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mostlysignssomeportents · 6 months

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What kind of bubble is AI?

My latest column for Locus Magazine is "What Kind of Bubble is AI?" All economic bubbles are hugely destructive, but some of them leave behind wreckage that can be salvaged for useful purposes, while others leave nothing behind but ashes:

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

Think about some 21st century bubbles. The dotcom bubble was a terrible tragedy, one that drained the coffers of pension funds and other institutional investors and wiped out retail investors who were gulled by Superbowl Ads. But there was a lot left behind after the dotcoms were wiped out: cheap servers, office furniture and space, but far more importantly, a generation of young people who'd been trained as web makers, leaving nontechnical degree programs to learn HTML, perl and python. This created a whole cohort of technologists from non-technical backgrounds, a first in technological history. Many of these people became the vanguard of a more inclusive and humane tech development movement, and they were able to make interesting and useful services and products in an environment where raw materials – compute, bandwidth, space and talent – were available at firesale prices.

Contrast this with the crypto bubble. It, too, destroyed the fortunes of institutional and individual investors through fraud and Superbowl Ads. It, too, lured in nontechnical people to learn esoteric disciplines at investor expense. But apart from a smattering of Rust programmers, the main residue of crypto is bad digital art and worse Austrian economics.

Or think of Worldcom vs Enron. Both bubbles were built on pure fraud, but Enron's fraud left nothing behind but a string of suspicious deaths. By contrast, Worldcom's fraud was a Big Store con that required laying a ton of fiber that is still in the ground to this day, and is being bought and used at pennies on the dollar.

AI is definitely a bubble. As I write in the column, if you fly into SFO and rent a car and drive north to San Francisco or south to Silicon Valley, every single billboard is advertising an "AI" startup, many of which are not even using anything that can be remotely characterized as AI. That's amazing, considering what a meaningless buzzword AI already is.

So which kind of bubble is AI? When it pops, will something useful be left behind, or will it go away altogether? To be sure, there's a legion of technologists who are learning Tensorflow and Pytorch. These nominally open source tools are bound, respectively, to Google and Facebook's AI environments:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/18/openwashing/#you-keep-using-that-word-i-do-not-think-it-means-what-you-think-it-means

But if those environments go away, those programming skills become a lot less useful. Live, large-scale Big Tech AI projects are shockingly expensive to run. Some of their costs are fixed – collecting, labeling and processing training data – but the running costs for each query are prodigious. There's a massive primary energy bill for the servers, a nearly as large energy bill for the chillers, and a titanic wage bill for the specialized technical staff involved.

Once investor subsidies dry up, will the real-world, non-hyperbolic applications for AI be enough to cover these running costs? AI applications can be plotted on a 2X2 grid whose axes are "value" (how much customers will pay for them) and "risk tolerance" (how perfect the product needs to be).

Charging teenaged D&D players $10 month for an image generator that creates epic illustrations of their characters fighting monsters is low value and very risk tolerant (teenagers aren't overly worried about six-fingered swordspeople with three pupils in each eye). Charging scammy spamfarms $500/month for a text generator that spits out dull, search-algorithm-pleasing narratives to appear over recipes is likewise low-value and highly risk tolerant (your customer doesn't care if the text is nonsense). Charging visually impaired people $100 month for an app that plays a text-to-speech description of anything they point their cameras at is low-value and moderately risk tolerant ("that's your blue shirt" when it's green is not a big deal, while "the street is safe to cross" when it's not is a much bigger one).

Morganstanley doesn't talk about the trillions the AI industry will be worth some day because of these applications. These are just spinoffs from the main event, a collection of extremely high-value applications. Think of self-driving cars or radiology bots that analyze chest x-rays and characterize masses as cancerous or noncancerous.

These are high value – but only if they are also risk-tolerant. The pitch for self-driving cars is "fire most drivers and replace them with 'humans in the loop' who intervene at critical junctures." That's the risk-tolerant version of self-driving cars, and it's a failure. More than $100b has been incinerated chasing self-driving cars, and cars are nowhere near driving themselves:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/10/09/herbies-revenge/#100-billion-here-100-billion-there-pretty-soon-youre-talking-real-money

Quite the reverse, in fact. Cruise was just forced to quit the field after one of their cars maimed a woman – a pedestrian who had not opted into being part of a high-risk AI experiment – and dragged her body 20 feet through the streets of San Francisco. Afterwards, it emerged that Cruise had replaced the single low-waged driver who would normally be paid to operate a taxi with 1.5 high-waged skilled technicians who remotely oversaw each of its vehicles:

https://www.nytimes.com/2023/11/03/technology/cruise-general-motors-self-driving-cars.html

The self-driving pitch isn't that your car will correct your own human errors (like an alarm that sounds when you activate your turn signal while someone is in your blind-spot). Self-driving isn't about using automation to augment human skill – it's about replacing humans. There's no business case for spending hundreds of billions on better safety systems for cars (there's a human case for it, though!). The only way the price-tag justifies itself is if paid drivers can be fired and replaced with software that costs less than their wages.

What about radiologists? Radiologists certainly make mistakes from time to time, and if there's a computer vision system that makes different mistakes than the sort that humans make, they could be a cheap way of generating second opinions that trigger re-examination by a human radiologist. But no AI investor thinks their return will come from selling hospitals that reduce the number of X-rays each radiologist processes every day, as a second-opinion-generating system would. Rather, the value of AI radiologists comes from firing most of your human radiologists and replacing them with software whose judgments are cursorily double-checked by a human whose "automation blindness" will turn them into an OK-button-mashing automaton:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/08/23/automation-blindness/#humans-in-the-loop

The profit-generating pitch for high-value AI applications lies in creating "reverse centaurs": humans who serve as appendages for automation that operates at a speed and scale that is unrelated to the capacity or needs of the worker:

https://pluralistic.net/2022/04/17/revenge-of-the-chickenized-reverse-centaurs/

But unless these high-value applications are intrinsically risk-tolerant, they are poor candidates for automation. Cruise was able to nonconsensually enlist the population of San Francisco in an experimental murderbot development program thanks to the vast sums of money sloshing around the industry. Some of this money funds the inevitabilist narrative that self-driving cars are coming, it's only a matter of when, not if, and so SF had better get in the autonomous vehicle or get run over by the forces of history.

Once the bubble pops (all bubbles pop), AI applications will have to rise or fall on their actual merits, not their promise. The odds are stacked against the long-term survival of high-value, risk-intolerant AI applications.

The problem for AI is that while there are a lot of risk-tolerant applications, they're almost all low-value; while nearly all the high-value applications are risk-intolerant. Once AI has to be profitable – once investors withdraw their subsidies from money-losing ventures – the risk-tolerant applications need to be sufficient to run those tremendously expensive servers in those brutally expensive data-centers tended by exceptionally expensive technical workers.

If they aren't, then the business case for running those servers goes away, and so do the servers – and so do all those risk-tolerant, low-value applications. It doesn't matter if helping blind people make sense of their surroundings is socially beneficial. It doesn't matter if teenaged gamers love their epic character art. It doesn't even matter how horny scammers are for generating AI nonsense SEO websites:

https://twitter.com/jakezward/status/1728032634037567509

These applications are all riding on the coattails of the big AI models that are being built and operated at a loss in order to be profitable. If they remain unprofitable long enough, the private sector will no longer pay to operate them.

Now, there are smaller models, models that stand alone and run on commodity hardware. These would persist even after the AI bubble bursts, because most of their costs are setup costs that have already been borne by the well-funded companies who created them. These models are limited, of course, though the communities that have formed around them have pushed those limits in surprising ways, far beyond their original manufacturers' beliefs about their capacity. These communities will continue to push those limits for as long as they find the models useful.

These standalone, "toy" models are derived from the big models, though. When the AI bubble bursts and the private sector no longer subsidizes mass-scale model creation, it will cease to spin out more sophisticated models that run on commodity hardware (it's possible that Federated learning and other techniques for spreading out the work of making large-scale models will fill the gap).

So what kind of bubble is the AI bubble? What will we salvage from its wreckage? Perhaps the communities who've invested in becoming experts in Pytorch and Tensorflow will wrestle them away from their corporate masters and make them generally useful. Certainly, a lot of people will have gained skills in applying statistical techniques.

But there will also be a lot of unsalvageable wreckage. As big AI models get integrated into the processes of the productive economy, AI becomes a source of systemic risk. The only thing worse than having an automated process that is rendered dangerous or erratic based on AI integration is to have that process fail entirely because the AI suddenly disappeared, a collapse that is too precipitous for former AI customers to engineer a soft landing for their systems.

This is a blind spot in our policymakers debates about AI. The smart policymakers are asking questions about fairness, algorithmic bias, and fraud. The foolish policymakers are ensnared in fantasies about "AI safety," AKA "Will the chatbot become a superintelligence that turns the whole human race into paperclips?"

https://pluralistic.net/2023/11/27/10-types-of-people/#taking-up-a-lot-of-space

But no one is asking, "What will we do if" – when – "the AI bubble pops and most of this stuff disappears overnight?"

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/12/19/bubblenomics/#pop

Image: Cryteria (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:HAL9000.svg

CC BY 3.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/3.0/deed.en

tom_bullock (modified) https://www.flickr.com/photos/tombullock/25173469495/

CC BY 2.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/

#pluralistic #ai #economics #business #hype #bubbles #bubblenomics #residue

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greatstormcat · 7 months

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A Reason To Go On - Part 1

Stalker!Ghost x f!reader

TW: MDNI 18+, stalking & obsessive behaviour, dub/con, mental health issues

Authors note: this came about following a series of drabbles which I’ve put links to below which may be useful to read beforehand. Written in one sitting and not edited!

Drab 1 Drab 2 Drab 3 Drab 4 Drab 5

AO3 version where everything has been merged

Series Masterlist

Simon sat looking across the kitchen table at Price, both nursing barely touched glasses of bourbon. The surface was immaculately clean, having never been used since it was bought a few months ago. Like much of the items and furniture in the little flat he now called home. Price was looking at him, waiting for him to speak, and the silence was eating up the last of the air in the room.

“Is it really that bad, Simon?” Price prompted him, his tone serious and maddeningly sympathetic. He was always Simon now, Ghost was gone, dead and buried the way he should have stayed all those years ago. He hadn’t even touched a balaclava since he left, using a black medical mask instead when he felt the need.

