with thin silver thread.

“That one’s Jungkook.” I point and Taehyung claps his hands.

“That’s correct! Kookie has a very distinct style, so I’m honestly not surprised that you guessed his first.” We go over to the outfit as Taehyung explains more.

“I went with the black and white ensemble because it represents Kook’s duality. He may seem deep and dark, wearing black and having tattoos, but in reality he’s as pure at the color white, kind and caring.” Taehyung gives Jungkook a kiss on the cheek as Jungkook’s blushes at the description of his outfit.

“Stop it hyung,” he whines, but allows the older boy to pepper kisses on his face.

“You know you like it Kookie,” Taehyung says, squishing Jungkook’s cheeks.

“Just guess Y/n!” Jungkook exclaims in an effort to draw the attention away from him.

I scan the remaining outfits and point to the one that looks like a stylish rainbow exploded on it.

“That’s Hobi’s, right?” Only his could be so colorful.

“Correct! Our Hobi-hyung is a bright soul, so I tried to represent that with this piece. I incorporated his street style too,” Taehyung proudly states, showing me the chic yet hip hop-eque outfit. 

I guess next that the dark yet layered outfit is Yoongi. 

“Correct again! Yoongi-hyung’s was an interesting outfit to create,” Taehyung explains, “He has so many different levels and layers to him, like an onion. Some seem dark, yet when you peel them all back, he’s really just a generous and understanding soul.” It definitely represents Yoongi; he can be aloof at the beginning but once you get to know him he’s such a warm person.

It’s difficult to choose which one is Jin but I eventually settle on the one that is soft yet also sharp. 

“That’s Jin,” I say, hoping I’m correct. 

Jungkook whistles. 

“Damn, Y/n, I’m impressed. I even had difficulty figuring it out,” he says. 

“Yep that’s Jin-hyung,” Taehyung says, “His represents the delicate balance between his personality. He is a kind and caring person, but also has boundaries and has respect for himself.” 

Damn. Taehyung really captured the boys in all their deep personalities. 

“Is this one Namjoon?” The outfit has a sort of scholarly appearance, yet there’s a heavier feeling to it. 

“It is. Joon-hyung is a very intelligent person, yet he wears pressure on his back. He often feels that he has to provide and care for us more than the others because of his profession,” Taehyung explains. 

I must look confused because Jungkook elaborates.

“Namjoon-hyung is the only one of us that doesn’t have an ‘artsy’ career, per se. Because of that he feels the need to prove to us that he’s worthy of being in our creative relationship.”

What? That’s crazy.

“That is such a stupid reason to feel inferior for!” I exclaim, “He’s so smart and teaching is one of the hardest jobs out there! It also requires some sort of creativity, doesn’t it?” To think that brilliant and kind Namjoon feels this way is crazy.

“You’re absolutely right, Y/n. We’re so glad you think this too,” Jungkook says, looking me dead in the eyes. 

I stare back, coming to realize how dark his eyes are. They’re captivating me, pulling me in deeper and deeper until-

“Ahem.” 

Taehyung coughs and I jump, while Jungkook just continues to stare.

“Right…so I guess I need to choose which one is you and which one is Jimin,” I say uncomfortably, trying to ignore Jungkook’s prolonged staring. 

“Yep. Choose between these two.”

I study the outfits. They’re clearly a pair, one representing the day and the other the night. 

The day piece is dazzling, cream and honey hues blended together to create a show stopping outfit. There are crystals sewn together to make a sun pattern and if an outfit could glow, this would be it. There’s also a singular royal blue thread sewn in it, something I assume to represent the night.

If the day outfit is meant to glow, the night one is meant to sparkle. The deepest shade of navy catches the light and show the shimmers of the fabric. Deep jewel colored crystals make an abstract galaxy. Similarly to the day piece, the night one has a single golden thread running through it. 

“I think that Jimin is the sun piece and you’re the galaxy piece.” I’m unsure as I say this, but I’ve clearly made the right decision because Jungkook finally stops peering into my soul and breaks into a grin. 

I sigh a breath of relief.

“You’re really good at this, Y/n,” Taehyung says. 

“Explain the meaning behind them, Tae,” Jungkook urges.

Taehyung’s face becomes dreamy and he smiles softly.

“Well, Jiminie and I are soulmates. He’s the day to my night. I made the day piece to try to capture how bright and vibrant he is. He makes me so happy, and I wanted him to know he’s my sun.” 

My eyes trace Taehyung’s face and his expression. He’s irrevocably infatuated just simply speaking about his love. I feel my eyes well slightly, wondering just how one person can love another that much. 

“That’s the most beautiful thing,” I murmer, blinking my tears away.

“Thank you. I in many ways feel that I am not worthy of my Jiminie, but he continues to praise me even though I don’t think I deserve it,” Taehyung says, tearing his eyes away from the golden dress.

“Don’t say that, from what I’ve seen you two and everyone else in your guys’ relationship are perfect for each other. It’s as if the individual pieces of your souls came together to love one another.” I struggle to try to explain what I mean. 

Jungkook quirks his head.

“Say, Y/n, have you ever been in love before?” 

The question throws me off guard. Have I ever been in love before?

“Um, I’m not sure. That’s a pretty deep question,” I stutter out, even though I know the answer. 

No.

“Well, yeah, but I’m curious.” Jungkook shrugs.

Jungkook and Taehyung look at me now, waiting for an answer.

I attempt to give them one.

“I…don’t know if you can call it love, per se,” I start. “I maybe once thought I was in love, but it didn’t work out.” 

They look at each other, sympathy (or pity?) in their eyes.

“It’s alright, I understand. Sorry if I made you uncomfortable,” Jungkook apologizes. 

I turn back to the remaining dresses.

“It’s okay. Now, can I ask about the remaining dresses?” 

“Sure.” As Taehyung goes on to explain that two of the dresses represent his relationship with the boys, I try to ignore the deep pit of sadness in my heart.

~

After he explains I finally point to the last piece, asking what’s been on the tip of my tongue this whole time.

“Okay! Tell me what this is about!” I’m eager to find out the meaning of the ethereal looking dress. It’s honestly my favorite out of the bunch because of the style. It looks like a fairy dress and is made with the airiest material. It seems as if it’s floating, even while on the mannequin. 

Taehyung’s mouth quirks and he responds, “It’s a secret.”

“Whyyyy?” I whine, but Taehyung and Jungkook just laugh at my pouty expression.

“Because. I can’t tell you now, but I will eventually,” Taehyung promises.

“Fine,” I grumble, giving a look of distain to the dress. It may be beautiful (alright, it’s one of the most gorgeous dresses I’ve ever seen) but I just want to know why he made such a beautiful dress.

“Anyways, want to go to lunch?” Jungkook asks me.

We bid goodbye to Taehyung (who has to stay for the rest of the afternoon) and make our way outside to eat then finish our day.

~

Wednesday arrives with an early start. The film festival is today, and it’s an all day affair. There’s a meet and greet in the morning, a luncheon, a q and a in the afternoon, and finally the showing of the films. We all are going to all the events to support Jungkook and Jin. Jin was in Jungkook’s film as the lead, and I’m really excited to see the outcome. 

After getting ready I head downstairs. The hyungs are all sitting at the table having breakfast but the maknaes are nowhere in sight, which doesn’t surprise me. 

“Good morning, Y/n,” Jin greets, raising his coffee mug in greeting. Namjoon and Hobi repeat the message while Yoongi just grunts. 

“Good morning to you too, Yoodles,” I tease, enjoying the way he pulls himself back into his hoodie. 

“The maknaes are still sleeping, if you couldn’t already tell,” Hobi says.

I nod then sit down and start eating some French toast.

“I predict that Jungkook will be the last to get up because he’s so tired from the prep for today,” Namjoon says. 

