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brekker-by-brekkerr · 2 years

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I think the prevalence of the opposites attract trope in the romance genre has led people to believe this dynamic is a necessary part of romance and not just one potential dynamic.

Like don’t get me wrong, there’s something very satisfying about watching two very different people come together and love all the different things about each other. Poppy and her wanderlust and exuberance with Alex and his khaki shorts and homebody-ness. January with her romance novels and Gus with his pessimistic literary novels. Even Rapunzel the ray of sunshine with the jaded thief Eugene. It’s a tried and true formula and it works. Grumpy x sunshine is often an offset of this dynamic and it’s well loved for a reason.

But characters who are similar...also work? Like let’s not forget that having interests and goals in common with your significant other is a good thing. If Book Lovers taught me anything (stars i love that book), it’s that characters who are the “same” in a lot of ways can be the ones who understand each other on a deeper level. In Book Lovers, Nora is a cold-hearted shark to everyone who knows her, but since Charlie is similarly ambitious and dedicated to his job, he’s able to see past that and understand Nora for who she is. Not only that, he respects her drive and dedication, something everyone else overlooked. He helps Nora to see the good in herself that everyone else missed, and she does the same for him.

The reason I’m talking about this is because I’ve seen posts recently saying things like “Avery and Jameson are the same person so they don’t work as a couple.” Or there are people who don’t understand or appreciate the Portwell dynamic. Which, it’s fine if this isn’t your preferred dynamic, but that doesn’t mean it’s not a possible romance, or that it’s not good.

Avery and Jameson aren’t the exact same person, but they understand each other, which allows them to be in sync and know what the other is thinking without them needing to speak. They know when the other needs them to step back, or distract them, or to pursue a clue or a thrilling experience. They find the same things in life exciting, and they operate on the same wavelength, so to speak. Yes, this would make for a great friendship, but it also makes for a great romantic relationship, because you know each other and can appreciate the same things and enjoy things together.

Stefan and Elena work so well together for a lot of reasons but part of it is because they’re both extremely selfless, so they can respect each other’s choices and also give the other person a chance to be put first, something they don’t experience a lot elsewhere.

Gina and EJ are different people but they both have a drive to succeed, they’re both ambitious, they’re both willing to go to shady lengths to accomplish their goals (talking about season 1 in that regard), which is why they’re able to connect. They can see the good and the bad that they share, and it helps them to better accept themselves.

Which is one thing I’ve come to love about relationships with similar characters (idk what this is officially called. Same attracts?): The characters learn to accept their own flaws as they accept the flaws of the person they love. It’s so good guys.

Also, it’s worth noting: in a lot of opposites attract scenarios, the characters don’t actually have that much common ground, and if we were to see their relationship play out past the end credits or final chapter, we’d see their interactions slowly fall apart. Because if they’re too opposite, then their goals and interests will take them down separate paths.

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shedoessoshedoes · 10 months

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nobody loves me like you love me

Hi hello and welcome to me trying to write about a new ship in a new fandom 😱😱😱😱😱 it's really scary guys. This one's for Book Lovers by Emily Henry because I'm a slut for Charlie Lastra and for engagements. I hope you like it :) Tell me if you do!

wc: 2,753

tw: nsfw

tagging: no one yet bc idk who likes these books eep 🫣

The party’s almost over when Charlie pulls me aside. It was a raging success, celebrating the release of Frigid, Tala’s birthday, and Goode Books’s upswing all at once. Charlie and I flew into Asheville two days ago and are staying for another three; even though our lives are planted firmly in New York, our family is here, in Sunshine Falls, and there’s only so long I can go without seeing Libby, Brendan, and the girls and Charlie can go without seeing his parents. It’s still strange to wake up in a New York that Libby does not inhabit, but the transition was easier than I anticipated. My new job at Loggia helped, distracting me with a heap of manuscripts and a learning curve even a shark struggled to keep up with. When Charlie came back, he helped me, too, holding me when I’d break down after a call with Libby left me feeling a little too empty, taking me to get Thai when I felt like I had no one left for me in the city, and reminding me every day in that Charlie Lastra way of his that it was okay to make choices that are the best for me, not just best for everyone else. “Stephens,” he told me frequently, “you don’t compromise on anything else. You negotiated this ending for yourself. Enjoy it.”