“No, not really,” Simon shrugged, turning the glass on the table idly. He didn’t look up at his Captain, no that was wrong, his ex-Captain. “Been keeping myself busy reading, exercise, you know,” he finished dismissively.

“You’ve kept up with that therapist?” Price asked, knowing the answer was most likely going to be a negative.

“Sure,” Simon lied. He hadn’t been to any appointments with a therapist since his medical discharge, and he would rather… No, can’t finish that thought as that’s what got him into this mess in the first place. Chucked out on civvy street with a fat pension and nothing to do, no purpose to serve after all these years. At least Price had arranged the pension so he didn’t have to worry about his name getting into circulation, not with his past. The flat was rented under a pseudonym and paid for by some shady forces protection scheme. He didn’t need that catching up with him now.

“Look, I’m settled in and getting myself sorted. You don’t need to come all the way here and check on me,” Simon grumbled, not bothering to hide how much he resented Price these days. He hadn’t fought for him, hadn’t tried to keep him on the Taskforce when that shrink had stamped his file as unfit for duty. Anger issues, poor impulse control, danger to self and others. Price huffed and knocked back his drink. These visits always ended the same, full of regret and bitterness.

“Okay, son,” he said, getting up and looking around the barely furnished flat one last time. “I’ll let you be, but I’ll be back when I can. Why not think about what I said though, try and get a hobby, something to focus on.”

Price left soon after and Simon finished his glass before heading towards the spare bedroom, his office as he liked to think of it. He’d found his left a purpose, no thanks to Price. He had a reason to carry on now, and it meant everything to him. Flicking on the lightswitch the rows and rows of photographs on the wall were illuminated, all showing images of you at various times since he had first seen you.

With a smile he relaxed into the chair by the desk, looking up at the photos. You were his life now, he was dedicated to taking care of you. Since that first day he’d seen you he had dealt with your worthless ex-boyfriend, making sure the little shit stain never bothered you again, scared off several unworthy bastards in the pub you met your friends in, and put some small security cameras in the downstairs areas of you house so he could check on you from his laptop.

You were the focus of his every waking moment, and even when he slept now he pictured you in his dreams and woke hard and throbbing. At the start of this he had sworn to himself he would keep his distance, not let you know he existed so he didn’t burden you with his problems. But it was getting harder and harder not to sit and imagine what the touch of your hand would be like, you were a brave and kind soul, would you turn him away if he spoke to you?

That was why he had answered the note on your coffee table. The chance to make a connection to you was too great a temptation, and he let himself slip and grab the chance. This would be a slippery slope.

As midnight nears he makes his nightly pilgrimage to your house, his motorbike left at the end of your road before he walks closer, not wanting to disturb you with the noise. The footholds he made in your garden wall months ago allow him to quickly and quietly scale the wall, and he fishes out the key he copied for your back door, letting himself into your kitchen. He cocks his head and listens carefully making sure you aren’t moving around upstairs, and he hears nothing.

By now, he knows to look at the notepad on the table in the living room. There’s always a small note written there since he’d replied to the message you’d left all those weeks ago. Tonight, however, the pad is missing and he feels a pang in his heart. Why haven’t you left a note tonight? Has your tolerance for him dried up now? He feels a creeping fear, another loss looming in his future that he isn’t ready to cope with, not when he has already lost so much in the past.

He moves up the stairs, having memorised where to step and where to avoid so no creaks come from the wood. Your bedroom is at the top, and he has spent many hours sat in the hallway outside your bedroom door just to listen to the steady sound of your breathing. More than once you’ve gone to the bathroom and walked right past him, never bothering with putting on lights at night. He looks through the open doorway, a thin beam of light shining through the gap in the curtains and across your form under the bed covers.

Tonight though, your breathing sounds different, and he realises you aren’t asleep in the darkness. When you sit up, he freezes.

“You’re there, aren’t you?” you say to the darkened bedroom, absolutely certain you can hear soft breathing in the shadows by the door. You’re still not sure who or what you’re talking to, but you know that there is someone listening to you.

Simon remains calm. It's the first time you’ve spoken directly to him and he can’t quite process the fact that the object of his desires has come this close to actually perceiving him. Both the last thing in the world he wanted, and the one thing he has needed more than anything in his entire life. For several heartbeats he wrestles with himself deciding wether to answer you or not.

“Yeah, I’m here,” he finally answers, deep voice carrying around the room easily. He watches you carefully in the thin slither of light, sees your tiny flinch as you hear him and the involuntary swallow in your throat, but you don’t panic.

“Will you tell me why you’re here?” You ask, unable to hide the slight tremble in your voice. You’re so brave, his heart swells with pride at how you handle waking up to a strange man in your house, your very bedroom. You’d have made an amazing soldier.

“Just checkin’ you’re okay. I check on you a lot,” he admits.

“How long have you been doing this?” He can see a frown on your features, you’re trying to piece this all together now.

“Few months,” he answers with a shrug of his shoulders which draws your attention. You see the movement and realise just how large the shape in the shadows is, your eyes going wider in shock. His frame fills the doorway in width and height, and a tiny voice in your head tells you that you should be terrified, but you aren’t. If this man meant you harm you’d be dead already, months ago apparently. Instead he was getting into your house and doing the stuff that, and you feel your brain stutter at this thought, a boyfriend would do.

“Okay, and you’ve been doing more than that haven’t you? You’ve been following me around and helping me out haven’t you?”

“Yeah,” he replies.

“Why?”

“Wanna keep you safe, and happy,” he grunts with a frown, not wanting to dwell on that question.

“You could do that without breaking into my house, without hiding yourself from me.”

“I didn’t really want to bother you, I don’t need anyone to take care of me and it’s just easier this way,” he tells you, hearing how hollow his own words sound to his ears.

“Look, I really appreciate everything you’ve been doing, but this isn’t… normal,” you say, hugging your knees to your chest now as you settle into this off situation. Again, you tell yourself you should be screaming and calling the police but there is a sadness about this man that you can’t ignore. “Why don’t you come and sit with me and we can talk?”

“Wait,” comes his brusque reply, and your eyebrows raise. He steps back from the doorway and down the stairs, not nothing to mask his footsteps now, and returns with a scarf that was hanging at the bottom of the stairs in one hand. “Close your eyes,” he instructs, holding the scarf in one hand where you can see it.

“A blindfold. Why? Are you ugly?” you tease, the words hitting him like a bullet between the eyes and a smile forming across his face.

“Quite the opposite,” he replies, feeling warmth spread through his chest at such a poignant exchange of words. It's almost as though you knew…

You close your eyes. Listening carefully as you hear him moving closer, the faint rustling of fabric is just audible. A blindfold settles over your eyes, thick and heavy, blotting out anything you might have been able to see even in the darkness.

Then, and only then, do you feel the mattress dipping down a long way as he sits on the edge of the bed. Tentatively you lift one hand and blindly reach out to touch him, after a moment or two he takes your hand in his, warm fingers and a calloused palm encapsulating your own. On a whim, you pull, urging him to move closer to you. At first he resists, the bed shifts and for a moment you worry he is going to get up and leave, but you hold onto his hand and tug again. He relents and leans over towards you, and warm face rests against your shoulder, hair tickling your cheek, and you wrap your arms around huge shoulders.

It’s as though a dam breaks inside Simon, the moment you put your arms around him he melts against you, gently pushing you back against the mattress as he lies down beside you. One of his legs hooks over yours over the covers and his arm drapes over your stomach, pinning you into place as his face rests against the exposed skin at the crook of your neck.

You feel a hot rush of air leave his lungs, heating your neck, and a tiny groan tinged with such sadness escapes him. The sound plucks at your heart and you rub your cheek against his hair, encouraging him to nuzzle into you even further, as though we would climb into your chest if it were an option.

“What should I call you, now that we are finally talking? You already know my name,” you murmur.

“Ghost,” he replies, his lips tickling your skin as he speaks and a shiver runs down your spine.

“I thought you were a ghost to start with, so that’s appropriate,” you reply.

He grunts and touches his lips to your neck again, feeling you shudder again as he is draped over you. He tried a small kiss, his control evaporating by the second as you respond to him to readily, and when you sigh softly it vanishes. He kisses you desperately, moans accompanying every movement of his lips until his mouth is on yours, hot and needy. From the darkness of the blindfold you kiss him back, hands framing the face you cannot see and the weight of his body shifting until you are crushed into the mattress below you.

The bed covers are pulled away from you, cool air reaching through the thin fabric of the T-shirt you are wearing until his warmth settles against you, pushing your knees apart so his clothed erection presses against your crotch. He humps you through his clothes, a frantic and needy action as his kisses continue to burn your mouth with their ferocity.

Little moans and whines escape you as you let him drink his fill of you, the amount of passion he has for you like nothing you’ve ever experienced before. You hands trace over his shoulders, tracing firm muscle as he lifts your T-shirt and kisses down you body, stopping to grope roughly at your breasts before he kisses across your stomach to your underwear.

His mouth moves across the fabric, hot and hungry, pressing into your folds and causing arousal to flood through you. The wetness is unmissable as he grinds his face into you, fingers digging into your thighs. You hear a zip being undone.

“No, wait,” you try to slow him down by putting your hands on his chest but he is too far gone now, muttering praises and words of adoration like he is reciting a memorised prayer. Your underwear is pulled down roughly, stinging your legs as he drags it down carelessly and the tip of his erection is pressed against your dripping cunt before you have time to think again.

Simon presses into you, his head hanging from his shoulders loosely as he focuses on the sensation of your heat enveloping his cock. He shudders and pauses when he is halfway in, looking to your face and wishing he could see your eyes, but that would be too much for him and he knows it. Your mouth gapes open, back arched and you whimper when he slowly thrusts forward again.

“Fuck… your perfect,” he whispers, watching his length disappearing inside of you. “So perfect for me.” When he hilts himself in your cunt he leans down and kisses your neck again, hands gripping your shoulders so you are totally surrounded by his body, entirely surrounded and filled by him. Your arms are trapped between your chest and his, leaving you no way to move with his weight on top of you. He pulls his hips back, almost completely pulling out before slowly pushing back in, sparking intense pleasure as you feel his thickness stretching you open. Every vein and ridge of his cock can be felt, and when he bottoms out again he presses against your cervix and you whine at the sensation.

