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prettyboykatsuki · 1 month

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I can just imagine fujo neet reader practicing different sex position with rin to make sure she gets the proportions right.

✮ tags ; fem!reader, sexual tension, rin's pov, RIN IS KIND OF MEAN TO HER BUT HE WANTS HER SO BAD FDKJJS, reader is a fujoshi and bl mangaka, pre-relationship, they work together, part of a ficverse i haven't written yet Sorry, ONE JOKE ABOUT RIN WANTING TO OFF HIMSELF, SUPER SUGGESTIVE LOL 18+

✮ wc ; 3.5k (WHAT THE FUCK!!!!!!!)

✮ a/n ; i had to do this for my sanity. i promise i will write them a proper fic with them i promise.

You never text Rin.

Not really. Not first at least. It's a new... friendship. Kind of. Sort of. Most of your communication thus far has been through meetings and random in-person chance encounters. Outside of that, Rin will call you since it's faster. If you do "text", it's mostly through twitter DM's.

There's a discord server your fans run, and you pop in there often enough. He's had the invitation extended but declined unilaterally, since he'd rather not see himself fucking Isagi anymore than he already has in his short, miserable career.

It surprised him this morning, seeing your message flash across the top of his screen. Asking, specifically, for him to come over and help you with something related to the new manga you were writing. He had it in his right mind to decline, but after learning it wasn't a doujin for him, he semi-reluctantly agreed.

Rin doesn't know when exactly your relationship to him grew this...comfortable. Inviting him over to your house, begging him for favors, not wincing every time he talks to you. Rin isn't an extrovert but compared to you he's a social butterfly. And your aversion to people in general, Rin thought, would prevent you from doing anything more than squeak at him forever just like you did when he met you.

(Though nothing in his life has been normal since your arrival in it. He's not sure why you would remain unchanged when he certainly hasn't.)

He doesn't know what to feel when you ask him for a favor, and he doesn't know what force of nature compels him to go. If it's morbid curiosity or annoyance or something else even worse.

It was compelling enough to take the train all the way out to Machida - an hour long trip from his own place. His manager hounded him to take you something, so he has a bag of ginseng energy drinks and snacks with him as a gift. He took the bus with his mask on, and then walked all the way to your building.

Your apartment is tucked somewhere classically suburban - attached at the far end of a residential street and behind concrete support beams for a highway just overhead. Cherry blossom trees and other shades of white flowers grow around it in thick patches, making the entrance hard to find. Rin would've had trouble if you didn’t give him details on exactly where to go.

It's an older building, stone walls worn and grass-stained from age. At the gate are groups of old people talking amongst each other as they sort through recycling and trash. All visor hats and sunspots, they fawn over Rin for a long while before he goes in and interrogates him with questions. None of them know him, which is relieving. It quickly graduates to them asking who he's there to visit, if he has a girlfriend or not.

All of them ooh and aah when he mentions your name, say something about being relieved she's found a man so handsome and that Rin should marry you because even though you're a little strange you're a good girl. Rin does not have the time nor energy to correct them - only nods and bows his head and leaves.

On the elevator ride up to your floor, he can't help but think repeatedly that this isn't the kind of place he'd expect you to live. He thought it'd be out in the middle of nowhere, maybe in a damp and broken building.

But this is a nice place with nice people, vibrant and colorful. Totally opposite from what he considers your personality.

Suitable or not, Rin manages to make it to your floor without a hitch.

He finds you, then, as he'd expect. Down a long hall, behind an unassuming white door. When you open it, you're a mess. Your hair completely unkempt, face greasy, a wild look in your eyes and complete surprise in your expression as if you didn't invite him over. You do, however, manage to invite him in without stuttering or stumbling over your words foolishly like you did the first time you spoke to him.

Another surprise is how... clean your living room is. It's lived in but he was expecting more mess in there. Your bedroom is in a similar state, undoubtedly messy but not terrible. Your NEET tendencies finally end up showing when you drag Rin into your office where you draw your manga.

It's not dirty but it's cluttered. There's a pull out sofa on one wall, with a blanket and pillow littered about and pages upon pages of paper sheets with scrapped panels about the floor. One wall has a bunch of post-its with several notes in both English and Japanese, and another has tacked up pieces of art. Both yours and other peoples. He chooses to ignore the ones of him and Isagi, The walls themselves are cream colored and uninteresting and the wood floors are slippery. At the far end of the room is a spread of desks, a PC set-up and a professional looking tablet among various art supplies in stacked boxes.

It's this room you bring Rin into without explaining yourself at all, mumbling and muttering as you give him a place to sit and go back to your work for fifteen silent minutes.

When you're finally finished doing whatever the fuck you were doing, you turn yourself back towards Rin. Bluelight glasses fall down the bridge of your nose as you swivel around in your chair - your sweatpants half pulled up your leg with the other pulled down. You're wearing fuzzy socks with Naruto characters on them.

You stare at him, pulling your glasses off and rubbing your eyes - dark circles under them.

"Uhm," Your voice is clipped and thick with exhaustion. "You came."

Rin deadpans. "You asked me to come."

"I thought you'd say no."

He did too. He doesn't respond back. You chew your lips, already anxious and Rin resists the urge to say something about it.

"Okay. Uhm. Please don't get mad," You start with and then explain, looking away. Your hands pull your sleeves over your palms. "So. Like. For my new series, I'm finally getting to the sex scene but I've never drawn characters with an intense height difference like this. And I need... new reference photos.... and uhm," You rub your feet together on your chair where you sit "Well our height differences and size is the exact one my characters have. So."

Rin stares at you. "So?"

"SoIwaswonderingifyou'dtakereferenceimagesforsexpositionswithme,"

Rin feels his jaw lock. "Slower."

You frown and look away, tucking your chin with embarrassment. "I was uhm, like, wondering if you'd take... take the uhm, sex position reference photos with me, please."

"What?"

You clasp your hands together, immediately prostrating yourself by throwing yourself down the ground. He flinches back, wondering if you're gonna hold onto his leg next.

"Please, please help me. You're the exact height of my seme and you uhm have similar builds and he's doing the most of the legwork. The poses are a little bit hard but I want them to look good or Minami-san will eat me and I'm scared of her, please help me."

"Who is Minami-san?"

You sniffle, on the verge of tears just thinking about it. "My editor. She used to be my fan. She's scary. Please, Rin-kun, please."

"What the hell did you do before?"

You frown at him, big wet puppy-dog eyes.

"It was hard. Sometimes I'd pose with my big stuffed animals and make up the proportions. Oh and usually watched porn and stuff. Sometimes I'd get lucky with stockphotos. But I don’t get the angle exactly right unless I have good references."

Rin wonders if anything you have ever said has processed in your mind before saying it. He doubts it for some reason.

"So," Rin pinches the bridge of his nose and shakes the image of you humping your stuffed animals out of his head. "You're asking me to.. pose with you?"

You nod and chew your lip. "Please, I promise I'd never ask you for this if I wasn't s-scared of Minami-san! Please?"

"I should make you pay me for this," He sneers. You flinch back and close your eyes.

"I'm sorry." You whine wetly, but then open your eyes again anyway. "Please help me."

Rin doesn't know why he helps you. Maybe you're just too pathetic for him to ignore. Maybe he's a masochist. Maybe inhaling the same air as Bachira last week turned him stupid.

He pinches the bridge of his nose.

"Fine."

If Rin didn't believe you before when you told him you make your own references, he'd definitely believe you after you take him to your bedroom.

Your bed is in the center of your room, instead of being pushed against a wall. Large stuffed animals laid in one corner. On both sides of the room, are makeshift digital camera stands and remote-controlled lighting among another remote for said cameras. There's about 4-6 angles from what you explained to Rin, and a few adjustable lights. It's an elaborate set-up and takes the kind of dedication Rin can only imagine a hardcore fujoshi freak like yourself thinking up.

All of this to mostly draw porn of him and his rival. He tries not to think about it too hard because he thinks it's going to give him an aneurysm. Rin sits at the edge of your bed as you adjust each of the cameras individually.

"What do you do if it's not on a bed?"

You flinch like you aren't expecting him to talk. "Uhm. I either simulate as best I can o-or move my things and bed around. It's why I moved my desk to my office."

Rin stares at you. "You take it seriously."

You nod meekly. "Producing high-quality doujin is what made me money, so I have to work hard. Being poor is tough."

If Rin didn't find you so unbearable he might find that awe-inspiring in his own fucked up way.

"Okay. Everything is set-up. Now for the poses," You say, suddenly sparking back to life. Rin sits and watches. "They're having sex on a public beach so the bed and the way the seme sort of sinks into the sand will be good... I think the bridge one is the one we'll do first."

"The bridge?"

You nod, talking in short sentences. But Rin can tell this is where you're comfortable, doing things for this... hobby. Your usual constant embarrassment and shame seem to disappear when it comes to it. It's fascinating like a car crash. "Uhm. You have to stand on your knees and then, I'll lay on my back and arch my back up to meet your... y'know. It'll emphasize the height difference."

Rin stares at you agape. You take the remote control for your cameras in your hands and look at him expectantly.

Rin doesn't know whats wrong with him. Why the hell did he agree to this?

"Do you want me to take my jacket off?"

You nod, surprised. He shrugs the thing off of his shoulders and tosses it onto the floor.

Rin, per your instruction, gets into the position in the middle of the bed. He stands on his knees waiting for you. You join him a minute after, squinting at your phone screen beforehand. He isn't sure what he's expecting as a result of your ask, but he sure is shocked when he finds you placing your feet flat on the bed next to his knees and pushing yourself up for your crotch to meet his.

He knows that’s what you said but your shamelessness proves to be… shocking.

He tries not to let it show. His jaw ticks. His face feels warm but his expression remains neutral all the same. You shift and adjust and don't seem concerned at all - like it doesn't occur to you that this is in any way socially unacceptable. Or it's unfathomable Rin would take advantage of this. That this is weird, or could be interpreted in less than innocent ways. Rin knows you're so out of touch that it probably isn't. That this is, to you, just considered a favor which is partially why he even agrees.

But you're mid-brushing up against his bulge. The angle of your back forms a triangle, your arms laid flat at your sides as you squirm and push. And your expression shifts, deep in thought.

"Uhm, like, would you mind p-putting your hands on my hips? Kind of squeezing tight like it's," You flush this time, but Rin harbors doubt it's about him. "Like it feels good I guess? Like hard, and stuff so you can see the indent."

He's so astonished, he does it on autopilot. Neutral and even. He lets his hands grab your hips and holds tight just as you ask. Your long, loose sweatshirt falls down revealing the soft skin of your tummy. He can see the tops of your underwear, the thin cotton kind that come in 6-packs with a single bow in the middle in a grey color.

You don't seem to care about it. Rin shouldn't either, but his body does seem to care. His brain does. Something is happening in his gut. Anger maybe. Some cheap, frustrated desire to make fun of you.

Instead the words he's been wanting to ask since you proposed this tumble out of his mouth. He stares at you.

"Is this the first time someone's done this with you?"

You jump with a start, but remain in position. You take the pictures first, six clicks in a row before answering.

"H-huh? Why-why are you asking that?"

He doesn't know. Really. And he knows how it sounds. Rin doesn't say anything and you fold under the immense pressure of his gaze.

"S-stop staring," You say, and take a few more pictures, lowering your back just a little but still staying up right. "And no. No one tall enough or with the right physique."

There is another gnawing question, another burning curiosity. He makes his voice as even and unaffected and apathetic as he can. As mean as possible.

"Have you ever even had sex?"

Your eyes blow wide, but you seem to fall for the persona of apathy, curious boredom and cruelty. Worse, you seem a little used to it. You squirm this time and Rin holds you firmly in place. Your voice is small.