That makes sense. I know that Jungkook took a break yesterday to visit Taehyung’s gallery and go out to lunch with me but this film is very important for his future career. 

After a couple minutes of a peaceful breakfast, Jimin and Taehyung come loudly down the stairs. 

“What time is it? Are we late?” Jimin asks, hastily buttoning his shirt while Taehyung pulls on his socks. 

“No you guys are fine,” Namjoon assures them, “Jungkook isn’t even awake yet.” 

They visibly relax. 

“Come eat,” I encourage, gesturing to the table.

They thank me then plop down tiredly. 

We all finish eating, having quiet conversations and just soaking in the morning sunlight streaming in from the windows. 

Jin checks his watch.

“Hmm. Someone needs to go wake Jungkook up or else he’ll be late. Any volunteers?” He asks.

Jimin does and we all clean up but save some french toast for Jungkook. 

“Everyone, meet back down here in 30! Team, break!” Hobi cheers, our sign to go get ready.

I too go upstairs to change into something nicer. I search through my closet and find my favorite sundress and put it on. I fix a bow in my hair and grab my wedges. Taehyung’s ring sparkles on my dresser, and I hesitate before gingerly slipping it on.

I’m checking my phone when I leave my room and bump into Yoongi.

“Yoongi? What’s up?” I ask, shoving my phone into my purse. 

“Hobi wanted me to tell you that you’re sitting shotgun,” Yoongi says, looking put out.

“Aww, is that why you came all the way over here?” I say, thinking about the short distance that it took for Yoongi to walk from his room to mine.

“Shut up. We leave in ten.” With that, Yoongi walks slowly off, looking like a tired middle aged father. 

I shake my head, grinning at the image in my head. Then I head downstairs to put on my shoes. 

“Here, let me,” Jin says, already waiting at the door. He looks good in a button up and nice jeans that hug his ass. Wait, what?

“Thanks Jin,” I say, surprised at the princess like treatment, but accept it anyways. It is a pain to put on taller shoes in a dress.

“Of course honey,” Jin says, going back to waiting by the door.

He’s says it like a casual nickname, except it feels intimate to me.

“Aish, these boys. I love them, I really do, but they are always running late. HURRY UP!” He yells. 

“Coming, coming!” Namjoon is rushing down with Yoongi and Hobi following close behind. 

“Where are the maknaes?” Jin asks them as they put their shoes on.

“Dunno. They all converged in Jungkook’s room and haven’t come out yet,” Hobi explains. 

“Goddamn it. We’re gonna to be late. I’ll go get them,” Jin says, shaking his head as he hastily takes his shoes off and storms upstairs. “YAH! MAKNAES!”

I chuckle then turn to Hobi.

“Yoongi over here told me I’m riding shotgun? I feel like that someone else should take it, not me,” I say. Why would I get a whole seat to myself if the boys are squished in the back?

“Because we can’t have you ruining your pretty outfit, precious,” he says, adjusting my bow in my hair.

“Oh. Well it’s really okay. I don’t want the boys to have to squish in the back,” I say as Jin comes down scolding the maknaes. 

“It’s fine, really. Don’t worry so much. Now, let’s go!” 

Before I can say another word Hobi ushers me out to the door and opens the car door for me. 

I try to protest again but he just gives me a look and I reluctantly get into.

Jungkook takes the wheel while Yoongi, Hobi, and Jimin take the back row. Jin, Namjoon, and Taehyung squeeze in the middle row.

“Sorry guys,” I say apologetically, turning to look at them squished in like sardines.

“It’s fine, sweetheart,” Yoongi says, putting his arm around Hobi. 

“Yeah! This way we get to be close to our loves,” Taehyung says, squeezing the life out of Jin, who just fondly rolls his eyes.

“Yep. So let’s go!” Jungkook peals out of the parking lot and I grab onto the door. 

“Oh yeah, Jungkook drives kind of crazy, just so you know,” Jimin says, nonchalantly looking out the window.

I knew that he drove a little wild because he’s driven me to class before, but I guess we’re in a rush today so he’s driving a bit crazier.

“Yeah…I know,” I say, trying not to react when Jungkook runs a yellow light.

“Yeah!” He says, grinning widely.

“Yah! Be careful, we don’t want you to crash the car before your film debut, okay?” Jin angrily says, but I can tell it’s just for show. Still, a warning is appreciated.

“I’m fine Jin-hyung. We’re almost there, so hold on!” Jungkook accelerates, which makes my heart also speed up.

Please let us get there in one piece, I think.

After many sharp turns and questionable decisions (at least in my book) we make it to the building. 

“Whew, that was a rush,” Hobi says, climbing out of the car.

“Oh whatever Hobi-hyung. I have to go get ready for the meet and greet, so see you guys soon!” Jungkook dashes off and we’re all left standing there.

“We have about an hour before the meet and greet starts, so let’s go look at the exhibits about the films,” Namjoon suggests.  

We walk over to the mini outside exhibit and go to Jungkook’s. It’s got a small synopsis of the film and a poster for it. His is called ‘Still With You’ and I get a sense of pride seeing his film company name of Golden Closet Films. 

“There’s Jin-hyung!” Taehyung points to the poster proudly and there’s Jin, looking as ethereal as ever dressed in a lavish prince outfit. He’s staring off into the distance in the silvery night as the moon shines down on him.

“Wow. Aren’t I handsome?” Jin jokes, mimicking his dreamy gaze that’s on the poster.

“Yeah yeah, we know. Now, let’s take a picture in front of our Jungkookie’s poster!” Hobi exclaims, passing his phone off to a stranger, “Excuse me, could you take our picture?” 

“I can,” I say, reaching for it but he shakes his head.

“No, you’re going to be in it silly,” he says, like it’s the most normal thing ever. 

“But-“

“No buts. You’ve been living with us long enough, just be in the picture.” They all insist so I squeeze in between Hobi and Jimin.

“Smile!” Says the person.

I grin as there’s a click. 

“Great! Now a silly one,” they say.

Everyone instantly makes a goofy face. I act surprised and give Jimin bunny ears.

Click! 

“These are so good! Thank you,” Hobi says, retrieving his phone. 

The stranger nods then walks away. We all gather around to look at the photos.

“Aww, we look so cute. All we’re missing is Kook,” says Taehyung.

Then we look at the silly picture.

“Hah! Look at Yoongi’s face!” Jin jabs his finger to the phot and I look. Yoongi’s deadpanning in the middle of the chaos that’s happening around him.

“He truly is a rock,” Jimin says, poking Yoongi’s cheek.

“Whatever,” Yoongi grumbles, “Let’s just look at the other exhibits.”

~

An hour later it’s time for the meet and greet. It’s basically just a party where the creators walk around and talk about their films. 

“Ooh they have mini sandwiches,” I say, beelining to the refreshments table. 

“I’ll come with you.” Yoongi, ever the introvert, shoos the other boys away to go find Jungkook so he can avoid people and come with me.

“You don’t have to come with me, I’m a big girl,” I say, amused.

“Just shut up. I need a break from those extroverts.” Yoongi rolls his eye and grabs a cup of punch and I get my mini sandwiches. 

“Not a big fan of parties?” I ask, enjoying the peaceful corner we have by the silk covered table. 

“What makes you say that?” He smirks as we survey the chatter 

and buzz around us. 

“Nothing.” 

We stand there in peace for a couple minutes before I sigh.

“Jungkook will probably come looking for us soon, so we should go before he finds us,” I say, throwing my plate away.

“Too late.” Yoongi tilts his head to the right and I hear a familiar voice.

“Why are you two hiding over here?” Jungkook’s voice is projected across the room and he comes over to us, dragging all the others boys with him. He’s all dressed up in a tux. Damn, he looks good. 

