#the top of this first section are two small apartments though

[liseytopia]

NEXT TO YOU ⋆⭒˚.⋆

SYNOPSIS — with billie finally back from tour, you find yourself not wanting to leave her side ever again.

PAIRING — billie eilish x fem!reader

CONTAINS — mostly fluff. homesick billie n lovesick reader <3

WARNINGS — none wow this is maturity

DEAR READER — merry christmas @r7leee :3 this one is for u babe!! keep the fic exchanges going this is sm fun

WORD COUNT — 0.7k, short and sweet :3

the first few weeks with billie gone were tolerable. before she went on tour for her chart-topping album 'hit me hard and soft', she mentioned to you that it would be a long time. begrudgingly, you replied that you could survive without her.

but on the last week she'd been gone, you were starting to second guess yourself.

it was the day she was flying back into los angeles and you swore you were pacing the rooms of your apartment, checking your phone at least every two minutes, waiting presumably for hours for a text from your girlfriend to say that her flight landed.

you tried everything to pass time—watched your favorite movies, did some baking, deep cleaned the entire apartment and even made a few new playlists, but nothing was taking your mind off of her and it seemed like no matter what you did, time was only extending.

while you were on your phone, scrolling away on the couch, you saw a notification pop down from the top of your screen. it was a text from billie. you clicked on it immediately, surprising even yourself with your quick reaction timing.

plane just landed :) can't wait to see you, darling

you replied back, omw right now, i miss you

you shot up instantly from the couch and ran to your front door, sliding on your shoes in a perfunctory manner and making a beeline to your car. the drive to the airport was around half an hour but you were anxious the entire time, not to mention excited. you hadn't seen billie in what felt like forever, and you couldn't wait to be in her arms again.

you messaged again when you parked the car, and she told you what section was in. you waited impatiently for her to come down the walkway and meet you. your leg was bouncing uncontrollably as you gazed down that hallway. she would be walk down there any minute.

after what seemed like lightyears worth of time, you glanced up from your phone that you became once again preoccupied with, and saw billie's figure walking your way in the distance.

your phone was long forgotten, along with your earbuds and whatever other belongings you brought with you, because you were up instantly and running down the building to billie. your legs sprinted her way, and billie's suitcases and bags were additionally left behind as she ran straight to you.

your bodies collided in a tight hug, your arms up around her neck and hers around your abdomen. you couldn't help but tear up into her shoulder as you held each other.

"billie, it's been so long.." you whisper-sobbed against her hoodie fabric. the scent embedded into it was what you longed for and missed all this time, it felt so surreal to have it again.

she giggled against you, though it still sounded like she was going to break into tears. "i told you it would be, babe," she teased.

"oh, shut up.."

billie's grip on you only tightened. she never admitted it, but she missed you just as much as you missed her, if not more.

she suddenly pulled away from you and when you lifted your head from her shoulder—your face coated in tears—she pressed a long, deep kiss into your lips. that action alone was enough to convey all her longing and love for you, even just as a reminder.

once billie decided she was done, she cupped both of your cheeks with her hands and rubbed some of the tears away from your eyes with her thumbs. "aww, my love.." she mumbled as her own eyes teared up more. she began to pepper small kisses all over your face, not even caring if anyone was watching the show of pda. she kissed your tears away gently, as if dedicating her love to each kiss.

your hands took her own face and brought her lips back to yours. the kiss was short but deep, filled with all your passion for her.

"wanna be next to you forever, baby," you mumbled against her lips, your thumbs subconsciously rubbing her face.

"i guess i could do with that," she replied, teasingly acting like she didn't want to.

you giggled and kissed her one last time for the time being. "you're such an idiot."

if u enjoyed, please feel free to like, reblog, or leave a comment! only kind comments and actual constructive criticism will be tolerated <3

check out my masterlist for more!

© liseytopia 2024: do not copy, translate, or steal my work.

[ispeakeasily]

Took a break from my save file to try and cyberpunkify DSV (with no custom content 😩), starting with the cul-de-sac.

[immortalmrwavell]

Getting The Job

(Original story posted November 7th 2021. Original story title “Better Life, Cop Life”) This story has been mildly Updated!

Recently Eric’s life had been going down the drain. First he split up with his boyfriend Jake after discovering he was cheating. Then he lost his job due to staff cuts. And to top it off he then lost his old apartment since it was all in Jake’s name. Now his ex was living in their old place with the guy he cheated with while Eric was struggling to find a new job while living in the cheapest apartment he could find. As he applied for shitty job after job he couldn’t help but wonder what he’d done to deserve all this? Was it all some kind of cruel universal joke?

As he was job hunting, one of the positions that popped up was a job at a small clothing shop called “Threads for Life”. The description of the job itself was extremely vague but he assumed it would just be retail. Working a till and serving customers etc. So he applied.

Surprisingly they were the first to get back to him about his application and in such a short time frame as well. They emailed asking for him to come in for an interview. Of course Eric accepted. Why wouldn’t he? The only weird thing was how close this shop seemed to be. It was just down the road from his old apartment and still rather close to his current one but he could swear he’d never seen or heard of the shop before. He just chalked it up to him being unobservant and forgetful.

On the day of the interview Eric found the shop just where it was said to be. Even after seeing it though, nothing clicked. He could’ve sworn it wasn’t here before. He shook the odd feeling off however as he stepped up to the front door perfectly on time and looking his best.

Upon entering he was greeted by a middle aged man who introduced himself as the owner of the establishment, Tony. The two exchange greetings before Tony ushered Eric to follow him. Eric expected to be taken immediately to an office but instead Tony simply walked through the many isles of clothing with him while chatting casually about the shop and its history.

Before Eric had assumed this to be a simple clothes shop. One that sold shirts, pants and all the rest like most other shops. And it did. But something Eric was quick to notice was how most of the clothes seemed to be matched together in outfits. Rather than being separated into different sections, almost all the clothes in the shop had already been prematched. There were plenty of casual combos like t-shirts and jeans or shorts and tank tops however as they moved from aisle to aisle there were a very noticeable amount of clothes that seemed more like costumes.

Some were more understandable like suits. But a lot of the others?… Eric took note of medical scrubs, fireman uniforms, motorcycle gear, handyman clothes, police uniforms, cowboy costumes, construction clothes and so much more. Eric also couldn’t help noting that none of the clothes seemed to be marketed towards women. He supposed the shop specialised in men’s attire specifically. Still he couldn’t help but find the layout of the store to be… strange.

“Soooo… Eric was it? Before I can give you a job. I want to ask you a couple questions.” The owner said as he sat down on a cushioned stool near the back of the shop, prompting Eric to do the same.

Eric of course agreed to this as questions were standard procedure for almost any interview so he was ready for it..

“Okay first question then. Growing up, did you ever have any dreams of who you’d eventually become? What job you’d want to strive for? What kind of man you’d want to become?” Tony asked.

It was a strange question for sure but Eric still pondered it for a moment before answering. “Well I don’t think I was ever dead set on anything but I remember wanting to be something along the lines of a fireman… or a police officer maybe?”

Tony nodded, seeming pleased with that answer. “Okay then second question. Are you content with the current direction your life has taken or would you still like to fulfill that childhood dream if you could?”

Eric chuckled at the bizarre question. “Well… my life hasn’t exactly been going in a good direction recently. If I could change some things I would. But if you’re asking me whether I’d wanna become a cop then… I just don’t think I have what it takes.” He gestured down at his body. “I’m thin and lanky. Don’t really go to the gym that much and I’m not all that good with confrontation. To be honest I just don’t think I have the right mindset to be a cop you know?” Eric huffed before looking back up at the owner. “And no offense but what does that have to do with me working here?”

Tony didn’t answer at first. He just smiled before standing back up again. The owners eyes glanced around the store, mainly at all the costumes and then turned back to Eric.

“Alright. I think I can give you a job.”

Eric was surprised when he heard that. All he’d done was answer two silly questions. He tried to query as to how those questions even mattered but Tony simply asked Eric to follow him. Confused as ever, Eric did just that.

The pair made their way back down the isles of outfits. They passed by the suits, doctors scrubs and all the other costumes yet again. Only the weird thing was now that Eric was getting a closer look at them, he started to notice how real the costumes looked. They weren’t just silly fake costumes you’d wear to a party. They were the real deal! Actually looking as though they belonged to real firemen and real doctors. Even the tradie outfits looked dirty as if they’d been used for actual tradie work.

Tony stopped in front of the police uniforms. Eric was quick to notice just how real those looked as well. Not just uniform but genuine looking police badges as well. Not to mention the radio, utility belt and even a body cam that all looked completely real. As if they’d been taken directly from actual cops and put on display.

“Pick one.” Was all Tony said.

“What? Seriously?” Eric was baffled. This had to be some kind of joke right?

“Oh come on. Humour me a little. Pick one out.” Tony urged, patting Eric on the back. “Though if I were you I’d certainly pick that one.” The shop owner pointed out a specific uniform amongst the selection. Eric didn’t really see why it’d matter which one he chose as they mostly looked the same anyway.

Eric sighed. “Fine, I’ll pick that one then. Now what? Want me to go try it on.” He joked only to be met by an affirming nod from Tony.

“Changing rooms are just over there.”

Eric raised an eyebrow at the man but decided what the hell. He took the uniform off the rack along with the equipment. Tony then picked up the large black boots and placed them on top of the uniform in Eric’s hands. Eric shook his head as he turned and walked off towards the changing rooms.

He shut the blue curtain behind as he stepped into one of the stalls. It was a fair bit bigger than he’d expected it to be. Eric sat the uniform down on the bench before striping himself down to his boxer briefs. After setting his own clothes to one side, he began to get dressed in the police uniform.

First thing he did was pull on the pants which he found to be rather baggy. He sat down to prevent them from falling as he grabbed the shirt, pulling it on and buttoning it up. He made sure to tuck it into his pants before grabbing the utility belt and strapping firmly around his waist. He still couldn’t believe it had a real taser attached to it and everything. Lastly Eric slid his feet into the heavy black boots which were clearly a couple sizes too large.

With that Eric stood up to take a look in the mirror. He looked ridiculous. The uniform was far too big and baggy on him. He looked like he was playing dress up more than anything. He slid his hands into his pockets as looked at himself a little more, amused by the uniform. Though as his hands dug around in the pockets, he realised something was in one of them. It was small and metallic. Eric pulled it out to reveal a name tag with “J. Desmond” engraved on it. Jokingly Eric decided to pin it to his shirt for a laugh.

Eric shook his head again at how silly this all was. Why had Tony made him put this one anyway? With a shrug he was just about to start taking the uniform off, not wanting to look stupid when he stepped out of the changing room. But before he could even start unbuttoning the shirt, he began to feel…weird. Like a warm wave of pure pleasure began flowing over him. A wave so incredible that he almost didn’t notice his body starting to change.

His upper body was first to see a transformation. His back widening significantly as his flat chest began to bubble and swell into two thick hefty pecs. Pecs that grew larger until they started to strain his shirt slightly. The same shirt that’d been hanging loosely off his frame moments ago now starting to fill out at an alarming rate. Especially as his shoulders bulged to the size of cannon balls while his traps grew to match. His waist grew larger but tighter at the same time as fat melted away in place of pure raw muscle. Showing itself even more so in the form of abs. They weren’t chiseled washboard abs, they were thicker and softer than that but still impressive all the same.

But his arms. They were what really caught Eric’s attention. Partly thanks to the cop shirt he was wearing being a short sleeve which gave him a full view of their transformation. He got to watch as veins pulsed across his skinny twig-like arms as though they were being pumped full of unseen energy. And then with pain or warning they started to swell. His previously non existent biceps began hulking into reality as the muscle beneath his skin inflated. It should’ve been impossible. Seemingly gaining mass from nothing. But his eyes witnessed it all. His forearms expanded rapidly while his hands cracked and thickened. His biceps continued to balloon with power and size until they stretched his sleeves. Only then did they finally stop. His veins subsided as his arms reached their new colossal size.

His upper body might’ve been massive now but his lower body was getting ready to catch up. Eric’s waist and hips had already widened enough for the waist of the cop pants to fit securely. Now it was his legs turn to catch up.

In seconds they put on an unbelievable amount of sheer muscle mass. It was as though someone had plugged an air pump into his legs and started filling them up. But it wasn’t air. It was pure real muscle. Eric couldn’t help but groan a little as his pants began to feel tighter. He leaned against the wall of the cubicle for support as his thighs and calves continued to bloat thicker and more powerful by the second. The once baggy cop pants now fit him like a glove. But it wasn’t just his legs. His backside started to swell as well. His once average butt growing into a juicy muscular bubble ass that strained against the back of his pants perfectly. Not to mention his feet cracking and lengthening similar to hands. Growing multiple sizes until they fit perfectly inside the black cop boots he had on.

When the next change kicked in, Eric’s eyes widened as one of his hands instinctively flew towards his crotch. Grabbing his bulge tightly as even that began to swell and grow. His eyes began to roll back as his cock snaked down one his legs, growing girthier in the process. Meanwhile his balls followed suit as they bloated into fat heavy nuts full to the brim with cum.

His body was complete but his head still had to change. A stinging sensation came over his face as it started to morph. The shape of his head and all of his features altering dramatically until he was unrecognisable from the man he once was. His new look being much sharper and masculine in a way that would’ve screamed high school jock had he been a little younger. All the while the light stubble he’d always carried grew into more of a short well kept beard while the messy mid length hair he adorned shortened into faded crew cut.

“Fuuuuuck…” Eric groaned as the transformation subsided at last. There was a clear difference in his voice. It must’ve been altered with the rest of his body. He found himself looking back into the mirror with amazement. No longer was he that scrawny pale figure of a man he’d seen reflected all his life. Now he was… buff. Really buff! And hot as fuck!. It was unreal. The uniform that was more or less falling off him moments ago now clung to him as though he were made for it. He couldn’t stop himself from running his hands up and down his torso, feeling a set of strong abs hiding under his shirt before drifting back up to squeeze his power new pecs through the fabric. He never thought he’d actually have fucking pecs but here he was now! Groping and kneading them.

In all the excitement his cock began to firm up. Eric could feel the blood rushing to his crotch as his growing erection created a clear outline in his pants. He smirked as he brought both hands down towards his crotch. Gently he rubbed his hands across the length of his dick through his pants.

Eric looked back into the mirror before bringing both arms up into flex. His already hard cock twitched at the sight of his biceps bulging, threatening to rip his sleeves in the process. The strength he felt flowing through his arms… No, his whole body was intoxicating! With his left hand Eric proceeded to grasp and squeeze his right bicep. It seemed impossible, like he was living in a lucid dream!

Just then Eric thought of something he’d always wished he could do. He’d never been buff enough to do it before. But now? He lowered his arms to his sides, stood up straight before flexing his chest. His pecs bounced. Eric’s eyes widened in amazement at the sight of his new muscle tits jumping underneath the shirt. He bounced them a few more times before cupping them again with a sense of pure wonder flowing through him. “These feel fucking amazing…”

Once he’d finished admiring his pecs, Eric remembered something else that’d grown. He turned his back to the mirror and looked behind. His cock twitched extra hard this time as he caught sight of his muscular new cop butt straining against his uniform pants. He couldn’t help himself. Before long his greedy hands were reaching back and grasping at his thick bubbly ass. “Oooohh fuuck.” He growled, feeling just how hefty they were. “My ass is fucking huge!…” Eric murmured aloud, lost in the pleasure. So lost in fact that he didn’t even notice Tony peering through the curtains. Watching with a horny gaze as Eric squeezed and groped his fat new ass. Even watching as Eric went as far as to place his hands just under his ass cheeks and start jiggling them, dumbly laughing as he did.

Eric felt his cock pulsing and bucking uncontrollably as he played with his cop butt. So much so that he couldn’t hold back anymore. Soon enough he spun back around to face the mirror again before unzipping his pants. Tony continued to creep in on the show while Eric shoved a hand into his underwear, struggling to free his erection. With a little effort however Eric was able to let out a satisfied sigh as his girthy python sprung free. The thing must’ve been around 9 inches long and insanely thick. It was every man’s dream cock.

A slapping noise could be heard from the changing rooms as Eric began smacking his cock against his hand while he admired it. Every smack sent a pleasurable shiver through his body. He had to stroke it. He was just able to wrap his hand around its full girth before he started to pump. It had to have been at least three times more sensitive than his old cock as Eric couldn’t stop cursing while he pumped it.