"Uhm, like, once I guess. I-it was with a guy, I didn't really date him but he seemed interested in me and I didn't think I'd ever have the opportunity again s-so I did it and I didn't uhm, it wasn't very good or anything." You reply, and he can feel your toes curl in your socks next to him and his brain feels like it'll melt from out of his ears. "Sorry, I don't-don't think you care about that, just uhm, felt like I should explain."

"Yeah," Rin feels dizzy. "Do you need another pose?"

You blink and then nod. "Yeah! Another one kind of like this, but with the legs like uhm, on your chest and my feet closer to your head. With you leaned back a little. Does that make sense? The butterfly position, I think."

Rin swallows something at the back of throat.

He nods, pulling you into position so easily he can heard you gasp. Your legs straighten against his clothed chest, and your sweatshirt falls far enough to let him see your bra. A fabric sports kind, a little worn - just the logo visible. He doesn't say anything about it, your feet resting near his neck. You make a little soft noise.

"This feels a little difficult to be in. Poor uke. Sorry if this one is kind of weird, but can you put your hands, I dunno, on my ass, I guess? I know that's probably too much but I think it'll be a good detail, so please? I'll pay you"

Rin stares at you, teeth gritting so hard he feels the back of his skull throb. "Fine."

Rin, per your request, puts his hands on your ass. It's easy enough, and he doesn't hold too tight. But it's too intimate, too stupidly fucking intimate, and he can feel you. You're hardly paying attention, caught up in your own head with whatever else. Rin is paying too much attention. Like how your sweatpants aren't thick enough to cover the outline of your frumpy cotton panties and how your soft all over. He's going to kill someone. Maybe himself.

Six more clicks and a little noise of satisfaction.

"Okay!!! I think these will turn out so great, and I can use them later too. Just one more. I have a lot of refs for this position, but uhm - I want to see if I can get the proportions correct, so if you'd please lay down," You tell him with such genuine excitement he can't find it in himself to say anything horribly cruel. "I'll be doing most of the work this time. I just-just need to see how uke will compare..."

You mutter something to yourself as Rin lets you down and lays himself down on your bed. You sit next to him for a long while, squinting at your phone. Rin stares at you as you. Wonders if he's gone completely insane, and tries to ignore the doom of the impending hard-on cozying itself in his pants.

Unceremoniously, you find yourself perching over Rin's lap. Not bothering to give him any pretense, it's the one thing about today that's really getting him.

"Oh, I need my hands for this," You give him the remote and stare down at him wide-eyed, over his lap. This has to be hell. "Could you take the photos this time?"

He closes his eyes and counts to ten and wonders if a concussion has made him insane. "Hm."

You brighten and Rin feels his chest go tight. "Thanks!"

Rin just nods, his mouth drying as you start to move and pose. A picture with your hands next to his head, and anothe r where you're sat up - your hands at your sides. Rin obediently takes pictures when you ask, his entire body tensing every single time you move.

"Okay, last one," You say. This time, you put your hands on his chest. Just the one. You must have something specific in your head that you're wanting to recreate. You bend down close, looking down at him as you do - your other hand clenched.

Rin looks up at you. He should not be thinking about you in any way. He's looking at the way your lips curve and plump and at your bare skin and your dark circles and your stupid licensed anime hoodie. He just gapes at you in confusion and mystique. He's around so many weirdos. It's not like there's anything special about you. You’re just another freak who makes porn of him. Plenty of people do that.

A loser and an idiot with no sense of self-preservation. There's nothing special about this, but Rin hasn’t been able to convince himself of that.

You stare down at him.

"Take a picture?"

Rin looks at you. Studies your expression. You seem like you're thinking. It's the only oppurtunity he has to pry.

"Did you want to ask something?" He says first. “You’re not hard to read.”

You startle, then nod. Your hand is on his chest. It's warm, and smaller than his.

"Oh, I-I guess I was wondering about what you asked me earlier. And uhm, like, I don't know. If you ever did anything. Your relationships aren't in the media and fans speculate but," You fall flat on your words. "I guess I was just curious."

Rin hates this question. It's why he never answers it. Why he hates being called a hearthrob, always too shallow and too personal for his taste.

"Nothing long term or serious. It was most for physical relief." Rin says, almost on autopilot. “Not that’d you know what that’s like.”

Your eyes widen. Rin feels his hands twitch, watching your expression finally grown conscious of him. Lust spreads through you like honey and Rin can see it in how you look. You squirm in his lap. He's not usually so aggressive, not usually one to care about sex in any important way. Not one to brag about something so unbelievably inane and trivial.

But it's bothering him, just how much he's fighting the urge to pin you down and fuck you. You of all people. It's not like him. Rough sex is whatever, but it's bothering him how little any of it seems to register in your head anymore like it once did. You could barely breathe the first time you met.

He doesn't know why he cares that you don’t anymore. He doesn’t give a shit about anything related to you

But the thought nothing seems to bother you anymore bothers him.

"Oh... I see. That's uhm, interesting. I b-bet you have a lot more experience than me. Maybe it'd be a good thing to keep you around for that kind of refernce too," You joke.

Rin lets his hand slip up to your hips without asking, not bothering to hide it anymore. His head feels with nothing but stupid useless thoughts. Thoughts of fucking you in your old, worn clothes and stained shirts and comfortable cotton underwear. Thoughts of your hands clutching at his shoulder all weepy with desire and need and stupidity - your big wide eyes bleary and sensitive. It's cruel how relentlessly he thinks about taking advantage of all your differences. Of how unathletic and awkward and unused to everything you are.

It's horrible just how much he's staving off his own arousal about it. Maybe you're strange habits are infecting him, making him strange too strange. All Rin can think about uselessly is how easily he could put you in your place. Fix you in some strange way. You’d be his to fix and you’d cry and weep and want to run away. Rin wouldn’t let you, keep you pinned and caged like an animal.

His throat feels tight. What is fucking wrong with him today?

Is he that pent up? He stares at you, and gets some passing feeling that there is more to it than that. He closes his eyes.

"Whatever," He says, letting go. You don't seem to notice it again, how thick his voice is getting "Are you almost done?"

You nod and smile. "Yes. Thank you."

Rin feels his heart tug and seethes. “You're welcome."

#return to sender #writing tag #fujoverse #rin x reader #rin itoshi x reader #bllk x reader #bluelock x reader #THIS IS KIND OF COOKING ME TO DEATRH IM?

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stylesharrys · 7 months

Text

private show

summary: you miss harry’s concert but half of it isn’t your fault.

warnings: mentions of anxiety and panic attacks, swearing, kissing, teasing, unprotected shower sex, dirty talk, fingering...

word count: 3,938

a/n: i literally wrote this about four years ago, but it’s all been edited and freshened up a little for you guys! i hope you’re staying safe and if there’s any writings in particular you’d like to see, send me a message! anyway, enjoy this smutty piece:)

The car broke down. You weren’t sure how it happened, or why, but the engine wouldn’t start and your dad suspected the battery died.

You’re in London with Harry for a few days, Harry performing and you visiting your family in a small town a few hours out of central London. You’d come by late afternoon yesterday and now you’re stuck.

You’re meant to be going back to London in time for Harry’s show, but with no car and none of your family having one to lend, you’re shit out of luck. You didn’t have the money or time to get the battery recharged or get a new one, and in all honesty, you didn’t know what you needed to do for it anyway.

So, with your little suitcase and your purse, you got yourself a train ticket straight to London. You missed the first train, the bus getting you to the station three minutes late. So you had no choice but to wait in the warmth of the sun for seven minutes until the next one came.

You only stayed on that one for three stops, staring at your phone screen when the rail app told you that you’d need to get off. And you did, sat down for twenty minutes while you waited for the next one that took you straight to Greenwich.

By then it was already 7 pm and you knew you’d most likely miss his entire show at this rate. And then the train showed up and you hopped on it, squeezing between the standing people and you shoved your earphones in, playing an old playlist Harry had made you.

And that’s when you get the text.

iMessage from H💞

Hey. You close, I’m on in an hour x

You sigh and rub your forehead, flicking back to the app on your phone and groaning when you realise you’ll be twenty minutes on that train and then need to get another Bank one for six minutes, then a thirty-minute walk, and then the underground.

iMessage to H💞

Just left for the Greenwich line. Car broke and I don't have time or money on me to get it sorted. Taking the train and it’s insane how many connections you have to make. I don’t know what time I’m gonna be there. Does security know I’m coming in backstage? Xx

You lock your phone with a sigh and turn up the volume of the music, closing your eyes for a moment and trying to calm your nerves and anxieties.

Soon enough, you’re getting off at Greenwich and onto the Bank train. Only when you go past Heron Quay do you realise that you’ve missed your stop and, essentially, gotten yourself lost.

Your panic only grows when Harry stops answering your calls and texts and then you realise it was 8:31 and he’s already on stage, performing, without you supporting him on the side stage.

You try to call Jeffrey, but of course, no answer. Matt, no answer. Mitch, no answer. Jasmine, his opener, no answer. It’ll be useless to call your parents, neither of them know the train lines and can’t come and pick you up anyway because they don’t drive.

You struggle to ask people where to go, most people pushing past you in their own hurry to get to their destinations, and you’re shocked to not see any rail workers anywhere on the platforms to offer assistance.

So, you do what you do best. You panic. You slump down on one of the cold, metal benches with your suitcase by your side and purse in your lap. Tears are quick to prickle at your eyes and the air grows colder, bitter.

If you had just got off at your stop, you would’ve been with the others by now, watching your man perform on stage and become one with the crowd. But, here you are, cold, alone, and lost.

Your little denim jacket is doing nothing to conserve heat and your legs bounce as you try to warm yourself up. Your achingly cold fingers struggle to type up a route you could take and before long, thirty minutes have passed and it’s 9 pm.

And then, the worst possible thing happens. Your phone dies.

You panic even harder now, your chest constricting and you struggle to catch a breath. It isn’t until you see an older man slowly walk the yellow safety lines of the station in a high-vis train rail jacket that you calm just a little.

You shoot up from your seat, hands clammy and shaking as you pull your suitcase with you. “Excuse me!” You call out to the older man, the station much quieter now.

He turns to you with raised brows and a friendly smile, and you’re more than relieved that you’ll be getting some help.

“I’m not from around here and I missed my stop and ended up here.” You explain as calmly as you can, taking deep breaths and swallowing back the lump in your throat.

“Okay. Where are you heading?” The older man asks, sliding his silver-rimmed glasses up the smooth slope of his nose.

“I’m trying to get to the O2 Arena.” Your heart’s stammering in your chest and you explain how your phone had died and you have no way of contacting anyone or getting routes.

The man, Barry, assures you it will be fine. He writes down the trains and stops you need to make and where to go from there, then offers you his battery pack to charge your phone for a few minutes.

You check it when you get on the next train, a message from Jasmine on your screen and the time’s now nearing 9:34 pm.

iMessage from Jasmine X

Hey!! Where are you?? Everything okay? Call me!!

You sigh and quickly begin typing, trying to explain what happened and that you’re on your way, but before you can ever send the text, your phone freezes and cuts off dead.

You take another deep breath, trying to keep calm, and shove your phone into your pocket. Your ears focus on the voice through the speaker, listening closely for your stop and staring at the piece of paper in your hand so you know when to get off.

By the time you reach the O2, it’s 10 pm and you're certain the show’s over. You sprint to the doors, unsure where you’re even meant to go. You don’t have a ticket and Harry has your backstage pass.

“Can I help you, miss?”

The security guards eye you cautiously, somewhat alarmed by your frantic state. To them, you look just like every other fangirl they’ve ever met.

“I’m meant to be meeting Harry’s team backstage. Do you know how I get there?”

You’re breathless, body somewhat numb from the sudden drop in temperature and pure anxiety you’ve suffered over the past two hours.

The man squints at you. “Do you have a pass?” Great.

You sigh. “No, his manager, Jeffrey, has my pass. I’m Harry’s girlfriend. Look, you can go and ask on your walkie talkie. I have ID, but I don’t have my pass.” You try to explain.