“Its okay,” he whispers, kissing your neck and nipping at your skin as he holds you tightly, not letting you move as you lay in total blindness while he slowly fucks you. “Everythings fine, this is so good, you feel so good.” His hips begin to snap against yours as he picks up the pace, the pleasure from each thrust bleeding into the next as he speeds up until you’re riding a never ending wave of electricity. The sounds of his skin on yours mix with his grunts and praises, creating a filthy symphony of sounds around you.

The pressure against your clit spurs your impending orgasm, and you rock your hips to chase the release, coaxing him to thrust harder into your aching hole.

“Gonna cum,” he starts to moan, “gonna cum in you.” He repeats it over and over, his voice cracking as he speaks, and the words push you over the edge. Your cunt grips and clenches onto his cock as you cum, crying out his name and with a harsh groan he pours himself into you.

His head falls into the crook of your neck as he catches his breath and after a while carefully pulls his softening cock out of you, making you wince.

“Shit, did I hurt you?” He asks, going still as he hovers over you.

“No it’s okay. You just have… large equipment,” you say weakly, and feel a kiss on your cheek.

“I’m sorry I didn’t, you know, ask about that first,” he says, frowning at himself as he lowers himself beside you on the bed. He’s meant to be protecting you not taking advantage of you, but it felt so good. He feels wetness on his cheeks and wipe his face with the back of his hand.

“It was intense,” you say, “but it’s fine, don’t worry.” You turn and press yourself into him, this large and solid man that you don’t know, but trust for no good reason. He stays a while longer until you fall asleep, but when you wake up with your morning alarm he is gone. The scarf is neatly folded up on the bedside table, a scrap of paper with a phone number written on it ontop with the words ‘if you need me’ written under them.

When you go downstairs he has even put out a mug and teabag by the kettle for you, locking the door as he had left.

Taglist @ghosts-cyphera @katamari-possum @kkaaaagt @n1ght4ngel

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cowork-venue · 2 years

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Conference Room in Bhubaneswar

#conferenceroom #coworking space #office space for rent #meeting #meetup #discussion #brain storm #productive #efficient #collaborative #developers & startups #architecture #buildings #furniture #connection

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vivalabunbun · 1 year

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A Long Time Coming

Summary: Going back to the place that started it all as a pair different than before.

Word Count: 5.2k

Tags: Alhaitham x Fem!Reader, Smut, NFSW, MDNI, Modern AU, Childhood Friends AU, Fluff, humor, slight angst, slight dubcon, exhibitionism? kinda? porn with plot, slight yandere alhaitham, mentions of marriage, marriage pressures, pushy family.

Authors Note: This is a small continuation of this basically you take alhaitham back to your parents’ house. I wrote this in a rush to finish it in time for his birthday. Enjoy

Officially becoming a couple with Alhaitham was as if your world had been flipped upside down, yet not a piece of furniture had been knocked over in the event. That is to say, everything and nothing has changed. Your apartment still housed one, the same workplace banters, the same comfortable silence. Yet, on weekends in your bed lays another body. Under the covers, curious hands roam, and in the air lingered the scent of passion.

However, once the work week started, the two bodies untwine, becoming you and Alhaitham. No one at the office suspected the fresh development between the two of you, not even your new drinking colleagues. Although, Kaveh has noted to you:

“That guy has been walking around much smugger than usual. Like he just completed all the trials of life. Do you think he got a pay increase again?”

The morning after that fateful night while across the kitchen table, there was a firm handshake agreeing to the boundaries of your budding union. Particularly, that under no circumstances shall a certain blond be the first to discover the true nature of this relationship. Once Kaveh knows, then all of Sumeru and Teyvat will know too. Plus, the absolute hysterics he’ll devolve into when he’s the last to know that the two of you were an item will be the show of a lifetime. Great minds think alike after all.

Right now you and Alhaitham were in his rented car on the way to the first big challenge of your relationship: Meeting your parents. Well, that is a bit misleading, your parents already know Alhaitham, they practically were his secondary guardians, often looking after him when his grandmother was busy. Their eyes watched the pair of you grow up as their wrinkles grew.

But things have changed, Alhaitham is no longer just the neighbor's grandson and your childhood friend. He was now going to be introduced as the man you are dating. That fact made you jittery the whole drive, nerves bouncing off the corners of your skull, as you held the basket of fruits Alhaitham had bought as a gift to them.

“The fruits will get bruised if you keep tossing the basket with your legs.” He remarked, never taking his eyes off the road.

“I can’t help it. I’m nervous, Haitham. I don’t know how you’re so calm.” You consciously made the effort to still your leg.

You glanced over at him, taking a moment to admire his side profile, his face and demeanor stoic as ever. Alhaitham, who usually spent the weekends in his comfortable t-shirts and sweatpants, made the effort to wear a crisp black button-down and tailored slacks. You also observed the extra effort he had put into his hair today.

“Simple. I am a familiar face to your parents, and they often commend me for my accomplishments, not to mention my physique.” Large hands firmly grasped the steering wheel as he made the turn down the well-known road.

“Oh? Then why are you all dressed up mmm?” You quirked an eyebrow at him.

“It will serve me well to maintain a good impression.” He swiftly rebutted.

You let out an exasperated sigh while shutting your eyes. If you had a sliver of the self-confidence your former childhood friend had, you’d conquer the corporate world. You faced the road again, basket shifting in your lap as you sank lower into the plush leather seat.

“Remember what I said back in the apartment, absolutely no PDA in front of them. You already know how they are.”

“I am aware.”

His polished car pulled into the driveway of your parent's house, the trees in the front lawn casting a nice shade from the blazing light of the sun. He shifted the stick into park. The gentle rumble of the engine ceased the moment he pulled out the keys. Alhaitham swiftly unbuckled, opened, and exited his car. A resounding thump felt as the driver-side door closed. All the while you fumble with your seatbelt, the oversized basket impeding your dexterity. Then finally the click that signaled freedom just as the passenger-side door unlatched.

“I’ve carried this for long enough. It’s your turn.” You gestured towards the fruit-filled hassle on your lap.

“Alright.” He effortlessly took the basket from your lap with one arm, and the other outreached towards you patiently.

You held back your teasing remark as you accepted his invitation, gently placing your hand in his awaiting palm as he helped you out of your seat. Your heart couldn’t help but flutter at his actions, hoping to control the growing smile on your face when you turned away to close the car door. Your hands swayed together up the pathway to the front door, steps matching.

Your nerves growing as the distance decreased until you were right in front of the lacquered wood. You hastily pulled your hand out of his tender hold, palms getting a bit sweaty.

“Again, no touching in their presence.” You warned once more.

Swiftly you pressed the doorbell, its cheerful chime drowning out any possible response from Alhaitham. From behind the door, you could hear the soft thumps of your mother’s feet against the wooden flooring as she strode up. When you hear the clicks of your mom unlatching the door, you took a side step away from Alhaitham, putting a bit more space between your bodies.

The door flies open.

“Oh! Dear! Our daughter has arrived! With a handsome guest!” Your mom called back towards your dad.

“Is it Alhaitham, honey?” Your father’s voice rang from deeper in the house.

It’s been less than a minute and you already want to sink through the floor in embarrassment. Your face begged to be shielded away from your lover’s prying eyes, despite his stoic face he was definitely enjoying this. Just how many times has your mother praised the sculpted perfection that was his face?

‘It’s just for a few hours, you can power through this. You will survive.’ You repeated this silent mantra in your head.

Four cups of tea were placed on the living room table, freshly cut fruits taking their place in the center. Your parents both sitting on the opposite sofa from you and Alhaitham. Your lover seated himself comfortably directly in front of your father while you sat at the far opposite end, even placing a throw pillow between you and him as if to create a barrier.

Your mother was chatting nonstop, questioning Alhaitham about every topic she could.

“How has work been, lil Haitham?”

“The usual.”

“Oh my! Have you grown even taller?”

“My last health check-up did not indicate such a thing.” Despite loathing small talk, he answered overall politely in his monotone voice.

“Then… Have you finally found someone special? A lover?” Your mother pressed, eyes twinkling.

During the last question, you were taking a sip of your tea, only to choke when you processed what your mom had just asked.

“Ah, not on the carpet child! It’s brand new!” Your mother chided.

“... You have something to say, little one?” Your dad asked as he handed you a napkin, one brow raised.

Ah, there’s no use in delaying the truth any longer. After all, telling them was the whole purpose of the two-hour drive, with Alhaitham even going through the trouble of renting a car. As if preparing to rip off a band-aid you counted down in your head, prepping your eardrums.

3-2-1

“Alhaitham and I are seeing each other.” You quickly revealed.

Instantly the air was filled with the harmonized gasp of your parents, their hands clutching onto one another and their mouths agape. Their owl-like eyes shiftng between your now red-stained face and your lover’s neutral expression. Expressions morphing from utter shock to disbelief, then finally melting into joy.

“Oh! Dear! The gods have answered our prayers!”

“I know, honey. My faith has been renewed.”

They were right. Somewhere up above, there must be a god amused by your suffering. You wanted nothing more than for the couch to swallow you as your cheeks burned. May if you were to be sucked into some subspace, you can avoid the absolute tidal wave of questions from your mother’s mouth.

“For how long?”

“Ah… for about two months now.”

“How did this happen?”

“L-long story…”

“Have you moved in together?”

“Not yet, mom.”

“What date is the wedding? Planned names for the kids? You should name one after-”

“We are planning to take things slowly-”

“Slowly?!” Your mother’s voice peaked.

Your mom and Kaveh should compete to see who can shatter your eardrums first with their shrills. Your gut churned as you knew what was about to come next.

“You’ve known each other for over sixteen years already, is that not slow enough??”

“I-it’s not the same-”

“Most people your age get married after knowing someone for only a fraction of that time!”

“U-um-”

“Oh, why is my daughter so indecisive? Do you know just how many people would kill for your place? Poor lil Haitham’s youth is being wasted.” Your mother cradled her face in her hand, disappointment evident.

A chill overtook your body. The frosty hands of insecurity ran along the back of your neck, preventing you from choking out a response. Not that you had a good answer anyway.