He began to jerk faster as he looked over his new body in the mirror again. His handsome bearded face and buff body. How thick his legs were. How buff his arms had become. How massive his chest had grown. Just looking at it all reflected back at him allowed him to jerk off furiously. He then looked down at his cock. He loved seeing it. Soooo thick and excited as some precum started to drip from the tip. With how sensitive it was and intensely he was pumping it, Eric could tell he was gonna to blow any moment.

He turned to his left, getting a perfect side view of his body. He couldn’t help but fixate on how much his ass stood out. He couldn’t stop himself from reaching his free hand back towards it again. Before long he was groping his ass and jerking his cock all at the same time. The new cop was having the time of his goddamn life!

“Fuuuuuuuccck!” That was enough to send him over the edge. Tony, who was still watching, saw Eric's ass clench and his cock erupt with an enormous load. One so big that it shit cum all over the benches adjacent to the new cop as well as his old and now ill fitting clothes. His cock continued to buck and twitch for a good few moments afterwards. Shooting a few more times as it covered the floor in front of him with cum.

“See. I knew you’d like that one.” Tony finally made himself known as he pulled back the curtain.

Eric whipped around, still panting a little. “Fuck I… my deepest apologies sir… I couldn’t stop myself.” He tried to reason.

“No need to apologise Officer.” Tony smirked as he glanced down at Eric’ softening cock, still dripping cum. “Most find it hard to contain themselves after what you just went through. So no need to worry. I’ll even get it cleaned up for ya.” The store manager smiled innocently.

“Officer?…” Eric repeated what the other man had said to him as though it weren’t the truth. It sounded weird and off putting to hear someone call him that. So why did it sound so right at the same time?

“Well you are a Cop now. Officer James Desmond to be precise, so you better get used to hearing it.” Tony nodded towards the name tag that was pinned to Eric’s shirt.

Hearing that name triggered something inside Eric. Memories of being Cop flooded his mind along with a bunch of other unfamiliar memories. He still remembered who he used to be but now he had a whole new life filling his head that made his old one feel like a fleeting dream. A new life as Officer James Desmond.

“Thank you sir. You have no idea how grateful I am for all this…” James stated, his new manners kicking in right away. Immediately after he tucked his fat new cock back into his pants before pulling up the zip. “But I’ve got to be back at the station in half an hour.”

“No worries Officer! I completely understand. You head off and I’ll be sure to get all your ball batter cleaned. Might take me a while though.” Tony joked, earning a chuckle from James.

“Heh sorry sir. Got myself a pair of bull balls down here.” James gave his crotch a quick squeeze. “Well I’m off. If you ever need anything don’t hesitate to ask for me down at the staton.” He said, passing by Tony as he exited the changing cubicle.

“Oh don’t worry I will.” Tony replied, giving James’ ass a smack as he passed. He continued to watch James’ ass shake as he sauntered away up until the sexy new cop reached the front door.

James hopped into his car, not even noticing it’d been morphed into a cop car, before starting up the engine. As he drove towards the station he couldn’t help but daydream about plunging his cock into some other hot cop’s ass or having another cop fuck his new bubble butt. Surely some of his buddies down at the station would be down for some fun. According to his memories he seemed to recall catching his own partner checking out his ass a couple times…

Back at the shop. “Another life bettered and another hot stud on the streets. A pretty good day I’d say” Tony sighed to himself with a smile before turning back towards the changing room. Looking over at the huge mess of Cop nut he now had to clean. “Well… best get to work.”

[blog-o-meter]

Room To Breathe - Nicholas Alexander Chavez x fem!reader

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

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

required listening: Enjoy The Silence by Depeche Mode

word count: 29,523

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And for a while I did.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the novelty didn’t last.

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

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

But that relief was short-lived, too.

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

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

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

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

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

The city started to feel colder, too.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Here, in New York, I felt invisible.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I stifled a chuckle, “Killer.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But the day had only just begun.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I have something for you,” I whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nicholas was crying.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Subject: Two Weeks Notice

Dear Mr. Lee,

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

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

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

Best regards,

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I nodded, forcing another smile, “Okay.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He whispered softly, “I trust you.”

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

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

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

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

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

He could take it, but could I?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But how?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It was Nicholas.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The red tie.

Patrick Bateman’s tie.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[chocodile]

Amaranthine Magic System PART II: Spellcraft for Wizards

This is Part III of a three-part worldbuilding set.

Part I - Part II (you are here) - Part III

So, what makes a wizard different than a non-magically capable mundane? A few things:

Unusually strong personal magical field

Ability to sense/”see” magical energy

Some unknown characteristic that allows them to manipulate their own magical field as if it were an extension of their body. Possibly a physical difference in brain structure?

The last part is the most important and is truly what sets a wizard apart from every other creature on the planet. Though, of course, without the first two traits, it’s going to be of limited use.

As mentioned in Part I, wizards cast their spells by applying a mental “filter” their own magical output. This is referred to as active casting. Passive casting, which will be covered in Part III, is typically the realm of animals and plants. Being able to filter something mentally is an extremely unique skill only possible by sapient creatures (probably) due to the complexity involved. However, wizards do typically use hand gestures in casting as well. Hand gestures provide an additional optional channel on which you can “filter” your spell. Because it’s easier to do hand gestures than to teach yourself these complex mental filters, it’s common for amateur wizards to use many more hand gestures when casting, while very advanced wizards use fewer of them because they are capable of juggling a larger number of simultaneous “filters” mentally. Additionally, hand and arm gestures are commonly used like the barrel of a rifle, to control and direct the magical energy being shaped by the mind.

Learning how to control magic like this takes many years of study and practice. You must really understand the “physics” of how the waves work and how each puppeteer string will affect the shape of the waves when pulled. On top of that, you need a good understanding of the object you’re interacting with. Magic will move differently through water, air, or stone. If you are trying to create a spell that will create a net of energy that will catch fish in a river, you need to be very familiar with the physics of how magic will interact with water and flesh, as well as have an approximate awareness of how deep the water is, whether the bottom is rocky/uneven or not, how fast moving the current is, etc. Gathering that info will require several steps of study and reconnaissance before you ever get to the “make a net and catch some fish” part.

Healing magic is very tricky for this reason. Flesh can be knit together, but because the blood vessels and nerves and such are so small, and so many different types of material are present in, say, a cross-section of an arm, successfully re-attaching a limb would be something only an expert who has dedicated their life to studying anatomy would be able to pull off. You know those radioactive tracers doctors use before imaging tests? That sort of thing gets a lot of use in healing magic. Healers can train themselves to recognize the tracer (well, a magical energy equivalent) and follow that through a body, then target their spell on the location where the tracer ended up. Much easier and more reliable than trying to guess exactly where someone’s alveoli are from outside their body.

Spellcraft has two primary “branches”. The First Branch is a school of magic based on unleashing your own magical potential in a very basic, direct way. Its rawest form would manifest as something like a lightning bolt: an erratic, jagged bolt of pure, difficult-to-control energy. Pretty much all “attack” type spells are variations on this, as well as any spells that involve pushing/pulling/moving things. This branch of magic is seen as much easier and, ironically more beginner friendly. Though it does have the capacity to cause grievous injury, the concentration and mental effort involved mean it’s very hard mix up a “pull” spell and a “fireball” spell. Western Kingdom schools almost exclusively teach this branch.

The Second Branch deals more with manipulating the world’s “background radiation”. (if First Branch magic can be visualized as a line, Second Branch magic is more of a plane or 3D sphere) The wizard alters and exaggerates the shape of their own magical aura to exert pressure on the “background radiation” around them to produce type spells that are more like buffs/debuffs in a video game. Some examples would include a spell that makes everyone in the area feel weirdly invigorated or sleepy, or slows down/speeds up time in a small area, or makes a room with your dead mom in it really, really cold (cough, cough). These spells tend to be more subtle and frankly kind of weird… it’s a very versatile branch of magic with some interesting potential implications. However, it tends to be the harder type of magic to learn by far and requires a very steady hand and calm mind to maintain.

Though they use First Branch magic as well, it’s worth noting that Second Branch magic is very common in the Eastern Kingdom, where it has been well-studied for thousands of years. Their extensive library of research is kept by the Eastern Kingdom Sultan in his private library. Westerners tend to view the Second Branch as shady and manipulative… who knows what a Second Branch wizard could be doing to you without you knowing? The only Second Branch magic to be commonly used in the West is healing magic.

However, as mentioned before, one important thing about the magic system in Amaranthine is that wizards are not psychic. They don’t have x-ray vision and do not innately know how every object or life form they encounter works, and a lot of specialized magic involves knowing the inner workings of things and being able to picture things clearly in your head. A wizard cannot use telekinesis to pick up an object they don’t know the location or shape of (if they tried, it would likely either not have any effect, or they’d break it/damage it/knock it over by targeting it incorrectly, depending on how “off” they were). Nor could they use magic to pick a lock if they didn’t already know how locks worked well enough to visualize the inside of it.

For this reason, wizards tend to be pretty well-read in general, as you have to know a lot about the mechanics and structure of the world around you in order to make the best use of your powers. Hyden specifically has a lot of esoteric nerdy technical knowledge about how things are put together but also huge blind spots when it comes to how the world works in practice. For example, he may know a lot about the anatomy of a corn plant because he had to study them one time when the Royal Mages tasked him with purifying a village’s corn field of crop blight, but still be unable to identify a carrot or yam. He may be able to draw a detailed diagram of the wheels and axle of a carriage because he helped assemble a fleet of them once upon a time, but not have any idea why those parts go together or what they specifically do.

[makncheese12]

Top Shelf

Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7

Jenna Ortega x fem!reader

Masterlist

Summary: being the kid of a well-known book store owner was easy, so was running into famous people. But being book smart doesn’t make everyone people smart.

Warnings: my writing, language(bad words😯), my attempt at being funny, mention of gun shots and head shots, mentions of my favorite book(literally love Ruta Sepetys sm omg.

A/N: part 2? I am going to make you all suffer through the most oblivious slow burn. R if going to be so dumb/oblivious it’ll hurt you all🫶🏻

Word count - 3.6k

Credits: @novmoth (my friend from school who feeds into my delusions and gives me more ideas for this story🫶🏻)

(bare with me English is not my first language🥲 I’m getting help from my friend to edit it)

You were born to it.

The books. The films. The music and video games.

It was your life, literally. With your parents being owners of the infamous establishment called ‘top shelf’, you had no choice but to.

And you wouldn’t ever change.

Books upon books, movie after movie, games old and new and music that could last you weeks. Who would want to change such a life?

Your father was the first to start it.

He was poor man in Washington but had just enough money to buy it from the man who owned the small movie shop before he retired. He slowly started added book shelves and video games to the mix. Getting few customers but enough to survive day to day during the time of his early years

Your mother was a wealthy run away. Wanting something different and new in her life when she met your father. The man was playing on his game boy behind the counter before he saw her.

The poor boy and his run away wife, a classic really.

The rest after that is history.

As soon as they found out your mother was pregnant with you, they used the rest of her money they saved and went to New York where they bought the huge abandoned apartment complex.

They broke all the insides down and built what you now know as your second home. Hundreds of video games, films and music in one section and thousands of books in another.

Thus, Top Shelf was born only two weeks after you.

You met many friends there in the comfort section where students and business people worked as you all goofed off.

Your had also met your small friend group during your younger years, the four of you all never letting your father have the peace he wanted and dragging him all over New York.

With the thousands of books and hundreds of video games and films your parents sold, you had money. Lots of it.

But your mother made sure you never let that get the best of you, never. It went against everything she went for when she ran away.

She would make sure you would work for and earn everything you got, always.

She never let you have too much online activity, in case her family found you and made sure you were both street smart and book smart.

Your neighbors made sure you were street smart more than anything but you still gave her credit for trying.

Though, the book store was beautiful in every season. Winter was a favorite and when it was busiest. It was too your favorite.

Your father lighting the public fire place, your mother setting soft seasonal music, hell even the cheesy Christmas cartoons on the TV’s set the mood for the perfect bookstore vibe.

The lights dim just enough to where it almost felt like dark academy yet the plants that grew down the upstairs railing made the entire place feel more alive.

————

“Bullshit!” You yell out as you throw your head back onto the head rest of your chair, groaning loudly as the photo sound of your death snapped in your ears.

“Man, he’s fucking using cheats!” Dru calls out through the mic before his name pops up above to yours in dark red on the screen as you respawn.

“Of course he is, he’s a pussy.” Mj says, as her name, too, pops up on the screen.

“Oh come on, guys!” Lyle says through his staticky mic. “You all just suck.” He laughs

“Now I know your cheating, dude. Your mic is acting up again, just like last time!” Dru says, the sound of his voice booming louder than needed and you roll my eyes.

“DD, just because you like to replay games without using cheats doesn’t mean the rest of us do.” Lyle says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“It’s multiplayer, stupid! It’s meant to be fair for everyone!” Dru says making you snort. “Says the guy who chases around little kids and steals their horses making them cry.” Mj says making Dru blow into his mic making loud, unnecessary noises.

“Quit that!” You say taking one head phone off your ear. “Tsk tsk tsk,” Lyle starts. “Such a sore loser.”

“I’ll show you sore loser, get on Elden ring and we’ll test your irritation.” Dru says, mic now muffled by his own spit.

“Your tank build is not enough to stop me, comet azur will always save the day.” He says in a sing-song voice.

“And you call me a try hard, yet you’re the one always using a broken spell.” Dru complains. “Theres nothing I have to try hard at when I can just hold a simple button.” The sound of Dru’s groans become louder as his spit clears out from his Mic. “Same thing!”

You laugh once again before picking up your phone and looking at the time.

“Shit!” Your eyes go wide at the sight, 8:48 AM.

You quickly throw the head set off and push yourself out of the chair, opening your closet grabbing a quick pair of jeans and a hoodie before rushing to put it all on.

Your cat skids across the floor, startled by your sudden movements before a crashing in the your pile of books and out the door.

“Shit, shit, shit,” you mumble as you jump up and down to put on your shoes, failing at not falling and race toward the door. “Sorry!” You call to your cat who yells at you next to his food bowl.

You grab your keys and rush out the door before slamming it shut and locking it.

“Ay, y/n!” Your neighbor, Rosa, shouts from beside her door. “Quiet will you! I just put Nona to sleep!” She yells raising her news paper tapping your head with it.

“Sorry! sorry, Señora Rosa.” You whisper yell as you try to push her weaponized hand away. “I’m just a little late.”

“And I just got a moment of peace! Quiet!” She says giving you one last wack making you try and shrink away from her as you rush toward the stairs.

“You got your pepper spray, right?” She calls and you raise your key chain to show her the attached small can. “¡Buena niña!”

You rush down the stairs and push passed the glass door, almost slipping on the ice before running down the street.

Your phone buzzes in your pocket making you quickly take it out.

“Hello?” You ask without knowing who it was.

“Arthur Morgan would be very disappointed at your sudden disappearance from an important mission.” Lyle says before sighing.

“It’s multiplayer, there are no main missions.” You say, trying to avoid the ice on the ground before stopping at the red hand across the street. “Plus, we were in the middle of four way 1v1. He’d be more upset that we were going against each other.”

“Loyalty is everything in such a game,” he says, sarcasm in his voice and you imagine him shaking his head. “Of course he would be upset at my bullet in DD’s head.”

“Why’d you call me exactly?” You ask watching the hand turn into a green man walking before taking off again.

“Well, you just yelled ‘shit!’ Before disappearing on us, had to make sure someone didn’t break in and kill you.” He replies casually as if he knew that weren’t the case. “But after hearing you continue on your ‘shit’ rant and the door slam I figured it was okay, just had to call and make sure, y’know?”

“Ever heard of a text, loser?” You ask, barley missing a man walking and looking down at his phone. “Gross,” he says before making a gagging noise. “why waste such time typing when I can simply just hit one button?”

“You’re so lazy.” You laugh out loud as you run across another street. “Work smarter not harder, Y/N. You should know this with that big brain of yours.”

“What if I want to work both smarter and harder?” You ask, running up to the glass window to see the books lined up. “Well, then your just weird.” You roll your eyes.

“Just kidding. I guess you can do both, I just personally prefer the alternative.” He says as the sound of guns shooting fills the phone. “Yeah, also sorry about leaving.” You say pushing into the store being greeting with the familiar smell of books and the warm smile of my mother.

“I forgot I had to get ready for work.”

“You’re at top shelf?” He ask and you reply with a ‘mhm’. “I might stop by later to say hello actually, I need a new game anyway.” He laughs as the sound of Dru yelling in the back ground becomes more prominent.

“Sounds good, see you loser” You say as you take your sweat shirt off, leaving you in your tank top you hand before leaving. “Later,” you hear him say before hanging up.