I look over to him now, our hands intertwined as we wander through the meadow behind the cabin, where we’re staying for this trip (Charlie graduated from his racecar bed and although we love Libby’s Number Three, neither of us were interested in being up all night with the baby at her house) his capsule wardrobe looking as perfectly polished as ever, even in the June heat. He catches me looking and smiles the smile I love the most, the one that tells me he has a secret tucked up into the corner. “What?” he asks.

“You know that these shoes aren’t made to go frolicking through a field, Charlie.” I tell him. “I’m planning a way to extract revenge.”

“Stephens, if you feel the same way at the end of this frolic, I’ll let you extract whatever revenge you’d like.”

I mock gasp. “You’d let me publish Bigfoot erotica under your name?”

He laughs, shakes his head, and looks over to me. “Yes, Nora Stephens. If you still hate me for taking you on this frolic by the time its over, I’ll let you publish whatever erotica you want.

“You’re just saying that because Bigfoot secretly gets you off, aren’t you?”

“Of course,” he tells me with mock seriousness. “There’s nothing sexier than Bigfoot and his big—”

I slap my hand over his mouth as he laughs. “Don’t you finish that sentence, Charlie Lastra. You’ll damage my ego. I’m supposed to be the sexiest one in your life.”

His eyes soften, and he does look serious now. “You are, Nora. You’re the most everything in my life.”

I look away, fighting back tears. It turns out, after a decade of never crying, it’s hard to turn the waterworks off. I get emotional at everything now, from animal commercials (fucking stop laughing, Charlie, the cats are being abused), to the endings of new books (I still love the ones with realistic endings the best, but now I understand why Libby and Mom found them so hard to read), to Charlie Lastra making comments about Bigfoot erotica that somehow feel like so much more.

We come up to the cabin and Charlie pulls me up to stand on the porch. “Do you remember the first time you saw me in this town? How much you hated me?”

I laugh, nodding. “I didn’t believe it was actually you at first. I was convinced there must be some Charlie Lastra doppelganger, here to make my life miserable. I didn’t believe you would ever come here willingly.”

“To be fair, I didn’t come here willingly. I was held against my will and without takeout for months, Nora.”

I roll my eyes at him. “You know you would drop everything for your family the second they need something again.”

He hums in agreement. “I think about those first few weeks we were here sometimes. How lucky we are that we ended up in the same room at the same time. How lucky we are that our families love us enough to let us negotiate a happy ending.”

I understand, suddenly, what is about to happen. The breath punches out of me, and even though I knew this was coming, know what I’m going to say (even if I have to figure out a way to return the ring if it’s horrifyingly ugly), I’m suddenly so nervous that I start to shake. “Charlie,” I whisper.

He smiles at me. “Nora,” he whispers right back. “Good?” he asks.

“I think so,” I tell him, voice, body, soul trembling.

“Good,” he tells me. “Ready?”

I nod, the words already failing me. Feelings like this cannot be categorized. They cannot be put into boxes. Feelings like this balloon out and over every part of me until I’m consumed, until I feel them from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

“You’re perfect for me, Stephens,” he starts. “I think you already know that, but I want to tell you again. I love your nightmare brain. I love your nightmare body. I love your impractical shoes and your fancy underwear and your hour-long skincare routine.”

“That skincare routine brings me a lot of joy,” I tell him through the tears that are already starting to fall.

“I know. That’s why I love it. I love all the things you do to bring yourself joy. You spent so much of your life making sure everyone else was happy, Nora, and I’m so fucking proud that you’re able to make decisions now that make you happy. I love that I make you happy. I love your Peloton, and the bodega we go to every Saturday to get bagels, and I love that you wouldn’t leave New York for anything.

“I love that I’m the only one that understands that you’re harsh because you care. I love that I can tell you things in my horrible, sarcastic way, and you’ll understand exactly what I mean. I love our apartment, and I love being in it with you every day. I love sitting next to you and neither of us talking, because we’re working, or reading, or just being, because we understand each other well enough to know that sometimes less words are more powerful than more.