He shakes his head, tries to hide the amusement on his face. “Nice try, kid. Go home.” He turns his back, wandering away but you shake your head and follow after him.

“No, I’m being serious! Jeffrey has my backstage pass. My phone is dead so I can’t contact them! Please, just radio it through. I promise you! My name is Y/N Y/L/N, please. He’ll tell you!” You beg, tears pooling in your eyes in panic.

This can’t be happening, how has it even come to this? You’ve been through the works already, and now, you look like nothing more than a desperate fangirl.

“Listen, miss. If you don’t leave right now, we will escort you out ourselves or call the police. It’s your choice.” He all but growls his words, an effort to scare you off.

Your shoulders slump and tears spill from your eyes, anxiety consuming you. “This isn’t happening,” you whisper to yourself, breathing unevenly and your knees buckle slightly.

You can’t even go back to the hotel as you don’t know where you’re all staying, seeing as you stayed with your parents last night. You’re done for.

You’re about to turn away, search for someone with a charger maybe, when a ruckus of cheering and talking catches your ears and the doors to the arena open. Hundreds of people flood out of the doors, eager to get themselves home and you wonder how you’re going to get to Harry.

“Oh my God! It’s Y/N!” Is all it takes for everyone to spot you and scream, hurtling toward you and calling your name.

You grab the security guard's arm and frantically beg for his attention. “Now do you believe me!? Please!” You cry out, but he continues to look at you sceptically as the other security members calm down the fans.

You try to talk to the fans, to have them prove that you were Harry’s girlfriend. And even though they agree and show security pictures and proof, they refuse to let you back because you don’t have a pass.

“Here, use my phone to call someone!” An older woman from behind security offers you her phone, her daughter (you presume) staring up at you with big doe eyes.

You smile and take the mobile, punching in Harry’s number that you’ve had memorised for moments like this. You ignore the security guard that continues to ask you to leave and when the ringing stops and a ruckus on the other end is heard, you let out a sigh of relief.

“Hello?” Harry answers, sceptical from the other end.

“Harry! Oh thank God, it’s Y/N.” You sigh out in relief, the fans screaming when they hear you on the phone with him.

“Babe, what the fuck is going on? I’ve been trying to call you! Where are you?” His words are laced together in panic and you can hear him shushing his team.

You sigh. “I’ll explain later but I’m with your fans outside the doors and security won’t let me through to you because Jeffrey still has my pass.” You explain, pinching the bridge of your nose.

Harry tells you to sit tight and that he’ll fix it, tells you he loves you and ends the call. You sigh in relief and quickly delete the number from the call log, handing the phone back to the woman and thanking her profusely.

You feel awful, really. It’s bad enough that you missed Harry’s show, but now you’re holding up all of his fans from going home because security is keeping them away from you and not letting you through the doors.

You speak to a few of his fans while you wait, asking how they found the show and answering some of their questions about Harry when another scream is heard and Jeffrey wanders out toward you with a security guard.

“Y/N!” He calls out, speaking with the other security for a second before showing them your pass and explaining you are who you said you are.

You say goodbye to the fans, dragging your suitcase over to Jeffrey and he pulls you in for a hug, shrugging off his jacket and handing it to you. You thank him and wave goodbye, following him through a hallway and you disappear.

“What the hell happened?” Jeffrey asks in concern, brows furrowed and you sigh while explaining about your car, the trains, and your phone. Jeffrey listens closely and throws his arm over your shoulder as you walk, pulling your suitcase along.

Security leads you through another corridor and another, opening doors and scanning his ID on certain parts to gain access. A few minutes of walking and a burst of soft laughter can be heard, your heart skipping a beat.

Jeffrey's hand rests against your back as he leads you through a room and another curtain, and there Harry stands; pacing back and forth and biting at his nails. The sound of the door opening catches his attention and he spins around to you.

“Honey...” he whispers, pacing toward you and scooping you into his arms. You sigh and wrap your arms around his neck, crying softly into his shoulder. Harry cradles the back of your head, gently cooing you and whispering reassuring words into your ear.

“You’re okay, baby.” He whispers, kissing your temple and you pull away sniffling, wiping your eyes and taking a deep breath. Harry cups your clammy cheeks in his hands and leans down a little. You lift onto your tiptoes and kiss his lips softly, not even a little bothered by the taste of sweat on his lips.

You sigh into the kiss, eyes fluttering closed and a cheeky wolf whistle from behind him catches your attention. You pull away and peer over his shoulder, blushing at the sight of his entire team grinning at you both and Lloyd facing his camera at you.

You’re curled into Harry’s side as you wander down the hall to find his room. His arm is around your shoulder, yours behind his waist as he pulls your little suitcase along.

His skin is still sticky with sweat and his clothes stained with a salty scent, but somehow, he still smells like vanilla and his stupid cologne. “I can’t believe you had to do all that,” he murmurs out after having listened to your travels of the day.

You hum back and yawn, pulling away from his side when he reaches into his pocket for his key-card. You both stand outside the room before he unlocks the door and he drags you in behind him.

You flop straight onto the bed, the sheets still a mess and Harry’s suitcase sprawled out over it. He sighs and kicks off his boots, wiggling his toes and standing between your legs.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says softly, head tilted as he watches you sit back up and take his hand in yours. “You wanna join?” he wiggles his brows playfully and you let out a tired laugh, nodding your head nonetheless.

“You go ahead, I’m gonna put my phone on charge and clear the bed.” You tell him, earning a little nod and a forehead kiss before he’s taking off to the bathroom, turning on the water.

You stand from the bed with a sigh and plug Harry’s charger into your phone while kicking your own shoes off. Your feet were no doubt blistered and you knew it’d be a pain to walk for the next few days.

Looking back at the bed, you sigh. Harry had always been messy when it came to getting ready for events. But you weren’t sure why, considering he had a stylist so Harry never had to find something to wear for his shows.

Nevertheless, you shake your head and begin to refold his clothing, setting it neatly in his suitcase. You brush the creases out of the sheets and fluff up the pillows before making your way to your bag to pull out your toiletries and one of Harry’s shirts you’ll sleep in.

You take them with you to the bathroom, soft melodies slipping past Harry’s lips as he washes the night away. You smile to yourself, the mirror and windows fogged by the heat of the shower that you’re eager to climb into.

You strip from your outfit and open the shower door, Harry turning to look at you with a little mohawk he’d styled with the shampoo. You snort out a laugh and shake your head, standing in front of him so the water falls down on you.

“Well, hello there,” Harry grins cheekily, eyeing your breasts as your nipples pearl. You blush and lean your head back, soothing the water through your hair but Harry can’t keep his eyes off your chest, not when it’s right there.

“Stop staring.” Your eyes are closed as you massage the shampoo into your scalp, but you already know he’s drooling at the sight of you. He always did have a thing for your chest, even if you argued they’re not your best asset.

Harry whines and nibbles on his plump bottom lip. “But, baby, they’re like begging me to love on them.” He argues, paw-like hands holding your waist as his thumbs gently caress the bottom of your breasts.

You snort out another laugh at his reasoning and wash the shampoo away, slathering on some conditioner and turning you both around so he’s now under the water. You guide him to sit on the little seat beneath the shower and adjust the head so the water can reach him.

Harry’s face is now completely level with your chest as you wash the shampoo from his hair. He whines at you with a little pout and you gently massage his scalp with your fingertips.

“I know this usually makes me really sleepy, but with your tits in my face, it's really fucking turning me on.” He rasps out, voice low and suggestive and you have to fight back a little whine of your own.

“You’re such a boy.” You breathe, slathering his luscious locks in your conditioner and leaning down just enough to kiss his swollen lips.

It was only intended to be a peck, but Harry wraps his arms around your middle and pulls you between his legs, lifting your thighs so you straddle his lap.

Your fingers slide through his curls, breathing heavily and you moan softly against his lips. His hands smooth over the curves of your ass, kneading the flesh with little force and you pull away to catch your breath.

“I’m proud of you.” You whisper against his lips, your core bumping the head of his cock and he strains out a laugh.

“You’re proud of me? Babe, you got lost on your own, almost got kicked out of the arena, and you didn’t have a panic attack once. Shit, I’m the proud one here.” Harry argues with a little smile.

You purse your lips to hide your smile and kiss his lips softly again. He kisses you back for a moment before pulling away and squeezing your ass.

“But seriously, I’ve had a raging boner ever since you sent me that naughty pic last night, and I am dying to get lost in that puss-” You cut him off with a heated kiss, sucking his tongue into your mouth as your own massaged it.

Harry groans and lifts you both, your legs around his waist as his heavy cock bumps your ass. Your back presses against the shower wall, Harry’s lips chasing the water that drips down your neck.

You tug on his hair, eager to feel him inside you and you know he’ll be giving you what you both want in a matter of seconds. He holds you up with one arm and uses his free hand to grip his cock, pumping himself before he swirls his tip around your entrance.

“God, you feel so fucking good,” Harry whines out, teasing himself against you and you huff, tugging on his hair and sucking his bottom lip into your mouth.

“I feel better once you’re in me,” you remind him, a taunting smirk on your lips, but it’s quick to fade when Harry thrusts his hips into yours, his thick cock stretching you out and you shriek in pleasure.

“Shit, H.” You moan, head thrown back as he slides in and out of you at a delicious pace. The running water is long forgotten, the sound of skin slapping and your arousal squelching being the only sounds you can focus on.

Harry pants in your ear, small grunts sounding through the bathroom as you whine and moan for him. He grabs your ass and spreads your cheeks, knuckles white as he grips you harder.

“So good, baby.” He moans into your ear, nibbling on your earlobe and your eyes roll back.

You can feel him deep in your stomach, feel him throb between your walls and you’re certain you’re about to explode any second. You grip his shoulders, circling your hips on his dick the best you can.

Harry rests his forehead against yours, his eyes focusing on the way his glistening cock slips in and out of your swollen pussy with such ease. “Such a good girl for me.” Harry praises, your pussy clenching around his cock and he chokes out a moan.

“Only for you. O-only good for y-you,” he grins against your lips and picks up his pace, hitting your G-spot with every soul-shattering thrust.

Harry feels you begin to spasm, can feel your body losing its strength and he cups your face with his hands, forcing you to look at him -- your noses bumping while he does so.

“Look at me, baby. Wanna watch you as you cum all over my cock.” He gently coaxes, pinching your nipple with his other hand and your eyes almost bulge out of their sockets.

“I’m gonna cum,” you cry out, eyes wide and jaw slack. Harry watches you with hooded eyes, jade clouded with lust and with one final thrust, he pushes you over the edge, watching the way your eyes roll to the back of your head and body falls limp.

The choked cry of his name is all it takes for him to paint your walls with his pleasure, a rugged groan slipping past his lips as he cries out your name, collapsing slightly into you and trapping you completely against the wall.

“Holy shit,” you breathe out, head falling back against the tiles on the wall and Harry gently eases out of you, slowly kissing every inch of your face before his lips meet yours in a tender encounter.

“I love you so much,” he breathes against your lips, easing your legs back to the ground and keeping his arms around your waist.

“I love you, too. And hey, I might’ve missed your main show but fuck me, this private show was just as good.” You joke, an angelic laugh sounding through Harry’s throat as he kisses you again.

His arms ease to rest on your ass, soothing over the tender skin he had been gripping. “Let me clean you up,” he mumbles, giving your bum a little tap before he pulls you back under the water.

Harry washes both of you, peppering your skin with gentle kisses before you’re both completely clean and drying off, brushing your teeth side by side. Harry throws on a pair of sweats while you steal a pair of his boxers and his shirt.

Sliding into bed, he curles up behind you, spooning your back and kissing your shoulder. “I’m sorry about missing your show and being so stupid that I got on the wrong trains and stuff.” You huff out.