“Good morning,” you hear your mother say as you pull the staff sweat shirt over your head and pull up your sleeves. “Mornin’,” you reply before kissing her cheek.

“Wheres dad?” You ask looking around before your eyes setting on the woman stack a pile of books into one pile.

“He’s going to be out of town for a few days,” she says carrying the pile to the check back station. “A vacation, I insisted as I continue your training.” She says making you smile.

“We both know he needs it, he’s getting older.” She says and your smile fades as you nod. “So are you.” You mumble and she, too, nods.

“You know him getting old is different from me getting old.” She states, sighing quietly.

“What’s todays task?” You ask, quickly changing the subject at the sight of her sad frown. She looks at you for a moment before smiling once again.

She moves to storage closet and unlocks it, allowing you to see the boxes upon boxes along with stacks of different other things.

“To be a good store owner, you have to know your customers.” She says returning with a large box that you quickly take from her.

“Just put it on that table — and to know your customers, you must socialize and help them throughout the store.” She finishes as you take the box to the table noticing the label romance written across it.

“That also means having to work while helping the customers, so you’ll be on stock duty as well.” She says with a smile.

Yes.

You mentally say to yourself. Stock duty required work of you finding the places of different books, movies and games which also meant finding new things you didn’t know about before.

“One more thing,” you mother says as she walks behind the counter to finish opening up the store. “No head phones.” Your eyes go wide.

“But ma!” You call out to the lady who switches the sign from closed to open. “What else am I supposed to do when I stock!” You call, holding onto the white cords and swinging them around.

“Help the customers and socialize.” She laughs out making you frown. “I should call CPS.” You mumble carrying the box to the sorted area before hearing the woman’s laugh.

“Sure, call ahead but don’t be disappointed when they decline a twenty year old.”

You roll your eyes before continuing down the aisle.

“And after you sort those, get the others out of the storage closet!” You huff quietly as you glance back with a small playful glare on your face.

“If I wanted to work out, I would have gone to the gym.” You say and she rolls her eyes. “You’ll be just as sore in the morning, trust me.”

————

Hours hand passed, since you last seen the romance box having moved on to the horror section of the films.

You search through their placement areas, looking at all the old cinematic master pieces, the many Dracula films placed neatly next to each other, in order of both year and name.

Horror was one of the favorites when coming here, your father being a collected through his years he had many people couldn’t get their hands on.

Sure you could watch it online now but where’s the fun in that when you have a real copy with the static noises and written voices on screen. Some people still had some class left in them.

You hear a book hit the floor making the library echo as heads turned toward the cause of the sudden interruption of their silence.

“Shit—” You hear someone say quietly, making you roll your eyes as you place the rest of the CD’s in their rightful places before making your way toward the aisle the noise came from.

You subtly make your way toward the aisle while acting like your checking the books before taking a peek around the corner.

You see a rather short girl — shorter than the third shelf — craning her neck to look up at all the books in front of her.

Just to your luck, your mother placed a box for that genre next to the end of the shelf and you picked it up.

You make your way down the aisle and set the box toward the middle before looking up the girl who was already staring, and boy was she something.

Freckles littered across her tan skin, strands of her short hair fell from her half up half down style, her eyes — damn her eyes — they were the prettiest brown you’ve ever seen.

You smile lightly before picking up the first book and reading both the authors name and the title while trying to slow down your racing heart.

Who was this girl? Matter of fact, what was she? She wasn’t a regular, that’s for sure but you always get random people coming in so it didn’t exactly matter.

After putting away a few books, you glance up to see the girl a few feet away and on her tippy toes, reaching for a book on the fifth or sixth shelf.

You snorted quietly catching the girls attention making you quickly look away to keep yourself from laughing.

“You think this is funny?” She asks and you begin shaking in quiet laughter.

After a few moments, you compose yourself and stand shaking your head.

“No, not at all. Would you like some help?” You ask taking step toward her. She narrows her eyes. “Are you making fun of me right now?” She asks, both amusement and annoyance in her voice.

“Why would I do that? It’s poor customer service.” You say with a smile before watching her own smile grow.

“It’s poor customer service to laugh at a customer.” She mumbles before stepping back. “Please.” You walk up and grab the book.

“Look how easy that was.” She says, taking the book you held out for her. “Being six-foot-two does have its perks.” She says looking over the back of the book.

You roll your eyes but your smile only grows. Looking down at the book you nod and raise your eye brows, “that’s a good one, read it a few years back.” You say, making your way back to box of books.

“I’d hope so, for all the work I had to do to try and get it.” She mumbles making you smile and shake your head. “Anything else good?” She asks, looking down to you.

“You’re asking me if there’s anything else good in here when there’s just by the look of it thousands of books here?” You ask, smirking at her when she rubs the back of her neck.

“Yes, there is, I’ve read more than I can count. My recommendation board is up by the front desk if you want to check it out.” You say before placing crave by Tracy Wolff into the slot.

“You must have come here a lot before working then? If you’ve read so many books from here.” She asks, following hot on your trail with the book tucked between her arm. “Oh, for sure,” you say nodding. “The owners and I are real close, we were together a whole nine months before I was born.”

Her eyes widen slightly at the information. “You’re parents own this place?” She asks, gesturing to the entire book store and you nod, smiling.

It felt like you were a teenage boy, flaunting his muscles to a girl he finds attractive.

“Wow,” she says looking around once again. Book still tucked tightly into her arm as she did so. “Just wow. Your parents have taste.”

“More like their people pleasers.” You say shaking your head. The real other reason why horror is so popular in the movie section is because of their request.

Every week they check their request list and buy everything people ask for. New books, new movies, new music and games, there’s always something new. You’re surprised there’s still room, then again the place would be as big you supposed.

“They like having their customers choice their number one priority. It’s good business.” You say looking up to the girl who had a look of wonder in her eyes as she stared down at you but there was also something else. Something you couldn’t quite place.

She stares at you for another moment before speaking again, “do you.. know who I am?” She asks and your furrow your eye brows in question.

“Should I?” You ask tilting your head. She stares for another moment again, eyes scanning your face and it’s features as if searching for something.

Her smile then grows, as she shakes her head. “You shouldn’t, or rather shouldn’t have to. It’s just a surprise.” She says, tucking her hair behind her ear.

You knit your eye brows together in confusion.

She walks out of the aisle and you catch the light smile on her face as she does.

What the hell? You wonder to yourself as you place the last few books away.

You were pretty sure that was the last section, unless your mother put out some more stuff you didn’t notice. You’d just check out the to-do list.

Your mother and father always had one for both you and their own sake. Adding things so no one would forget.

As you made your way to check out, you see the girl walking in the general distraction as well.

“All set?” You ask, placing the box inside the others, moving past the small door attached to the low counter.

“Yep,” she says once again staring at you.

You take the book you got for her earlier along with another you recognize almost immediately. “Between shades of gray?” You ask, looking at her as if she were serious.

“Your description seemed trust worthy enough to make me interested.” You glance over to see your board clearly flipped through before nodding.

You scan both books. “Careful, it’s sad, dark and traumatic. It’s one of my favorites though.” You say looking up at her, she pauses for a moment, staring at you once again and just smiles and shakes her head.

“I think I can deal with a few of those.”

“Bartering or buying?” You ask. “Bartering,” she replies and you nod. “Good, I need to get a review on what you think.” You say with a smirk and you see a glint of something in her eyes.

“Name?” You ask and she looks at you a little confused. “We have to know whose using our books, how else do you think we send emails threatening to charge or get them back?” You snort.

“Oh, your totally right.” she says quietly before taking out her credit card.

“Jenna Ortega..” she says and you nod, typing in the name before reaching for the credit. Her grip on the card tightens at your lack of response.

You pull the card gently but her grip is to hard for you to take.

“Can I… get the card?” You ask, looking around slightly uncomfortably with the stone like stare she was giving you.

“Are you sure you don’t know who I am?” She asks letting go allowing you to swipe the card.

“Again, should I?”

You both stare at each other, both confused and entrapped by the other.

You find is strange how she thinks you know who she is or why you don’t know her.

Maybe she was some big deal somewhere off and you still have yet to hear about her.

Her name did ring a bell but you weren’t sure. Was she a person you knew from your child hood? An old friend trying to reconnect? Maybe some relative on your moms sent by the older ones to investigate if it was really you.

“Miss Ortega?” You’re both broken out of your thoughts as two large men stand behind her. “Time to go.” he says gesturing to a few people who were standing and staring in your general direction.

One grabs the bag off the counter before quickly walking towards the door.

“Looks like I gotta go,” she says, smile now suddenly shy with others watching. “Don’t worry, I’ll return your book Y/N.” She says before walking toward the door, one of the men right behind her.

“Yeah, you bet-“ you pause after the the realization hits you. “Wait, how’d you-?” You begin to ask before watching her gesture to her chest.

You knit your eyebrows together, you look down to see the name tag right under the library symbol.

She was strange.. cute.. but strange

Read next sort here!

A/N : Some parts once again rushed🧍🏽‍♀️This is just an introduction I suppose, the details will get better I tried my hardest🥲

[natalievoncatte]

This was a rare novelty: Lena was not the most famous person in a pubic place. In fact, dressed down in jeans, a tank top, and a ball cap, Lena was downright unremarkable. Or at least, it seemed that way.

All of the attention was heaped on Kara. Or rather-

“Supergirl!”

A gaggle of girls of versions ages charged over to them in a virtual mob, and Lena felt almost snubbed. Kara, herself in shorts and a Sentinels jersey, briefly seemed confused at the attention, even though she’d been out as Supergirl for almost six months now.

She quickly settled into meeting and greeting, asking the girls their names and signing various bits and bobs for them while the rest of the group, Alex and Kelly and Nia and Brainy, hung back, just behind Lena.

Finally, Kara managed to disentangle herself when security started breathing down their necks.

Lena had gotten everyone box seats directly behind the home dugout, and the group made their way down.

“This is pretty far from the rent-controlled section,” Kara said, grinning as she gestured at the nosebleed seats, a high above them on the top deck.

Brainy immediately settled in to study the game program and books on baseball he’d brought with him, amiably explaining (mansplaining? Coulansplaining?) baseball to Nia. For her part, his girlfriend seemed content to listen to his excited chatter, so Lena wasn’t bothered.

Alex had apparently appointed herself to keep Kara fed, and had already acquired enough snacks for a small army, and Kara was happy to dig in and take a chili dog in either hand.

Lena didn’t much care for the game, so she was pleased when Alex handed her a beer with a sardonic “things we do for love” look. Kelly was apparently more the fan of the two, and the Sentinels were playing the Metropolis Knights in this game, prompting an intra-Superfriend rivalry.

As for Lena? She was there for Kara.

The afternoon light seemed to caress her features, bringing out the soft glow in her honeyed skin and golden hair, and there were depths in her eyes that no one in the world could ever equal. Lena could stare at her forever and never get bored.

The spell wasn’t even broken when she polished off the first two hot dogs and let out a wild, rumbling belch that made her giggle and Alex roll her eyes.

She already knew that she was in love with Kara, but every time it seemed like her heart was full to bursting, it grew even fuller.

Lena has meant this for them. Lena had offered her the seats, hoping to feel out Kara about the potential for a date-date, to finally get an answer about the maddening tension between them over the last two months. Kara spent more time at Lena’s new house over the last two months than she had in her own apartment, and yet that line had never been crossed.

The line remained unbroken, but they were right up against it. Kara gave Lena’s thigh a squeeze without seeming to realize what she was doing, then yanked her hand back as if she’d touched something hot, and just played it off when Lena looked at her, and kept looking at her.

The start of the game spared her from the awkward conversation.

Kara was eager to explain to her, leaning over to over-explain the nuances of every move and play.

Exactly like Brainy and Kelly were doing with their girlfriends.

Lena paid her more attention than the game, so Lena didn’t even notice when one of the Knights hit the ball oddly and, instead of flying out over the field, rocketed almost straight up. Lena was, in fact, so focused on Kara that she didn’t realize where the ball was going until it was cutting lazily through the air and headed straight at her head.

A yelp jumped from her throat and she jerked back, but of course there was nothing to fear. A moment later there was a hearty slap of cowhide on skin. Kara plucked the ball from the air two inches from Lena’s nose, dramatically holding it in place for a moment.

When she moved her hand, and the ball, Lena followed Alex’s eye-line. Kara’s sister was groaning.

They were all on the Jumbotron, the huge screen over the left field stands, and the crowd was pointing and cheering as the announcer’s voices boomed out about the great catch by Supergirl.

Lena wanted to sink through her seat.

Then Kara said, “Here.”

She held out the ball in both hands, turning in her seat. The way she held it, cupped gently in her palms with great reverence, giving Lena a weird and silky flash of her doing the same thing with a velvet box. Lena took it, grinning like an idiot in spite of herself and clutching it to her chest.

Lena pointed at the giant screen, and Kara looked, waving to the crowd as if she’d suddenly remembered that they were there. Lena gave a half-hearted wave, then turned back to Kara to say something.

Whatever it was, it was utterly scrubbed from Lena’s brain by impossibly soft lips gently brushing her own, then locking with them. Some distant part of Lena’s brain tried to explain, to rationalize. It was a mistake. Kara would get flustered and play it off with something about what friends are for and the moment would slide away, a taste of a dream that would leave Lena starving for another morsel.

No. Kara was full on kissing her. The heat that surged through Lena’s body was all consuming, and she barely registered the thunderous cheers from the crowd. She let herself fall into Kara, hiding against her shoulder as Kara wrapped an arm around her and settled them both lower in their seats, tugging her ball cap down.

The camera finally turned its attention elsewhere.

Alex turned to Kelly and said, “fucking finally.”

“Hey,” said Kara, her voice soft and only for her. “Want to head home after the stretch?”

Home. Not your house. Home.

“I’m not totally sure what that means, but yes,” Lena whispered back, then popped a bit of popcorn in Kara’s mouth.

[mothdruid]

First Session

synopsis.

your first session at Gym Bloom has come. and the first trainer you get to meet? everyone's favorite and the beloved, Jake S.

pairing.

jake 'hangman' seresin x afab!reader

word count.

4k

warnings.

this is an 18+ work, minors buzz off. smut, protected penetrative sex, vaginal fingering, a sex gym (so maybe paying for sex?), fucking your trainer

author's note.

it's here!! the first gym bloom one-shot! i hope you all love it!

“Wait, so your first session is today?” Steph sounded surprised.

“Yeah,” you pulled a purple sports bra from your dresser, “why?”

“Oh my god, who is your first trainer?”

You rolled your eyes at Steph's eagerness. Ever since getting you to join this gym she has been eager. She wanted to know everything, even though you barely knew yourself. All you knew was that they used sex to workout at this gym. Steph knew that too, she was to one who referred you. Which is how you knew it was safe, referral only. You could only sign up if you got a referral from someone you knew. And from your understanding, not everyone was actually allowed to refer people to sign up. So, you were counting yourself lucky to even be a part of this at all.

“I’m not sure, let me put my bra on and then I’ll look at the email.”

First you tapped your speaker phone on, then wrestled your sports bra on over your head. After checking to make sure that your sports bra and legging combo looked okay, you grabbed your phone. Steph was going on and on about a few different trainers. A Mickey, a Bob, a Nat, and others that you eventually tuned out for now. You went to your starred emails, clicking the one at the very top. You skimmed over the email, eventually finding the name.

“It’s Jake S,” eyeing the rest of the email, confirming the other general information of your session. You squinted as you noticed two lock codes.

“No way! How did you get so lucky?” Steph's tone had you pulling the phone back from you a little farther.

“Steph, calm down.”

“No, you don’t get it. That’s one of Blooms best trainers, a real treat if you ask me, or at least that’s what I’ve heard. I’ve actually never trained with him before.”

Oh?

“Never?” You questioned with a playful tone.

“Never.” Steph sing-songed back to you.

A smirk formed on your face.

“Well, I’ll make sure to update you about it,” you turned your speaker phone off, slipping the phone between your cheek and should as you head to the front door.

“Please do, I will have to know everything about it.”

“Oh, Steph, gross,” you slipped your tennis shoes on, not bothering to untie them first.

“What? I’m a woman, I have needs, and this need just happens to be knowing what Jake’s di-”

“Nope, Nope, I’m hanging up now!” You hung up quickly, not wanting to hear the rest of Steph's words.

After tracking down a baggy zip up hoodie, zipping it up only half way. You found your small side bag, checking to make sure your keys and wallet were in there. After you doubled checked, you grab your keys from your bag and slip your phone in your hoodie pocket. You locked your apartment door then headed down the stairs of your building. The place wasn’t fair from your apartment, maybe a fifteen minute walk on a bad day.