In fact, you did not have an answer for why you wanted this relationship to move slowly. Were you just scared? Indecisive like your mother just described? More troubling was that Alhaitham also heard your mother’s outburst. From experience, you knew Alhaitham loathed nothing more than things that wasted his time. He is human, his patience is finite.

The atmosphere was tense, despite the beautiful blue sky of Sumeru outside, the room seemed dark and dreary. The cups of tea now growing cold. Deciding to step in from the sidelines, Alhaitham deemed it inappropriate for the conversation to end like this.

“Currently, the geo-political atmosphere has been tense with raising concerns over Snezhnaya. As a result, the economy in Sumeru has been going through a bit of stagflation, not to mention the rapidly inflating prices of houses. As you know, ma’am, I am currently renting out my home to a colleague to cover a portion of the mortgage payment.” He took a sip of tea.

“This is all to say that now is just not the right time.” He finishes, placing the cup back onto the wooden table.

“He’s right, honey.” Your father finally contributed to the conversation.

“Alhaitham and our little one are still young, and the world is turbulent. We shouldn’t be putting more pressure on their shoulders, honey.” Your father reached over to soothe your mother's arms.

“Once the state of the world settles down, please let me ask for your daughter’s hand.” Alhaitham asked while looking sincerely into their eyes, a sign of his respect for them.

The gesture brought a surge of heartwarming pride through your parents. As your mother soon changed gears into singing praises of her prospective future son-in-law, the atmosphere in the room light like the sun outside once more. You looked over at Alhaitham, a thankful and knowing smile gracing your lips as you tuned out your mother.

Many people assume that academically gifted geniuses, such as Alhaitham, lack social and emotional awareness. But the existence of the ashen-haired man beside you shatters that preconceived misconception.

Alhaitham knew how to take control of the situation, he knew how to dispel tension, and how to mediate a difficult conversation. Perhaps he had learned it from his constant observation of strangers, or maybe from the philosophy novels he had browsed.

Your hand began inching towards him along the sofa, heart longing to feel his warmth through your skin, to intertwine your fingers. He shifted his body, increasing the space separating you.

Your hand halted, retreating back to your side shameful like a sinner. You didn’t feel like you had the right to be upset, after all, it was you who told him how distastefully your parents would react to physical displays of affection.

It may be that the opportunity for tender intimacy between you and him came so sparsely. Only two days out of seven could you act on your affections for one another. Yet, here you were deprived of it in the house you and he shared many memories in. It left you with a bitter sting in the heart.

The bored gods seem to not be able to get enough of the drama playing out in front of them. Because as if scripted, the moment you and Alhaitham tried to bid your goodbyes, your parents began to pester for the pair of you to stay for dinner.

“Little one, your mother and I put so much effort into renovating the place. Don’t you want to see?” Your father's lips frowned.

“I also got up extra early to get the freshest ingredients for supper. Do you not miss our cooking?” Your mom guilt-tripped.

“Well, you see Haitham needs to return the car soon-”

“No, I don’t. I made sure to pay for two days' worth of rental, enough to cover a weekend. Also, it is almost my usual dinner time.” His curt voice answered from behind you.

Your face snapped back towards him, the look of utter betrayal plastered all over your features. Outnumbered three to one now, you had no choice but to cave as your shoulders dropped. The gods must be laughing at your suffering, wanting the comedy to continue.

“We’ll go rest a bit in my room…” You quietly uttered.

“That’s wonderful! Dinner will be ready in about thirty minutes! Your room has been left untouched.” Your mom chimed, smile beaming.

“Yes, yes. We’ll go there now…” You listlessly began the journey up the stairs, Alhaitham right behind.

“Little one.” Your dad called out from the bottom of the steps.

“Yes?”

“The door is to remain open at all times.” He reminded.

“Dad, we’re not kids-”

“House rules.” Your father crossed his arms, stern eyes glancing over Alhaitham and you.

You dropped your head, feeling as if you had reverted back to your teenage years again. Today was really testing your resolve isn’t it?

“Fine.” You huffed, continuing your way up the shiny new stairs.

The moment you reached your room, you softly pounded a fist into Alhaitham’s stupidly firm chest.

“Traitor.” You huffed out.

“I can’t help it, your parents’ cooking is too good of an offer to pass up.” He said as if stating the obvious.

“They’re gonna continue with the small talk you know.” You poked.

“I know, but you’ll be at the table too.” He rebutted.

You let out an exasperated sigh. He was going to expertly redirect the conversation towards you, just like how he always did back then. You really just can’t win today. You plopped your tired body onto your old bed, the stack of pillows and plushies shifting out of their positions.

All you’ve done today was sit and talk, yet you felt more exhausted than if you had ran up all 10 stories of your apartment building. You couldn’t wait to go home.

Alhaitham’s teal eyes trailed up your spread form, then around your childhood room. Your room was like a time capsule, with the same wooden desk in the corner, the same unnecessary amount of pillows, and the same scent that was so wholly you. Maybe it was the nostalgia of being in the room the two of you spent so much time in, same open-door rule, his mind began to run through some memories.

All the times you would lay in your bed with shorts that barely covered your ass.

All the times you would press your body against his as he help you with assignments at the desk.

All the times you would run your fingers through his hair and coo ‘smart boy’ after taking your finished homework from his hands.

All the times the scent of you would linger on his clothes as he pressed the fabric against his nose on particularly desperate nights.

His jaw clenched as murky desire began to bubble up inside of him.

Alhaitham thought after the night when you both proclaimed your feelings to each other, that creature lurking over his shoulder would subside. A miscalculation on his part.

The boiling pot of emotions, he had been continuously lifting the lid off to relieve the pressure throughout the last two months, only continued to boil over faster.

The creature only got hungrier, he only got greedier. It wanted to claim you as fully his from the inside out, down to every fiber of your being. Two days out of the week was not enough, it needs more.

Frankly, he thought it was unfair how your essence would taint the rationality of his mind. Isn’t it only fair that he settled the score? To give you a taste of the insanity you put him through.

Quickly taking note of the bustling noises of your parents in the kitchen, preoccupied with the task of supper. The kitchen radio plays old pop songs from the time of your parent’s youth. These details only encouraged him to put his plan into action.

“Hey Haitham, before we leave did you want to check on your grandma’s property?” Your eyes focused on the ceiling.

No response was heard from your ashen-haired lover, as his slow steps closed the distance between your bodies.

“Haitham?-”

Like a falcon swooping down to grasp an unsuspecting hare into its sharp talons, his body pinned yours against the plush bed, lips sealed against yours. The pure shock of it all made you react with a gasp. Never one to miss a window of opportunity, his tongue snaked its way into your mouth. His woodsy scent invades your senses. It’s only been two months since it began, yet your body responded so perfectly, Pavlov could’ve used your reaction to test his theory instead of those dogs.*

Your skin heated up against his, legs shifting to encase his body against yours, muscles going limp under his control. If you were this weak after a simple kiss, Alhaitham needs to take extra precautions to ensure no other person could ever see you like this. The dark glint of lust was evident in his eyes as his hand trailed under your chiffon skirt.

He didn’t have the chance to tell you today, but your choice of a light sweater and long flowy skirt was absolutely endearing. So sweet and innocent, and under him, such easy access to be devoured. To emphasize just how vulnerable you were, his long fingers traced all the way up to outline your folds. Feeling how your cunt twitched in response to his touches over the fabric of your panties. Your mouth was desperately trying to break away, lungs burning with the desire for oxygen.

“Ah- H-haitham?” You whispered out, startled by this uncharacteristic outburst from your lover.

A thread of saliva connected your two lips, as your flushed face looked up at him. His face was stony as ever if it weren’t for that smirk in his eyes. It signaled that he was perfectly aware that his fingers were now pushing your panties aside. Middle finger sliding up and down your slit, purposefully bumping into a certain bundle of nerves towards the top.

“W-wait, here? Haitham, my parents-” You stifled a moan when his finger flicked your button.

“We’re not in their presence at the moment.” He retorted quietly, pressing sweet little kisses against your neck.

“Still!” You harshly whispered.

His finger pressed against your opening, and instinctively your cunt clenched, only to close onto nothing. A slickness began to develop along your slit. It’s been five long days since the last time your poor cunt was given any attention.

“Your body sure is honest.” He tutted.

In your feeble attempt to shift out of his grasp, your cunt only pressed more into his hands, which only served to weaken your resolve. He brought his lips closer to your ear, his deep voice sending a pleasurable shiver down your spine.

“If you really don’t want this, then push against my shoulders. Come now, make up your mind.” This said all the while he rubbed slow circles into your clit.

You could hear the faint clattering of pots and pans coming from downstairs along with the pounding of your heartbeat in your ears. You had put on such a big show in front of your lover about the rules, and yet here you were so needy after him. You hated how greedy your body had become for him, nerves kicking into overdrive and skin prickling as his hot breath brushed against it.

You turned your head to the side, ashamed of how quickly your resolve had crumbled.

“Good girl. Open your mouth.” He cooed, bringing two fingers up to your lips.

Your pouty gaze met his as you granted his fingers access, they fluttered along your tongue. Gathering your spit as they did before he pulled them back out.

“I want to test my efficiency.” He lazily observed his glistening fingers.

Oh, the desire in the pit of your stomach leaped at his words. As his hands pulled your body towards the edge of the cramped bed. Effortlessly flipping you over so that your plush ass was now facing him, your face pressed against the sheets.

“Try to be quiet.” He pushed the fabric of your skirt over your ass, revealing your soft mint panties. ‘So you were expecting something.’

Angling your hips up as he knelt at the side of your bed, your cunt was now fully on display for him. The greedy thing twitching with anticipation each time his cool exhales hit its hot skin. In one fluid motion, his wet tongue swiped up along your folds as his thumbs spread them apart. Quickly you bite into the sheets, praying that it would silence your voice. With practiced precision, his tongue instantly attacked your aching bud, stroking it, rolling it, and flicking it with his wet muscle.

Your hips would’ve been bucking wildly if it weren’t for the firm hold Alhaitham had on them. Your slick was now spilling out onto his awaiting tongue mingling together with his spit as they began to drip down his chin. His tongue continued to assault your swollen bud as your teeth ground against the sheets, fighting to keep down your moans.