Harry shakes his head and kisses your shoulder again. “Don’t be. None of it is your fault. Jeffrey should’ve given you that backstage pass yesterday. I’m sorry you had to go through all that on your own, but I’m so fucking proud of you, honey.”

You smile to yourself and hold his hand close to your chest, wiggling back so you’re snug against his chest. “I’m so happy I fell in love with you,” you whisper into the darkness, eyes fluttering closed.

Harry smiles into your hair, pulling you impossibly closer to his chest as he kisses the crook of your neck. “I’m happy I fell in love with you, too.”

if you enjoyed it, please give it a reblog! your feedback and comments are appreciated more than you’ll ever know — i’d love to hear what you thought <;3

#harry styles #harry styles imagine #imagine harry styles #harry styles x you #harry styles smut #harry styles x reader #harry styles fic #harry styles oneshot #harry styles fluff #harry styles angst

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am-i-the-asshole-official · 6 months

Note

AITA for not having time to read my mutual's writing?

Met a mutual on here, bonded through fanfic, have been tight with them for a few years with pretty much no bumps in the relationship, just overall had a really good time hanging around them when I could. We both write a lot and share our writing, and occasionally we talk about that writing/workshop it in passing.

In the past few years I've gone through a ton of life changes. Most notably I went from a multi-person household to a single-person one, and I've been living alone in a prohibitively costly city for a while now working 40 hour weeks and barely scraping by. As soon as the transition started I spent the last of my free income on a shitty little laptop so I could still write, putting down words on my bus/train commutes in the morning and quite literally writing on my breaks at work because I feel insane when I can't create. I bring this up to really stress that I don't have the time for the hobby, I force myself to make the time and even then it never feels like enough.

The only thing I can really stand to do with my 3 hours of free time at night is hang out with my moots online. I'm an extrovert so being around people recharges me. If I don't have designated social time I get super depressed and can pretty much feel my soul withering away. I also feel like I should probably mention that I kinda have a slew of mental issues, personality disorders and PTSD and AuDHD and the works. Point being, shit is rough my dude, but I am a person who likes to work hard and face challenges head on and even though we strugglin, we doing it with a positive outlook.

But! I am an incredibly solution-oriented person and I have found what I personally believe to be a good balance. No one should have to live like this, but I do, and I have found a way to be happy. My writing and my social time is all load-bearing. It is not something I just choose to do on a whim, it's all planned and scheduled and I adhere to those routines very strictly because, I cannot stress this enough, I will go fucking bonkers if I don't.

I'm mutuals with a lot of writers obv, and I sadly don't have time to read their work anymore, unless I get some extra time on my days off or something gets cancelled or like, I end up taking a vacation. I carry a great amount of guilt for this, though, even though I logically know it's reasonable. I try to support them where I can, cheer them on when I see them writing and tell them how cool their ideas sound, hype them up even when I can't actually read & review.

One of the things I do is sometimes I leave a kudos on fic I haven't read. I'm not trying to be ingenuine, and if they asked me I'd tell them like 'Oh I didn't read it yet, just wanted to show support!' but to me it's kinda like ripping a paper tab off a poster so that other's feel inclined to do the same. Plus my pals get a little email and a hit of serotonin.

Except one of my acquaintances, the one I mentioned at the start here, saw that I left kudos on a couple pieces another mutual of mine wrote this year. They more or less blew up my DMs with a ton of accusatory (like, literally presented like a 'GOTCHA!') stuff about how I was selective in who's fic I read, more or less implying that I secretly held some sort of grudge or negative feeling toward them and was making the conscious decision not to read or interact with their writing because of. Something, I don't actually know what they were trying to say. They also told me they vented to their friends about this MULTIPLE times, but they never once approached me to let me know they were feeling paranoid or neglected, they literally just took the most bad faith reading of it possible and then presented that to me like it was something I intentionally did, while the whole time I was unaware.

I tried to explain to them the kudos thing, that I didn't do it to every story, just ones I caught/noticed in my busy schedule. And I laid all this out and asked, multiple times, what free time am I supposed to read with? They didn't answer, and doubled down, kept trying to show me 'proof' that I was shorting them and no one else. Once they started to realize how wrong they were they backed down, but they didn't really apologize, or admit they were wrong, and they tried to end our relationship and left every single server we were in together. Because of some other unrelated stuff going on in my life, I didn't really consider them to be a close friend, but they were someone I really held dear and would've walked through hell for if they'd asked.

I still feel like there is something I'm missing here, and that's why I wanted to ask if I'm TA. I'm a pretty good communicator but one of the things I told myself when talking down my disordered thoughts (guilt about this prior) was "no one in their right mind would use reading fanfic as a metric for friendship." Now that I've had that exact thing happen, I'm starting to think maybe those thoughts weren't so disordered. Maybe this IS a big deal, and I should think about it more, but I don't even know what the solution to that would be. I just. Don't have time to read something lovingly crafted and appreciate it for what it is. All the hours in my week are used up, I'd have to lose sleep for this and with my mental health the way it is that is not an option.

Feel free to be a brutal, my skin is thick. Thanks!

What are these acronyms?

#aita #am i the asshole

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ceesimz · 1 month

Text

Our Sun Is Setting

TW: mentions of homophobia and grief for a parent. It's quite a heavy fic, please keep that in mind.

"I told my Mami about you today."

You didn't think it was possible for a relatively normal, short sentence over the phone to make you feel sick to the pit of your stomach, but it did.

"Oh." That was all you managed.

Your mind was in overdrive as you stood in the middle of the grocery store, buying ingredients for the dinner you were preparing for later that evening when Alexia was going to come over. Any other person would have reacted better, wouldn't have been frozen to the tiles of the shop in the middle of the breakfast aisle, wouldn't have been on the brink of a panic attack from a simple statement.

"She was very happy. And she would like to meet you soon, whenever you like."

Another punch to the gut.

"She also teased me for talking about you so much. I couldn't stop myself." Alexia paired her words with a shy laugh.

The sound of it grounded you slightly as you moved out of the way of an old couple walking in your direction, but your head was still being insistently ruthless as you wandered mindlessly through the rest of the shop. Alexia was still talking over the line, seemingly not noticing your silence, but you couldn't work out what she was saying due to the unbearable ringing in your ears.

You were in shock.

"Are you still there?"

"Y-yeah, sorry. I think the signal went a bit weird, I didn't catch much of what you said." You reply in a shaking voice.

On the other side of the phone, Alexia frowns ever so slightly - she can almost sense something is wrong, but she can't quite figure out what or why. She hopes that when she sees you later, you are perhaps feeling better or if not, at least she's there for you.

"Okay cariño, would it be better if I left you to your shop?" She suggests, tapping her fingers on the steering wheel of her car where she was parked outside of the training complex before an afternoon training session.

"Yeah, probably. Sorry, I'll see you later."

And with that, you hung up.

As you went to slide your phone into your pocket with your shaking hands, you missed, causing it to clatter heavily against the tiles. It earned a few stares from the people around you, only intensifying the jittery dread that surged through you. Pins and needles encapsulated your body as you crouched down to pick up your now-smashed phone, but currently that was the last thing on your mind.

Alexia's statements circled relentlessly around your head - to literally anybody else in the world, hearing those words from someone they had were seeing would be enamouring and seen as a key, heart-warming milestone. But to you, it opened up a dark spot in your mind that you had shunned to the side for some amount of time. It seemed now was the right moment for that unidentifiable problem to break free from its shackles and make itself known, and you were terrified of what those repercussions would be.

You carried out the rest of your shop on autopilot, shoving a handful of notes into the cashier's hand before rushing out without a clue of how much you just gave them. For all you know, you could have massively overpaid them or robbed them in broad daylight. You were so out of touch with the world right now.

So much so, that you were unlocking the door to your apartment before you realised. How long did it take you to get home? Did your phone still work? What time is it? Did you walk, get a taxi, catch the bus, how did you get here? What did you even buy at the shop? Why won't this fucking door open-

A neighbour walked past hastily as you barged a shoulder against the door and almost crashed through it as it finally opened. You sent them an apologetic smile, though there was no doubt in your mind it was more of a manic and unnerving look than anything else, before slamming it shut behind you. The icing on the cake to this whole thing was the fact that the bottom of your shopping bag split open, scattering your groceries across the floor of the entryway. At least now you could see what you had bought.

Whether your legs failed you and buckled or you put yourself on the ground, you kneeled on the floor and gathered everything into your arms to transport it to the kitchen. It was a struggle, your trembling arms barely having the strength to hold themselves up, but you managed to dump your belongings on the kitchen side. Once you'd done that, you rested heavily against the counter, desperately trying to replenish the oxygen that had been stolen from your lungs some point along the way to this moment here.

What the fuck do you do now?

You turned to lean back against the counter and slowly slid down to the ground until you were sat on the floor, head back against the cupboard. There were too many conflicting thoughts and emotions rushing through you that all you could do was sit and stare. Feeling nothing but everything at the same time, thinking nothing but everything all at once.

Seeing Alexia tonight might tip you over the edge. You hope it doesn't end that way. You hope that her presence eases you. You hope she saves you from falling, sinking, spiralling into an irrevocable state of mind, whether she recognises that she's doing it or not. You hope, hope, hope.

Time seems to be a temporary concept for today, because before you've even had the chance to start preparing dinner for tonight, Alexia is at your door. Her voice calls out from behind it, asking if you're in there and if you're okay, because you've zoned out again. You're on the sofa, your cross-body purse still hanging off your shoulder, your jacket still zipped up to your chin, your shoes still on. Your groceries are still strewn on the kitchen counter, and the torn bag is still in the entry way.

"Amor, are you in there? Let me in." Alexia calls out, her voice tainted with concern.

"Sorry, sorry, I'm coming!" You jump up, kick your shoes off, throw your bag onto the small dining table, and open the door. She visibly deflates at the sight of you, her tense shoulders dropping, but her face contorts at your attire.

"Why do you have your chaqueta on?" She asks, and you're beyond grateful to hear it's said in an amused tone.

"Bit cold s'all. Come in." You're not cold. You live in Barcelona, and it's the middle of the spring.

You step to the side and she walks in with a tiny smile on her face. She's glad to be here, you realise. She seems to be in a light and happy mood, carrying no extra stress or other burdens, and, rather selfishly, you're glad.

"How was training?"

You plaster a smile on your face as she takes her shoes off and drops her bag beside them, turning to you and opening her arms. You walk into them with no hesitation, but the feeling isn't as relieving as you desired it to be.

"It was good. I did a amazing free-kick, I will show you the video." Alexia beams, and that does warm your heart somewhat. Her passion for her work, her career, her life, was forever an invigorating thing to witness. It's a shame you weren't in the right mood to appreciate it.

"That's great, Ale." You smile genuinely up at her, more than happy to return the soft kiss she offers.

It momentarily calms and heals a small part of you you'd been hoping she would subconsciously fix, but it wasn't enough and you recognised that straight away. You'd get on your knees, beg, and pray to any higher power that would listen to you just so you'd feel okay for one more day. Except, who do you pray to when you don't believe in God?

"What's that?" She points to the white plastic bag from earlier.

"Oh, the bag for the groceries ripped as soon as I walked in. Must have forgotten to pick it up." You shrug it off, wishing for her attention to be elsewhere for the time being. "I haven't started dinner yet, sorry."

"That's okay." She smiles, shrugging a shoulder nonchalantly and kissing your cheek. "How was your day?"

Tough question.

"It was alright, haven't done much." You brush it off, taking her hand and leading her to the kitchen... where the whole area was still a state.

"Oh, what happened here?" Alexia frowns.

If it was just a few items, she wouldn't be so puzzled, but when a good portion of the food left out was fridge and freezer food? Strange.

"I... I, when the bag ripped before, a jar smashed by the door and, uh... I took a while cleaning it and forgot to put the rest of the stuff away." You ramble unusually quickly. It was a blatant lie, but she didn't need to know that.