When you got to the building, you double checked the address after not seeing any obvious branding outside. After deciding it was indeed the correct building, you punched in the first code. A delightful chime played, signaling it was the correct code and unlocked. The hallway was short, but you noticed another keypad on the next door. You got another delightful chime after putting in the second code, finally letting you into the gym.

It was a very welcoming space. Bright colors complimented by neutrals to even it all out. There were ellipticals, treadmills, bikes, and many other machines neatly placed throughout the main open area. There were people using the machines, some others were chit chatting happily. There was a section of the gym that had a lot of doors, two closed and three open. You assumed those were the ‘training’ rooms.

“Hello!”

There was a gorgeous woman behind a short counter greeting you. Her skin was tan, dark brown hair pulled into a loose low ponytail. She had a matching pastel pink legging and sports bra set on. Your heart fluttered a little bit when she smiled at you. It was as if an angel was gracing you with their presence.

“Hi,” you awkwardly said.

“Do you have a session today?” She asked.

“Yeah, a two forty-five with Jake S.”

“You must be the new client,” she offered her hand out over the counter, “my name is Natasha. I’m one of the other trainers here.”

“Thank you, I’m glad to meet you,” you shook her hand, trying to match her smile and energy.

“So, I’ll check you in so Jake knows you’re here. For now you can go get a little bit of a warm up on a treadmill or elliptical, whatever you prefer. There are also locker rooms before the Bloom Rooms. Jake will come get you when he is ready.” Natasha smiled, marking something in the computer before looking back up at you.

“Okay, thank you,” you hated how awkward you were being.

“It’s my pleasure,” a sultry tone was laced into her words.

Heat flared in your cheeks. You nodded then turned, briskly walking towards the locker rooms. After entering the female locker room, you quickly placed your bag and hoodie into a locker. You kept your phone in the pocket of your leggings, not wanting to be completely bare without it. You found your way back to a treadmill, starting it up at a low pace. It was maybe five minutes before someone came up next to you, tapping your shoulder to grab your attention.

He looked like a living ken doll. Square jaw, blonde hair, green eyes, and fucking built. If this was the magical Jake S, you now understood what Steph was going on about. His biceps were hard to ignore, every minuscule movement noticeable. The black sleeveless shirt was hugging his torso and abdomen, not leaving anything to the imagination. You stopped your eyes from traveling lower, wanting to leave at least something to the imagination. At least for the time being.

“Nat says you’re my new client.”

A Texan drawl? Could he get anymore intoxicating?

“That’s me,” you hit the stop button, coming to a slow stop.

Jake came around the side to met you when you got off the treadmill. He offered you his hand for the small step down. It was surprising how soft his hand were despite the callous’.

“Let’s get headed to a room, I’ll explain more in there.” Jake said. His hand let go of yours, finding the small of your back as you headed to the room. He directed you into one of the ‘Bloom Rooms’.

The walls were covered in a soft pink color with forest green floral. One wall was an entire mirror, a rail for balance along the entire mirror. There were balance balls, cubes, wedges, a Bosu ball, and many other items along the wall. A nice dresser was along the same wall, a nice vase with flowers sat on top. You watched Jake close the door in the reflection of the mirror.

“So, how does this,” you motioned around the room, “work?”

“Well, I’ll direct you on what to do. Positions, reps, stretches, all the technical stuff.” Jake explained it so plainly, making you wonder if there was a catch.

“What do I do then? Besides listen and get fucked?”

“Oh no, sweetheart. I’m not goin’ to fuck you, you’re goin’ to fuck me.”

A smile was plastered on his face. Heat encapsulated your entire body, every nerve ending on fire from his words. No wonder he was a favorite, especially with this demeanor. You shifted your weight on your feet, crossing your arms before speaking.

“What’s the plan?”

“Well, today is going to be a leg day. You will be riding me in a squat-like position, working your glutes, quads, hamstrings, along with many other muscle groups. Since it’s your first workout here, I won’t make it too intense. But that’ll also depend on how much you can take.”

“How much I can take?” You asked in a surprised tone.

“Yes,” Jake brought a hand to the back of his neck, “everyone is different.” Jake stared at you for a moment, then clapped his hands together and took a few steps forward. “Let’s get started with some stretching.”

Jake strode over towards the wall with many items, retrieving some yoga mats, one for the both of you. You met in the middle of the room, taking the mat from him. You two laid your mats out, leaving a decent space in between them. You watched as Jake toed his shoes off, following suit before sitting on your mat.

“On your back, I’ll help you stretch.”

You nodded, laying on your back and watching Jake move towards you. His green eyes were raking over you, observing all of your movements. Jake had you prop your knees up. The soles of your feet were flat on the mat, Jake’s thumb hooked underneath your knees. His eyes were locked with yours, gaze not wavering.

“Let me know if anything is too much or not okay.”

You nodded.

Jake started to ease your knees towards your chest, folding you in half. You could feel the backs of your thighs and glutes being stretched. Jake’s body was impossibly close to yours already, his crotch was almost pressed to your ass. Heat was radiating from his body, covering yours entirely. Your knees were practically pressed into your chest, cheeks hot, his gaze making you burn.

“Is it okay if I open your legs up?” His grip on the back of your thighs was making it hard to focus.

“I- yeah, that’s okay.”

Jake nodded, hands adjusting to under your knees. His gently eased your legs out, keeping them bent at the knee. You brought a hand up to your mouth, pressing the back of it against your lips. It had become so sensual so quick. His crotch was now unbelievably close to your clothed cunt. All he would have to do is roll his hips and he would be pressing against you.

“I’m goin’ to move one leg up to stretch your calf,” he informed you.

You nodded, relaxing all the muscles in your legs. His right hand moved to the ankle of your left leg, extending it up inch by inch. You could feel all the muscles along the back of your leg stretch. He placed your ankle on his shoulder, keeping your leg propped up. The stretch felt euphoric along the back of your leg. An audible gasp escaped you, catching Jake’s attention.

“Feel good?” His voice had dropped a little this time.

“Yeah,” it almost came out as a whimper.

After a moment with one leg propped up, he switched to your other leg. A thin layer of sweat was already starting to form on you. It was hard to avoid with Jake being this close to you, practically folding you in half with his body. His firm muscles pressing onto your own, his weight barring down on you more and more. Not after long he released both legs, guiding them down on either side of him.

“Let’s get your back next,” he said while moving back to his own mat.

You sat up, following his movements. He got on his hands and knees, pushing his back out then letting it drop into an arch. You mimicked the movements, muscles in your back alternating between taut and loose.

“Nice, right?” Jake looked over at you, a smile on his lips.

“Yeah, never realized what all these motions stretched.” You added.

“Everything stretches something. You’d be surprised at what all sex stretches out,” his smile turned into a cheeky smirk.

“Well,” you hesitated for a moment, “I’m excited I get to find out.”

Jake showed you a few more stretches, legs primarily. Soon the two of you were sat across from each other. You were waiting patiently for what was next to come, a tinge of excitement running through you. Jake leaned back, palms flat on the floor keeping him up right. He had one leg casually stretched out, the other bent close to his body.

“We can start this two different ways. One, we start with a little bit of foreplay and massage work, or two, you take the lead and do whatever you want.”

“What do most people choose?”

Jake gave you this look, one that said ‘really?’. A shrug tugged on your shoulders, not sure why he gave you the look. He let out a noise that sounded like a chuckle mixed with a sigh.

“Are we really gonna play that game?” Jake’s look had a small amount of playful annoyance in his gaze.

“What?” Embarrassment started to creep into you, not sure about the next steps.

Jake’s words weren’t really comforting either. He was nice but there was this bite to him. A playful energy that was hard to read sometimes. You pulled both of your legs closer to you, soles of your feet planted on the floor. Again, you mimicked him.

As you were leaning back onto your palms, Jake was starting to move towards you. He got up on his knees, closing the small space between the two of your mats. It was like watching a cat play with its food. Inch by inch the gap between you closed. Your legs spread open, allowing room for him to move between them. He reached out to your jaw, cupping it while his thumb rubbed a part of your cheek. There was something playful in his green eyes. A smile covered his lips as he leaned in, lips next to your ear.

“This is about you, not anyone else,” the words were hot against your ear lobe.

Without a second thought you grabbed him, hand wrapping around the back of his neck, fingers threading up through his well trimmed hair. Soft lips melded with yours, dancing in synchronicity. A smile formed on his lips as he kissed you, slowly working you down onto your mat. Hands roamed up and down your sides, snaking down to cup your ass. His chest was pressed to yours as his hips started to slowly rock against yours.

“Does this count as a massage?” It was cheeky, but you couldn’t help yourself.

“Full body if you ask me,” Jake nipped at your neck, trailing kisses down your skin.

He pulled back for a moment, hand moving from your ass to your chest. Even though your sports bra was tight, your nipples were starting to become visible through the material. A whimper left you as he started kneading your breast, thumb occasionally coming up to run over your nipple. You arched your back and relaxed, pressing your breast tightly into his hand. You heard a snicker come from Jake.

“What?”

“Most clients aren’t this pliant when they come in.” Jake said, tilting his head as a gesture towards your body.

A moan left you as he rolled your nipple between his thumb and forefinger. A smirk was plastered on his face now. You knew it wasn’t personal, but you took it personally. You hooked a leg around his waist, and put all your weight into it. A huff was all Jake let out as you flipped the two of you. You were straddling his hips now, ass pressing tightly to his crotch.

“That’s better,” Jake quipped, enjoying his view of you on top of him.

Slightly calloused hands traveled your sides, kneading your flesh every now and then. You kept rolling your hips down against his, sighing at the pressure. His dick had started to harden, becoming obvious as it pressed against your ass. As much as you wanted to just fuck, you had to remind yourself of the actual reason you were here.

“So, do I just ride you or..?” It was an honest question.

“Normally, we have a female client get off once prior to a penetrative workout. We like to make sure that they are ready to take whatever the trainer gives them.” Jake raised his eyebrows playfully at the last sentence.

Thumbs hooked into your leggings. You helped him take them off you, removing your underwear in the process too. Jake immediately noticed how wet you were, looking at the wet patch on your panties as he slipped them off you. Those calloused hands pulled you back into his lap, sitting up to meet you. Your hands gripped his shoulders, tugging at the fabric of his workout top. Fingers moved towards your cunt, finding your clit quickly.

It was obvious he did this regularly, knowing almost the exact motions to get you going. The sturdiness of his body kept you up right, his free arm wrapping around your back to keep you close. Wet kisses were littered all over your skin. The fabric of his shirt balled up in your fists. The hot breath on your skin was starting to be overstimulating. It was all so much at once. A hot trainer fingering your while leaving wet trails of saliva on your chest was not what you were completely expecting from today.

Jake changed the motion of his fingers in the slightest, making your body quiver into his. You weren’t sure exactly what he did different, but whatever it was made you feral. Your legs had started shaking, body slumping closer to his. You could feel the curve of his lips, that classic smirk appearing again. Within moments you were coming.

A whine was all you let out. You didn’t even pick up on Jake’s own heavy breathing. The arm around your back tightened, keeping you close to him. He bit back a groan as he felt you quiver against him, his fingers not stopping their motions on your clit. Your hands tugged at his shirt viciously, hips not being able to control themselves. Jake hadn’t expected you to have such an intoxicating effect on him. But he couldn’t get enough, deciding he was in fact going to fuck you himself.

“Jake!”

And with that his fingers were gone.

“Change of plans, I’m gonna fuck you.” Jake pressed a kiss to your cheek.

Jake laid your body down, sitting up for a moment to take his shirt off. You marveled at his body, reaching out to ghost your hand over his abs. He reached in his pocket and grabbed a condom. Your hand trailed down to the top of his shorts and boxers, helping him ease them down. He took them off, haphazardly tossing them somewhere off to the side.

Finally, all the puzzle pieces had snapped into place, showing you the complete picture of why he was one of the most sought after trainers. His cock was fucking gorgeous, just like the rest of him. His dick was already making your cunt yearn, wanting to feel the stretch it was going to give you. He tore the condom packet and rolled it down his length. Even though you knew it was what needed to be done, a part of you wished he could fuck you raw.

Jake’s hands grabbed your legs, placing your ankles on his shoulders, then slowly easing them out. His hands were lightly holding the outside of your thighs, holding them in a wide V shape. The head of his cock prodded your entrance, your cunt clenched with anticipation. A breathy moan left you when he pressed into you. The stretch was everything you were hoping it’d be, maybe even a little bit more.

“You feel better than I anticipated,” Jake’s words were breathy, chest rising and falling with each breath.

All you did was clench around him, watching as he closed his eyes tightly. You felt him pull out, only to push back in with a groan. A moan fell from you as he repeated the action. He found a decent rhythm, nailing into you while keeping your legs in the wide V. Your hands fumbled around your body, grabbing at your sports bra clad chest. The tight material bunched under your grasp. Your finger started to slip under the top of your sports bra, pulling it down to show your tits to Jake.

“Hold your legs still,” Jake commanded.

“Yes sir,” your words slurred with pleasure already.

Jake groaned at the name. His hands moved from your legs and up your body. Calloused hands removed yours then tugged on your sports bra. The material became tight against your skin, straps digging in until they started rolling off your shoulders. Your sports bra was holding your arms next to your body, leaving you restricted. Jake’s hands engulfed your tits as he fucked into you. You planted your hands next to your hips, pushing your tits out for Jake.

The backs and insides of your thighs were starting to burn. Jake’s thrusts were starting to make holding them up hard. Each thrust felt more powerful than the last. Once he found that sensitive spot inside of you, you whined. You tried to close your legs, both of them burning from the position you had held them in. Jake’s hands left your chest, grabbing your legs and forcing them back out into the wide V position.

“Legs out.” Jake commanded.

You hesitantly put your legs back out, holding them in place as they started to shake. With every thrust you felt a surge of pleasure. There was a burning that started to develop in your abdomen, a mixture of pleasure and tightness. You knew that a majority of the burning was because of the ‘workout’ aspect of this situation. Your legs were on fire, all while your nerves were starting to sear themselves with pleasure.

“That’s it, I know you can feel it,” Jake said, wide grin on his face.

One of his hands moved down between your legs, thumb circling your clit. Within the matter of seconds you were coming again, cunt clenched tightly around Jake. Your legs were starting to shake uncontrollably, your body becoming way too sensitive to the pleasure. Jake grabbed your legs quickly, wrapping them around his hips now as he fucked into you. He only lasted a few more thrusts before coming, filling the condom while inside of you.

Heavy breathing filled the room, both of you trying to catch your breath. Jake placed an forearm by your head, balancing himself as he looked at you. There was something soft in his eyes. He reached down and ran his thumb over your cheek. His thumb traveled further, down your neck and eventually his hand cascaded down your neck and chest. His hand stopped over your left tit. Your heart was hammering against your rib cage, Jake feeling it flutter in your chest.

Jake kissed your forehead as he pulled out. A moan leaving you at the sensation, now feeling empty inside. Your legs felt like jello, falling down from around his waist. Jake retracted from your body, stood up and moved towards the trash can in the room. You slowly and awkwardly pulled the straps of your bra up, adjusted them and sat up the best you could. Jake threw the condom away then headed back towards you.

“You good?” Jake asked.

“Yeah,” you grabbed your underwear and leggings.

The both of you got dressed before talking again.

“Sorry, about the change up for the session.” Jake slipped his shirt over his head.

“So, you’re telling me you don’t do that with all of your clients?” You joked, chuckling a little.

Jake smirked, shaking his head no.

“No, only the special clients get that treatment,” Jake held a hand out to you.

“Special? After our first session?” You accepted his hand, standing up with his assistance.

All Jake did was nod, not knowing exactly what to say. The two of you stared at each other for a moment. That soft look in his eyes had spread to the rest of his face. You gave him the same look, understanding that there was just now this unspoken thing between the two of you.

“There’s just something about you,” Jake finally said, “and I hope that the other trainers here get to experience it.”

A heat built up in you from the compliment. It was one of the most special compliments you had ever received.

“Until next time?” God, you were hoping there would be a next time.

Jake nodded with a smile.

“Until next time.”

[harrysdaydreams]

Unsatiated

Summary- Reader finds herself in a low place and has shut out the one person she should know wants to help more than anything. Harry is more than happy to take care of her regardless, which leads to revelations on both parts

Slight angst that ends with fluff that turns suggestive

Or

-Harrys hands gently tug at the hair tie that is somehow still hanging loosely in your hair, letting the tangled strands fall against your back.

He lets out a low whistle, to which you nudge him in the ribs with your elbow causing him to laugh quietly as he tries to separate the matted sections of your hair.