“No reason. Congrats Jungkookie,” Yoongi says smoothly finishing his punch and throwing it away.

“Thanks Yoongi-hyung. I’m so excited for you guys to see it!” Jungkook exclaims enthusiastically.

“Me too!” I say, “It’s going to be so amazing, just judging off the poster alone.”

“It turned out so well! Everything is exactly as I hoped it would be,” Jungkook says. 

“Excuse me, are you Jeon Jungkook?” A handsome older man is standing there, a smile on his face.

“Yes, I am.” Jungkook looks slightly shocked and I wonder who this man is.

“Well, I just wanted to say that I look forward to seeing your work. It looks very promising,” handsome man says. 

Jungkook bows his head, saying “Thank you Mr. Kim. This means so much coming from you.” 

Mr. Kim bows back then winks and takes his leave.

“Oh my god. I can’t believe that just happened!” Jungkook says, bouncing on his toes.

“I’m proud of you Kook, but who exactly was that?” I ask, curious at who made Jungkook so excited. 

“That’s Mr. Jongwon Kim. He’s a huge name in the film industry and also happens to be an alumni. He always comes to the film festival but only rarely takes interest in any film,” Jungkook says, intriguing us all, “For him to compliment my work is the highest honor.”

“Wow~our Jungkookie is talented!” Hobi compliments, giving Jungkook a quick kiss on the cheek. 

“Stop it hyung!” Jungkook whines, but smiles at Hobi’s affection. 

“Yeah, congrats Jungkook,” I say, amazed (but not really) at Jungkook’s reputation in the film industry. 

“Thanks Y/n,” Jungkook says, beaming proudly as the rest of the boys shower him with praises. 

~

The luncheon is next, but is a relatively boring affair. At least we get free food. And with Jungkook and Jin next to me they make it at least a little entertaining. Jungkook is constantly giving me little tidbits about the people around us (“That boy over there is a nepo baby.”) and Jin is criticizing the food (“This is too bland. What did they put in here, soap?”) 

I continuously laugh when I’m by them, but try my best to stifle it in order to not spit my food out. 

After the delicious but dreadful luncheon it’s time for the q and a portion of the day. The filmmakers sit at a long table in the front while the audience and various press members sit it in a crowd. It’s very much a press conference and a way for people to brag about their films. 

The boys’ and I sit in a row, looking proudly at Jungkook. I can tell he’s a bit nervous, but he’s doing his best.

“Alright, we’ll begin the q and a now! Remember to be respectful, we’re all here to appreciate the art these filmmakers have created!” The director says, then it’s time for the questions.

“This is a question for Frost Films. What inspired you to make your film?” The first question isn’t directed towards Jungkook, and I can tell he’s a bit relieved. 

The person answers the question and it continues on. 

Jungkook’s eyes drift over towards us and he makes eye contact with me. I smile at him and give him a thumbs up, then a heart. He smiles and looks away. 

“Okay! The next question is for Golden Closet Films.” We all perk up at that and Jungkook grabs his mic.

“So, what, or who, inspired Still With You?” 

The question is a simple one, yet an important one.

“I would say that my boyfriends definitely inspired my film,” Jungkook says, “Still With You is a story about everlasting love, hence the title. I hope that my boyfriends’ and I have everlasting love and will always stay with me.” 

The boys look at Jungkook adoringly and he looks back at them, love showing in his eyes. 

“That is such an inspirational story,” the interviewer says, “Thank you for sharing.”

Jungkook nods then shows a small shy smile as he glances down at the boys once again.

“I have a question for Golden Closet Films as well,” the next interviewer says, and the boys and I once again sit up.

“You said your film is about your boyfriends, plural tense. Aren’t you afraid that’s a bit…forward of you?” This interviewer sounds slightly offended, like Jungkook being gay or having multiple boyfriends is wrong.

Jungkook looks a little shocked and I can see the boys grow angry around me. 

“Oh hell no. I’m about to go up there.” Namjoon clenches his jaw as he says this.

Yoongi gives him a look and replies “Don’t you dare. Let him handle it.” 

Agonizing seconds pass before Jungkook responds.

“I…It’s my film,” says Jungkook hesitantly, “And I wanted to show my love for my boyfriends. If love is too forward, then I suggest you watch another film.” 

The boys start clapping and I do too. The audience joins in, and I see Jungkook take a sigh of relief. 

“Woo! That’s our Jungkookie!” Hobi whoops and I laugh. 

It quiets down again and the q and a continues on. Although there are still a few questions for Jungkook, none are offensive and are instead about the creative process for his film.

~

The q and a lasts longer than I think is necessary before we’re finally standing up and leaving.

“Whew. I thought I’d have to throw hands,” Taehyung whispers to me as he stretches his back.

“I know. That question was so rude,” I say quietly back as we start to walk to get ready to go see the films (yay more sitting…). 

“Honestly. Are you excited to see Jungkookie on the red carpet?” Taehyung asks as we make our way outside where the sun is hanging low in the sky.

“Wait, there’s a red carpet?” I ask, now understanding why Jungkook was so formally dressed.

“Yep. So we better take lots of pictures of Kookie,” says Jimin, barging in between Taehyung and I and linking his arms through ours. He starts skipping, making me and Taehyung join in. I think we look similar to the Wizard of Oz characters skipping down the yellow brick road.

“Oh yeah! Let’s see how our baby rocks the red carpet,” Hobi chimes in. 

“I’m sure he’ll do great, as he always does.” Namjoon is holding hands with Yoongi and they share a smile thinking about Jungkook. 

“That he does,” I say.

We reach the red carpet and there’s already a ton of people there. Photographers are lined up and I can’t see through the crowd.

“Here, Y/n, take this.” Namjoon gives me a lanyard and I put it on. We now can move up closer and we all go to a designated spot for special guests.

“Shouldn’t it just be you guys?” I ask, confused as to why I’m standing here. I should be with the general public. I’m not Jungkook’s girlfriend.

“No, you live with us. You’re a part of this family, Y/n, whether you want to believe it or not,” Namjoon says, placing a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

“Yeah. And besides, Jungkook would kill us if you weren’t here,” Yoongi chimes in, casually coming to stand closer to me.

“Oh, well thanks guys.” I’m yet again wrestling with my thoughts. Jungkook cares. They care. Namjoon’s hand is on my shoulder. Yoongi is so close. 

“Sure, Y/n, anytime.” Namjoon smiles.

I’m about to respond when my attention is drawn to the red carpet where the crowd is roaring and the photographers are clicking their cameras nonstop. 

“It’s them!” Jimin says, trying to see. He cranes his neck so Taehyung grabs his waist and hoists him up a little.

“Hope you can see now, Jiminie,” he teases, enjoying Jimin squirm in his hold.

“Taehyung! Put me down!” He complains, wriggling like a worm until he’s let down and settles for going in the front so he can see better.

“Calm down you brats, Jungkook’s about to go.” Jin is looking to the nervous figure standing by the red carpet. 

Jungkook’s nibbling his lip slightly and is constantly adjusting his hair. A woman who is directing people comes over and says something to him. He nods, then straightens up, fixing his tuxedo and ruffling his hair one last time. 

The lady goes onto the red carpet as the person prior is ushered off. 

“The maker of the film Still With You by Golden Closet Films, Jeon Jungkook,” she states, then leaves and gestures for Jungkook to go on the carpet.

The crowd goes wild, us included. 

“JUNGKOOK! WE LOVE YOU!” We all yell in unison, making him grin as he strolls slowly to the middle, the image of confidence, despite being nervous mere moments earlier. 

Once in the middle he poses with the elegance of a model and straight up smirks into the cameras. Damn his fucking perfect face. My heart is having palpitations and I swear he looks at me for a brief second. Why do I feel like a crazy fangirl? 

“Jungkook!”