Except, Alexia was an incredibly attentive person, and she knew straight away that something was amiss. The first sign was that, in her intelligent mind, she knew that theoretically if a jar filled were to smash by the front door, the white bag from earlier would have been covered in its contents - but that wasn't the case. The second sign: whenever you cleaned your apartment, you used a very strong smelling citrus scented spray - she often complained about it and nagged you to get one that smelt nicer. Your apartment didn't smell uncomfortably citrusy right now. Funny observation, sure, but these two pieces of seemingly inconspicuous evidence gave away the fact you weren't right. Oh, and your strange behaviour showcased on the phone earlier and a few moments ago didn't help your case either.

But, she chose not to pressure you about it yet. She wanted to wait until you perhaps opened up to her some point this evening. However, that didn't entirely stop her from speaking up.

"Ven aquí, amor." Alexia demands calmly, reaching a hand out to you. Suppressing a sigh, you take it, and she looks down at you with a pressing stare. "Answer me honestly. Are you okay?"

No.

"Yes, I'm okay. I'm fine, Ale, I am." You try to reassure her, squeezing her hand and smiling up at her.

"You promise?" Alexia raises her eyebrows and offers her pinky for you to seal your, rather untruthful, truth. "It's okay if something isn't right."

Pinky promises, as childish as they may come across to some, were never to be broken. Since the start of your relationship, they had been a thing that had been utilised by the both of you to ensure you are telling the truth. Alexia had broken one of her promises she had made to you before in the past, so why couldn't you do one in return? It's only fair, right? Relationships were meant to be equal after all.

"Promise." You smile again and raise your other hand to lock fingers with her. She smiles, though you can see she's not convinced, but nevertheless she kisses your knuckle.

"Can I help you cook?"

"I'm meant to be cooking for you. And you are a bit of a control freak in the kitchen." You tease, desperately trying to steer the night away from the morose direction it could go down, and instead towards the light-hearted, content way you so needed.

"I think I am just a control freak in general." She smirks at you before turning to put away the disregarded shopping. You would also happily accept that direction too, you supposed. "Venga, I am so hungry, I skipped lunch at training for a meeting and now I regret it."

To your relief, you both make peaceful conversation once you've told her what you planned on cooking, and it's so peacefully domestic as you do your individual tasks beside each other. Every so often, Alexia will joke and bump her hip into yours as you giggle, and this version of your girlfriend is exactly what you needed. For a moment, you feel the cloud over your head slither away, until the topic you wanted to avoid came up.

"So, what do you think of me telling my Mami about us? You never gave me a response on call earlier."

You freeze momentarily, Alexia thankfully not noticing from the corner of her eye. With a subtle clearing of your throat, you continue cutting up the chilli peppers on the board in front of you, but your now shaking hands pose as a slight kitchen hazard considering the sharp knife you were wielding.

"I, yeah, it's nice. Nice that you, um... did that." You stutter out anxiously, nausea settling cruelly in the pit of your stomach. Alexia takes in your reaction and laughs under her breath, turning briefly to leave a kiss on your forehead.

"No need to be nervous, amor. We have been together for many months now, it was due to happen soon. And M-"

"Ow- fuck!" You gasp sharply, dropping the knife immediately and cradling your hand as blood began dripping from the middle joint of your index finger.

"Woah, amor, what happened?" Alexia winces at the sight, grabbing a few squares of kitchen paper and pressing it against your cut.

"I- my hand slipped and I obviously cut myself." You grimace, eyes tightly shut to rid yourself of the sight. "It burns too, fuck."

Alexia knew you didn't handle blood too well, so she turned you away from the scene and wrapped one arm around your back, rubbing up and down comfortingly whilst she still applied pressure to the cut.

"It's okay, it's okay, it hurts more because of the chilli. Take some breaths, vale?" You nod hastily, not really realising your cheeks had puffed out as you held your breath. Alexia watches your face closely, eyes still closed as you took deep breaths to calm yourself. "You're doing good, bebita. Keep doing that, so good. Let's relax a bit, hm? We should sit down in case you get lightheaded."

The last sentence is her thinking out loud as she started guiding you towards one of the chairs at the dining table. Resting one elbow on the table whilst Alexia continued to hold your wounded hand, you lay your forehead against your uninjured hand as Alexia crouched beside you. Your joined hands lay in your lap as you calmed down, or at least tried to.

To Alexia, it would appear that you were just mentally recovering from the shock of the incident. But actually, you were trying to dispel the unsuspected horror that filled you to the brim at Alexia's earlier reminder.

I told my Mami about you today. She wants to meet you.

That line inevitably meant you had to tell your family too. Except, you couldn't. There was no way you would, no way you could, not without facing realities you had pressed down far into unreachable and forgettable depths of your mind. It was all too much, it was simply not a possibility for you. You knew what it would lead to, and you weren't ready for that.

For the past months you'd been with Alexia and the time you spent getting to know her before that, you had mostly lived in a bubble that dissociated you from the broken, cracked, ruined, utterly destroyed parts of your brain. It had been perfect so far, and you'd be fucking damned to leave that bubble now. But perhaps it was too late and the damage had been done long before Alexia said what she said earlier, maybe that darkness just needed a catalyst before it submerged you in its wake.

"Amor? Hey, come back." One of Alexia's hands lightly patted your cheek to bring you back into the room. "You scared me there. Your breathing got really bad and you were in a... a weird daze. I was talking but you weren't reacting or anything. Are you back now?"

You nodded wordlessly at her, still not entirely taking in what she was saying.

"The blood... freaked me out." You rasp breathlessly, shaking your head a little to rid the glaze over your vision.

"That's okay. Do you feel a little dizzy? I can get you something to help that. Clear your head maybe." You nod again, and she gently lets go of your hand. Cold shivers immediately burst through at the lost contact, but you had to get over yourself and get used to it.

Cautiously, you take the tissue off of your hand and inspect the damage. It doesn't seem deep enough for stitches, which instantly fills you with relief. If you weren't already in a state of intense dismay already, a trip to the hospital would cause a hurricane of emotions that left a lasting imprint on everything and everyone around.

"Here, some apple juice. To get your blood sugar back." Alexia places a mug of apple juice in front of you and notices your now bare hand. "Oof, amor, that looks painful. I'm not sure if that may need a doct-"

"No! No doctors, no hospital. It doesn't need stitches, it's fine." You rush out, eyes wide in what Alexia guesses is fear as you look down at where she's crouched again. "Please, no hospital. It just needs to be cleaned and wrapped up."

"Okay, if you are sure." Alexia replies, nudging the cup closer to you. "Drink that and I will get the first aid kit."

You do as she says, drinking the half-empty cup of apple juice whilst she searches through the kitchen for the green box of medical supplies. Her eyes hardly leave your slumped form at the table, filled with worry for you. Things weren't adding up now, it was obvious, and she wasn't sure how much longer she could ignore it.

A part of her feels afraid to push you; emotionally she wants the best for you and if subtly, or not so subtly, urging you to do that works then she'll do it, but intellectually she senses a deep, internalised issue that could rip through you if handled incorrectly. It's not up to her to cause that. So she asks a question that's so layered it flattens all remaining atmosphere in the room.

"Cariño, how do you feel now?" She pretends to busy herself with organising the already packed box of medical necessities you kept.

"Better." Phyiscally true, but mentally wrong.

"Why don't we order something for dinner instead?"

As if you weren't filled with disconcertion already, that suggestion signs, seals, and stamps the envelope set to be sent to the fucking psyche ward for your admission. Were you so inadequate now that you couldn't even cook a simple meal? Apparently so.

"O-Okay."

Alexia frowns and comes back over with alcohol wipes, antiseptic cream, and a box of plasters, placing her items on the table and gently tapping your chin to get you to look up at her.

"I love you, you know that?"

The words fell from her lips before she could stop them. Alexia maybe wasn't the most emotionally helpful person ever but she sure did try. She thought her saying that would comfort at least a small part of you, but she couldn't be more wrong. It planted the seed of an unforgivable idea in your head.

The realisation of what you had to do poured over you like cold water, washing away every ounce of the little remaining hope and positivity you had. A feeling akin to mourning settled in your heart, accompanied by the debilitating weight of this twisted entity in your mind seeping into your bones. Your body strained under the heaviness of it all, unable to capacitate for the burden of living life like this, only confirming that the thing you must do was your only solution. Your lower lip quivered as the thought consumed you, the devil in your head chanting it over and over and over and o-

"I do know." Your lips tug into a smile but your throat bobs to conceal the sobs bubbling at the surface. "I know that. I love you too."

For the remaining time you had with her, you would make sure she knew that too.

"Let's get you cleaned up, hm?"

It's silent between you both as she delicately cleans the wound before applying cream and wrapping it up in bandages. It's silent as she leads you to the sofa, silent as she ordered your meal for you from one of the common takeaways you always got together. It's silent as you wait for it to come. It's less silent when Alexia turns on Netflix and opts for a new TV show for you both to watch together. It's still fairly silent even as you sit beside her, back stiff and straight beside the woman whose heart you were soon to break.

Alexia has never loathed quietness more than she does right now. It was an occurrence she valued at any other point in her life; watching football, reading, studying a game, relaxing in a post-match bath, going on a solitary walk to gain some peace of mind. But here, in this moment beside you, her skin crawls at the unbearable stillness of the room. Sure, she did enjoy silence with you too, but it felt like the unavoidable elephant in the room was stomping on her heart with every beat of her heart. There was a hidden agenda in the belly of the beast attacking her, and for some reason it felt like she was running out of time to put out the fire.

Her spiralling was interrupted when the buzzer of your apartment rang through the room, letting you know there was someone outside of the apartment complex without a fob to enter the building. Alexia reluctantly gets up from the sofa to let them in and hovers by the door to wait for the delivery driver to find your flat. She keeps her eyes on you, subtly watching you attentively, but even if she stood face-to-face with you, noses touching and breaths mingling, you wouldn't have a clue she was there. Your senses were incredibly warped and you were so far detached from reality, it felt like you and Alexia were two worlds apart.

What's at stake right now is something that's much bigger than the both of you. The dynamic around you may as well have a 'fragile: handle with care' sticker slapped on it, except, even that wouldn't have stopped the hands of the puppets controlling the world from acting so cruelly. You'd taken constant blows for quite some time now with no respite. Just as you started to recover from one punch, another would come to hit you square in the face.

"Hey." Alexia lightly knocks on your forehead with her knuckle. Every concerned glance from the woman in front of you felt like a jab at your body, slowly working you down until you gave in. "You are here, but you are not here."

You blink gormlessly up at her, your shoulders lifting in a careless shrug before you took back control of your mind.

"Food's here?" You force a smile, taking the paper bag from her hand and walking on shaking legs to the kitchen. You get plates and cutlery out, dishing up your meals before joining Alexia back on the couch, the taller woman now the one seemingly stuck in her head. "Ale, your meal."

"Ah, thank you." She leans in to quickly kiss your cheek when you sit beside her again.

The blonde woman has one more trick up her sleeve to try and bring you out of your shell, and it's one she hardly ever played.

Immediately, she begins to babble on about her day and her teammates and her family and whatever new antics Mapi and the youngsters had got up to, going abnormally overboard with the amount of anecdotes she was spewing out. Everybody knew Alexia was not a talkative person, and she only ever acted like this when she was in a rare giddy mood. And that really was rare.

The Alexia on display so far tonight was not in a giddy mood. She was happy, of course she was, but factor in the concern she'd shown for you tonight and the giddiness she had not portrayed at all even recently, something was off. It threw you completely off-kilter, and it didn't take a genius to figure out why she was doing this.

"I'll tell my Dad about us tomorrow." You blurted out, interrupting another of her rambles. It's kind of the truth, not all of it, and it's not the biggest decision you've made for yourself tonight, but you owed her something at least for putting up with you.