His fingers are soft and careful with your strands, and his use of the brush is even gentler, taking his time to properly ensure every piece of hair is free from knots. The delicate touch of his fingers brushing the back of your neck causes you to let out a gentle sigh, and you unintentionally sink back into his touch.

Word count- 4.3k

Tuesday. Even the word itself sounded mundane and miserable. Throw in some grey skies accompanied by pouring rain, it was a recipe for a shitty day.

Normally you’d crack open a window, light a candle and bask in the fresh sounds of the raindrops hitting the floor of the balcony to your flat.

But it was more than a bad day- the past week you’d been feeling at your lowest, with no real pinpoint as to why. It was hard to find motivation for anything, cooking a nice meal, going outside, reaching out to your friends- several who had messages in your phone left unread- it all just seemed too much.

So here you lay in bed at 1pm, the same place you’d been all day, minus bathroom trips and the tremendous effort it had seemed to have taken to make some instant noodles that still sat on your nightstand uneaten.

You turn over onto your front and sigh into your pillow, having lost count of how many times you’d done the same thing all morning.

Why did everything feel so heavy? This isn’t how you usually responded to feeling low, always opting for surrounding yourself with the people you knew could lift you out of any place, no matter the situation.

Being with people now was the last thing you wanted, especially in your home, with piles of laundry waiting to be washed and dishes to be cleaned.

Uncomfortable on your front, you opt to turn back onto your side, reaching for your phone on the nightstand with the intention of putting on some music to drown out the rain. Hopefully you’d find something that could pull you out of your mood- that or something that further fuelled your angsty state and could maybe push you to finally release the pent-up tears you were too frustrated to shed.

As you scroll through your playlists contemplating what tone to set as you continue rotting in bed for the rest of the day, a text notification pops at the top of your phone.

Harry.

You assume he’s probably double texting you with some sort of snarky message for not replying to your beloved best friend for over two days. Your heart sinks a little as you think of him, his contagious smile and warm personality.

You miss him, and thinking of him is enough to momentarily make you smile as you pull down the notification to read the contents of his message.

Harry- You really gonna leave all four of my messages on delivered? I’m hurt Bitsy, deeply hurt.

You smile at his obvious sarcasm and the stupid nickname he came up with 4 years ago after finding out you were exactly one year, one month and one day apart in age, him being the eldest. He played on the fact that you’re younger than him and ran away with it completely, always making jokes of how small and ‘young’ you are.

 Another text notification brings you back from your reminiscing, a new message directly under the one you’d just read.

Harry- Really though, are you ok? The radio silence isn’t normal for you.

Your heart sinks again and you feel bad for leaving your closest friend worrying about you.

Harry- Usually I have to mute our text thread just for some peace..

For the first time in days, you laugh out loud, a genuine smile spreading on your face that crinkles the corner of your eyes.

You- Uhh, RUDE!

Harry- Ahhh she lives!

Fuck, the way he can change your sour demeanour in just a few short messages. You instantly feel stupid for shutting everyone out, especially him.

You- Alive and kickin’! Specifically, your ass for being so rude. I’m okay though, promise old man. Sorry if I made you worry!

Harry- I’ll await my ass kicking whilst shaking in fear. Miss you though. Want me to come over? We missed pizza night on Sunday because someone... lost her phone? Fell off the face of the earth?

The suggestion of him coming over fills you with dread and takes away all of the momentary relief and lift in mood you’d felt just from texting with him.

You could pretend you were okay to a degree over text, but if he came over, he’d take one look at you, or around your flat and know something was wrong. And you wouldn’t even be able to give him a definitive answer why.

You tap the back of your phone with your nails anxiously trying to come up with an answer that wouldn’t make him worry more, seeing as you rarely turned down an opportunity to hang out together.

You- Miss you too, H. Raincheck? I feel a migraine coming on. Love you!

Harry- Love you too, Bitsy. Feel better

Feeling guilty, you lock your phone and place it back on the nightstand and try to ignore the new ache in your chest.

Despite your efforts, you scrunch your eyes closed and finally feel the hot sting of tears trail slowly down your cheeks.

You feel terrible for lying to your closest friend, the catalyst to finally unleashing the breakdown that had been sitting inside of you for the past few days as nothing but frustration and restlessness.

Now though, full blown sobs wreck your body as you hug your pillow whilst simultaneously burying your face into it, muffling the sound of your whimpering. You lay like that for a while, your chest rising and falling with every whine and sorry moan.  

Finally, you take a series of deep inhales and long exhales to steady your breathing in a vain attempt to calm down.

What the fuck is wrong with me? you think as you wipe the leftover tears from your cheeks, sitting up against the headboard of your bed. 

You take a long sip of water from your nightstand to wash away the disgusting taste left in your mouth from your dramatic sobbing.

The ache in your chest feels duller and somewhat lighter after releasing the supressed tears that had previously left you feeling so suffocated.

Now though, the lesser anguish in your chest brings your attention to a new source of pain in your neck, and you curse yourself mentally for laying in bed all day to the point it resulted in making your body sore.

After giving in to the fact you really should move, you stretch your arms above your head and then lift away the duvet from your body, swinging your legs over the side of the bed to sit up properly before sliding on your slippers sat on the floor beside you.

As you go to stand up, you hear a key in the lock of your door and your heart jumps into your throat. You listen for moment longer as the hairs on the back of your neck stand up before realisation dawns on you.

“That fucker!” you whisper, discarding your slippers and leaping back under the duvet to feign being asleep.

Harry was the only person you’d ever given a spare key, so you could only assume his kind natured, stupid, perfect self, had gone out to buy you supplies to get you through your migraine and come to check on you. You should have known better than to lie to him about being sick.

The sound of the door softly closing tells you he’s now inside the flat, followed by him gently calling out your name. You squeeze your eyes shut tighter as your heart beats fast in your chest, trying helplessly to ignore your panic and relax your body in the hope to pass off as being genuinely asleep.

He knocks lightly on your bedroom door which is already propped open with a doorstop, and you hear the rustling of a bag that must contain the supplies he so thoughtfully brought to you. Your eyes sting with tears again, why does he have to be so good?

“Hey love, I’ve brought you some strong ass painkillers and some anti-sickness tablets. How are you feeling?” he asks in a quiet voice; you can detect concern in his tone and that alone makes you want to cry all over again.

You’re in half a mind to ignore him and pretend you’re in a deep sleep so he’ll leave but with the knowledge that he’s right there... that he’s in reach and he could hold you… maybe he could make it okay.

You breathe a shaky sigh and reluctantly open your eyes and sit up, sliding back against the headboard again as you look at him, a new kind of concern immediately washing over his features.

He rushes over to perch on the bed beside you, his pretty face painted with worry as he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear.

“You’ve been crying... is it that bad? Or...” he trails off, looking between your red, puffy eyes as if doing so would decode what was wrong. “Love, what is it? Talk to me”

He can see through your lie now, something you never do, which fills his own heart with heaviness. Ignoring the sting of knowing you lied to him, he awaits your answer, knowing not to press you if something was so wrong to the point you felt the need to mislead him.

So, he doesn’t prompt and push, instead he rubs your shoulder softly as he waits for a reply, his soft green eyes on yours, hopeful you’ll meet his gaze.

“M’not good, Har” you reply shakily, biting your lip to keep it from quivering because the last thing you wanted was to become a sobbing mess in front of him. You shake your head as you continue to look down, more damned tears dropping into your lap despite you willing them to stay away, your finger now absently trailing the wet droplets they leave on your leg.

“Hey, hey look at me.. look at me” he soothes gently, both of his hands now on your shoulders urging you to lift your head to meet his gaze again. You do so reluctantly, and he lifts one hand to cup your face and brush away the hot tears on your cheek.

He offers you a pained smile, one that clearly shows his care for you, but the warmth in his eyes as he scans over your face pushes you to wrap your arms around him, gentle sobs immediately leaving your body again.

He pulls you gladly into a tight hug as his hand reaches up to the back of your head and moves in soft strokes over your hair as you breathe in the scent that is so Harry, so... home.

His eyebrows knit together in response to the twist in his heart upon hearing you cry, feeling your body shake softly as the tears escape. He continues his soft stroking to the back of your head, wanting so badly to take whatever it is away, to make everything better.

“Shhh, I got you. M’not going anywhere. I got you” he soothes, squeezing his own eyes shut to try pull himself together so he can be there for you how you need him. “Wanna talk about it?” he asks, his voice soft in your ear and his hold on you still tight.

You shake your head as much as you can in his vice like grip.

“Wouldn’t even know what to say. Truly. I don’t know why I’m in such a rut.” you say honestly between sniffles. That was the most frustrating thing about the past week. There was no trigger, no cause.

Foolishly you shut yourself away, the answer to your problem being so obvious now you were in his company- in his arms. Your eyes prick again at the thought, that dull throb in your chest again making itself present.

“Feel better because you’re with me though- I shouldn’t have lied to you- I should’ve let you- shouldn’t have told you- I-” your rambling is cut off by Harry quietly shushing you and resuming his careful stroking of your hair. God, how does he make everything okay?

“Shh, I get it, s’okay… it’s okay. I got you, yeah? M’right here, always right here” he coos in your ear, and you nod your head fervently because of course you know.

Right here felt like the only place on earth. The best place on earth.

You both remain in silence like that for a while longer until Harry slowly pulls himself away from you, leaning back but keeping his hand firmly on your thigh, making a point of keeping some physical contact with you.

At last, you finally look at him properly, smiling awkwardly, a smile that he returns with that boyish, one-sided smirk of his that you’ve grown to love so much.

The comfortable silence between you both is complimented by the rain still hammering down outside.

You turn your head to glance out of the window at the thick droplets bouncing off the glass, then turn back to Harry, who has an amused expression on his face.

He’s the one giving you an awkward smile now, to which you return a puzzled look.

“What?” you ask suspiciously.

He brings his hand up to cover his smile, which is growing bigger by the second. He’s clearly trying not to laugh, but refusing to let you in on the joke, so you poke his ribs to further prompt him to answer.

“S’nothing” he laughs, to which you raise an eyebrow disbelievingly, causing him to laugh again.

You cross your arms whilst feigning an annoyed look, stubbornly waiting for him to kindly share whatever it is that he’s seemingly finding so funny.

“It’s just uhh, when- when was the last time you brushed your hair?” he asks sheepishly, clearly not wanting to embarrass you but finding your lack of effort appearance wise humorous.

Your hand instantly lifts to the messy bun that had initially been propped on the top of your head two days ago. By now it was hanging low at the back of your head, probably a matted mess.

You groan and hit him softly with the pillow behind you, and he raises his arms to defend himself, resuming his laughter as a reluctant smile makes its way onto your face.

“I mean, you look great, but uhh, hairbrushes… great inventions” he taunts, but you can hear his smile so clearly in his voice that it sends warmth through your chest.

“Funny.” you quip, kicking his knee with your socked foot. “please, continue making fun of my misery” you joke, and he holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Okay, okay, I take it back” he laughs musically, and you purse your lips in a bashful pout, eyeing him fondly as he readjusts his position on the bed to sit cross legged in front of you.

The comfortable silence resumes, Harrys fingers absentmindedly rubbing soothing circles at your ankle.

“Seriously though, want me to brush your hair?” he asks, your heart fluttering at the gesture.

Honestly, the idea of having to brush your hair over the past two days was a task that had seemed entirely overwhelming, hence the state of your bun. And now that it was probably a matted mess, it was a job you were happy to give to someone else- someone who seemed to understand entirely instead of sitting here judging you.

You look down at your hands in your lap, half embarrassed before nodding your head.

“If you don’t mind.. thank you, H” you reply, giving him a grateful smile.

He returns it knowingly, standing to grab the hairbrush from your vanity and sitting back down. He motions with his hand for you to turn around with your back to him, which you do so obediently, feeling pre-emptively better knowing one basic self-care need was being taken care of.

Harrys hands gently tug at the hair tie that is somehow still hanging loosely in your hair, letting the tangled strands fall against your back.

He lets out a low whistle, to which you nudge him in the ribs with your elbow causing him to laugh quietly as he tries to separate the matted sections of your hair.

His fingers are soft and careful with your strands, and his use of the brush is even gentler, taking his time to properly ensure every piece of hair is free from knots. The delicate touch of his fingers brushing the back of your neck causes you to let  out a gentle sigh, and you unintentionally sink back into his touch, contentedly.

By the time Harry has completely detangled your hair you’re pressed flush against his back, not noticing he’d finished as he continues to stroke and run his hands through your hair. He observes you warmly, noting how your eyes have softly closed and your breathing has shallowed.

As much as Harry was loving the entire situation, mainly the fact he’d seemingly managed to calm you down and help you relax, his legs were going numb as hell and he needed to move you from your position that had you practically seated in his lap.

With a small squeeze to your shoulder, he breathes gently in your ear “M’done love. All done.”

You open your eyes, not even realising they’d closed, running your hand through your hair and revelling in how soft the stands now felt. You move away from Harry rather reluctantly, turning back to face him as he stands up from the bed.

“Thank you, Har. I- honestly I feel so much better, really.. thank you” you smile gratefully, your heart warm in your chest and full of such tenderness for your best friend.

You would never get over how truly wonderful he is.

“S’nothing, promise. I like helping you relax. Makes me feel good too” he confesses, a shy smile tugging at his lips.

You both exchange a look of fondness for each other, your eyes locking for an extended period of time. The exchange is warm, with a weight that is full of unsaid things but it’s also a look that needs no words- you both have a profound care for each other, that much has always been clear, but the longer you’re looking at him, the more your own gaze becomes one of longing.

Harry notices it too, his own eyes seeming to look deeper into yours as the warmth in them turns to something more heated.

You see it, you feel it, its thick in the air and you have to look away.

In return, Harry drops his eyes from your face and clears his throat as he fumbles with the hairbrush still in his hand.

He reaches to put it on the nightstand next to your forgotten pot of instant noodles which he picks up with a sigh. The mood instantly shifts back into one of playful friendliness as he holds them out to you with one eyebrow raised.

“This is what you’ve been eating?” he asks. “or not eating I should say. No wonder you’re so depressed” he jokes before walking out of the bedroom and into the open plan kitchen-living room, instant noodles in hand.

With him out of the room you place your head in your hands trying to calm down your thoughts and steady your heart rate. When did it start beating so quickly?

You’re brought out of your thoughts before you can even begin to overthink the look you’d both shared by the sound of the tap running from the bathroom down the hall from your room.

You step out of your bed and walk towards the source of the noise and are greeted by the sight of Harry running you a bath.

He notices you standing in the doorway and gives you a soft smile before walking over to you and gripping the sides of your arms gently.

“I’m gonna go get some real food while you take a bath, okay? I wont be long” he promises, pressing a parting kiss to your cheek before leaving, your heart quickening and heat rushing to your face.

You watch after him mindlessly, your fingers lifting to the spot he’d just kissed so casually, the feeling of his lips still lingering beneath your touch.

Time seemed to stand still for a moment, your hearing dulled, and sense of touch heightened, before a panicked instinct to check the running taps pulls you from your yearning trance.

You turn them off quickly, before removing your clothing and sinking into the soothing warmth of the water and willing it to wash you of these muddled feelings and flustered responses to Harry’s demeanour and affections.

You urge yourself not to overthink his kiss to your cheek, remembering all the times he’d kissed the top of your head whilst hugging you goodbye, usually always followed with some kind of joke about how he can only reach the top of your head so easily because you’re so much smaller than him.

“See ya later Bitsy” you recall his voice and think of how most of those situations ended. Warm but only friendly.

You sink beneath the water to wet your hair, dragging your hands over your face to wash away the grime from your face and along with it any thoughts of Harrys kiss being anything more than a friendly parting.

What you refuse to fully acknowledge is the way your heart leaps at the idea of it being more.

You finish bathing, before wrapping yourself in a towel, feeling so much better for being forced into taking care of yourself.

By the time you’re dressed in a fresh set of pyjama shorts and an oversized t-shirt, you leave your room to see Harry dishing up the food he left to retrieve.

He looks up from portioning a steaming bowl of ramen and gives you a warm, happy smile.

“You look like you’re feeling a little better?” he asks hopefully, to which you nod, returning his smile shyly.

“Much better, thank you. Mmmh, food smells amazing.” You sigh, reaching to grab the bowl he holds out for you before sitting side by side on the sofa.

You eat together in a relaxed silence, one that offers tender glances at each other and periodic laughs as you both try hopelessly to eat ramen noodles gracefully.