“But mostly, Nora, I just love you. And I really would like to spend the rest of my life with you. I might want it even more than I want to move out of my racecar bed into Libby’s guest room.”

“I knew you were just using me for my connections,” I say. He tilts one corner of his mouth up and gets down on one knee.

“Charlie,” I gasp out, incapable of anything else, as he pulls out a small box.

“I love you so much I even know that you want to pick out your own ring. So forgive me for offering you an empty box, but please, Nora Stephens, marry me. Let me spend the rest of my life contributing to our DINK lifestyle. Let me be easy for you in the best way possible. Marry me, Nora.”

I crash to the floor onto my knees so we’re at the same height, cradle his face in my hands, and laugh through my tears. “Yes.” I tell him. “Yes. Yes. Yes.”

“Yes?” he asks, as though he can’t quite believe this is real.

“Yes,” I say to him again. “Yes, I love you, thank you for not making me wear an ugly piece of jewelry, yes, yes, yes.” I pull him to me, kissing him, but we’re both laughing too hard to kiss properly, so it’s more of us smiling against each other, foreheads pressed together, every piece of our bodies fitting together.

Charlie pulls me on top of him so he’s laying on the porch. “Thank God you said yes. I still had a niggling worry that you were going to leave me for Shepherd.”

“Charlie Lastra!” I exclaim. “How dare you think for a second that I would pick the hot small town farmer over the overworked city executive who has no life because, and I quote, ‘There’s always something too good to read.’”

He rolls us so I’m laying underneath him. “Well, when you put it that way…” He kisses me again, long and slow and deep, and fuck, I’m so gone for this man.

I break away, laughing. “Holy shit. We’re going to get married.”

“I know,” he says, smiling wickedly. “How early is too early to start telling people my wife is a hot, kick-ass editor whose books crack the New York Times bestselling list every time they release?”

“Mmm, you can brag about me anytime you’d like.” I reach up to kiss him, twining my fingers through his hair. “Mr. Lastra-Stephens.” He nearly chokes, and I pull back, searching his eyes. “Sorry, I know we haven’t talked about names, but–”

“Shut the fuck up. Of fucking course I’m going to take your name. Fuck the patriarchy and all that. It’s just–” he rolls his hips into mine and I groan. “Really fucking hot to hear you talk like that. Excuse me for reacting.” He kisses my forehead, my cheek, my neck, and then looks back up at me. “Mrs. Lastra-Stephens. Or Stephens-Lastra. Whichever. Whatever. I don’t fucking care.”

“Lastra-Stephens,” I decide. “It’s alphabetical.”

He groans. “You really are my perfect woman.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t get me a ring.” I tell him as he rolls off of me so I’m pressed up against his side, my head resting on his shoulder. We’re still on the porch.

He looks down at me, quizzical. “Did you want me to?”

“No. I just thought,” I shrug. “You’d think it was weird I wanted to pick it out myself.”

“Nora. You forget how well I know you. You forget how similar we are. I would want to pick out a piece of jewelry I’m going to wear for the rest of my life, too.” He kisses my hair. “But for the record, I would’ve picked a really good ring.”

“Oh, yeah? What would it have looked like?”

“Expensive. Classic. Hot. I’d just find one that reminds me of you, honestly.”

I laugh, press a kiss to his shoulder. “I’ll let you have input when we pick one in the city, then.”

“Good.” He leans down to kiss me, then, and this time, there’s more intention behind it. His tongue brushes against mine, and then I’m on top of him, pressing him back into the porch.

He sits me up, still kissing me, and then breaks away to press his forehead to mine. “No offense Stephens, but I’m not having hot engagement sex with you on my parents’ cabin’s front porch.”

I laugh, climb off of him, and pull him up. “So hot engagement sex is on the table inside?”

He gives me one of his Charlie looks then, one that tells me that obviously hot engagement sex is on the table inside. He unlocks the door as I press kisses down his neck. “Nora.”

I smirk. “Charlie.”

He has me up against the door the second it closes behind us, and then I’m tugging him upstairs. We tumble onto the bed in a tangle of arms and legs, Charlie on top and me underneath. He kisses me hard, presses me into the mattress, pulls my shirt up and tugs my pants off. When he stands up to take his own clothes off, I sit up on my elbows, looking at him.