All the while your parents remained blissfully unaware of the beast they’d let into their home that was currently doing unspeakable things to their daughter.

You felt your eyes begin to roll to the back of your head as you felt that familiar white heat approaching, tension so close to snapping. It would only take 1-2-3 more flicks of his- It all stopped. A whine almost ripped through your throat at the sudden loss of his tongue as he pulled away.

Wiping his mouth with the back of his hand as he stood back to his full towering height. The pressure in his pants screams to be relieved. Who was he to deny himself such simple pleasures? Swiftly undoing his belt and pushing down his boxers, the raging length eager to bury its thick girth into your willing walls.

You couldn’t help but wiggle your hips a bit, egging him on to give you what you’ve been craving more than any food. The glaze of his tip against your twitching hole was the only warning you got before his hips snapped against yours. The momentum so great it caused the sheets to slip out from your teeth, a loud moan on the cusp of escaping if it weren’t for Alhaitham’s hand swiftly grasping your mouth.

Your walls welcomed the familiar stretch, clenching and releasing as if they were placing wet kisses along his length. He wasted no time in beginning his brutal pace against your hips, each thrust rocking both your body and the poor bed. Your brain was too preoccupied with pleasure to even worry about the creaking, drool beginning to collect in his hand.

He already knew where all your weak spots were. And he knew exactly which angle his hips needed to be in order to hit them in the way that made your eyes go to the back of your pretty little head. So that’s what he did. As he felt your slippery walls clamp down tighter with each intentional thrust. Tears of ecstasy were rolling down his hand from your eyes, firm grasp vibrating with every blocked moan that clawed against it.

Those dark thoughts danced along the edge of his mind again as he criticized his past self for being so foolish. If he had known you were this weak to pleasure, then he would have done this ages ago. He would have taken you against that desk in your little short shorts, making a mess of the papers. He could have made it so much more efficient.

Alas, the past is the past with no bearing on the present. And right now he was absolutely wrecking you against your old bed. He had taken a winding path, but it still lead to the same place in the end.

Your walls suddenly became impossibly tight as the convulsions of your orgasm shot through your body, eyes disappearing to the back of your head. Alhaitham had to bite back a moan as he felt your pulsing walls try to milk him. As much as he would have loved to spill everything inside of you, right now was not the right time.

Perhaps in the future, you will beg over and over again for him to fill you with the essence of him.

Quickly pulling out, his hand letting go of your hip to give his length the last few strokes to the finish line. Cumming along the curve of your ass, watching as the thick liquid stuck to your skin. Your cunt was still shaking as you slowly descend down from cloud nine.

He felt confident enough to release your mouth from his hand. Your ears filled with the sound of your pants overlapping each other until-

“Dinner is ready!”

Your body froze as you turned to face your lover with wide eyes, only to be greeted by the sight of his impassive face. As if he had already predicted this was going to happen at this very moment.

Ah… The bastard timed this out, didn’t he?

Swiftly Alhaitham took some tissues from the desk to wipe both you and himself down. Pulling your panties back into place you fussed over your skirt and hair in the mirror, trying to make yourself look as presentable as possible. While Alhaitham tucked himself back into his slacks, buckling up his belt again.

On your way down the stairs, your mother raised an eyebrow at your trembling legs as your frame followed behind your lover.

“What happened?”

“Um, I stubbed my toe against the desk again.”

“Ah, you hopeless child.” She tsked.

After the food was cleared out, plates cleaned, and lacquered table swiped down, your parents quickly suggested that the two of you stay for the night.

This time Alhaitham firmly turned down the invitation, he must have reached his conversational limit for the month.

Waving goodbye to your parents from the passenger seat as they stood under the porch light, a great stress was finally lifted from your shoulders. You were finally released from the torment of the gods.

Looking over at the man driving beside you, you observed how his eyes also seemed more relaxed. Hands holding the steering wheel in a loose grip as he drove just a bit above the speed limit.

“Finally had enough?” You taunted.

“My ears are still ringing.”

Freshly showered and tucked under the soft covers of your own bed, finally away from the prying eyes of the world. It was only you and him now in the little world of your own called your apartment. Even with the thin walls and sometimes broken water heater, it was a safe haven neither of you would ever trade up.

The rhythm of your matching breaths provided the room with ambiance, his hand toying around with your left ring finger. A box was currently hidden in a drawer at his home. The jewels once dawned by his grandparents, then his parents, now one day the box his grandmother had left him will have the honor to meet you.

Meanwhile, your thoughts were consumed by the echoing of your mother’s words back in the living room. It would have been so much easier if it was just a dramatic outburst, but the semblance of truth in her words gripped your mind. If you hoped for a peaceful night of rest, then you needed answers from the source currently cradling your hand.

“Do you feel that my mom’s words from earlier are true? You… you have already given me sixteen years, yet I asked for more time… am I being greedy?” Your other hand hesitantly traced the veins that ran along the back of his hand.

A silence fell over the two of you as if the winds of Dragonspine had just touched time and froze it.

But his chest was still rhythmically raising and falling, your heart still drumming in your ears. With every beat passing, you feel the icy hands of doubt creep up your back, they were choking you, making you feel a sting in your eyes.

‘I am wasting his time.’

The shifting of his large frame snapped time back into place as he tenderly pressed his forehead against yours as if to ground you from your running thoughts. Pulling away slightly for his teal eyes to hold your gaze. In a gentle whisper, his deep voice resonated in your ears.

“It doesn’t matter. For I’ve already decided that in exchange for the rest of your life, I will devote the rest of mine. So, whether it be three, five, or ten years it matters not to me. In comparison to a lifetime, those numbers are insignificant. ”

His hand continued to caress your ring finger.

“I am a lot more patient than you think.”

In the span of your entire existence together you had always been the one with the most words, the first to break the warm silence, and the first to jest.

Yet, in sporadic moments there are times when Alhaitham would string together words from his vast vocabulary that would leave you speechless. This was one of those moments.

When words cannot be used then action must come in. With wet drops collecting in the corner of your eyes you pulled Alhaitham’s lips into a chaste kiss, so soft yet so full of love. Arms interweaving to bring your two bodies into one whole, warm being.

“Although, for the sake of your ideal wedding. You might want to have it happen when my body is still fit enough to carry you down the aisle. Of course, I’ll maintain this form for the foreseeable future.” He whispered next to your ear.

“Oh hush, since when did you start cracking jokes, Haitham?” You were smiling as warmth dripped down your cheeks.

Let your mother nag until her voice fades. Let the years slip through your fingertips. Let the economy go to absolute waste. Those future worries be damned.

All that mattered right now, in this singular instance, was that you were in his arms and him in yours.

Fin~

Author note: * this refers to classical conditioning, I’m going to be a nerd now in my writings.

DON’T PLAGIARIZE, TRANSLATE, OR REPOST MY WORKS ON DIFFERENT PLATFORMS.

#alhaitham x reader #alhaitham x y/n #al-haitham x you #yandere alhaitham #alhaitham smut #alhaitham scenarios #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham fanfic #genshin impact x reader #genshin smut #genshin x reader #genshin impact x you #alhaitham imagines #genshin fluff #genshin imagines #al haitham x reader #al haitham x you #vivalabunbunfics

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cfrrental · 1 month

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rental-furniture-mumbai · 2 months

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imvirtualtech · 3 months

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sujithpoojary · 2 years

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kenananamin · 7 months

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Beside Each Other

Chapter 1: Moving in

[masterlist]

Summary: Single mom moves into a third floor apartment with her 5 year old daughter. Nanami Kento lives on the second floor and knows someone is moving in when he hears the furniture scraping across the floor to find its spot in the apartment. He expects the noise to end in a day or two but then hears the little pitter patter of tiny feet followed by a muffled, "Stop running!" Well... this should be interesting.

fluff, nanami kento x fem!reader

~3.6k words

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Monday

*Second floor, Nanami's apartment*

Team leader Nanami Kento grabs his mug of freshly brewed tea and goes to sit in his office to begin the work day. It's almost the same thing every single day but he enjoys the job so far. The team is responsible and quick, he can work quietly from home, and most importantly, the pay is much better than any of his past jobs. He'll be able to save most of his check and save enough to move to a better place soon. The current building was breaking down and it seemed that every neighbor had a new complaint every day. He really does feel bad for anyone that falls for the listing and is conned by the landlady who just wants to fill the apartments for rent. He should've known better, a two bed two bath for much less than anything in the area was bound to have its conditions.

He sighs thinking about the apartment but logs in for the day and begins reading through the emails that came in over the weekend. A few emails in and he hears a couple loud thumps upstairs. He knew Truman left last week but the landlady was very quick to con someone (again) to take that space.

Nanami sighs, "Welcome to the money pit, neighbor."

He continues his morning while hearing the furniture scraping across the floor to find its spot in the apartment. The heavier furniture was loud and slow and the lighter stuff was clear and quick. It should only be a day or two at most of this noise. That is, until he hears quick and small pitter patters from the living room to right above his office.

Nanami pauses and focuses to listen through the thin walls. He hears a very muffled, "This is my room, mommy! Mommy! Momma!"

A kid? Nanami wonders.

*Third floor, your apartment*

You swing the door open and pout at the old discolored paint. This apartment wasn't at the top of your list, not even in your top 10, but it was cheaper than everything else and close to Yunn's school. Mr. Truman warned you about this apartment but also said it was a good temporary spot for you and Yunn. At least until your application was approved for any of the other apartments, townhouses, or rental houses you applied for. Mr. Truman and Jessie promised they'd let you know if they ever passed by any 'For Rent' sign.

You move out of the way while holding Yunn's hand to let the mover see the space to know what to bring up first. They quickly scan the room and go back down to bring the first bunch of furniture. You walk to the kitchen bar to check the papers left on the counter and look up to see the movers with the couch and side tables.

"Momma, can I go see the rooms?"

"Yeap, but remember what I told you please."

Yunn indeed does not remember and sprints off to one end of the apartment towards the smaller room. "This is my room, mommy! Mommy! Momma!"

You try to do a quiet tip-toe run after your daughter to get her to quiet down.

"Stop running!" you catch up to your excited daughter. “Yunnuen, I had told you to please not run and not yell. Please, baby, we just talked about this.”