Harry finishes first, and you follow not far behind him before setting your bowl on the coffee table in front of you both.

You feel his eyes, on you but can’t force yourself to move your eyes from your hands in your lap. The silence suddenly feels heavy, you don’t even have to look at him to know his stare holds so much weight.

Its impossible to ignore. You feel it.

Your stomach is fluttering under his gaze and your mind is racing.

In an attempt to take the newly tense and awkward edge out of the silence that had now settled, you clear your throat, but it only draws attention to the tension that hangs thick in the air between you both.

You chance a look at him, his green eyes fixed on you with an expression you can’t read.

“Stop it” you whisper, not chancing your voice cracking.

His face is soft, but his brow is tense, his eye contact unwavering.

“Stop what?” he speaks softly.

You inhale slowly, your eyes closing before releasing a shaky exhale.

“Stop looking at me like that. I don’t know what it means” you say.

He leans closer, only slightly, but the growing intimacy of your proximity is enough to quicken your heart rate all over again.

“Looking at you like what, love?” he feigns innocence, his expression still just as achingly warm.

You can barely bring yourself to answer, still trying to convince yourself you must be misreading the entire situation, that he can’t be looking at you with this intense desire, so gently, so.. so..

“Longingly...” you whisper.

His expression softens, his eyes leaving yours to delicately trail over the features of your face, a soft sigh leaving his mouth as his focus stops at your lips before cupping his hand at your cheek.

“I can’t, love. Because I can’t tell you how long I have longed for this.” he whispers.

Your eyes shut tight at his confession, that familiar warmth radiating through your whole chest as the entire world seems to stop spinning again.

When you open your eyes, they threaten to spill over with tears, and Harry knowingly caresses the side of your cheek with his thumb.

You can’t breathe.

“Me too” you utter almost silently.

Your admission sparks the most beautiful, genuine smile you’ve ever seen Harry wear, and he touches his forehead to yours with his hand gently cradling the back of your head.

“Well, thank fuck for that” he jokes, and you laugh breathily before pulling back to finally meet his eyes with a new confidence.

He looks between each of your eyes before refocusing his gaze on your lips. Before you can even acknowledge the excitement blooming in your chest, his mouth is on yours.

And it’s soft. It’s slow. It’s everything you’ve ever wanted.

He pulls you into his lap and deepens the kiss, causing you to whimper into his mouth as your hands fist into his t-shirt, desperately trying to anchor yourself to him, not wanting to lose him now that you finally have him.

His hand moves from the back of your head, trailing down your back to gently cup your ass, your core clenching in utter desire in response.

He pulls away from the kiss breathlessly, his hand gliding softly beneath your t-shirt, caressing the skin of your stomach, up towards your ribs suggestively.

“I know you’ve spent all day in bed, love.” he breathes. “But would you mind if I took you back there?”

Your head dizzies with a new lust. You scan over his face as he pulls you down against his lap almost desperately, his expression showing nothing but his adoration and unsatiated need for you.

And now, you can think of anywhere else you’d rather be.

“..yes please.”

[artsyjedi]

Life on its form

Any driver x fem!ooc (only mentioned as she)

WARNINGS: driver dies, there are references to depression (mentions of giving up). HEAVILY ANGST - if you find something else, let me know.

Also there's probably some grammar mistakes here and there.

A/N: it's the saddest thing i've written in a year but I couldn't waste the idea. Hope you enjoy :)

From books to movies, love seems to be this enormous thing that works like missing pieces from a puzzle.

Love is supposed to fulfill the empty spaces.

And is very common to hear people say: “It takes effort, and sometimes it’s tiring. But it’s worth it.”

So, during every single relationship, she tried. She tried her best to make it work – because that’s what it takes, right? To some she was loud, to others she was more of an introverted. Fun but not funny, you know? At one point, to one of her partners, she was just enough. She never got too angry or too sad or too happy.

Her partner loved when their friends talked about her. About how good she was, how they wished their own partners were like that. She never complained when he went out with his buddies, wasn't jealous when he got too close to another woman. She was a good girl. His good girl.

It was tiring. But… love requires that. You need to give to receive. And they were good. They were also enough to her. Even when they got mad, like mad-mad, everything was just fine.

For four whole months, they had planned this trip to enjoy the always so beautiful and fun European summer. When the day arrived, they simply said she should go alone, that they weren't on the mood and would be a terrible company. And, on top of all that, they said:

"You should go alone, make friends. It's gonna be good for you. For us, you know? To be apart."

Great. She thought. That clearly meant the relationship wasn't on its best moment. Ups and downs (even though it was more downs than ups). That’s what relationships are made of. No need to think any deeper.

So was right there, on that small country on the northen coast of the Mediterranean Sea, that she learned that love is actually simple and effortless. It comes, stays and requires nothing.

He taught her that. All he wanted from her was sweet nothing.

What was supposed to be a four week trip, became two months. And then three. Between somewhere here and there, she texted her now ex to let them know she wasn't coming back.

All her friends and family thought she had lost it. Who ends a three years relationship because of some random person they just met? They truly thought she had gone mad (to which she responded: yes! Madly in love!).

Was after a great night where they lived, laughed and loved, that he told her he was a Formula 1 driver. She imediatly wanted to cry. Not because of fear of everything being too much, or because he started to ramble about his plans with his ever so excited smile.

She cried because, for the first time in a long time, she felt safe. It didn't matter what would happen, if he was famous, if she would need to deal with all types of people.

He had her. She had him. Nothing else mattered.

When they had to leave the little world they had created during those months and go back to reality, all they felt was deep and raw love.

And then the months became a year. Then a year and a half. And then two years. And then they were living together. What started with a small space on his drawer, became a full section on his closet.

When routine started to catch up, during times where her work demanded more and so did his, with more and more races being add to the calendar, they decided to create a sort of system. Something silly. Something them.

They downloaded some apps for couples, so when they couldn't be together, they could still do things together. Their favourite was one where they could draw. Also, at the end of each day, they would write down to each other those detailed text messages talking about all things.

He also started to leave notes on the pockets of her clothing before leaving. Sometimes he would write poetry, something to make her laugh, or some sort of reminder of how much he loved her. He also loved to leave things with the notes: small gifts, from jewelry to chocolate.

No matter what happened, she knew it would always have something.

But it’s been three months since his accident. Three months she hadn’t found a note, the drawing app widget is nothing more than a white empty board and there is no more detailed messages.

She hadn’t attended the race that weekend, having too much work to do. They did made plans for going to this fancy restaurant he always wanted to try, though. Such a shame they never made it.

Would be a lie to say she remembers much from the days after the news. Actually, she barely remember the day itself. She knows she was the first to get to the hospital, that she was the one to call the family (both hers and his), and then talk with the team.

Some said they were sorry, some tried to find something to blame trying hard to sooth the situation.

But that was life on its form.

Even if it had someone or something to blame, what difference would make? He wasn’t coming back. She wouldn’t hear his laugh anymore, or his tantrums, or his rambling. She would never see again the way he used to lean against every surface he could, or how bad he was at hiding his emotions.

She would never touch him again.

And grief it’s different to every person. There’s no right or wrong way to feel it – as her therapist said. People feel what they feel when they feel and there's nothing you can do to change that.

She accepted easily, better than she thought she would, at least. She did got depressed on the first days, of course, but she kept on going. Always foward.

For first week of her work vacation, she went to her family house. No one dared to say anything. She was laughing, going out with old friends - what was surprising, considering they were sure she would give up.

But that's something she could never do.

She does have something to live for. The memories of every single moment they had together, good or bad, are worth living for.

Now it's been two days since she came back. The apartment is so quiet she allows herself to wonder why she didn't cried yet. From the balcony, she sees the sun making its way towards the line where the sky mets the sea. In a few minutes, it'll also be gone.

She smiles. Once, her therapist asked her "in one word, and just one, describe your love and why"

She answered that their love was just like the ocean. Not because it's unstable or deep, as some people say. She chose the ocean because it's endless and most likely, it won't ever go away. Now thinking better, she should've had chosen waves instead of ocean: always moving, always coming and going but never dissipating completely.

And that’s what their love is: something that will never just go. Now, some days she feels more, some days she feels less. But it’s there.

With this thought, she decides to change her clothes and do something she's been doing her best to avoid: to wear the last cardigan he bought. It was during that week, it came inside of a beautiful box and he had smiled saying, "i have great plans for this one".

Making her way to the small beach in front of their building, she takes a deep breath and fels that stupid feeling again. The one that puts her on the edge of something that never comes no matter how hard she tries. As if there's something waiting right around the corner.

The sky is now a mix of purple, pink and orange. It's beautiful. The wind becomes cold while she just stands there, feeling the sand wrap her feet. The waves crash, coming and going and then coming again.

It's when a bird flies too close to her that she puts her hands on both pockets. A reflex. Something so normal but that means a lot, specially when she feels one of her hands brush against something.

And there it is. She finally went over the edge, finally saw what is around the corner. Her eyes gets watery, she can feel tears falling down her cheeks and sees the wet dots being created on the sand. She laughs. Suddenly life is less heavy.

Her body almost gives in, but she manages to sit properly. With another deep breath, she sees what he left for her.

Two years ago, during a race week on the US, they managed to scape go to Santa Monica. He insisted on going to the photo booth and she hated every single one of the pictures. He told her to chose one to keep, the others could go.

And he carried that one with him everywhere. Either on his wallet or inside of his helmet.

And now the picture is on her hand, wrapped in a small paper. She's sure it was already there when he gave it to her, and when he kissed her goodbye for the last time.

On his crap handwriting, was written: a memory for you to keep until I come back.

Seing the sun finally disappear and the moon rise on the other side, she reliases she created another memory for her to keep on living for.

[luvvyouforever]

rhys and john keats - modern au!rhysand x college student!reader ❥

↳ reader can barely handle the weight of college but rhysand is there to pick her up and help the pain.

↳ so self indulgent it hurts. set in a modern age where reader is a college student but rhysand is still high lord? idk honestly. mentions of stress, self doubt, comfort, crying. my day-to-day life essentially.

↳ requests are open! check characters in pinned post and link for requests is in my bio :)

the living room of your shared apartment with rhysand is a sight to behold. papers, printed copies of poems, books, pens, highlighters, and three energy drinks enclose you in a circular shape. it's horrifying and the sight is not eased by your messy hair, dark circles, and tear-stained cheeks. the semester was getting to you, clearly.

three papers were due for one class in the next two weeks. six quizzes were on the agenda and you had easily ten multiple page texts to read before class at 9am the following monday.

it had never been this stressful before but your time in college was coming to an end and that only ramped up the amount of work you had to complete. your final few semesters were certain to end you and you'd never get to walk across that stage to receive a blank page of paper which would eventually be replaced with your actual diploma. that's how it felt, at least.

minutes full of agony passed until you heard the familiar flapping of strong wings on the balcony. you didn't move from your sitting position as rhysand sauntered into the room, smile so wide it reached his violet eyes.

"my dear y/n," he whispered. his voice was so sweet that another tear forced its way out of your eye and down your cheek again. he must have sensed it, the stress pouring down your bond, or maybe he could somehow smell the salt of the tear as it dripped onto the page in your lap. he knelt down to meet your face and he pouted. "what's going on, darling?"

for the first time that night, you tore your gaze away from your work and met his eyes. "there's too much," you mumbled with a watery voice. "i can't do this."

he made a click with his tongue while examining the piles of work on the floor. his fingers lifted the assignment prompts and poems and syllabus requirements. more tears fell and you silently cursed each and every one of them.

"why can't you do it? what's challenging you?" he asked gently. it was not meant to condescend but he was trying to figure out how to help you in the best way possible.

"i feel like the analyses i'm coming up with are dumb, i don't understand the lines, the rhyme scheme is stupid, and i don't know what my thesis is for a moronic paper on keats should be. it's stupid and dumb and i'm stupid and dumb."

rhysand moved his hands to your cheeks before you could even react and pulled your face to meet his strong eye contact. his purple eyes bore into yours and he poured liters of reassurance down the bond. that mental claw in his head brushed against your mind in a calming manner. "do not say words like that, my love. you are so intelligent. and you're fully capable of managing everything on your plate."

you sniffed, feeling pathetic in his strong gaze. "i don't feel that way, though. i don't know how to deal with this stress, rhys. it's impossible. it's like this huge tower looming before me and i'm being asked to climb every single step in the best possible way or else i'll be pushed off of the top."

rhysand breathed out a sigh and his hand found your own. "i'm gonna help you climb that tower, okay?" he grabbed a brightly annotated copy of a keats poem and read over it.

"have you even read keats? or dickinson? do you know what a thesis statement is?" you asked. there was a bite to your words but it didn't faze rhysand in the slightest.

"of course i do, love. what do you think i do in my spare time when i'm not being an expert ruler? there's a small section i had put in the library, down on one of the lower floors, and it's full of human books. there's anthologies of authors, textbooks on writing, math theory, whatever you want, it's there. and i've perused it all. this poem-" he held up the printed keats "-is one of my favorites.

"so, the way i interpret this poem is that in order to withstand and stay strong in the face of suffering, we should indulge in poetry, beauty, and art. don't you think so?" he began to recite some lines which resembled this theme and suddenly, it all made sense.

he did that two more times with the other texts you had to write about. everything connected when he taught it and read it. you now had three outlines completed with well-developed thesis statements, annotated stories and poems for discussion, and three out of six quizzes were completed.

"thank you," you said, pouring as much love through your bond as you could. "really, thank you. this means so much to me."

"of course, my dear. shall i put on a sweater vest and glasses and replace your professor from here on out?"

you giggled and finally stood from the floor. the two of you walked into the kitchen to begin making a nutritious, filling dinner with your favorite velaris-sourced wine. "i would absolutely take you up on that offer if it didn't mean everyone in the class would be vying for your attention."

rhysand's arms wrapped around your midsection while you prepared food for dinner. his head leaned forward so that his mouth was by your ear. "i only have eyes for the smartest person in class."

can you tell i'm an english major? this is all very self-insert, i read the keats poem i talked about like two weeks ago :p

[wolven91]

Bird Culture

From over Moisés's right shoulder, the perfectly curved, black, sickle-like claw darted in, and with pinpoint accuracy, sliced a portion of the squidget meat off the larger section in one smooth movement. Moisés flinched, taken by complete surprise by the intrusion which gave the apparent thief enough time to stab the small slice with the point of the claw and retreat. The human had thought himself alone in the apartment's kitchen, overlooking the station's fight dome in the center of the station’s habitat sector, whilst he prepared the evening meal.

Only now that said meal was under assault before it went in the slow cooker!

"Ey! No!" The human shouted turning to his right and slapping the appendage with a hand as the black scaled arm and hand retreated, only to see the exact same thing happen, only this time on his left.

Moisés turned back to the cutting board and snatched up his knife, to spin around and wield it at the offender who had already skipped away with a lightness in their step and a flap of massive blue wings that made it seem that gravity was merely a suggestion to them.

"¡Oy cabrón! If you eat it all before it goes into the pot, you don't get any when it's done!" Moisés admonished in faux anger.

Breelu merely smirked at Moisés, the miniscule sky-blue feathers that lined the delicate scales around the edges of his beak pulling back and up in a grin. All the while the ill begotten meat was dropped into the waiting black beak with a victorious flourish and a clack.

Moisés stuck his tongue out at the avian and turned back to the meal, aware the avian couldn’t copy the gesture. The meat was just the last of the ingredients to go into the pot, everything else was already in and waiting to be stirred together.

Having done all that, then putting the lid firmly on and preparing the timer, Moisés sighed and hung the kitchen towel off one of the cupboard door knobs. His tasks for the day were done. At least until it was time to wash up the pot after they had eaten.

"Right. give that a few hours and it should be ready." The human explained out loud, more to himself than to anyone else. Moisés always wanted to ensure that Breelu had a meal waiting for him when the avian returned home. Nervous of the station, Moisés hadn't quite gotten to the point of getting a job yet. But living with Breelu offered the human more than just a communal room. In return the human ensured the avian had a clean, tidy home to return to with a hot meal waiting for him.

Two long, strong arms appeared from around each of his shoulders and met over his stomach, the taloned hands touching his midsection through the thin material of his top. The man could feel the series of pinpricks where the talons rested. A feathered head pushed its way into the crook of the man's neck and two huge blue, white, and black wings encircled them both; blocking out the kitchen and the rest of the world. The short, straight beak leant down to touch against his chest and pulled him backwards into the feathered chest of Breelu.

"Thank you." Uttered the alien honestly, his baritone voice rumbling against Moisés’s back.