“Over here!”

“To the right!”

The photographers shout too many instructions at Jungkook, but he merely turns his body and head slowly, posing for all the cameras.

After a couple minutes of this, a man comes to usher Jungkook off. He waves as he leaves and when he passes by us he winks, but his eyes are trained on me. I look back into his dark ones and I swear that time slows down. But, soon enough, the roar of the crowd comes back and Jungkook’s gone inside.

“You good, Y/n?” Yoongi asks me, ever the observant one.

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, my eyes trained on the last spot where Jungkook was before he left. 

“Okay,” Yoongi says, turning back to the red carpet where another filmmaker is.

I do too, but can’t seem to focus on the person on it. All I can think about is Jungkook. How perfect he looked on the red carpet, how he looked so naturally like a model, how he should’ve been the film star instead of the one making it. 

You like him, you like him, the voice in your head taunts. You try to shake it off like normal but it doesn’t go away. And, with the way Jungkook was looking at you, you can’t deny that you feel something stronger than just a simple crush.

“Hey Y/n, you ready to go inside?” Jimin asks, and I blink. All the boys are staring at me and the crowd is thinned.

“Oh, yeah. Let’s go,” I say, trying to snap out of it. I can’t believe I zoned out so much.

The theatre is nothing but grand, with ornate details carve into the stone on the outside. Inside, the marble floor shines as we go to theatre seven where Jungkook’s film is being shown. 

“Tickets?” Asks the attendant standing next to Jungkook’s poster with Jin’s face. 

Jin produces seven tickets and hands them to the attendant.

“You may order food and drink inside. Enjoy.” She smiles as she pulls back the black velvet curtain. I feel like I’m about to go see an opera, not a film. 

“Thank you,”I say to her as I pass. 

Inside is grand, just as I expected. Plush crimson crushed velvet seats are set in neat rows, with tables attached to each one for food and drink. The screen is absolutely huge, and I can’t wait to see the film projected on it.

“We’re sitting right in the middle where the best spots are,” Jimin murmers into my ear. I suppress a shudder and nod.

“Jungkook!” Taehyung rushes over to where the lone figure is sitting in the middle row. 

“Tae!” He stands up and hugs him then grins at the rest of us, “I’m so excited for you guys to see it!” 

“We’re so excited too,” Hobi says, gesturing for us to file in to the row. I somehow end up between Jungkook and Jin. Great, the stars of the show. 

“Don’t you guys want to sit next to each other in case of pictures?” I ask them, getting ready to stand and switch.

“No, it’s fine, Y/n, sit,” Jungkook insists, laying his hand on top of mine and forcing me to sit back down.

I’m sat, and cross my arms at Jin’s chuckle. 

“Honey, don’t pout. Now, what food should we order?” He pulls out a fancy menu that I didn’t see before.

“Definitely popcorn, but is there anything else you want to eat, Y/n?” Jungkook asks, and I flip through my menu. Everything is supremely overpriced, and is that caviar? 

“Are you sure? Even the popcorn’s a lot,” I say, thinking how it better be the best thing I’ve put in my mouth if it costs that much. 

“I’m sure. And if you don’t want anything else then I’ll get you a large popcorn with extra butter and a medium cherry vanilla Dr. Pepper,” Jungkook declares. 

How does everyone know my drink order? And how did he know that I wanted extra butter? 

“Okay, but let me pay you back at the house.” I can’t believe that it costs so much, but with the sheer exterior of this place I should’ve expected this. 

“No, it’s fine. Besides, we all get it for free because we’re Jungkook’s guests and he’s a filmmaker,” Jin says, then promptly orders for him and me.

“Are you excited to see my film?” Jungkook asks me eagerly, leaning in and waiting intently for my answer.

“Yeah, I am!” I say, leaning slightly back so we’re not in each other’s personal space. 

“I’m glad. Did you have fun at the rest of the festival so far?” Jungkook asks me, leaning in again. 

“Um, yeah I did,” I say, still leaning slightly back.

“Mhm. And the after party is going to be awesome too.” By now Jungkook is leaning so far into my space that I am almost leaning against Jin.

“Woah, you okay there?” Jin asks me, gently holding my shoulders as I accidentally knock into his chest. His broad, muscular chest, my brain unhelpfully thinks. 

“Yeah, thanks Jin,” I mumble, trying to not sit up too much but also trying to not lie in Jin’s lap. 

“Sure, honey. Our food will be here soon, so why don’t you get comfortable?” Jin then gently helps me sit up and much to my dismay I am now face to face with Jungkook.

“You alright, Y/n?” Jungkook asks me, and he’s so close that he can probably hear the loud thumping of my heart. I can smell his cologne, a rich mix between sweet with a slightly more smoky scent underneath. It’s so unique that I feel drawn to him. I wonder if this is his normal cologne, or if I’m just really close to him. Yeah. I’m really close to him. Close enough to almost k-I blink before realizing he asked me a question.

“Sorry, what?” I ask, still dazed by his scent. 

“I asked if you were alr-“

“Hello, here are your refreshments. Please let us know if you need anything else. Enjoy the show!” The impeccably dressed waiters deliver our ‘refreshments’ and I take a piece of the popcorn. 

Okay, it might not be the best food I’ve ever put in my mouth but it’s pretty damn close. I’m afraid I’ll devour this all before the film even starts. 

“Is it good?” Jin asks me and I nod. 

The lights suddenly dim, and I can hear Jungkook whisper, “It’s finally starting.” 

a/n: i hate to leave you guys on a cliffhanger, but the next chapter is going to be a mini one that’s simply the film!! hope you enjoyed reading, this took me a hot minute to write but i’m so happy with how it came out. 🩷🫶🏼

[wuffgang-ameowdeus-moozart]

Aren't you tired of forced romances with no chemistry that only take away from the actually interesting plot? Don't you just want media where romance isn't portrayed as being superior and more important than (queer)platonic relationships?

Well, my exhausted aro ass is too, so here are a few tricks and wisdoms I've gathered over my years of being a-spec (which is all of them) on how to avoid romance (in media) in a very allonormative society 💚🤍🩶🖤

(this is a rec list btw. no I am not shitting on the shows that I tagged, quite the opposite)

1. Middle Grade

I get if you aren't really into that, because it is kind of annoying to be pointed to literal children's literature when all you want is a story that isn't constantly being interrupted by describing the main guy's heated eyes for the twentieth time.

However.

It is true that in middle grade, friendship is always more important than romance. Because, let's face it. Making two eleven year old characters kiss is kinda weird. So even if there is a romance, it isn't very prominent and treated more like friendship and/or a puppy crush. Plus some stories get surprisingly dark?!?!

Examples

- Howl's Moving Castle (Diana Wynne Jones), technically a romance in the end, but mostly focused on found family, shenanigans, and finding your own value

- House of Many Ways (DWJ). Yes, again. I really like her books okay? They always have something so fantastical and whimsical about them. This is my other favorite book by her and it has literally no romance at all. Plus a hmc cameo that is so fun !!

- Coraline (Neil Gaiman). Maybe this is cheating because I never actually read it. However. a) the movie traumatized me. b) Wybie was added to the movie, he doesn't exist in the book, so if "power of friendship" isn't your thing this will be great. Probably vibes over plot.

Flyte (Angie Sage). Technically this is the second book, but I never read the first one and still understood everything. Once again, no romance at all. A fun read, which can get surprisingly dark at times.

2. Short Story Collections

Once again, I get it if it isn't your thing. Short stories are - as the name reveals - short. Which means: no worldbuilding, very limited narrator, open ending, no time to really get attached to characters, etc.

But.

The cool thing about collections, is that they always have a certain theme. And as long as the theme is not romance, romance will not be the focus. Even if there is a romantic relationship, it will be used to explore this theme since there simply isn't time for anything else.