She looks up and nods but continues to look around the room. Mr. Truman had said that although the neighbors constantly complained about management, they were very nice to each other. He told you the downstairs neighbor wouldn’t mind a little noise but you wanted to avoid making any noise, period. Mr. Truman said the neighbor worked from home and the last thing you wanted was to disturb someone while they worked or become a nuisance when they're trying to rest.

“Knock knock!”

“Ms. Jessie!” Yunn ran to the room door where Mr. Truman and Jessie stood.

“The movers are in and out and the door is open, we hope you don’t mind that we came in!”

Jessie was Yunn’s old pre-k teacher. She knew everything from your work schedule, to Yunn’s dad, to your struggle of finding a new place. You both grew close throughout the year especially after Yunn moved up to kinder. Mr. Truman is Jessie’s father. He works as a janitor at the same school and saw you often when you’d stay a bit longer after school to talk to Jessie and let Yunn play in the playground. He had to move in with Jessie after a back injury and told you about his old apartment. He did warn you about the shabbiness of it but said it’d be alright in the meantime. The kind older man offered to help with any maintenance issues and although you agreed at the time, you knew you would never call the poor man to work with his injured back. You’d figure it out… you hoped.

“No no, of course not! You didn’t have to come! It’s your day off, you should’ve stayed home to relax.”

Jessie looks up from hugging Yunn, “Didn’t want to stay home. I can help put some of the boxes in the correct rooms and at least start unboxing a few things.”

“And I wanted to show you a couple things around the building. Most of the things in here are old and get stuck. We all have — or had for me, our own ways of doing things around here,” Mr. Truman smiled at you. The gentlest smile, similar to the smile he always had around Jessie. “Come on, follow me down to the mailbox. Damn thing always gets stuck”

If anyone knew the building, it would be him. You start to follow Mr. Truman out the door when you turn and tell Yunnuen to stay with Jessie and not leave her sight.

*First floor, mailboxes*

Nanami pushes his mailbox slot to get it open. He wasn’t expecting any mail but he was making time for the new upstairs neighbor to finish moving things in the room directly above him to make a couple work calls. He takes a coupon page from the inside and closes his box.

“Be careful with the last steep step here, hold that baby’s hand tight when coming down or she might tumble one day.”

The familiar voice made Nanami turn quickly. Was that…? “Truman?” Nanami asked.

“Nanami! Hello boy, good thing I caught you here, there’s someone you should meet.”

You were a couple steps behind Mr. Truman, carrying a couple welcome bags with things the elderly neighbors had given you after knowing you were a friend of their close friend and had a little girl.

“Nanami, this is y/n, she’s moving into my old place with her little girl. y/n, this is Nanami, the downstairs neighbor,” Mr. Truman fumbles for the mailbox key you handed him on the staircase, “I’m gonna show her my trick to box 303.”

Only her and her daughter... single mom? Nanami extends his hand, “Well, welcome to the building, y/n.”

You shake his hand and smile, “Thank you, Mr. Truman mentioned you work from home. Please let me know if we get too loud, I’ll try to keep our volume down either way but please let me know if it’s too much.”

Nanami shakes his head, “It’s alright, I don’t mind.”

You smile again, but still feel a little bad at the thought that Yunnuen could be running around while this man tried to work. Despite Mr. Truman telling you about this man's calm and patient behavior, you still wanted to avoid any extreme noise. It’s a temporary place, but you still want to be considerate to others.

Mr. Truman calls you over to show you how he would push the mailbox up and slightly to the left to get it open. Mr. Truman closes the mailbox after wiggling it around and continues to talk about the trash chute, the main doorway, avoiding the elevator unless you have heavy things, the never opened or available maintenance office, the broken window at the end of the hall, the flickering light on the 2nd floor staircase, and on and on and on.

“Call me when you need something. I’m still close and know this building better than anyone, including that landlady!” Mr. Truman hits his chest to emphasize his point, making you smile.

Nanami notices your hesitation about calling Truman, but excuses himself to go up to his apartment.

“Don’t work too much, boy! It’s a holiday and it’s supposed to be a long weekend!”

Nanami gives a small smile to the old man, “Just a bit more today, promise.” He politely smiles, nods towards you and turns to leave.

Handsome, you thought.

Pretty, Nanami thought.

Thursday

*First floor, maintenance office*

Nanami opens the main entrance door and is immediately greeted by the warmth of the first floor. He pulls the bags on his right hand closer to himself and begins going up the stairs, but stops when he sees you trying to peek through the closed blinds of the maintenance office.

Nanami steps away from the staircase and walks a few feet towards you, “They’re supposed to be here Tuesdays, Thursdays, and Fridays at least half day but I’ve never seen them open for more than a couple hours at a time. You might have missed them already.”

You quickly turn towards him, slightly disgruntled at the closed office. You put your hands on your hips and ask, "do you think they’ll come in tomorrow?"

Nanami slightly tilts his head to the side and without saying a word, you understood completely. You sigh heavily and pace in front of the office before pointing to the closed door, “Would you happen to have a number or contact for any maintenance person?”

"Yeah," he shrugs, but before you get too excited, he said, "Truman. He was our unofficial in-house maintenance man and he was the one that everyone called."

You hesitate before saying, "I wouldn’t want to bother him. His back is still hurt pretty bad and I wouldn’t want him on the floor."

"On the floor?" Nanami raises his eyebrows.

Nanami notices how you hesitate to answer, but you continue, "I noticed a small leak underneath the kitchen sink and I thought I just had to tighten it so I did but it’s been leaking nonstop since yesterday. I wouldn’t want to call Mr. Truman and ask him to basically crawl under my sink to figure out what’s wrong."

Nanami looks at his watch and sees he has 40 minutes left of his lunch. He looks back up, "I know we just met and I’m not a maintenance man but Truman did teach me a few things. Before you, I was the youngest in this building and he said every young man needed to learn how to handle things around his apartment," He chuckles at the memory of the older man happily walking downstairs to Nanami's apartment to help, "He helped me at first, but towards the end, he would just bring me the tools and supplies and watch me fix things on my own. I can go up and see what’s wrong with it, I have about 40 minutes left so I can at least check it out."

"Didn't you just say Mr. Truman would take his tools to you?" you ask, trying to find a way to sneak in a kind no, thank you.

"Yeah but he gave me about half his tool box when he moved out. Said I’d need it eventually," Nanami grins at the memory, "guess he was right."

Nanami sees you hesitate again and look down the hall. I don't want to ask any neighbor for this kind of help, I just moved in and don't know anything about him, you think. But — I do need the help, I can't have Yunn in a place without a properly working kitchen sink. You cross your arms and tell him, "I wouldn’t want to impose. I haven’t even been here in a week and I would already be asking you for something."

Nanami smiles and shakes his head. "It would be no imposition," he nods towards the staircase and motions you to walk up with him. "And I think you’ve held out long enough, maybe longer than the rest of us. A lot of us came down to the maintenance office the second day we were here."

Damn... I guess I can repay him later?

You lightly laugh and start ascending the stairs with your neighbor. "I'm y/n by the way, I know the last time I saw you was Monday," you stretch your hand out and Nanami introduces himself again.

"How can I pay you back? I wouldn’t want a free favor and I don’t want to take advantage of your generosity."

"Well let’s see what the issue is first. But I really don’t mind, Truman helped me when I needed it most. I’d be happy to help."

You turned your face away from Nanami, but he saw your tight-lipped smile. You both reach the second floor and tell Nanami you have a few tools he can use so he wouldn't have to stop to get his tools. Nanami nods and gives a small ok as you slowly reach your apartment door.

"Let me just say that I haven’t really had a chance to organize things how I would like and my daughter is not very good at picking things up before school," you reach into your pocket for the key and start to open your door.

Nanami laughs a bit behind you as you open the door. If it weren’t because you and Truman have mentioned your daughter, or the toys splattered on the living room floor, he wouldn’t believe a kid lived above him. Besides the first day and the chaos of moving in, he never heard any small footsteps running around or a child's laugh through the walls. He was somewhat impressed that you had kept your promise about keeping the noise down, but he couldn't help but feel a bit disappointed though. Maybe he was looking forward to the noise of a child's laughter, sometimes the evenings were too quiet or they were filled with the elderly neighbor's drama filled evening programs.

"May I?" Nanami points to the bags in his hand and a spot on the floor near your door.

"Oh, I can take those, we can just put them on the table."

Nanami shrugs his shoulders a bit, his heavy coat becoming heavier in your warm apartment. You put his bags on an entryway table and ask him to follow you to the kitchen. He had been inside Truman’s apartment before and even though he knows it's the exact same layout as his own, he says nothing and lets you lead him in.

Nanami sees you keep a good few feet from him in your apartment and he honestly can’t blame you, you just let a new neighbor you don’t know into your house. He avoids getting closer than necessary to not make you uncomfortable and opens the cabinets under the kitchen sink. You open the cupboard beside the sink and take out your toolbox for him to use.

"Thank you," he smiles and gives you a quick glance before turning back to the pipe underneath the sink. He shrugs his shoulders again to try to shift the increasingly warm jacket and reaches for the wrench to start working on the sink trap.

You leave the small kitchen and head for the area on the other side of the bar. If Nanami looked up, he would be able to find you and you weren’t sure where to stand while he worked. You didn't want to hover, but you also didn’t feel like you should leave him completely alone since he was doing you a favor. You grab a closed box and start unpacking the extra dishes and utensils. You can’t see what he’s doing exactly but you hear a couple tools moving on the pipes and the clanking of other tools in the toolbox.

You grab another box and start removing the newspaper from the top when you see Nanami shrugging again. Since it was cold outside, you always kept your home slightly warmer for Yunn. You’re comfortable and not too warm in what you’re wearing, but a 6-foot well-built man with a winter coat must feel like an oven.

"Umm, let me take your jacket. I can put it by your bags so it’s out of your way if you'd like." Your neighbor looks up and although you can only see the top half of his face, you notice the slight sweat building on his brow.

"Thank you, I don’t think it’ll take much longer, but I appreciate it," he drops the tool in his hand and stands to take off his jacket. He was definitely handsome, very handsome, in fact, and apparently very helpful. You nod and smile at the man and quickly turn to put his jacket by the entryway.

You return to your spot on the other side of the bar and he stands back up after unpacking your third box.