Moisés adored it when Breelu did this. He felt safety in the protection of the avian's embrace like no other. Tension the man didn't realise he had in his shoulders, was sapped out of him by the alien and his body sagged with another sigh as it all eased. Only this time his sigh was one of contentment.

Moisés couldn't help himself as his face pulled into a soft smile at the touch of his roommate. They weren't a 'couple', at least not yet. He hadn't asked the larger, eight-foot tall, winged biped out yet and Moisés had the distinct feeling the alien was waiting for him to make the first move. It wasn't only a few months ago that Moisés had been quite certain that he'd never consider a male as a partner, yet here he was; feeling quite safe and at home in another male's hug. They weren't even human!

Opening his eyes though, his current world was about a foot in diameter and ended at a wall of beautiful feathers that shimmered in the overhead light of their home. This world was far more manageable than the universe outside of the four walls of their apartment. Moisés reached out a hand and gently ran his fingers down the inside of Breelu's wing. His fingers trailed through them, feeling their delicate silky feathers tickle his digits. 

"Man. Where can I get wings like these?" Moisés asked quietly with a wistful tone. It was rhetorical of course, but as with all things; Breelu wanted to give Moisés everything and anything.

"Oh, that's easy. Watch this." Breelu whispered directly into Moisés's ear, tickling it with the point of his beak. The two black scaled arms that were draped around Moisés from his shoulders, retreated and instead appeared around his middle, lifting the human with the same effort one might give to lifting a small bag of potatoes.

Moisés made a small noise as he was picked up with ease by the larger alien and was reminded quite definitively just how much stronger the creature was. The pair, although it was more Breelu doing the walking, moved to the full-length mirror in the hallway that connected to the walk-in entrance that Moisés had to use when not carried by Breelu.

"Hands behind your back." Breelu instructed and Moisés complied. The avian had a firm, but always warm tone. Despite the colours being so close to a bluejay of old, Moisés always felt Breelu's normal voice would have fit a bird of prey back on Earth.

Placed back onto the floor, Breelu ducked his head behind Moisés and held his arms beneath Moisés's armpits whilst pinning the man's arms behind his back with the alien's feathered chest.

"Tadaa!" The alien chirped, gesturing with one of his scaled arms at the mirror. The feathers only began on an avian's arms after the elbow, below that were the fine soft scales that made up their feet and around their eyes and beaks. Those arms presented the mirror in front of them both to Moisés.

The man looked into the mirror and paid attention to what he was being shown.

Ignoring the only partially hidden eight foot tall alien behind the human who was currently trying to hide, what Breelu had done was present Moisés with what he would look like, if the human had the magnificent wings of Breelu. A grand set seemingly sprouted from Moisés's shoulders and were extended as far as they would go in the space of the hallway. It was a magnificent display and if Moisés didn't pay attention, he could fool himself into believing he had wings.

The human couldn’t help himself, but stand just a little bit taller as his chest came out and his back straightened. In kind, the wings flexed, the long primary feather displaying to their maximum. 

The immediate sense of freedom and brilliance blossomed within Moisés's chest. It warmed him like a newborn sun that warmed the sands of a distant and grateful world.

Breelu's arms reached up and held Moisés's cheeks as if they were his own arms and held the human's head, in either shock or joy.

From behind Moisés came a muffled voice that had taken on a familiar, if not mildly mocking,  accent.

"Oh my! Look at my beautiful wings! They are the most beautiful wings on the station! I sure hope my roommate touches and preens them again! 'Cos I sure do love it when he does that!" The muffled tone and accent the avian had put on was a very poor copy of Moisés's but clear enough that the human understood this was supposedly the avian mimicking him. Moisés couldn't help but grin and roll his eyes with a shake of his head.

Breelu's huge head appeared over Moisés's shoulder once more.

"Aww you're totally right, you *do* have the nicest wings on the station and everyone knows that avians love to have their wings stroked by someone they trust." The avian replied to himself, once more rubbing his feathered head against the side of Moisés's, who couldn't help but giggle and laugh whilst trying to squirm from the avian's grip. He didn’t try hard. 

"Come on, let's go to the sofa and I can tell you about my day?" Suggested Breelu, straightening and gently touching the smooth curve of his talons to Moisés's cheek, stroking it lovingly. 

In short order, the pair were back in the main room. This was where their entertainment system was, plus it was connected to their kitchen so the slow cooker gently released a delicious smell throughout the home. 

What dominated the room was a massive ‘sofa’. 

Moisés had never seen a ‘sofa’ this big before, but it wasn’t designed for humans in mind. It was capable of holding no less than three ursidains as well as a handful of the smaller races. Avains varied in size as well, so it was always wise to plan for more, rather than less when it came to guests. 

What this meant for Moisés however, was that their living room, had what amounted to a double super-king mattress that both he and Breelu could stretch out on and still struggle to touch each other. 

Granted that wasn’t the problem at the moment. When they had approached the sofa, Breelu had picked Moisés off the floor and with one heavy flap of his wings (which sent the book that the human had ben reading flying) had lifted the pair into the air when the avian had released the man. 

After a brief ‘flight’, Moisés landed and was immediately set upon by the avian who took great delight in landing on top of him and pinning the human to the sofa beneath the avian. It was all fun and games, one that the pair had done before. The human would struggle and attempt to escape while the avian would eventually need to grab his wrists and pin them back down onto the sofa. 

Moisés was breathing heavily from the exertion while Breelu merely watched him with a cool stare and a smirk to the side of his beak. 

“You know one day I’ll be able to struggle free. I’ve been doing press-ups!” The human declared proudly. 

Breelu’s smirk merely deepened. 

“And you think I’d let a prize like you just ‘go’?” The avians head leaned down into the crook of the human’s neck once more, the tiny feathers tickling his exposed skin. Moisés looked away, blinking his eyes closed as he focused on the sensations. 

“No… I’d chase you… Hunt you… You’re too rare for me to just give up…”

The beak nipped at the exposed flesh causing a cascade of goosebumps to flow down and around the man’s body. Moisés bucked his hips involuntarily, but Breelu happily ground his own back down, pushed against the tightened material of the man’s shorts. 

“I…” The human started, only for his voice to catch. Breelu pulled his head away, but brought his wings out and down over the pair of them. It muted the station, the hum of it’s engines and the rattle of the air filters. The black scaled forearms and hands gently, so very, very gently cupped the human’s face.

Gone was the intense ‘hunting’ voice of Breelu from moments ago, for when he spoke now; it was warm and loving. There was no better way to describe it then it being the voice of a lover. 

“Whatever you want to say… you can say it my darling… I can take it… I will not abandon or harm you… Even if you cannot promise the same…” The avian promised, as he gazed down at the human longingly. The man felt undone and exposed, yet all the while, the protective wings created a fortress for them both. 

“Breelu… I… I love you…” Moisés admitted. 

Breelu’s beautiful blue eyes closed at hearing these words and for a brief flash, Moisés feared the worst, until a single tear welled up in the corner of the avian’s eyes. 

“I’ve been so desperate for you to say those words…” The alien uttered in such a whisper, if not for the wings, even this close; the human may have missed them. Breelu’s taloned hands caressed the human’s face as his eyes opened up once more.

“I love you too my Moisés.” Another slow blink, and another tear appeared, trailing down the side of the alien’s face across his feathers and an unbroken bead. 

The man reached up, and the avian leant down, so that with a tiny thumb, he caught the tear and wiped it away. 

“Can we lay here? Just for a bit?” Asked the humans. The avian actually squawked as a ‘bark’ of laughter burst from his feathered chest. 

“I would like for nothing more, my Moisés.” Replied the alien, as a heavy, feathered chest leant down and covered the man from chin to belt. One of the wings folded out and covered his legs whilst the other created a canope for the pair as the avain laid across and next to his human. 

Moisés fell asleep to the sensation of the alien slowly using his talons to gently scratch his chest in lazy circles. All the while, the bright blue alien whispered such happy thoughts and sweet nothings until the human fell into a sleep that was reserved for only the most happy and content. 

[r/WolvensStories]

[AO3]

[Ko-Fi]

[meetingthemastermoments]

jake x reader

Part 2

warnings: nothing yet, slow burn, eventual 18+

word count: 1.25k

summary: You move into a new apartment, with an unexpectedly attractive neighbor. (WIP)

notes: Hi friends! This is my first fic, so let me know what you think. I'm leaning towards making this a WIP, but I'm just a baby and we're gonna start slow. All my Love, MM

------------------------------------------------------------

Finally. You stood in your soon to be living room with your new landlord. 

“Okay, everything should be set. The guy below you is named Jake, he’s been living here for the past couple of years. He’s a pretty nice kid. Generally, he takes care of the lawn and landscaping, so you shouldn’t have to worry about that. Once you move in your spare keys will be on the mantel. I’ll text you the front door code once you pay your deposit and the first month's rent. Sound good?” 

“Sounds great Rob, I look forward to it!” You had been looking for a place of your own for a while now. Never quit finding the right fit. You had moved to your new city a couple of years ago and moved in with some girls you found looking for a roommate, and you vowed to never do that again. Thankfully, after a couple of years karma finally flipped in your favor and you were given a promotion at work, allowing you to move into a new apartment all on your own. 

The apartment you found was great. It was a second floor duplex, you had the whole floor all to yourself and an attic. When you walked in the front door and to the top of the stairs you entered the living room, complete with bay windows and a fireplace. This led to a beautiful open dining room which led into the kitchen. It was small but perfect for one. As you continued walking through you entered the hallway which led you to the master bedroom, bathroom, and spare bedroom that you had planned on turning into an office. The last section of the hallway led to two doors. One door brought you to your attic, and the second door led you to the back stairwell you shared with your neighbor and down to the basement. It was old, early 1900’s, creaked a little, had beautiful wooden floors, and tall ceilings to match. It was perfect.

…

It’d been a couple of days since you moved into your new place, and boxes still littered the dining room and living room floor, but you were home. You had just come back from a walk, grabbing your mail on the way back up to your apartment. Shuffling through new bills and some junk from the old tenant you found a little piece of paper. Curious, you opened it, finding a note from the tenant below you, Jake.

Hi, I’m your downstairs neighbor. I’m going to be away on business all week but let me know if you need anything. (xxx) xxx-xxxx

Jake

You hadn’t seen Jake yet. Only heard him come in and out of the house a couple of times. Your job didn’t start until next week, and by the time you got up he was always gone. You were planning on introducing yourself, maybe making cookies, but you had forgotten up until now. That was nice of him to check in though. You can always make him cookies or something when he gets back. 

You had never lived on your own before, so it was nice to know the person you shared your house with was at least friendly. Sure you had lived with plenty of roommates, once you graduated college, bouncing around from apartment to apartment, but finally, finally you were able to save up enough money to get a place by yourself. 

Typing in his number you send a quick text,

Y/N: Hey! I’m y/n, thank you for the note. Let me know if you need any help with the yard work! I love gardening and I’m pretty decent with a weed whip lmao. Also, please let me know if I’m being too loud! Have a good trip!

Jake: Thanks! Same to you, if you need anything lmk

With that out of the way, you set down your phone and continue on with your task of putting away your new belongings.

...

The week went by and you were finally able to start settling in. It was a little weird being alone for the first time. Being in your apartment and knowing that Jake was living his life just below you was comforting, but once he was gone on his work trip the house got a little creepy at night. Sure it was old and bound to shift and move, but that didn’t make it any less unsettling. 

You had lost track of the days, coming up with a routine. Work, home, watch tv or hang out with friends, eat dinner, sleep, repeat. As the week continued it didn’t occur to you to be on the lookout for your housemate to come home, nor did you worry about what time he would return. 

BANG!

You woke with a start! What time is it? The rolling of suitcases accompanied heavy footsteps from the floor below. You had been doing laundry and must have fallen asleep. Shit. Your wet clothes had probably been in the washer for hours. 

Without checking the time you scurried down your shared back stairs to the basement. Throwing your clothes into the drier, you didn’t bother to look up until you heard footsteps coming down the stairs. You looked up and smiled at the descending man as he came into the basement with his hamper filled with clothes. 

“JESUS CHRIST” He jumped, throwing his clothes down the rest of the stairs and effectively falling on his ass. “You could have at least said something so I knew you were down here! What the hell are you doing up this late!” 

Shocked at the startled reaction of the gorgeous man in front of you, you only stared. Eyes wide in shock and awe. You looked him over as he stood there, his dark brown hair was thrown into a low bun, unkempt pieces framing his face. He wore an old long sleeve t-shirt with a circle logo on the front and sweatpants that hung just at his waist. He was breathtaking. 

You shook your head to compose yourself. “I’m so sorry! I just wasn’t expecting that reaction. I thought you knew I was down here because the light was on! Are you okay?!” You started towards the stairs to see if he needed help.

“No no! I’m fine.” He grunted as he stood back up, reaching down to start collecting his clothes. 

You hurried forward and started collecting items that had fallen at the bottom of the stairs. Throwing them back into the basket that was now resting on the step. Jake smiled at you as he leaned forward to pick up the basket.

“You must be y/n, nice to finally meet you! Even if you did scare the ever-living shit out of me. Why the hell are you still up at 3 am??” He looked down at his phone as he sat the basket on his dryer. 

“I… I fell asleep and forgot that I had clothes in the wash. Actually, you woke me up when you came home, so thanks, I guess. Otherwise I would have needed to wash them again.” You looked down sheepishly as you struggled to get your dryer balls out of their bag, throwing them into the dryer with the rest of your load. “Well, welcome back Jake. Have a goodnight!” You looked back up to smile at him before you left but found him already looking at you. 

“K, night.” He whispered, giving you a soft smile.

[abarbaricyalp]

I thought there was a Post-TFATWS space, but there's not, so have another Free Space fill! @sambuckylibrary

Based on a Daily Fluff Diary post! // cw: injury in the last section // AO3 Link

Knock Before Entering

It's not that Joaquin hasn't seen them make out before. It comes with the territory of spending long amounts of time with two people not only deeply horny for each other, but also just deeply in love. He tries not to think about it. Tries to forget that Barnes clearly needs an outlet for adrenaline after a fight. Tries not to pay attention when a closet door shuts on the jet. Tries to ignore the eyes Sam shoots Barnes that has them both vacating a shared space.

They're good about it. Don't get up in each other's space intentionally when he's around. Barely even touch if they're all sharing a room. One time, Barnes had even slept on the floor instead of sharing a bed with Sam. Though Joaquin had woken at some point in the night and found Sam's arm hanging off the bed and Barnes's arm reaching up so they could hold hands anyway. At least it was his prosthetic arm, so Joaquin assumed he didn't need to worry about a blood rush.

The point is, it's not a secret that Sam and Barnes are together. And they're usually pretty good at keeping to themselves.

Which is why it shouldn't be surprising but certainly is when Joaquin walks back into Sam's office from hunting down the new drone prototype he'd been reporting on and finds Sam half sprawled across his desk with Barnes crowded between his legs, following him down.

Joaquin smacks a hand over his eyes like a child. It means he drops the drone, but it's live, so it just hovers next to him. "Guys, gross!" he snaps, also like a child. It did kind of feel like seeing his parents making out for the first time.

_____

He can hear them spring apart, like it's a surprise that he's back. He'd literally been gone for five minutes tops. He just had to run to his room and get this. He'd told Sam where he was going. He hears a slight exchange of shoves and elbows before Barnes says, "Drop your hand, kid."

Joaquin does after several more seconds, when he's sure the coast is clear. Sam's behind his desk again, Bucky leaning a hip up against the side of it like he belongs here.

"Where did you even come from?" Joaquin asks finally when it seems like no one else is going to volunteer anything.

"World War II," Barnes answers like the smartass he is. "Brooklyn."

“I was gone for three minutes," Joaquin clarified through his teeth. He wants to sit down, thinks better of it, stays just inside the doorway. "What if I was someone else?"

Barnes's mouth quirks a little. It's as much a confirmation as Joaquin will ever get from the man that they are kind of their own little triumvirate. If it had happened under any other circumstance, Joaquin would be elated. Right now, he is not. “But you’re not, so relax, Tweety.”

Joaquin rolls his eyes and walks into the office, giving that side of the desk a wide berth. He sets the new drone down, along with a makeshift manual.

“Don’t go gettin’ attached to that side,” Barnes says.

“Don’t,” Sam warns.

But Barnes pushes on. “I’ve hauled him up on that side too.”

Joaquin doesn’t even both to groan. He just leaves the room again.

. . .

“Ready or not!” a small, but very loud, voice calls from somewhere else in the building.