"Que?" She frowns. Out of all things she'd expected you to say tonight, that wasn't one of them.

"You're talking a lot because you want to know why I'm acting weird. It's because I'm thinking about telling my Dad about us, I'm scared to do it but you told Eli so I'll tell my Dad." You explained, pushing your food around your plate as Alexia processes your words for a moment.

"You don't have to do that if you don't want to. I don't mind, I know things haven't been... haven't been great between you both since your Mu-"

"Okay, but he's still my Dad." You cut her off again. You're not in the mood to discuss what she was about to bring up.

"You don't owe him anything, amor. Sure, he's your Dad, but you said it yourself only a few weeks ago; he's an idiot. No one should treat their child the way he's treated you after they've just lost their Mami."

There. She said it anyway.

"Alexia, I know you're just trying to stick up for me, but please don't go there. This has nothing to do with my Mum." Another partial lie.

The subconscious, realistic part of you knows every issue you've had in the last two years has everything to do with... her. But right now, the impulsive side that has been at the forefront of your mind ever since it happened wants to blame everything on the world around you and not your flaws that you've ignored all this time. Anyone could see that your refusal to sit with your grief and just feel was your Achilles' heel.

"Okay. I'm sorry for mentioning it. But I am absolutely on your side, amor, I'm always on your side. So if you want to tell your Dad, tell him. If you want me there next to you or if you want me out of the country whilst you do it, then I'll do it. I will do whatever you want me to." Alexia tells you, her voice pleading as earnest swirled around the eyes that bore down into you.

Well, you thought, that's good to know.

"Thank you." You smile ever so slightly, dropping your fork and placing a hand on her leg. You squeeze her knee three times, one more chance for her to understand the love you held for her.

"De nada, amor. Now eat up, please."

The pair of you spent the rest of the evening delicately dancing around the untamed elephant from earlier whose patience was wearing thin at the prospect of going entirely avoided for the night. Conversation topics were kept light, finally giving you a brief reprieve from the onslaught of your mind, and Alexia kept her arms tight as they wrapped around you. It was as if with each breath you let out or with each twitch of your body, she held on tighter and tighter, every hint of movement from you a reminder of your presence and how much she ineffably adored you.

Yet, the sun began to set, indicating that it was almost time for Alexia to leave for the night. She had to get up early tomorrow whilst you had the day off, and initially Alexia always agreed that when this was the case, you should sleep separately so that you could rest. However, as she collected her bag and slipped on her shoes, she kept her movements purposely slow to delay her departure. The last thing she wanted to do was leave you alone.

"Are you sure you will be okay tonight?" Alexia sighs, a reluctant hand on the door handle.

"I'll be okay." You answer simply, hesitating for a moment to decide on your goodbye gesture, before settling for a lone kiss on the cheek.

"Call me, immediately, if that changes. If you wake up in the night and need me, I will be straight here. If you call me in the middle of training, I will be straight here. Please. Don't suffer on your own."

Oh Alexia. If only you weren't so late.

"Everything will be okay, Ale." You tell her, desperately trying to disguise the emotion threatening to break through. "Te veo pronto, sí?"

"Sí. I love you." Alexia smiles, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead, then opening the door.

"I know." Is all you can say now to that declaration. And fuck, if Alexia hadn't felt so uneasy in her life after that.

Somehow, you managed to sleep that night. Maybe it was your body allowing you to build up all the strength you need for the day ahead, because your life was about to be irreversibly changed. And the worst was yet to come.

"Hi Dad." You murmur quietly from your place in the corner of your sofa, legs tucked underneath you as you pitifully hold onto a cushion for comfort.

"Well, it's been a while since I've heard from you." The man on the other side of the phone chuckles spitefully. "Remembered who I was again?"

"Hm. How have you been?" The best way to deal with such a man was to ignore his behaviour, in the hopes he dropped the act when you didn't give a reaction. Perhaps you underestimated him.

"That's a loaded question, you know that. It's all everyone asks nowadays and I'm fucking sick of it." He grumbled, and for the first time in a while it sounded like his anger wasn't directed at you.

"I do know that." You stated.

"So why ask then? Still as dense as ever, I see."

Okay, well, clearly you judged him too soon.

"I just wanted to see how you were doing." You mumble insecurely, a frown settling on your face as you try to hold back the emotions you knew would spill out sooner rather than later.

"Don't lie to me." He snapped through gritted teeth. "You couldn't give a shit about me if your life depended on it. Be honest and tell me what you want, I have better things to do than talk to you."

"I... I have a girlfriend, Dad. Here in Barcelona, I've met someone." You reveal with a hint of a smile on your face.

All morning, you'd been in over your head on whether to tell him about Alexia. Part of you thought it was futile since you had already decided on your future with her, or rather, the lack thereof. But the naïve and childish part of you painfully thought he could be happy. That wasn't a concept this man had understood as of late, so it was a wonder why you'd thought he'd be happy for you. Especially given his latest behaviour, and his long-standing opinion on your sexuality. If only your Mother was here.

"Wow. Because I couldn't give you the life you want after your Mum left-" he could never say the true reason for her absence out loud, "-you look for it elsewhere? What did I tell you about doing that? A home can't be a person, kiddo, you need to stop looking for that. Your Mother wasn't home, I'm not home, this new 'girlfriend' isn't home, a person cannot be a fucking home! You're just desperate to fill in the love that's absent in the death of your Mother. Get a fucking grip of yourself and get over it, this 'girlfriend' business. You know your Mum would never have stood for this."

Silence.

Of all the words in the world, across all languages and cultures, over all periods of time, there was only one description to be used of how you felt right now. In your little flat in the heart of Barcelona, cowering in the corner of the couch, you felt suffocated. Any semblance of clarity, peace, hope, love - suffocated, by the words of your father, by the events that had changed you for the worse throughout your life, by the burden of simply just living.

Except, the words 'living' and 'simply' could never be used in the same sentence, because that wasn't a possibility. Every aspect of human nature wasn't simple, that's the beauty in it. The thousands of tiny mechanical functions in your body that allow you to breathe, the hundreds of muscles exerting themselves daily for one small step, the twitches and spasms of nerve endings to feel just a little alive. And despite it only requiring thirteen miniscule muscles to smile compared to forty-seven to frown, the latter felt so much easier. The weight of a smile had never seemed so damning, so suffocating.

The promise of life was a unique one, that's common knowledge and yes, life is beautiful, but any glorification of the struggle of living was inefficacious, nothing could extinguish the flame of the fire inside of your mind that was already uncontrollably burning through your self-preservation. No promise of light one day shining in your world again was worth it; you were merely a shadow of the people you loved.

"Okay Dad." You choke out. Even uttering one word was such a fucking exhausting challenge. "I... I planned on breaking up with her anyway. I think I want to come home."

You expected the feeling of verbalising your plans to be freeing, but the gravity of what you were going to do grounded you so humbly it almost almost stopped your heart entirely.

"Wow, I mean, if I had known that you would listen to my opinion and follow my advice so quick, I would have given it more often." He laughed maliciously, his way of celebrating your fall from grace.

"Can I come home?" You can't stop yourself in time from asking that question in such a begging tone. Another victory for him.

"I don't think that's a good idea, sweetheart. If you're that desperate, maybe stay with your grandparents. Perhaps they'll want you." He sighed as he said it as if he was in a rush, acting like speaking to his daughter was such a chore. "Listen kiddo, you done now? I've gotta go."

"Yep, I'm done. Can I see you if I come home?" The question was paired with a hasty swipe away of tears as if the man hundreds of miles away could see them.

"Oh honey. You fascinate me. You're at danger of almost being interesting now, you know that?" He laughed once more at his own words before hanging up.

Silence again. Such a plaguing thing.

The weight of the conversation you just had collapsed down on you, a whirlwind of emotions surging through you as a result of it. Each beat of your heart served as a reminder of every word spat at you from the man you once thought held all the love you had to give, the thump against your chest echoing his disappointment and distaste for you. A daughter's love for their father was undoubtedly one of the most dangerous things to themselves, proving that point yourself as you mentally scrambled to find a way to mend the fractured bond, yet each time coming up empty, feeling powerless and minute in the face of your father's disappointment. Every response from that man carved deep wounds of guilt and regret into every crevice of your mind.

Behind a facade of stoicism, a torrent of emotions fulminated throughout your body - a spiteful mix of every insecurity, every doubt, every shattered dream, it all coming together to form the final piece of the puzzle that was needed to make the decision to break out of your life. There was no other choice.

Outwardly, there wasn't a hint of such breakage shown anywhere on your body. And that's how it had to be, that's how you had to be. Completely numb to it all until you had escaped this turmoil.

By 2pm, everything was different.

Flight booked. Every suitcase you owned bursting at the seams, waiting by the door. Apartment tenancy ripped up. Your resignation handed in to your work. Every bit of furniture, every little trinket, all of it ready to be left behind. Despite it all, the most heartbreaking symbol of your new start, was the cardboard box of Alexia's belongings sat in the passenger seat of your car as you drove, waiting to be dropped off discreetly outside her door.

Your life was the perfect image to sum up how quick things can change. Twenty-four hours ago, you were walking to the local supermarket to pick up the stuff to make a perfect meal for you and your girlfriend to eat and have a quiet, relaxed evening together. Now? You were driving to said girlfriend's apartment, equipped with the words to tear your lives apart.

Oh, how things change.

In the blink of an eye, you were parked up outside her apartment building. You had the key to her apartment in your hand and the code to enter the complex memorised for one more use. You failed to notice her car parked in her usual space as you walked through the car park. The heaviness of the box was nothing compared to the heaviness in your chest of what you were about to do.

Ears ringing, eyes blurred with unshed tears, throat burning and constricted, your bones aching under the weight of purely just existing, all of it immensely overwhelming. But you were numb still. Numb and out of tune with your feelings, because you had to be. Otherwise, all of this couldn't happen. There was no way any of this would be possible if you just listened to what your heart wanted. No, that devil on your shoulder had gotten its way once again.

"Oh, what are you doing here?"

Fuck.

You had truly done it this time, because here Alexia was, standing in the doorway of her apartment as you froze at the sight of her.

"What are you doing here?" You ask frantically, desperately praying for her attention to be anywhere but the box of her stuff in your arms.

"Well, this is my apartment, amor. I just got back from training but I left my phone in my car." Alexia answers, an eyebrow raised down at you. Of course she'd catch on that something was wrong. She always did. It was one of the things you loved her for. "What's this? Are you a delivery driver now?"

She laughs to herself as she says it, taking the box from your arms and placing it on the floor. You're still stuck to the spot, eyes wide in fear at what she was about to find, and your heart thumps angrily against your chest in protest, trying to get you to react in some way. But it's too late. Alexia has already opened the box and began to read the letter in there before you could stop her.

The smile on her face immediately dissipates at the first line.

"To Ale, I'm sorry... what do you mean?" She asks, glancing up at you briefly before continuing to read it.

That's when your body finally decides to react. You slowly back away from the woman in front of you, but Alexia grabs your wrist tightly to stop you from running away.

"No, you will not leave my sight right now. Explain this fucking letter, what is going on?" Alexia attempts to sound commanding, but there's a certain glisten to her eyes and a lump in her throat. "What is going on? Tell me, now, please."

"I... I'm sorry, Alexia." You croak out, rushing to wipe the tears already falling with the sleeve of your sweater. "I am sorry, you have to know that."

"Sorry about what!?" Alexia shouts, then takes a deep breath to compose herself momentarily. "Come inside, sit down, and please can we talk?"

"Everything I have to say is in the letter, Alexia, I-"

"No, no it is not. This letter is hardly a whole page. You've come to my apartment with a box of my stuff and a letter that starts with the words 'I'm sorry', I'm not letting you leave." Alexia says, and you have no choice but to listen to her. However, she softens for a moment, and the lost look on her face tugs on every one of your heart strings. She takes one of your hands and squeezes it three times, resulting in another stream of tears from yourself. "Please. Whatever is going on, give us a chance to solve it. I need you to explain what's happened so I can help you, amor. Please."