Examples:

Life Ceremony (Sayaka Murata) This is the book that actually made me figure out: hey! I do actually like short stories !! The main theme is basically about being different and it plays a lot with body horror and the perception of your own body in contrast with how society sees it. There is even a story about two women who platonically live together and raised multiple children!

Canterbury Classics: Classic Tales of Horror (introduction by Ernest Hilbert). As the name suggests, this is a collection of horror short stories, featuring well-known authors such as Bram Stoker, Edgar Allan Poe or Charlotte Perkins Gilman. As these are classic old tales, the language is a bit complicated at times and you can read them for free on Gutenberg. However, the book is very very pretty and the introduction is very interesting (Origins of the genre, specific tropes and monsters, etc.)

3. Podcasts

PODCASTS!!! If you follow me, you are probably already aware of those. However, in case you don't, let me introduce you to the wonderful world of Audiodramas.

The cool thing about Podcasts is that pretty much anyone can do it. All you need is an idea, a mic, a lot of motivation, and you're pretty much set to go. No producers or publishers you need to get approval from. So it is only natural that this medium is filled to the brim with queer creators. Basically every character is somewhat queer. It's awesome.

Examples:

- The Silt Verses. I adore TSV. I listened to the first season like, four times. (the second one is good too but OH MY GOD THE FIRST ONE). And one of the main characters is canonically and explicitly aro!! Sister Carpenter, I love you with my whole being. And the great thing is, it is very clear that the writers love her, too!! There is a lot (like a LOT) of body horror so it isn't for everybody. But if you think you can handle it I really recommend it. (Plus, not any romance plotlines at all !!)

- Wolf 359. This is one of the older ones and it is really good. It's a bunch of restless and very unwell people stuck in a spaceship under the unforgiving rule of capitalism. However bad you imagine it, I can assure you it is worse. But the really cool thing is that there literally isn't any romance at all. Like, there are great m/f friendships but they never even hint towards a romance. Some people are so unused to that that they literally ship the main dude with the fucking robot AI. (don't worry, not an actual romance plot).

- Girl in space. I am sure you will be absolutely shook to know that this one also takes place in space. It is about a girl. In space. Shocking, I know. Except that she has been on her own for well over a year when suddenly a fleet of strange ships arrive and kidnap her. There is also a very asshole-y robot. And questions about what makes us human. And found family!! And a goat. And cheese. Just go listen to it okay. This is also one of the shortest ones of the list, so maybe a good start.

- Malevolent. I have to confess that I personally am not a huge fan of this one? Like the premise is really cool - a detective who wakes up blind and with a demon in his head who can see through the detectives eyes. What the fuck?, you may ask yourself. So does Arthur Lester. Mysteries and other dimensions and a whole lot of pain ensues. Harlan is undeniably an awesome VA and a great writer, but his stories just seem a bit too repetitive to me? Nonetheless I know of lots of people who enjoy it a lot. Trying to define the relationship between Arthur and John (his demon) is perhaps the biggest mystery of them all. (Jk. there are multiple murders and stuff. they've really got other priorities)

- Middle:Below. This is another short one and probably the least famous of this list? It's about this funky lil dude with a ghost roommate and a cat who can talk (.....or can it?). There is a m/f friendship but it never turns into a romance (wow it is possible!!). They all go on adventures on the dimension between life and death. Despite the description, this is literally just a comedy. A bit spooky at best. Reminds me a bit of scarier kids cartoons like gravity falls.

4. "Gay" movies/series in countries with homophobic censorship

Now you may think, "hey that seems like a bit of an asshole move!". And you would be 100% correct in thinking that.

However.

It does also mean that the main relationship of the story can never be explicitly romantic. They can allude to it, they can try to show it. But they can never confirm. So it is very easy to interpret them as having a QPR. (because tbh I don't think I've ever seen one on television.)

Examples:

The Untamed. Look. I am aware that the first episode is so fucking atrocious, all right? And no, the CGI does in fact never get better. And sometimes the translated subtitles are a bit awkward. But I swear that it is so good. Trust me on this one, okay? Just make it through the first ep. It's a wild ride. Lan Zhan I love you. (However the book it is based on (written by a woman) depicts them being in an explicitly romantic relationship, with lots of very inaccurate and badly researched smut, so the fandom pretty much sees them as exclusively romantic.)

- Word of Honor. Very much in the same vein as The Untamed. Except that the first episode is less horrible. And the one dude has a very fruity fan. And they also raise a kid together. And the costumes of the villains are really fun!! I actually never finished this one tbh. I know that the book it is based on has one very extremely terrible ableist plot point, but I don't know if that made it into the show since I never got that far

The Devil Judge. The last two were fantasy, this one is a dystopia. Very tense and interesting. There is a romantic subplot (typical childhood friend vs bad boy love triangle), but he rejects the childhood friend and they can't exactly show him and the "bad boy" (who is actually a judge. and also kinda his sugar daddy) as explicitly romantic for the reason above. They also live in the same house and cook together and take care of a child together. Can totally recommend.

Assassination Classroom. A bunch of students have to kill their teacher who is an alien. that's literally the plot. I cried so hard at the finale. Nagisa and Karma have MASSIVE vibes and you can't convince me otherwise. (There is a romantic subplot that does end in a kiss, but they agree to continue as friends since those were..... extenuating circumstances. The dude very clearly is not into her). Nagisa also very aro-spec coded imo.

5. "Straightbaiting" Anime

Sometimes Anime does this thing (which I personally find very hilarious) where a boy and a girl will have no other romantic involvements or love interests while growing closer and closer, but never get together. A bit like reverse queerbaiting.

Examples:

- Fairy Tail. The ultimate power is friendship anime. That is all you need to know. (I should also perhaps warn you that the end of the last arc (and the sequel series, but we don't talk about that) are huge letdowns. Like the buildup? So good. But....welp. If that doesn't bother you too much and the idea to have a group of people be the main character instead of one person only, this may be the series for you. Just do yourself a favor and skip all the filler arcs

Soul Eater. I really love the vibes of this one. Once again, most of the fandom likes depicting them as explicitly romantic, but they never canonically are. It also reminds me a bit of creepy children cartoons. It is also where the superior fictional school exists, Devon. Frankenstein teaches there (the dude, not the monster). People transform into badass weapons. Nobody can convince me that Make Albarn is not a trans woman. However the ending deviates a bit from the manga, and I personally think the anime one is a bit worse

Noragami. This one will always hold a special place in my heart because it was the first anime I really watched. This one also has people who transform into weapons, but the vibes are very different. It goes a bit more into Japanese folklore in case that interests you.

Bonus: Canonically Aro/Heavily Aro-Coded Characters

They were not anywhere above because the stories they are in didn't really fit any of the categories. But they exist!

Wolf (Kipo and the Age of Wonderbeasts). I adore Wolf. There is also barely any romance. Like, it will seem like it at first, but don't worry, it's only straightbaiting. There is a romance subplot but it's very brief and very much in the background. Overall very good aro show 👍

Isaac (Heartstopper) Very queer show, very high likelihood that you already know of it. The series per se is very romance focused, but as far as I've heard the a-spec rep in S2 is really good

Georgia (Loveless). Actually never read it. But, well. Title pretty self-explanatory dare I say. By the same author as Heartstopper (Alice Oseman)

Chance/Chris and Shadow/Ryan (woe.begone) Are explicitly in a QPR together !! they are also probably the healthiest couple in the podcast lol

Henry Clerval (Frankenstein). Henry is the "a couple of besties!!" to Victor's "we look like a couple <3"

Barbie (Barbie 2023) If you've seen it you know what I mean.

Jo Marsh (Little Women). I never read the book, but Jo in the 2019 movie??? very sus.