"So the sink trap is going to have to be replaced. If you ask management for the sink trap alone, then they can get it to you maybe early next week. Can't promise they'll do anything for the labor part of it but they'll send the part somewhat quickly," Nanami closes the cupboard and reaches back down for the toolbox.

You nod and take a mental note of what he says, "Can you show me which part that is? I can change it as soon as they give it to me."

Nanami looks at you round the kitchen bar to move next to him and asks, "Are you sure? I’m sure you would be able to figure it out, but I wouldn’t mind coming back and switching it quickly. This alone took," he looks back at his watch and continues, "10 minutes."

You shift your weight from one leg to the other and contemplate his offer, "That’s a huge imposition, I can’t ask you to fix or switch everything for me."

Nanami gets on one knee to put the tools back in the cupboard where you retrieved them from. "I work eight hours a day, but I don’t have an exact assigned time to work. I can take my breaks whenever I want as long as I finish everything so I'd be able to replace it even during a break."

You hesitate again, but he continues, "Truman never let anybody help him. With the condition of the sink trap, I imagine that he couldn’t fix this himself, but he would be willing to help any of us if we needed anything. Think of this as me repaying him."

"Actually, he probably wasn't even aware of this, his daughter would take him home with her a lot towards the end of his lease here," you look up to your neighbor’s eyes. Even though the thought of a complete stranger in the same house as your daughter makes you nervous, you admit that you might need that help. It might be worth trusting Nanami especially when Mr. Truman kept talking about him so highly after your mailbox interaction last time.

The man is now gently smiling at you, waiting for your answer, and you smile back. "I work at the office two to three times a week. I work from home the rest of the week. I can let you know when I finally catch management so they can give me or order the part.” You pick at your fingernail, “I want you to know that I really really would not want to ask for any help, especially anything keeping you away from your real work or anything of yours, but I really would — do appreciate your help."

Nanami gives you another small smile and says, "Great, just let me know. You can just knock on my door or give me a call." He pulls out his wallet from his back pocket and hands you a business card. "It's my work cell but it's always on and I carry it everywhere."

You nod and take his card: Kento Nanami, Senior Mechanical Product Designer at Schneider Electric. Hmm, fancy.

Nanami walks around you and heads to the front door. You follow behind as he's grabbing his jacket and bags from the table when he turns around to look at you. "I'm not sure if I should say this or not, but I really wouldn't mind if your daughter runs around a bit. I haven't heard anything from up here since the day you moved in... you don't have to be so careful. It's ok if you show a couple signs of life up here." He gives his last smile before opening the door, "See you soon, y/n." Nanami softly closes the door behind him.

You stare at the door after his departure, his business card still in your hands. Show a couple signs of life up here. Anywhere else you've lived, you've been shushed through the walls and neighbors would complain about hearing your baby when you were trying your best to keep her quiet. You got used to keeping quiet ever since. Maybe it is ok — loud laughter, speaking a bit louder, maybe that much would be ok.

You smile down at the business card and put it behind your phone case for safekeeping.

Nanami returns to his apartment and looks at his watch. A little more than 25 minutes left for lunch. He sets his bags down and thinks about his pretty and nice neighbor. So she is a single mom. He sits on his couch and takes out his phone.

Truman was no longer looking over his shoulder to make sure everything was being done correctly. Nanami did not want to mess this up.

Google search: how to replace a sink trap

♡.﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀﹀.♡

Chapter 2: The Pizza and the Tooth Fairy

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highhhfiveee · 7 months

Text

safety net [p2] (pornstar!mike schmidt x reader)

part one: 💸 | part three: 📹

are we excited???? prepare your hearts cause the feels kinda took over

tags: fluff, lots of internal pining, porn mentions but nothing graphic. mike and reader are both genuine people and that draws them to each other. should be error free bc i actually proofread this one but if there are any, my sincerest apologies

“you have to be, like, evading taxes or something.”

mike chuckles behind you as he closes the door to his apartment--sorry, penthouse.

you're stood with your jaw unhinged, eyes scanning over the wide, sweeping space of his open concept living room and all of the furniture that decorates it, expensive-looking but cozy in a way that you wish you could replicate in your own place. you stalk over to tall windows that line the farthest wall, creating a corner that allows for you to see the bustling city below; all of the flashing lights, people drunkenly stumbling around street signs, and cars zipping and weaving through traffic.

you'd never seen anything like this, just a girl used to the urban suburbs on the south side of town, and your cheeks flush with embarrassment when you feel mike's presence behind you. you don't turn to him, dropping your shoes and purse to the ground and keeping your eyes trained on a street corner below.

"the view's what sold me on the place. i'm able to watch the sunrise on that side," he points to the windows on the other side of the kitchen, offering a view of the green space nestled in between skyscrapers. "and the sunset on this one."

"must be nice," you reply, backing away from the glass and observing the rest of the space. it was the size of, like, three of your apartments combined, organized and free of mess. "i only have a view of a corner store, and a really really busy bus stop. it's super annoying."

"where do you live?"

you give him the name of the neighborhood you'd known your whole life. you didn't recognize any of the area's flaws when you were a child. it was never a red flag to you that the street off of the one you grew up on had two storefronts of the same fast food chain on either end, or that the closest supermarket was twenty minutes away. you hadn't even batted an eye when some of your school “friends” would tell you about visiting gourmet cupcake restaurants and vintage consignments stores. you just went along with it, saying, "that's so cool. the fanciest place by my house is the $7.99 buffet." they all laughed at you.

it wasn't until you were older, freshly graduated from high school and looking to be on your own that you realized the disparity across the region. only people with certain attributes got the nice things, and you'd been conditioned to be grateful to have a daycare in a plaza with a smoke shop and tax preparation office.

"it's just too expensive for me to move anywhere else. i can barely make rent now, with the way they keep raising it every year. kept the tag on this dress just so i could take it back." you look down at yourself and mike can see the longing in your eye, the twinkle in them that wishes you could hang it up in your closet tomorrow.

after tonight, you kind of wish you hadn't bought it at all. you thought that simon would’ve found it insatiable, wining and dining you before taking you back to his place for a night cap, but all you think about now is the embarrassment of walking back into the luxury department store, handing them your receipt for the item you wore once and couldn’t keep.

it fills you with distaste and you find yourself desperate to peel the item off your skin. “is it okay if i shower?”

mike nods furiously, apologizing for not offering. he’d just been staring at you while you talked, admiring you. he was used to people with perfect appearances around him, done up by professionals that costed $200 an hour, but you were different, uncaring about your unruly curls and smeared eyeliner. you were unbothered and carefree, and that fascinated him.

he leads you down a long hall, coming to a stop once it forks into three different directions: left, right, and slightly diagonal right. the walls are lined with paintings and photos of mike and people that share his features, and at the end of the diagonal path is a giant trophy case, filled to the brim with plaques and trophies of various sizes, shapes, and finishes.

“jesus,” you murmur, abandoning your escort. mike’s walked ahead of you, but he makes his way back when he notices you’re not behind him.

“everything okay?”

you point to his trophy case, letting out an incredulous laugh. “are all of those for you?”

mike nods, and you laugh again, shaking your head in disbelief. “okay, so you’re obviously some sports star because no way someone living like this wouldn’t be.”

mike goes rigid next to you. he never knew how to bring up his career to new people he met, sometimes ping-ponging between “i work for a world-renown production company” and “i’m an entrepreneur”. he had no problem lying to other people, his guard all the way up from years of rejection and disgust at the mention of “sex worker” and “pornstar”, but something felt wrong about lying to you. he swallows hard, racking his mind for a semi truth.

“not sports, but definitely still physical.” you scrunch your nose at this, blinking at him in confusion, but you stop when he grabs your hand and nudges his head in the direction of the bathroom. “didn’t you want to shower?”

you nod, allowing him to pull you down the hall but not without a second glance at the case. what other physical career presented you with that many awards?

the bathroom is a star in it's own right, modern in a way that you fawn over when you're watching hgtv. the gigantic, complicated looking shower invites you from the corner, nestled in between the gadget-rigged toilet and garden bathtub.

all of the decor in here was clean, pale blue, a nice offset to all of the white tile and gold-accented appliances.

you're half-listening, your conscience replaced with static as mike explains where everything is. "so...towels are over here..."

his shower had a rainforest head and a small, handheld one clipped into a holder, with a screen embedded into the wall. there was a bench and railing to hold onto, a speaker on the back tile....your eyes cut to the toilet, and the smaller one next to it. a bidet??????

"...and, the bidet remote's right next to the soap. i'll lay some clothes out for you on the hall table, but let me know if you need anything, okay?" you react a little too late, raising your hand and squeaking, "wait" right as mike's backed out of the room.

"fuck."

you try to look around for things, eventually finding the towels in a closet concealed as a part of the wall and, as a bonus, a knob to turn on the heated floor?????

you strip down, completely bare under the dress, and fold it up, retail employee coded, delicately placing it by the sink with the tag on top. it was exactly how you'd return it, with a shitty excuse and plastic smile. you do the same with mike's jacket.

you throw your hair up before wrapping yourself in the towel, delicately cloaked in what had to be egyptian cotton, and pace on over to the shower. you tap the daunting screen, and it lights up with a flourish, displaying the date, time, weather, and a host of different icons.

you don't know why it's so hard for you to turn the shower on, scrolling and bumbling through a collection of options that weren't simply turn on. why did you need to use a screen anyway? why reinvent the simple wheel that was a faucet lever?

you decide you need mike's help after a bit, though self-conscious about having to ask after he probably told you earlier. you splash cool water on your face before leaving the room, attempting to wring the anxiety out of your body.

you're at the fork in the hallway again, the view of you obscured from the living room by a wall, and you turn your attention to mike's trophy case again. you're too far to see any of the engravings on anything and you're so curious to find out what they say.

you feel your muscles attempt to pull you down the lonely hall, but you halt, reminding yourself that mike was a kind person who'd invited you into his home, and you were supposed to be showering, not snooping. still, even with the moment of morality, untrustworthy interest prodded at your brain.

mike's exiting his room with a handful of clothes for you when he catches you, arms wound around yourself to keep your towel up. you haven't seen him yet, your gaze fixed on something down the hall. he gulps softly, unaware that he would see you like this so early in your connection. your long neck cranes forward to see better, and he prematurely wonders if you're sensitive there, mind swirling with musings of bites and marks.