You relent easily, forever at her mercy, and follow her into her apartment. She leaves the stacked box by the front door, completely unbothered by it - in fact, she doesn't ever want to look inside it if this conversation goes the way she thinks it'll go. She's kicking herself mentally, her mind already skimming over every interaction she's had with you recently, desperately trying to plot a point in time where your attitude had changed. It's easy for her to do so, the moment jumps out almost immediately. If only she hadn't been so scared, so cautious, maybe she could have solved this before it was too late.

"What do you want me to say, Ale?" You sigh exasperatedly as you sit on the edge of her sofa, eyes fixated on your fidgeting hands.

"What do I want you to say? Amor, I want you to be honest and explain why you're sorry, why you've come over with all my stuff, why you've written me this letter. It's all come out of nowhere, I have no idea what's going on and I just want you to clue me in. Yesterday we were laughing together and having a nice evening, and now you're... I don't even want to say it." Alexia laughs nervously as she speaks, her shoulder stuck up in a shrug as her hands gesture eratically.

"It's okay, I'll say it for you." Your false facade takes over, body armoured with a hard exterior. "I'm leaving, Ale. I'm leaving Barcelona, leaving Spain."

To hear you say those words were perhaps the greatest pain Alexia has ever felt in her life.

"Leaving... leaving me?" She whispers quietly, the question punctuated with a gulp as she swallows her emotions.

She sounds eerily similar to a young, innocent child who's just lost all they've ever known. It makes you wonder for a brief second if you're a sick individual for causing such pain, but you shun those thoughts away for a later date, because right now you need all the feigned courage you can muster up.

"Yes." The ease with which you say it sends shivers down her spine. It's the hardest sentence you've ever had to say, and it's just one word - once more an example of how life can never be conformed to simplicity.

"Why are you being so cold? This is not the woman I know." Alexia practically pleads, inching closer to you on the sofa. Her hands land on your knees, but you're too far in to back out now.

"I don't know who I am anymore, Alexia. I need time and space to figure my shit out, that's what is best for me right now and that's why I have to go." She scoffs in your face once you've finished, and that's the moment this conversation goes far more downhill you could have expected.

"What about me? What about what's best for me? You're leaving me behind!"

"Leaving you behind? You're acting like a sad dog that I've just abandoned in the middle of nowhere! You were perfectly fine in your life, your very successful and established life might I add, before I came along and you'll be better off without me!" You snap back. This is not the direction you thought this would go. "Why can't you accept the fact I need to leave?"

"Because I fucking love you! I love you and I don't want to live a life that doesn't have you in it! But maybe I should grow out of that opinion since it seems so easy for you to turn off your feelings for me, so easy for you to be so selfish at the flick of a switch."

"Selfish? I'm being selfish?" You repeat her words back to her with an outraged laughter that sounds all too familiar to you. Is this who you've turned into? "I'm being selfish for choosing what's best for me? I'm being selfish for wanting to take time on my own to figure my life out? I'm being selfish for wanting to take time to grieve my own, dead Mother?"

Alexia's face falls as soon as those words come out of your mouth. Never in her life had a sentence caused such a visceral reaction from her because it feels like someone's just plunged a dagger right into her heart. She'd been too panicked, too focused, on her own feelings to even wonder why you had made this decision. She had been the selfish one for jumping to conclusions and now her lethal arguments had completely tanked the conversation. The possibility that there was no coming back from her vicious assumptions instilled a deeper, darker fear in her than she had ever felt in her life.

"No, no, I didn't-" She begins to dig herself out of the hole she finds herself in, but you're in no mood to entertain her begging.

"Good one. Really funny, that." You stand up and go to walk away, but not without one last attempt from Alexia to stop you.

"I didn't mean that, I swear, I am just so confused and scared and-"

"Do you not think I'm scared too? This will be the second time I've uprooted my life and regretted everything I have ever done. I'm terrified to leave, terrified to find out what's waiting for me at home, terrified to figure maybe this is all I am and that there's no better side of myself to find." Your voice trembles with a mix of fear and fury. "I've realised that throughout our whole relationship, from the moment I stepped into this country, I've been someone that I'm not. Losing my Mum was losing the biggest part of myself, and everything I've done from then 'til now has just been a poor attempt at filling in the hole in my heart-"

"S-so, what, you're saying our relationship was fake?" Alexia splutters out. You pause at her words, completely caught off-guard by her utterly stupid and inept fight back.

"That's what you caught from all that?" You ask, dumbfounded. "Right. Because it's always about you, Alexia, isn't it? This whole conversation has just been you talking about yourself. Have you even properly heard what I've said? Have you read more than the first line of my letter?" The guilty look on her face says it all. "That's what I thought."

"But I... I know what it's like to lose a parent, amor, I can help you!"

"Wow. For the sake of us both, don't go there, Alexia. Don't." You fix her a warning glare, shaking your arm out of the grasp of her hand.

"You can't leave. You can't, I won't let you. It's not right." She speaks sternly again now, a final plea for your relationship.

"Oh, fuck off Alexia. You have the emotional maturity of a teenage boy. I'm done with this now. Good luck at the World Cup this summer."

You walk out and slam her door shut without looking back.

Alexia's life had just taken a nosedive, because a breakup was absolutely not on her agenda for the day. The hand that had grabbed your arm earlier tingled with the stain of your touch and certain areas of the room were tainted by the lingering scent of your perfume. One conversation and you had vanished from her life - an excruciating result caused by her own incompetency to act like a decent human being.

For some time after you had left, she had been stuck rooted to her sofa, her mental temporarily ruined by the events of the day. A traumatic event had occurred, this was a natural reaction, to go into shock. To be so damaged by something that all she could do was sit and be consciously unconscious to the world around her until her body and mind could recover.

There was one phrase that ran circles around her mind. It isn't fair. What that defiance was directed at, she wasn't so sure yet. At first it had been you, but as the clouds cleared a little, it was obvious that it wasn't. Despite her words earlier and how accusing they came out, she didn't blame you. Not one bit. No, her anger was aimed at the so called 'fate' bullshit that everyone championed so often. How can people praise such a phenomenon when it had brought so much evil into people's lives? It felt like everything came at the price of something, and that's not fair.

For Alexia? It felt like her career came with the price of her Father. Everything she had done was because of him, and he couldn't even be here to see it. No, because fate or destiny or whatever other nickname it had, had taken that opportunity away from her. It isn't fair. For you? If anyone asked you, in the future when you're in your rocking chair, a knitted blanket draped over you and the waves of the ocean lapping away in front of your eyes, you'd say that in this period of time you had gained the world for the price of your soul. This dichotomy of good and evil sometimes felt like it wasn't worth the fight because in cases like this, it just wasn't fair.

The realisation of it all left a sour taste in Alexia's mouth. But something seemed to snap in her, some higher power finally giving her a backbone, and she sprung into action. You didn't deserve any of the stuff that had happened to you, and she sure as hell wasn't going to be another name on that list. One of her worst fears, a view shared by all of humanity, was to remember someone she loved in such a gut-wrenchingly awful way that it tarnished her entire memory of them. That's something she couldn't do with you. If you were to end this, it had to be on good terms.

So, she grabbed her keys and headed down to her car, where her phone still was. Alexia was a determined woman; when she put her mind to something, she got it done. This would be no different.

Call after call, after call, after call, came through on your phone from the one woman you probably least expected. There was only so long you could hold her off because, after all, you were once in a relationship with the woman, meaning you got a front row seat to her persistance.

"Hi, uh, Alexia. What do you want?" You say when you answer, finally.

"We have to talk more." Alexia rushes out quickly, for lack of better words and composure.

"I don't know if I want that after what happened earlier." You state in a defensive tone. But secretly, you craved nothing more.

"I know, and I am so so sorry for all that. It was so selfish and awful of me, I regretted every word that came out of my mouth the second I said it. I just... can we talk again? Please?" She begs, her hand fidgeting against the steering wheel of her car as tears silently rolled down her cheeks. "I would hate myself if I didn't at least try for this, amor, let me try."

"The decision is final, Ale, you can't change it. I'm sorry. You said yesterday that you would do whatever I wanted you to do. Well, this is what I need you to do, Alexia. I need you to let me go."

"Okay." Alexia squeezes her eyes shut, tears spilling out the corners, and her clenched fist comes to rest against her forehead. "Can I see you one more time? So I can properly apologise? I have no other intentions than that, I promise. I just... I can't remember you that way. I can't remember us in the way we left it. It doesn't give us as people any respect and it does not do justice to the beauty of our relationship."

That was the tipping point for you. There's the woman you love.

"Okay." You smile and sit up in your bed where you previously lay in a cocoon of your own pity. "How about we meet on neutral grounds this time?"

"Let's do that." Alexia responds, and you can hear the smile in her voice.

Some time later, you found yourself walking along the promenade of the beach, looking for where Alexia said she was seated on one of the benches. It was a chilly evening with no help from the sea, so you had your hands tucked into your coat pockets and your chin hidden under the zip of your coat. Alexia had spotted you long ago, a content smile on her face at the all too familiar sight of you and your distaste for the cold. You recognise her soon after, taking a deep breath before approaching her.

"Hi." You mumble, muffled by your jacket and the wind whipping around you. Alexia hears it of course.

"Hi. Sit down, please?" Alexia taps her hand on the wooden slats of the bench beside her, and you quickly follow suit. "I, uh... got you this."

She hands over a takeaway cup of hot chocolate. Your favourite.

"Thank you. Something to keep my hands warm." You say, happy to see her laugh quietly and nod.

"Exactly why I got it."

The pair of you sit in silence for a while, encapsulated by the serenity of the sky and the elegance of the ocean. Strangely, you realise, the two things resemble you and Alexia. Two things of beauty that never quite meet, never quite mend, just a parallel that reflects each other. You can't tell if that's a horrifying allusion or a calming one.

"So, what's this then, a... a post-mortem of our relationship?" You joke, giggling when Alexia scrunches her nose at the suggestion.

"I mean... you could say that." She shudders as she says it, not quite at peace with the new revelation. She's not sure she ever will be.

"I have to go, Alexia. I... it's so hard leaving you behind. It's the hardest decision I've ever made, but it's one I have to make. I hope you know that."

"I do. I do know that. I want you to know I understand. I'll never be... content with it, but... it's a necessary evil." Alexia has her eyes cast down on her coffee cup, fiddling with the lid. You notice and take hold of one of her hands, intertwining your fingers perhaps for one final time.

"It is. I've got no energy to fight anymore. I need to sit with my emotions and all that shit," You pause as you sigh dramatically, making her laugh once more. "So that I can figure out who I am after all this. Doing that whilst in a relationship isn't fair on either of us. It'll only lead to something more soul destroying, no matter how hard this conversation is."

"I know." Alexia purses her lips and nods, finding the strength to look at you. A genuine smile breaks out onto her face. "I had a feeling something was wrong a little while ago. I guess I'm just... angry. That I can't solve it."

"I'm angry that I can't solve it." You repeat, a sad smile on your face. "There's just a lot wrong with me, I think. And I can't burden you with it all. I have a lot of baggage I drag along and there's an awful lot of cracks in my mind-"

"There's cracks in everything, amor, that's how the light shines in."

You had half a mind to berate her for interrupting you again, but you find yourself at a loss for words. Why were you leaving this woman again?

"I'll value you forever, Ale. Nothing could make me change that, even if we left things at what happened before. You're the most astounding person I've ever met, and even when I'm breaking your heart, you still treat me better than anyone else. If we forget what happened at your apartment." You tease, the both of you chuckling lightly.