I would also recommend checking out Japanese books! I personally think they are much better at writing romance than the western people lol. It's more about knowing each other and sharing your views of the world, thus changing each other and leaving a mark forever, even if the relationship ends. (studio ghibli romance vibes). My favorite Japanese book doesn't have an English translation :(

aber an alle Deutsch-Sprecher*innen: Die Katzen von Shinjuku (Durian Sukegawa) -> og title: Shinjuku no Neko

Can't think of anything else right now, but please leave some of your own recommendations! Hope this helps ^^

[phoenixwatchesmovies]

Dracula Season Watch Party: The Lost Boys (1987)

After moving to a new town, two brothers discover that the area is a haven for vampires. - Dir. Joel Schumacher

Let's get one thing straight: this movie isn't. Stick a pin in that because we'll get back to that in due time.

In that case, though, WHERE DO I START? This is a fucking great movie and I'll fight anyone who says otherwise. (I didn't say you have to like it. Quality is objective and personal taste is not. Go forth with that nugget of wisdom.)

Starting at the beginning, then, we get one of the best movie themes ever written (as evidenced by the amount of covers that exist), some of my favorite establishing shots ever filmed, and the character entrance that made me say out loud, "OH SHIT 👀"

YOU SEE WHAT I MEAN. As the top comment on the video says, "you know it's awesome when you click just to watch the opening."

The entire movie is like that, TBH. It's almost as quotable as The Princess Bride Thee Greatest Movie Ever Made, and is matched only by The Shining for scenes I'll just watch on their own because I love them that much. Like this one, for instance, that I'm linking because I'm going to bring it up again later:

^^ the music, the camera, the lighting, the transition from the headlights to the lighthouse... It's so good...

Other great music moments include the "People Are Strange" montage of slice-of-life style clips of folks going about their day in Santa Carla intercut with all the posters of missing people hung up around the boardwalk, "I Still Believe" featuring Tim Cappello, Tina Turner's former saxophone player, "Walk This Way" as the boys close in on the surfers on the beach, and ENDLESS uses of "Cry Little Sister."

Brief moment to talk about the Emerson family dynamic. Script, performances, and direction all work together in all the best ways so you never doubt how much they care about each other, or how far they'll go for each other. You can argue for family being one of the core themes of the story, whether it's the one you're born into or the one you're...well, born in a sense, into. Either way, it's about the bonds you make, be it for a lifetime or an eternity.

Grandpa gets his own bullet for being such an icon, and for having the absolute #1 best last line of a movie in history. We waited an hour and a half for the punchline of a joke we didn't even notice we were being told. 🫡

Suppose I'll move onto the Frog brothers. Their antics are where most of the comedy comes from, and if there's one thing I have a problem with in this movie, it's the way the two halves don't quite fit together. Michael and David and Co. work on their own as an edgy, stylish, coming-of-age story. Sam and the Frog brothers are the most obvious giveaway that the original concept was something a bit more similar to The Goonies. And it's probably because I like the vampires a lot more, but the kids just aren't that interesting. They're funny and necessary, but I'm not as invested in what they're doing.

Which brings us back to the Lost Boys themselves. The name is a deliberate reference to Peter Pan, and that's where the tragedy of the whole thing comes in. Screenwriter James Jeremias, after reading Interview With The Vampire and the character Claudia in particular, ran with the idea that the reason Peter and his gang never grow up is because they're vampires (which came first, this movie, or the theory that Peter and Co. are the souls of dead children?). You can see that influence throughout the story, and apparently David and the boys were meant to contrast with Michael in the way they represent adolescence, given they're eternal teenagers.

Buuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuut I don't get that very much. I'm sure it's there, but in terms of x vs y, the vampires and the Frog brothers have always stood out more to me. Compare the two kids trying so hard to appear grown up (Edgar even puts on a deep voice that fools no one) and the four kids who will literally never grow up.

I also called this a tragedy, at least as far as the boys are concerned. What else could it be, being a horror movie, but you watch scenes like the bike ride and it's fun and exciting and you understand what Schumacher is going for. They're alive and living in the moment, free in the way only kids seem to be. As you learn what they are, you realize that, for them, at least, this freedom is forever. Life will always be one big party going from one thrill to the next. The tag line is literally "never grow old, never die." And only one of those is true by the end of the movie. The gut punch about David's death (aside from the fact that he dies at all, what can I say, I'm obsessed with him) is that he doesn't go out like the others do, with blood and melting flesh and explosions. He just...dies, as that child choir kicks in one last time, and you see him for what he always was--a dead kid.

In conversation with tragedy is the theme of monsterhood as a whole. When Michael is faced with the reality of what his new friends are and what he himself is becoming, David has this to say: "You'll never grow old, Michael, and you'll never die. But you must feed." Spoken after the vampires have slaughtered half a dozen beach bums, we have the cost of immortality underlined for us. We've also seen Michael struggle against his new nature when he nearly attacked his own brother earlier in the movie, and it's not like he chose to go after Sam because he's evil. It's instinct. Hunger. A matter of survival. We see him alternatively warning Sam to stay away from him and pleading for help to stop what's happening to him because he doesn't want to become a monster, a killer like David. And that's what makes David and the rest of the boys the antagonists, because their survival depends on killing and feeding on other people, but that's all they're doing, is surviving according to their nature. That's the tragedy of monsterhood.

Along with the realization that someone had to have done that to these kids. Someone chose to make them what they are, and that's the real evil of the story.

And speaking of Max, I appreciate the fake-out approach to revealing him as the real Big Bad. It's very Scream, where you were pretty sure it was Billy the whole time but there was that one scene that threw a temporary wrench in your theory. But Star's line about Max being a secret David was protecting comes out of nowhere in a way that feels like there was a bit more context for it initially, but it never made the final cut.

Which leads me to my other gripe. The pacing and timeline don't seem to be in obvious cooperation. Again, it feels like more was there at one point, but transitional scenes were left out, so it's hard to tell how much time passes between the Emersons moving to Santa Carla and the final showdown. Things could either happen very quickly in which case the escalation is on a level with Romeo and Juliet, or it's more spaced out and the space isn't apparent. And I'm leaning towards the "spaced out" approach.

Now. Allow me a few more indulgent moments, because we gotta talk about David.

Look at him.

LOOK AGAIN.

Istg, he stepped around the bend of that merry-go-round and I said, out loud, with words, "oh shit." I had a crisis for days afterward due to the gender envy. I STILL don't know if I want him or if I want to be him. (I'm too fond of my hair as it is to even think about whether or not I'm brave enough for a bleached mullet, so at least I don't really have to think too hard about the answer.) All this to say, can you really blame Michael? One look at this guy and I didn't know what kind of egg joke I wanted to make, so I'm not surprised our boy Mike was trying so hard to fit into this group.

(Yes, you're correct, I'm circling back to my opening statement.)

You can read this as straight up, pun slightly intended, guys being dudes and Michael just wanting to be accepted by the local cool kids. Makes sense, really. They are cool. He's the new kid in town, and that folds right into the usual coming of age narrative with finding your place in the world along with discovering your own identity, etc etc. But if that's the case, then why all the long, frequent, intense eye contact?

@verified-villain-fxcker gets it. 🥂

Look, I'm sure if you tried hard enough to find a heterosexual explanation for the homoerotic tension I'm seeing, you could. But you're on this site, browsing the tag for this movie, so do you really want to? I've got a whole thesis statement on how Schumacher being a gay man/identity influencing one's art/motorcycle clubs being part of queer culture rattling around somewhere in my head, but to keep mostly on topic, I'm sticking with this: part of the coming of age story is discovering your identity, which includes your sexuality. Therefore, it's hardly a stretch to say this is a movie about gay awakening as much as anything else and that Michael Emerson is a disaster bisexual. Of course I'm not the first person to see it that way, but Pride Month is almost over. What else was I going to end on?