Bucky ducks into Sam’s office because AJ is fast and if he doesn’t take cover now, he’s going to get caught. There’s a gorgeous wardrobe with a false back in the far corner, but Cass had hidden in there two rounds ago, so it’s likely to be one of the first places AJ looks. The desk is too much on AJ’s level for Bucky to hope to hide well under. By design, Bucky is too big to fit into the vents.

The curtains that hang from the windows don’t quite make it all the way to the floor, but Bucky figures his dark boots will blend into the shadows if he stands far enough to the corner. He can hear AJ’s sneakers on the tile, hurrying down the hallways and checking doors, so he jumps behind the curtain and tries to hold it still.

He jumps behind the curtain and directly onto Sam’s feet.

“Ow! Hey! I’m already here. Go find your own hiding place!” Sam hisses, shoving at Bucky’s shoulder futilely. Bucky intentionally digs his heels down into the ground. Sam glares at him, then takes a deliberate step closer. “If you don’t move, we’re both gonna get caught,” he threatens. “And you know AJ will go after you before he comes after me.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow in doubt. He was almost positive AJ and Cass were teaming up to find Sam, who had not been tagged ‘it’ yet in this game. Mostly because he kept cheating by using all his flight training to get up into the rafters where, even if he was seen, no one could climb up to tag him. Well, Bucky could, but it was too much work, honestly.

“I’m faster than you,” he points out. “And I’m not above tripping you.”

Sam rolls his eyes, leans in, kisses Bucky. It’s enough for Bucky to stop digging his heels in, but Sam gets just as distracted. Actually, instead of shoving Bucky out of the hiding spot, he halfway tries to climb up Bucky’s body. It sends Bucky stumbling back, the curtain getting tangled under his foot, and they both end up crashing against the window, curtain falling away in time for the office door to get pushed open.

“Ugh,” AJ says with so much disdain Bucky kind of can’t believe it. “I knew that’s what you two were doing instead of actually hiding. It’s no fun if you don’t try!”

“It’s all Sam’s fault.” Bucky accuses. The elbow into his ribs exacerbates the ache from falling into the window sill too. Still, he puts himself between Sam and AJ. “Go find your brother.”

“Nuh-uh,” AJ insists. “I found you two. I’m gonna tag you two.”

Sam snickers behind him, squirming away from the pinch Bucky’s trying to land on his hip. “You only need one of us,” he points out.

AJ’s mouth curls to one side with frustration. “I can’t find Cass,” he admits. “I need help.”

“Alright, alright,” Bucky concedes. He steps away from Sam, towards AJ. Waits for Sam to relax. Then he grabs Sam around the waist, holding him still so AJ can run forward and tag him as the next seeker, much to Sam’s loud protests.

“Cheaters!” he cries between laughter. “Betrayal!” But it is ineffective in the long run.

. . .

There should be no one else at the compound, so Bucky’s lazily making out with Sam in his desk chair, Sam across his lap. Joaquin is doing Air Force stuff, the other young heroes are out of state or busy, the older heroes don’t really hang out there. There are no meetings scheduled, no tours, no new introductions. It’s just him, Sam, and the sunshine streaming in from the window.

It’s been a while since they’d been able to do something like this. Cap duties had taken Sam away and Bucky had been pointedly kicked off of the jet. He was still piecing it together, but he thought it might’ve had to do with Hydra. Why he was kept out of the loop with those things, Bucky couldn’t begin to guess, but whatever. In the time Sam was gone, Bucky managed to get himself hurt (which is why he should’ve been allowed on the jet) and Sam had come back so exhausted that, even when they were alone, they mostly just took the security of each other’s company to pass out for hours at a time.

But a quiet weekend and a, so far, quiet week had done wonders and now Sam is getting handsy as Bucky absently pets his chest, over his shoulder, and back down his arm. Contrary to what Joaquin thinks, they haven’t ever actually desecrated the office, but Bucky’s willing to break the streak. Especially when Sam’s fingers fall to his waistband and begin to rub out the indentions of his jeans from his hips.

“Come on, let’s break in the desk,” Bucky cajoles, opening his mouth, deepening the kiss as he licks into Sam’s mouth with more intensity than the afternoon had called for.

Sam laughs unexpectedly, sits back, stares. Bucky can tell when the answer is going to be a straight no. This is not necessarily a straight no, which is almost hot enough to get the job done on its own. Sam’s a daredevil. An adrenaline junkie. People think Bucky’s the bad influence, but it’s not always his fault.

Sam’s just about to pass his judgment, is already moving off of Bucky’s lap to sit on the desk, when the door opens. There’s no one there, which has Bucky pulling Sam away, halfway tossing him towards the window for a fast escape. His mind is already racing with the potential threat–a smoke bomb, a grenade, some other small danger that he can’t see over the width of the desk. He hears Sam grab the shield, a sure, defiant presence behind him.

No bomb goes off. Instead, an orange cat jumps up onto the desk.

“Goose?” Sam asks, lowering the shield.

“Danvers’s cat?” Bucky clarifies. “Oh, shit. No, get down!” he shouts, lunging for the cat sitting on top of Bucky’s leather jacket. But it’s too late. The cat vomits tentacles and ray guns and a glove (or maybe a hand) and slime all across the desk.

“Argh!” Bucky shouts, yanking his jacket free, which makes Goose hiss and jump down. Too late for that, Bucky hisses back in his head.

It’s only a split second later that Danvers appears, just as Goose is running out. She watches her with surprise, then looks at Sam. “Cap, I need your help,” she says. Then her nose scrunches and she looks to Bucky and his jacket. “You need to get that cleaned.”

Bucky really considers throwing it at her.

. . .

The reporters are following Sam, who is trying to answer their questions but it’s weirdly difficult to when they’re walking on his heels. The smoke of the battle is still wafting off of him, which he can’t even smell because of the concrete dust in his nostrils. The cameras flashing in his face are doing nothing to help the migraine digging through his head. He needed a med crew to tell everyone he was probably concussed and to leave him alone.

“Captain Wilson,” someone calls. It still sounds weird to hear it. That’s not really his title, but he’d stopped fighting it after the first few months. “You saved more than a dozen people in midair. How did you react so quickly?”

Sam’s shoulders and back ache at the reminder. “It’s my job,” he says. “I’m supposed to save people. These wings aren’t just a fine accessory, y’know.”

“Captain, how did you figure this plane would be attacked?” someone else asks. His office is so close. The door locks now. He has a couch with a weighted pillow that he can put over his face and drown out the lights and the noise.

“When we realized the target wasn’t physical riches, but riches of the soul and mind, it was a quick hop to the plane carrying the summit awardees and delegations.”

“Mr. Wilson, you saved lives and hope tonight. How many future conflicts do you think you stopped tonight?”

“What?” Sam asks. The words just will not slot into a logical order in his mind. “I can’t tell you anything about the future. Very good people were targeted tonight to stoke division and fear. They were targeted by bad people to get back at other bad people. It was a wholly unfair situation. I am grateful for the lives we were able to save. The damage was still large and there’s yet more clean up to do that affects hundreds of other good people. Please turn your attention, time, and resources towards doing something productive too. You don’t need wings to make a difference.”

The reporters mutter amongst themselves and Sam uses the opportunity to get a hand on the door knob, a foot halfway into his office.

“Sir, is there any update on Sergeant Barnes?”

The image of the building coming down on Bucky as he evacuates civilians flashes through Sam’s mind like a hot sword. The crackle of his comm device as it went dead mid-sentence. The silence that followed. Sam’s heart begins to thrum uncomfortably in his chest, rising up to choke out his throat. He can’t cry on camera.

“As far as I’m aware, no one has made contact with Sergeant Barnes as yet,” he starts to say.

Then the door opens. Bucky’s standing there, looking like a sight. There are bandages wrapped around his head and half of his face is bruised into a sickly black and purple. He’s covered in gashes and scrapes. His right arm is wrapped in a sling. He’s hobbling with one boot on and the other foot and ankle wrapped in even more bandages. He’s clearly in so much pain that all Sam wants to do is shove him down on a bed and keep him asleep until the serum can repair everything.

“I was dug out by the same people I had just gotten out of the building,” Bucky chuckles at the camera, like this is a normal press conference. Actually, that’s not true. If this was a normal press conference, he would be in a back room somewhere, glowering at every reporter and cameraperson he saw. He did not like public speaking. But here he is, looking like it’s his natural calling. “They made quick work of it too. Dragged me off to a med-tent. Felt right at home, huh?” he says, directing the last bit at Sam, since it’s usually Sam dragging him to medical.

Sam can’t answer. Can’t breathe. Bucky’s alive. He’s moving. He’s swollen six ways to Sunday, but he’s making jokes. He was in Sam’s office. Waiting for him.

“Excuse me, guys and dolls,” Bucky says with a wry look at the media. Wry, even though the bruising. So unfair. “I gotta do something real quick.”

And then he’s kissing Sam. It’s awkward and too warm. Both of their faces are different landscapes after the fight. They both smell terrible. Sam keeps getting medicinal alcohol in his mouth and Bucky accidentally peels off two of the butterfly bandages on Sam’s cheek as he holds his face.

It’s one of the best kisses of Sam’s life.

This time, he doesn’t let anything interrupt them.

If you enjoyed this, please consider leaving a note or kudos on AO3

[boybandposter]

[Headcanons]

⤷𐙚 featuring: Everett 🤍

⤷𐙚 there is a sections for NSFW ‼️ Nothing detailed/explicit but there is implied sex and preferences.

˚✧₊⁎🧁⁎⁺˳✧༚

- I feel like due to his past regarding Ophelia, he has a hard time trusting people and letting them become anything closer than an acquaintance. Despite being a caring individual, he doesn’t want to experience another betrayal.

- Everett’s love language is gift-giving. As a staunch believer in “actions speak louder than words”, he’d much rather show than tell. Although his disability can make it a bit tough, Everett is determined to make sure the people he loves know that he cares.

- If Everett catches feelings for you, he’s in denial. Him? Like someone else romantically? Never. Everett would avoid you at times, but he’d subconsciously seek out your company anyway.

- If When he confesses to you, he’s blubbering like an idiot. He was already so quiet and the few words he had were long gone from his thoughts. A bright pink would stain his cheeks after admitting his feelings, and would quietly ask for a kiss (What a gentleman).

- He asked if he could be your boyfriend instead of the other way around. In his eyes, it’s a privilege and blessing to be with you. After all, you’re taking in a broken man, physically and mentally. In all honesty, he’s shocked that you even said yes (even though you were crushing on him hard).

- If you like to bake, he’s head-over-heels. It’s one of the few things he truly enjoys, and if he could simply bake with you all day he would. His favorite is to bake cupcakes and watch you decorate them. If he can, he’ll purposefully wipe some flour onto his cheek— he’s planned it perfectly. You’ll tell him he has something on his face, he’ll act oblivious, then you’ll wipe it off with an endearing smile.

- With his job in the Esper Union, it makes it hard for him to find the time and energy to do things with you. On his night shifts, he’ll shuffle into your shared apartment and immediately make his way to your room. Even if Everett is about to pass out, he’ll always make sure to give a lingering kiss on your cheek. Whispering apologies and sweet nothings into your ear before changing and climbing into bed with you.

- You have a favorite flower? Well, Everett will make sure to buy you a fresh bouquet every week with a small note filled with his love and signature. He always feels his cheeks turn pink when he opens his phone to a text from you, thanking him as usual and telling him how much you love him. His coworkers often catch him rubbing his face with his hand to try and calm himself down after getting praise from you.

NSFW

- Everett’s a bottom. Let’s make this clear; after his past trauma, he wants nothing more than to be taken care of by his woman. He never really knew it, but then again he never saw himself in a relationship.

- Please praise him, he goes crazy when you talk to him and give him little words of encouragement. The first time you called him a “good boy”, he immediately folded and quietly begged to hear you say it again.

- If you were to ask him to top you, he wouldn’t ever say no. Everett only has two positions if he’s topping— missionary and mating. And by the gods was he gentle. Slow, deep, and even strokes as he quietly pants against the skin of your neck, small bites here and there. Everett feels awful every time he leaves a mark and profusely apologizes when he sees the small bruises along your hips and the small bites left along your shoulders and collarbone.

- Aftercare, aftercare, aftercare. Everett would have to be out of his mind if he didn’t take care of his beautiful girlfriend after she worked so hard for him. He’s gentle in bed and outside of it. He’ll always clean you up (with a little help from you due to his limitations) and make you some dinner. Once you’re asleep, he’ll take a little extra time to clean up where he can, just for a little extra time with you in the morning.

˚✧₊⁎🧁⁎⁺˳✧༚

⤷𐙚 authors note: erm. Yeah, IDK IVE NEVER REALLY WRITTEN NSFW BYE. 🙁

[witchyleehibernates]

The Gang's Arena's (HG AU)

Two-Bit’s

The Arena was divided into three sections, Open land, Rocky Cliff Side, and a Dense Forest. The Open land was just plain land, just grass and dirt and some rocks that sat nicely in the palm of tribute’s hands… and exploded. The Rocky Cliff Side was just a cliff side that you could climb up and sit at the top of, though half way through the games, there was an avalanche that nearly took out Two-Bit on his journey out of the forest. The Dense Forest has a lot of trees, sneaky and mischievous little animals and Capitol mutts ready to try and tear you apart. Two-Bit was so relieved when he figured out he was faster than both the Tributes and the Mutts.

The cornucopia only had weapons, packs for ‘basic survival’ (a blanket, rope, throwing knives, small packages of food, an empty flask, a compass, some matches and a flashlight), and if you wanted more food you either had to brave the forests (mutts came out at dawn and dusk, for three hours each time) or try to steal from the cornucopia.

Dally’s

A Wasteland where it was so hot during the day that you burned and got so cold at night that you had the potential of freezing with a lot of abandoned and wrecked buildings everywhere. On the edge of the arena, the entire entire arena was surrounded by a lake of water that froze at night, so if tributes wanted hydration, they had to go during the day… At this time, tributes could touch the barrier without getting hurt, they’d just bounce back or whatever touched it was bounced back. Dally notes this when he’s first exploring his arena. He, unlike the others, is more than fine with moving around during the day, despite feeling like his skin is burning.

The cornucopia had a lot of burn cream in bags and stuff, and so Dally just carried one of those with him at all times as he got his weapons. The games started at ‘sun down’/’dusk’ to give everyone a chance of getting weapons and to survive.

Steve’s

An Icy Wasteland with ‘iceberg’ like structures that have little shelters inside them. It snows through the night and the snow burns you, which Steve learned the very hard way. He has a very distinct snowflake burn with a ‘C’ in the center of it on his middle finger from flipping off the capitol when it first started snowing. There are also ‘polar bear cub’ mutts, tiny little things that are surprisingly good hunters; you get seen and they can heat seek you, and it’s not their teeth that you should fear (even if they secret venom/poison), but their claws are so sharp that simply poking one could cut your finger. They are also deaf, they cannot hear or smell anything.

The cornucopia had the weapons, food, and blankets alongside extra blankets. Steve grabbed one for the hell of it and was so glad for it. He’d nearly frozen to death the first night. He made sure to work on getting another two blankets by day three/four.

Johnny’s

A rocky terrain with abandoned buildings outlining the edge of the Arena, and some more abandoned buildings a little closer. There was absolutely no water anywhere. At night it floods, and Johnny near drowns the first night because it floods from midnight to 8 am before the water dries up. It also gets really hot during the day but if you take your jacket off, you’ll freeze before the day’s over. The water that floods the arena is 100 percent safe to drink, and there’s flasks in the cornucopia.

The Cornucopia has survival packs, and each bag has two flasks. Further inside the cornucopia there are four masks and 8 oxygen tanks. Johnny manages to take 4 oxygen tanks and two masks before he runs out into the arena. He was weighed down but it was worth it on night two and three. The Water was extremely heavy.

Sodapop’s

A grassy field with cliff faces surrounding the arena, there’s a river of water breaking up the arena like a compass (NESW), and there are pathways to make up the other directions (NE NW SE SW) and small scatters of trees (small groups of five) scattered around the arena. At night there are furry little creatures that are Capital mutts come jumping out of the trees or scurrying down the tree trunks and into the really tall grass. Really sharp claws and teeth, making a very painful death for anyone unlucky enough not to be in a cave further up the cliff sides. They don’t climb, and they rely on their hearing and sense of smell, they are also blind. Sodapop gets into a surprise fight with three of them on night two and managed to survive by sheer luck.

The cornucopia had all the weapons, survival packs, and thin blankets. Sodapop refused to ever take his jacket off to feel the temperature around him, Johnny’s games scared him a little. There were also a lot more long range weapons, and Sodapop was quite glad to get himself a bow and arrow and a ton of arrows.