“What, Stephens? Regretting your decision already?”

“You are,” I say, “ridiculously hot.”

The corner of his mouth ticks up. “I love you too, Nora.”

Then he’s on top of me again, taking off my underwear, pressing his mouth to me, making me gasp and arch underneath him until I’m coming. He crawls back up me so we’re face to face. “Good?” he asks. I nod. “Keep going?” I nod again, and then he’s pressing inside of me, gasping, until we’re pressed together as tightly as we can be.

“Fuck, Nora,” Charlie rasps, dropping his head to my shoulder. “We get to do this forever.”

“I know,” I tell him, flipping us so I’m on top. “Aren’t you glad you got such a good catch?”

“Jesus–fuck–I just can’t believe all my wildest fantasies came true.”

I hum in agreement and start to move, my stomach already tightening with the anticipation of what’s to come. He only lets me stay in control for a minute, and then rolls me back over to fuck into me slow and deep. I moan, and then I’m coming, clenching down around him, and I can feel him come, too. We stay locked together for what feels like hours before he pulls out and tugs me into his side.

“Hi,” I say, looking up at him.

“Hi,” he says back. “Mrs. Lastra-Stephens.”

I groan. “Fuck, you’re right, that is really attractive.”

He laughs. “I know, right? It’s almost like it brings out the inner Bigfoot-esque possessiveness we all hold within us.”

I shove at him, rolling away as I cackle. “You did not just bring Bigfoot into sex.”

He pulls me back, kissing my left ring finger and then pressing a kiss to my lips. “Of course I did, Nora. Bigfoot is what got us into all of this in the first place.”

I laugh, thinking of those first texts in Sunshine Falls, of everything that came after it.

“Did our frolic end well enough for you to convince you not to publish Bigfoot erotica under my name?”

“Mmm, I don’t know.” I roll to lay on top of him. “Getting engaged to the love of one’s life isn’t quite a momentous enough occasion for me.”

“Oh, yeah?”

“Mmhmm.”

“What if the love of one’s life did this?” He presses a finger into me, right where I need him, and I groan.

“One might be able to be persuaded.”

He keeps going, then, until I’m gasping and begging and telling him that of course I won’t publish anything under his name, and then he’s back inside of me, moving until we both tumble over the edge.

Afterward, we sit on the bed and plan our wedding. We’ll have it in the city, and I already know how I’ll ask them to rearrange Freeman’s Books so we can have our ceremony there, amongst the books that kept me alive, the books that brought us together. We’ll go to our favorite restaurant afterwards, and drink and eat and dance all night. We’ll only invite our immediate family; who else do we need besides Libby and Brendan, Sally and Clint and Carina? I’ll wear a simple dress: long, white, and in Charlie’s words, really fucking hot. He’ll wear the suit that’s already a part of his wardrobe. God forbid he buy new clothes to only wear them once. Our rings will be gold, and they won’t be flashy. Neither of us are trying to prove how much we love each other or how rich we are with these rings. After, we’ll go back to our perfect apartment, and have romantic, dreamy, slow sex. We’ll wake up each morning after that belonging to each other a little more than we did the day before, intertwining our lives until we’re able to live our ending forever. There will never be kids, but there might be a cat. There will always be fights, and there will always be peace after that. There will be love and trust and respect, and I’ve never been so grateful for this man sitting beside me than I do in that moment.

“I love you,” I tell him for what must be the tenth time tonight, as we’re starting to fall asleep.

He tugs me into a hug. “I don’t think we could have written a better ending.”

“No,” I agree, “we couldn’t have. It’s too real to be written.”

Charlie hums in agreement, and we fall asleep like that, my head on his shoulder, one of his legs in between mine, my hand on his chest, his hand covering mine. It’s perfect. It’s better than anything I could have thought up.

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Yay!! thank you so much for reading! Likes, reblogs, and comments and constrictive criticism is always welcome. My asks are open: let me know what you want me to write!!

#book lovers #emily henry #charlie lastra #nora stephens #nora x charlie #book lovers fic #book lovers emily henry #nora x charlie fic #can you tell I'm scared to post this #please don't be mean

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