He's queer, your honor. Happy Pride. 🏳️‍🌈

[xerith-42]

Some Slightly More Coherent Thoughts about Void Paradox

Riveting title, I know, but this is the quality content I'm sure... 50 of you signed up for? When the fuck...? How are there so many of you?? And in spite of that title, this post is still long as fuck

Anyways I finished Void Paradox and it sure made me feel a certain way. [Cut to footage of me literally screaming anytime Laurance showed emotion in the series]. Gotta say, as a long time Laurance fan, this is really nice to have. I've been going on my tirades about how Jess ruined Laurance for the sake of Aaron, and how Laurance never really bounced back from this character assassination, but I wasn't entirely right. He sort of bounced back?

Well, we got this. I still would have liked Laurance in Love-Love Paradise but I guess I'll take him in this series. And honestly, it's the best Laurance content I've gotten that isn't fan content since... well, since I first watched the show back in 2015 when I was a literal fetus. Every time after I've gone back and watched as Laurance got written poorly from honestly really early episodes sometimes (looking at you Episode 65), and had to deal with the unfortunate truth that he was essentially unimportant to the story Jess decided to tell with both her series, despite being the main character of one of them.

It's so refreshing to have quality Laurance content, and we got a variety of it in this show. He's so expressive, so alive, so emotional. I've always loved Laurance because surprise surprise, the men in my life weren't always the most emotionally vulnerable, so I latched onto fictional men who were as a coping mechanism! Yayyy! And Laurance has always been a very emotionally vulnerable character, at least in the beginning. It's part of the tragedy that is his character arc in Season 2. That Laurance is usually vulnerable, that he's the one who's always willing to talk about his emotions, but the calling is making it harder to open up, and the world has only become crueler to men like him who dare to feel too much.

Wow I just keep sliding into depressing content in this post, I'm trying to praise Laurance's writing in this series. Because it's good. I have my problems with Void Paradox as a whole, but as a showing for my favorite character in the entire Aphverse, a chance at redemption, it's fantastic. As I said Laurance is so expressive in this series, largely thanks to Sebastian Todd being an absolutely phenomenal voice actor who clearly knows and cares about this character. His performance is absolutely excellent and a great high note for this character to go off on.

I cannot emphasize how much I adore every little thing about Laurance's portrayal. The flirtiness, the smug bastard energy, the very sincere and open care, that one scene where he gets super embarrassed and then whimpers that I haven't listened to like eighteen times. The whole thing is great. His dynamic with this alternate version of Aphmau is so good, it's so great to see him bounce off of other characters. I just love it so much.

That scene where he realizes that he's in a similar scenario to the Nether and literally instantly jumps to "If it comes down to it, let me sacrifice myself," I SCREAMED AT THIS. The whole series whenever he angsts over his old world I scream, but that line really hit me. Fuck whatever you say about Laurmau in every universe, the universal truth of Laurmau, nay the universal truth of Laurance is this;

"I would sacrifice myself so you could live in every universe."

That's Laurance! That's Laurance with literally anyone you want!! This is the best characterization Laurance has ever gotten. It's consistent with his character, and I love the fact that Mod Aphmau doesn't even let him finish his consideration of self-sacrifice, she just shuts it down and it's a great contrast to what Laurance is used to. I adore how that's what he jumps to, I adore the fact that he's as clueless as I am about the lore this season, I love the rivals esque thing he's got going on with Jaiden, that was fun. Lotta potential there. This was just a good time. I cannot emphasize how delightful Laurance was in this series. How his delightful presence is the most enjoyable thing in the series, and a literal blessing unto us all.

Wasn't it nice to feel good about an Aphmau series for like.. two minutes. Anyways here's the part where I get a little salty with Jess, as per usual. I'm not going to go too in depth on my problems with Void Paradox as a story because it's mercifully short and a lot of my complaints did come from a standpoint of not knowing any of the lore of Mod Mod World which might have hindered my full ability to understand the larger story.

I can however get VERY salty about the fact that I didn't even know Void Paradox was a thing that had Laurance in it until 2024!! It came out in 2018! How did this happen? Well the answer is very simple, the cause is the bane of my very existence. My Street Season 6 When Angels Fall. [I am shaking with rage]

I know you've likely read how much I can tear into season 2 Episode 95, and oh my Irene can I tear into that episode, but there's a similar but differently visceral emotion When Angels Fall makes me feel. Let's call it a sort of divine rage. And now, I have one more reason to hate it. Because Void Paradox, a series with actual quality content, was released at the same time as whatever the fuck that was, meaning it never had a chance.

For a bit of personal context, I briefly became active in the Aphmau fanbase when this season came out and during the time leading up to it. I had seen every season of My Street, and despite not being the biggest fan of where Jess took the series, I liked a lot of the characters and was invested in where they would go from here. I was knee deep in the My Street trenches when the many many different bombs dropped. Melissa dying but then she didn't but maybe she did and I literally spent hours arguing with people on this, Ein is turning everyone evil, there's a doomsday device, forever potion nonsense is happening, Travis' dad is evil maybe, Aaron is going insane, the multiverse is falling apart, and then Jess just killed the best character in the entire series, dare I say the entire Aphverse, dare I say the entire universe of existence as we know it--

It was a lot. And in all the chaos Void Paradox just... came out. It came out right before episode 9 of When Angels Fall came out. And anyone else who was there during the war... they know what that episode did to us. What it did to me. I wasn't the same after that episode came out. I felt like I had lost a part of myself. Something I wasn't sure I'd ever be able to get back...

And as a result, I and a lot of people didn't see Void Paradox. Looking at the numbers, Void Paradox struggled to get above 1 million viewers for most episodes, while the lowest viewed episode of When Angels Fall sits at a cozy 2.9 million as an established series. Void Paradox is objectively better as a series and deserves to have a second season. We deserve to explore more of the weird ideas Jess clearly had while making it, we deserve to know if a cure can be found, and we, or maybe just me and I'm feeling selfish here, deserve to know if Laurance is okay.

Jess has already taken one comfort character away from me. I'll be damned if she takes another.

[teethcritter]

Alright, so. Finn and Princess Bubblegum. Yeah, yeah. Hero and the princess, a story as old as time. We all know the princess in question is by no means into boys, as Patience put it.

So what happens when we look at their relationship from a purely professional standpoint? A lot!

So, let's start with some background information, at least in my view of the characters. I think personally, that it makes sense for PB to have known Finn for a while before season 1. I like to think that she actually helped Jake with raising him, as she probably would've checked on the tree house from time to time with all her surveillance issues and a certain vampire breakup. And I mean, who's to say she wasn't in contact with Joshua and Margaret as well? They had, supposedly, the only human left in their hands. She would've been interested in that. She would've been very interested in that.

Now, let's take a moment to consider what being partially raised by a princess / mad scientist would do to your brain. Let's take a moment to consider what being a knight at such a young age would do to your brain. Clearly a number since the very first episode of the series is Finn and PB causing a zombie apocalypse.

PB was shown in a very morally grey light right from the start. What Have You Done?(s1ep24) is one of my all time favorite episodes because of how well it's portrayed.

Finn is pretty willing to cross her in this episode once he realizes that the right thing is not what she asked of him, but it certainly sets the groundwork of the CONSEQUENCES for doing so; as well as "The princess is always right," mentality he seems to have for most of the series. (A/N: these clips are taken out of context of the full episode, I highly recommend you watch the full thing to understand what happens in it, why PB and Finn do what they do, etc. This goes for all the eps I'll mention.)

As Finn ages, we see his relationship with PB change a LOT. Even after he gets over his crush, he still seems to worship her. In a way that she's kinda conditioned him to.