"something wrong?" you jolt, blinking and stammering and damn near jestering as you attempt to defend yourself. mike doesn't look at you with malice or cynicism, simply stepping closer as your eyes flitter around. "i, uh...i need help with the shower. i don't know how to turn it on."

mike huffs, squinting his eyes at you jovially. "that the only thing?" fuck.

you drop your shoulders with a deep sigh, throwing a pointed finger down the hall. "i also wanna know why you have all those awards." there's a small, almost undetectable change in mike's face, his eye twitching. you watch him shrug it off, placing a hand on your shoulder to lead you back to the bathroom. "i'll explain after you shower."

you're puzzled as to why he's so cagey about it, but you don't question it, accepting his statement and finally listening to him as he explains what to do

you're alone again after he sets the clothes down and leaves. he took your dress, easing you with "just going to hang it up. no worries" and a sheepish smile, and you're eager, ready to hear about what he does and how he's able to afford all this, including this shower that provides you with the best shower you think you've ever taken.

you're able to get the water to the perfect temp, scalding, with the perfect amount of pressure to sting your skin and make you feel clean. you wash away all of your worries; thoughts of keeping a roof over your head, being okay, and finding a genuine connection extinguished with the hum of soft jazz and lather of ylang ylang scented soap.

you lotion yourself with one of the various creams on mike's counter, soothed by the powder smell, and slip into the clothes you're provided--a pair of soft, heart-covered boxers and a university t-shirt, faded into burgundy from countless washes.

mike's sitting on the couch, scrolling aimlessly on his phone when the the demure pitter patter of your feet sounds against the floors, and he swears he almost dies when he sees you.

maybe it hadn't been totally random when he chose the clothes for you, deciding to give you two of his favorite items so he could see how they looked on you. the shirt, very lived in and from his alma mater, skirted your thighs and covered up his boxers, draping over your lithe body in a way that made his mouth go dry.

"okay," you call, dropping beside him on the couch. the wispy hairs around your hairline frame your clean face, guiding his attention to the smattering of dark moles around your eyes and temples. "tell me. what are all of those awards for?"

"do you want some water or something?" he interrupts, and while you accept, you furrow your eyebrows at him. he gets up with the swiftness of a nascar pit crew, and you hold your gaze on him, pivoting your body as he moves.

"mike, c'mon, what gives? you can trust me."

his back is towards you, filling a glass with water from the filtered water faucet. he hunches at your baffled tone, your voice all soft and downcast.

he wants to scream because it's so easy to just come out and tell you what he does. you didn't say anything at the restaurant, but maybe you'd put two and two together when he finally told you truth, remembering a thumbnail from the porn site of your choosing. he wasn't ashamed---nowhere near that. he'd been in the industry almost a decade, moving past the internalized and societally-imposed scrutiny he felt for his career. it was other people that were ashamed, other people that turned their nose up at him because of what they assumed he was; sleazy, devious, a player. he'd had so many connections blow over because of it, and he wasn't sure he'd be able to handle that happening with you.

you just stare at his back, watching it rise and fall with every laboured breath he takes. what was so bad about what he did that he couldn’t just tell you? he was obviously good at whatever it was, and you wondered if it was a front for something. maybe he disarmed you with his nice guy act, and he lured you here to kill you an—-

the clink of glass on glass brings you back to reality. mike is beside you again, staring blankly ahead while he wrings his hands.

“i’m a pornstar,” he utters plainly. he squeezes his eyes shut, expecting you to make a noise of disgust or get up and leave, but you don’t.

he opens one eye, and then both. you’re staring at him with no concrete expression, lips pursed. he closes his eyes again, counting in his head before opening them once more.

you’re still there, and it almost makes him cry.

“that checks out,” you muse. you’re fairly non reactive, but not because his admission freaks you out. you’re thinking back to the awards, the sheer amount of them in that case, and how good he really must be at what he does. “why didn’t you want to tell me?”

he runs a hand through his hair, melting into his couch with boyish reserve. his eyes are a mixed bag, bouncing between relief and despair. “people run every time i tell them. lots of them act like i just told them i killed their childhood pet and it's just so...disheartening, y'know?

"i just don't get it because it's just like any other job. you work, fucking hard, because you want to perform at your best, just like anyone else. the stigma around it never goes away, no matter how hard you try to convince people. they think you get around outside of it, having sex every second of every day, or that you're gonna mess around with your coworkers and give them something. it's like the trust level is in hell before you're even able to prove yourself." you scoot closer to mike without a word and place your hands over his. his rings are cold against your palm.

it's a gentle gesture. the airy smile you give pacifies him and he swears he's never felt anything like what he feels now.

"i'm not here to judge you, mike. i never will. sex work is a completely valid career, just like anything else. i'm sorry about all those shitty people who made assumptions about you."

"no need to apologize," he whispers, adjusting his hands so that they cradle yours now. you tilt your head down bashfully, lashes fluttering. "all those times led me here."

you two chat for a long while. mike tells you all about the production company he works for, how he got into the business, what his work schedule's like, the community of other stars that he works with, his stage name. you can tell he's passionate about it, lost in his rambles and talking with his hands. certain words segue your convo into other topics, like books and food and pop culture. you two have a lot more than coffee in common.

"i was surprised you didn't recognize me, honestly. not in a douchey way, but just because everyone does. it's usually the first thing they come up to me with." you could only imagine, being approached with "i've come to all of your work" in the condiment aisle at the grocery store.

"i don't watch professional porn really. too staged for me."

"i get that. i think you'd like our content. we really found a good balance between professional quality and ethical, genuine, safe fun."

you try to stay nonchalant, not wanting to betray the fact that you're itching to watch something of his work. "that's really nice. i bet you have quite the catalog."

"almost ten years worth so, yeah, i'd say," he chuckles, bringing his bottom lip between his teeth. "enough about me though. what do you do for work?"

"nothing as exciting and well-paying as porn. i type letters and numbers into a computer in a cubicle. it barely pays the bills, but i've worked in too many customer service jobs to ever go back." mike agrees. you're about to say something else when you're interrupted by a yawn, unhinging your jaw like an animal. you quickly cover your mouth, muttering, "jeez. sorry." you didn't realize it, but you were tired, exhausted from the night you had.

"it's okay, it is pretty late." he checks the time on his phone and turns it to you. 2:23 am. had you two really been talking on this couch for 3 hours? "i can show you to the guest room if you're tired. i have a shoot tomorrow anyway so i should get to bed too."

"sure," you whisper, grabbing his hand when he extends it to you. he pulls you to your feet like you weigh nothing at all, and you tail behind him like a lovesick puppy.

you're feeling that tingly ball of warmth in your stomach, the one you've felt with every person you thought you'd marry. you usually indulge in it, but with mike, it scares you. why do you feel like this after one night with a man you barely even know?

it's rash and inappropriate, you decide, and you're still convincing yourself as you slide under the black satin sheets and duvet on mike's king sized guest bed. you recline on the satin-covered pillows, sinking into the memory foam. it's a nice departure from your noisy childhood mattress back at home.

"do you have work tomorrow?" you shake your head, and mike claps his hands together with a cheer.

"yay. i'll be leaving around 8 or so, but feel free to sleep in and hang around as long as you want. the remote for the blinds is right there, i'll put a toothbrush out for you, and there's all kinds of food in the kitchen. help yourself. just let me know when you're leaving so i can lock the door."

your eyes squint. "you're gonna lock the door after i leave?"

mike nods, smiling excitedly and geekily diving into his rationale. "mhm, i have a smart lock. i can do it from my phone."

you're so tired that the words just foolishly tumble out of your mouth. "you must have great dick."

mike lets out a laugh that's a blend of flattered, nervous, and amused and you're both red-cheeked and flustered. "i am so fucking sorry, i, uh..y--" you stammer over all of your words, finally able to wrench out, "a smart lock just sounds expensive."

mike stares you down with fascination, backing towards the door. "watch the videos and find out for yourself, yeah?" he winks at you, and you gulp so loudly you're sure he hears. "goodnight, y/n. sleep well.”

"you too,” you croak.

you're out like a light once he leaves, but not before telling yourself to put up a new sticky note at home: “watch mike's porn."

you awake what feels like days later, refreshed and made anew. you click on the remote for the curtains, and they rise slowly, flooding the room with rich early afternoon sun. the clock on the nightstand reads 12:38 pm.

you hop to your feet and make your way to the bathroom to brush your teeth and wash your face before stalking to the living room. it's filled with light, and you think about how you'd probably never be depressed living in a place like this.

a box, red and moderately sized, sits upon the kitchen counter. you think you should ignore it, but as you get closer, you see a paper with your name scrawled across it. you like your name in mike's voice and handwriting.

you pull up the lid and inside is your dress from last night with the tag missing, two fat wads of hundred dollar bills, and another note that reads, “you deserve to feel beautiful and pay your rent <3 call this number when you're ready to go home. -m”.

in this moment, you're 100% positive that you're falling in love.

wow wow wow wow. they are so fucking CUTE! i love themmmmmmm <3 hopefully this tides y'all over for a bit because i need to outline the rest of their story, and i wanna work on some other stories for a little bit 💜 more parts are definitely coming, have no fear!

i'd also like to say that while i use y/n in my stories, reader is typically a character that i'm inventing. using your own name and likeness while you read is totally fine, of course! i just use y/n as a placeholder name for my reader character bc i don't feel like coming up with character names all the time <3 sorry if that doesn't make sense 💔

i hope you all enjoyed! happy reading my seedlings 🌱💜

faire's seedlings ✿

@leahdhopkins4321-@pyr0-kai-@angstywhore-@sunazroo-@nyxthoughtsss-@mirophobic-@fayethor-@marixsimps-@regretfulme-@ithinkitszeph-@707xn-@cattt777-@violetta-ximena-@amnesia33-@topnerd03-@fastnights-@laprvphette-@savage-aespa-@mfdxz

#mike schmidt x reader #mike schmidt #mike schmidt fluff #fnaf #fnaf movie #fnaf fic #faire is writing stuff #faire's (pornstar) mike schmidt <3 #they are so fucking cute #like omg #i get the feels from them and they're my characters #rooting for them fr #josh hutcherson

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