A very important thing to note while I talk about this, especially around this part, is that I STRONGLY believe that neither of these characters are in the wrong in the relationship. I don't think one is abusing or manipulating the other. It's a two way street. They are both making it worse.

The next episode I'm going to reference is Princess Cookie(s4ep13) (Another A/N: I apologize for the google drive links from here on out, Tumblr only allows one video per post. Cringe.)

By this point, Jake is willing to cross PB AND FINN in the name of doing the right thing. Finn however, is not. As we can see clearly here. Jake has a criminal past. Jake understands that crimes are often committed by people with a very messed up mental state. Those people need help, not a lifetime in the dungeon. But clearly, Finn doesn't get that. Which is not his fault whatsoever. He's been a knight since at least age 12.

I also find this dialogue from the same episode incredibly interesting. I know Jake was playing a part here. I know he was trying to de-escalate the situation so that PB wouldn't send in the guards, but these words still left his mouth.

And I don't know, the fact that he quickly had to correct himself makes this seem genuine to me.

This concept can actually be explored further in Burning Low(s4ep16) which is literally two episodes after this.

I was originally going to avoid Burning Low in this analysis, despite it being one of my favorites, but it is pretty important to the relationship between Finn/Jake and PB. It doesn't take much for Jake to flip out on PB in this episode, which is a drastic contrast from his demeanor in the first half of it. It really makes me consider the fact that he could have some deeply rooted issues with her. Or even, some deeply rooted issues with how much time Finn spends with her.

Another small note from this episode, is this.

We know for a FACT that this is not romantic jealousy in the slightest. I think that Bubblegum has gotten so used to being worshipped by Finn, that now that there's someone in the way — especially someone who she has such a strained relationship with — there is this weird jealousy. Not because she's in love with Finn, but because he's growing up. Because she isn't the sole princess in his life anymore. Because she has one less person 100% fixed on her and her alone. Because Finn is HER knight.

Alright, now before we move onto season 5, there's one more thing from season 4 that is worth talking about. This scene in The Lich(s4ep26).

This scene is one of the most disturbing scenes in the whole show for me, because of a few reasons. First of all, this is after Burning Low. This is after both of them have their explosions at her. But this is about Finn. Finn, right now, thinks that PB is jealous of him and Flame Princess. He thinks that now that there's someone in the way, that suddenly she cares. Which isn't entirely wrong, as I stated in the previous paragraph.

I think that her reaction here was partially a trauma response. Her reaction to Finn in general around this time period could be in relation to Mr. Cream Puff as well, since as we see in Bonnibel Bubblegum(s10ep4), was not a consensual relationship. Of course though, his pursuits were unwanted. Her reactions don't have to be because of a specific thing. She said no, case and point.

Now, I'm not going to get into the insanity of Farmworld Dimension, but I do think it's interesting that this interaction is the last one between the original Finn and PB. Of course Finn after Farmworld is still technically the original because of the paradox Jake created, but it's still interesting to me. Anyways, like I said, I'm not going to get into that in much detail.

Onto season 5! Frost and Fire(s5ep30) is a hard watch. But I rewatched it for this and actually made a connection that I've never made before. Jake says to chase the Cosmic Owl dream, which leads Finn down this road of manipulation. I don't put Jake at fault whatsoever, I highly doubt he expected Finn to do what he did. Finn fucked up — Aaand... I can draw some pretty distinct parallels between Finn and Flame Princess' breakup, and PB and Marceline's breakup.

Frost and Fire

Obsidian(AT:DL ep2)

After the breakup, Finn is not in the best mental state, obviously. He still doesn't understand what he did wrong and I think that's partly what's eating away at him. He doesn't understand what happened. But in a desperate attempt at getting back to normalcy, he gives himself entirely up to PB again. And then we get this line from the episode Rattleballs(s5ep46)!

PB tells him to relax, and he goes off to fight things in a dump. As you do. He finds Rattleballs there and after some training, Finn asks how he ended up here. Rattleballs explains that he escaped Bubblegum's mass execution. And he asks Finn to not out him, but loyalty to the Princess comes first.

Finn thought that Rattleballs and PB could talk it out at this point. Which they did kinda end up doing. But that is so goddamn interesting to me. He doesn't know the lengths of which PB goes, but it's so clear that deep down he DOES acknowledge that something is not right with her. Which means by proxy, something's not right with him either.

I'm going to break away from the show here to reference the comics. I know they're not canon, however the Princess and Princess graphic novel doesn't really contradict anything from the show, so I think this is of note. Finn isn't scared of her, he's scared what she'll do to other people. Very interesting.

Okay, back to the show.

In Hot Diggity Doom(s6ep42), PB loses the crown. This interaction is one that stands out to me.

Obviously the situation is tense. They don't want to serve a dillweed, but "We pledged our allegiance to you," freaks me out a bit! We didn't see this happen. This was before Slumber Party Panic(s1ep1). We don't know how Finn and Jake became her knights. They also seem to be aware of something relating to Cream Puff, as both of them know he died somehow. They both mention in it Slumber Party Panic. Besides exploding when scared, candy people don't die of natural causes as far as we've seen thus far. I do wonder what happened to that guy.

And this monologue in The Thin Yellow Line(s7ep25) doesn't make me feel any better about it. I am fully aware that implying PB did something to him is grasping at straws from what we're given, but hey! It's PB. And boy oh boy, is it interesting to consider that maybe Finn and Jake knew that.

Moving on from that random headcanon though, I want to talk about how Finn reacts to all that information from Banana Guard 16. Obviously he embellished the truth there. PB did what she had to do for the most part, although... not very ethically. Finn knows that. He knew a good chunk of that by this point in the series, and his opinion on her hasn't seemed to have changed. When he actually sees PB at the end, he realizes that maybe Banana guard 16 was right. Maybe she is gonna take him apart. So he, y'know, does a super sneaky thing and switches the guards. Instead of taking to her about it, he puts an innocent guard to death, as far as he knows. And we all know that she didn't actually do anything to anyone in that episode, she even says she's not proud of her past!! Growth!!! We love to see it. Though Finn, seems to have gotten worse.

He's gotten better socially, as he makes up with Flame Princess in Bun Bun(s8ep6), but worse professionally.

And here we go! Another parallel in Varmints(s7ep2).

At the beginning of Islands, we get my favorite scene in the whole show. We get Fern, PB, and Marceline seeing the gang off. And then we get a very interesting interaction between Finn and PB. She explains that if he finds humans, he might find out some heavy stuff about where he came from. She makes him promise that he'll come back to Ooo. And he doesn't promise. They hug, and he leaves. And she says, "He'll be safe." But clearly she doesn't believe herself. Finn, in my eyes, is probably the most important person in PB's life next to Marceline. And she's terrified that he's gonna leave his family for blood.

In season 9, when Elements starts, and Finn and Jake are greeted with the candy tree house, Finn automatically assumes that it was PB, which is something I don't see talked about a lot.

And wow, speaking of season 9! Fern would not have died the first time if PB didn't install a FATALITY SETTING TO THE WEED WACKER. Just a thought. Just an observation, if you will.

Then by season 10, he pretty much spends the entire season trying to prevent the war she's starting. And then in Obsidian, he's still ready to be by her side at the drop of a hat. And to top it all off—

In Together Again, even in death, his first thought for outside help, is her.

This never ended. They never fixed any of these problems. Finn is the knight of a dictator. Even if he wants to be ethical, he can't be. And I think somewhere, he knows that.

I'll probably go into seasons 7-10 deeper at some point in the future but tumblr's image limit for this post was hit a while ago LMFAO

TL;DR if you're going to talk about PB's wrongdoings, you can't pretend Finn is innocent. I strongly believe neither of them are bad people, and that they really do need each other. But that's not good. They actively make each other worse.