"It's hard to hate you when you're breaking my heart so gently." Alexia states. "I'll always love you. It's probably not the right thing to say but it's the truth."

"No, I... I'll always love you too." You respond, absolutely certain. Despite the predicament you both find yourselves in, Alexia finds every bit of relief and closure she could ever need in that one simple sentence.

"When do you... when do you leave?" She asks with a sniffle.

"I fly out later tonight." You answer quietly.

"Will you come back one day?" It's the one thing she knows she probably shouldn't say, but she can't resist. She has to know.

"I don't know, to be honest." She turns away and nods slowly. You squeeze her hands three times.

"If you do, will you let me know?"

You can't promise her that, and she knows it.

"I will." You smile softly up at her.

You both fall into silence once more. This one feels a little less suffocating than those of the past. There's still so much more to say, but as your head falls to rest on Alexia's shoulder and you both look out at the view that had been the background of your relationship, neither of you can name a reason to interrupt the peace that's settled. It's perhaps more peace than either of you had felt in a long time.

The thing is, about the ocean and the sky, is that they do meet. They're one and the same in their own essence, and in the distance, they do eventually meet. And the sun will rise again. Two inevitable occurrences that form at the hands of a little thing called fate. Or destiny. Or whatever it is.

#alexia putellas x reader #woso x reader #woso #alexia putellas #alexia putellas imagine #alexia putellas one shot #woso community #woso imagine

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munson-blurbs · 4 months

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Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Being a perpetual people-pleaser meant that you were constantly putting others before yourself--particularly your parents and the eccentric guests who stayed at their motel. But when a surly and mysterious musician checked in indefinitely, he flipped your whole world on its head. (3.1k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ A/N: Thank you to my numerous beta readers, including but not limited to @the-unforgivenn, @lofaewrites, @lokis-army-77, and @corroded-hellfire, and to @hellfire--cult for the divider. I am forever indebted to y'all.

chapter one: room for one more

It was always the quiet nights, wasn't it? The ones where the only sounds came from cars barreling down Queens Boulevard and splashing through puddles left by an earlier rainstorm, or from the clock ticking on the wall.

The ones where your mind wandered until you’d thought yourself in circles, overanalyzing every last decision you had ever made.

The ones where you allowed your guard just down enough that the slightest oddity threw you off-balance—something or someone out of place.

It was during the quiet nights like that night where you should have expected the unexpected, because New York City never stayed still for long.

The evening’s sluggishness was normal; tourism always slowed in the springtime. The newest shows on Broadway were already months old, not to mention the warmer weather brought both an uptick in crime and pollen count. If out-of-towners were going to schlep to the East Coast, they’d prefer to see the cherry blossoms hours south in Washington, DC than to get mugged on the 1 train.

Business picked up in the winter months when people flocked from around the world to witness the Thanksgiving Day Parade, the Rockefeller Center Christmas tree, or Dick Clark’s Rockin’ New Year’s Eve, even though they were several bus and subway transfers away. Outsiders to the tri-state area struggled to differentiate between boroughs; it was unfortunate for them, but you counted on it to keep business alive.

The only guests who consistently frequented your family’s motel were junkies looking for a place to shoot up away from the NYPD’s watchful gaze or affair-havers who were considerate enough not to sully their marriage beds—just their vows. You were in no position to judge; their money was what kept the lights on, but it was impossible not to compare your clientele to the suits who stayed at the Marriott down the street. They wouldn‘t even allow homeless folks to sit within twenty-five feet of the building, let alone stay under their roof.

You leaned on the desk, wood grain pinching your elbows. You tapped your pencil against your textbook as you read, its margins cluttered with notes about different types of parent-child attachment styles.

Sleep prickled at the corners of your eyes, blurring the words on the page in front of you. Focus.

Secure attachment occurs when—no, you’d already read this line. Twice.

“Dammit,” you muttered under your breath, gently slapping your cheeks in a futile attempt to stay awake. Taking a full course load instead of your usual part-time was your academic advisor’s ill-conceived idea, bolstered by the prospect of an earlier graduation. In your haste, you’d neglected to consider two important factors: all of your studying now had to be done during your night shifts, and graduating meant telling your parents a truth they were unready to hear.

They were so proud of the motel, regardless of its reputation. It might as well have been The Plaza from the way your dad boasted about it. The three of you shared an unspoken understanding that you worked the front desk because paying an actual employee would put them under. Maybe if finances weren’t so tight, you could have freely admitted that your future plans didn’t involve taking over the business.

Your eyelids fluttered shut as your head rested on your book, a small puddle of drool pooling atop Bowlby’s theories.

Ping ping ping ping!

Time slowly stretched out before you, your conscious brain clawing its way out of its hazy fog. It took a beat for you to recognize that the incessant noise came from someone repeatedly smacking the tiny bell that sat on the desk.

“Hey, hello?” an impatient voice called out, jolting you from your impromptu nap. You blinked away the residual sleepiness and took in the sight in front of you: a curly-haired man, likely not much older than you were, a cigarette that had been nearly smoked down to the filter tucked between his lips. He had a patched guitar case strapped to his back and clutched a black garbage bag filled with what you hoped was clothing.

“Sorry,” you grumbled, wiping the moisture from your chin. “Need a room?”

“Mhm.” You could practically hear his eye roll: no, I just stopped by in the middle of the night for a quick chat. Fancy a cup of tea and a scone?

He plopped the garbage bag on the ground; its soft landing and the way it wrinkled told you that whatever was inside was, thankfully, not a body.

You nodded and turned around to the wall of keys behind you. There was no shortage of rooms; the only occupied one was being rented by Phyllis, a sixty-year-old self-described ‘entertainer of gentleman’ who paid double her bill in exchange for your silence.

He stubbed out the cigarette in the ashtray on the countertop, grinding it into the base for good measure. “How much per night?” he asked, digging into his pants pocket and pulling out a wallet held together with duct tape.

“Fifteen.”

The man breathed out, his bangs fanning over his forehead. “Jesus.” He fished two twenties and a five from the billfold and placed them in front of you. “This should cover me until Friday, yeah?”

Nodding, you folded the bills and tucked them into the register kept under the desk, only accessible by key because of a series of break-ins during the late ‘70s.

The man lit another cigarette as you pulled out the ledger and a pen. “Name and date here,” you said, pointing to the ‘check in’ column. He took a drag before scrawling his name on the line: Eddie Munson, 5-4-93.

“All right, you’ll be in…” you scanned the assortment of keys dangling from their hooks. The walls were thin, and this guy seemed decent enough, so you decided to spare him the theatrical sound effects of Phyllis’s room 10 endeavors. “…room 4. Make a right down the hallway, and it’ll be the second door. Can’t miss it if you try.”

Your attempt at humor fell flat, both of you too exhausted to laugh. You strode past it, clearing your throat as if dispelling the tension. When you placed the key in his calloused palm, you couldn’t help but notice that the base of each fingertip is a half-shade paler than the rest of his skin.

“Thanks.” Eddie mumbled. He tapped the cigarette above the ashtray, the gray flakes falling into a neat pile. His right bicep flexed underneath his denim jacket as he heaved the garbage bag over his shoulder, careful not to bang it against the guitar.

He scuttled out of the tiny room masquerading as a lobby, shoulders hunched from the weight of the bag and of the burdens he inevitably carried. No one shows up to a motel in the middle of the night without a story or two.

After years of greeting guests at the front desk, you liked to think you had a decent read on them. Eddie was quiet, maybe even introspective, but not necessarily shy. He was tired; no, more than that: he was worn down, like so many other people who had come through these doors.

Most importantly, Eddie didn’t seem like he'd be much trouble. He didn’t stumble in wasted and reeking of booze or fidgeting as he awaited a fix. He wasn’t shouting or poorly concealing a wandering eye or making lewd comments. He’d made pretty much no impression at all besides being a bit gruff, which was just fine with you. Your personality wasn't composed of rainbows and sunshine at this hour either.

You looked at the clock and sighed when it only read 2:17. It’s already tomorrow, you thought grimly. Just under four hours until you could walk ten feet to your room, curl up in your bed, and sleep until it was time for your afternoon class. After years of balancing school and work, you were in the last two weeks of your final semester, and then…what? You casually inform your parents that you were leaving the family business–essentially forcing them to close it–to pursue a career in social work?

That was sure to go over well.

To their knowledge, you were studying hotel management and hospitality in order to “improve the business.” That was why they’d relented when you’d asked to start taking classes, switching you over to the night shift to avoid having to hire a new employee.

What they didn’t know is that your school didn’t even offer that as a major. Nor were they aware of the acceptance letter into NYU’s Masters of Social Work program that was stashed inside your dresser drawer, hidden from sight. That was a conversation for another day when you found the strength to face their disappointment.

Chaos waited to strike until the end of your shift.

Just as you packed your book back into your bag, a familiar, skunky odor wafted past your nostrils.

Ignore it, you thought. Let it be Dad’s problem when he takes over in five minutes. But if you could smell it, so could any of the cops patrolling the boulevard. One more citation and the motel was in jeopardy of being permanently shut down, and you couldn’t take that risk.

With a frustrated sigh, you yanked open the desk drawer and reached in for a pen, instead pulling out an unopened box of crayons. A twenty-four pack of Crayola—the good kind. You plucked a waxy cornflower blue from its spot and scribbled Be back soon on a Post-It note, sticking it on the front of the desk. Grabbing the pepper spray canister from its spot next to the register, just in case, you started down the hall. Marijuana wasn’t Phyllis’s drug of choice, though it might have been one of her various gentleman suitors’, but the scent was too strong to be coming all the way from room 10.

Maybe this Eddie Munson was trouble, afterall.

You knocked on his door, firmly but without aggression. It certainly wasn’t the first time you interrupted someone’s buzz, and it wouldn’t be the last. You knew better than to go in guns a-blazing; it’s easier to catch flies with sugar than vinegar.

Eddie opened it after a moment, cracking it halfway and revealing a lit joint pinched between his plush lips. One forearm was perched on the doorframe, showing off faded ink of a litter of flying bats and a dragon-esque creature. He was clad in only navy blue boxer briefs, but his lack of attire was no surprise. Many guests were shameless, not bothering to cover the holes in their Fruit of the Loom tighty-whities and showcasing faded yellow stains on the crotch. What confused you was the elastic waistband proudly proclaiming ‘Calvin Klein’ that cut off the soft hair trailing from his belly button. It seemed absurd that he would have been lugging around any designer clothes in that trash bag, but there was no other possibility.

“Can I help you?” he asked, shaking his curly bangs out of his face. Half-lidded brown eyes scanned your form, trying to determine whether you were a narc or trying to bum some bud off of him. His window was cracked open enough to let in fresh air, which also meant that the acrid smell could easily be let out.

“You can’t smoke that here,” you reported matter-of-factly, just as you had a million times before. When he cocked a challenging brow, you continued. “Cigarettes are fine, but no weed. The police will come after us and you.”

He looked around the room, unbothered, and absentmindedly scratched at his bare chest. A demon’s head was sketched just above a sparse patch of hair. Under different circumstances, or maybe in another life altogether, you would’ve asked him about his tattoos; if they had some philosophical meaning or were the products of spur-of-the-moment decisions. You could have blathered on about the ideas you had for your own future tattoos, if you ever worked up the nerve to actually get one.

“You mean to tell me that with all of the skeevy shit that goes on around here, the cops are gonna waste their time on a little pot?” He scoffed and took another defiant pull, holding it for a few seconds before exhaling away from you.

I guess chivalry isn’t dead, you mused, stifling an eye roll. “No, but they’re always looking for an excuse to ‘investigate,’’' you threw air-quotes around the last word, “so they can bust us for more serious things, and that is the perfect one.” You gestured to the joint only to be met with an eye roll. “Look, you can either put it out, smoke it somewhere else, or you can leave. Full refund, but you can’t stay here.”

His stare locked onto your steely eyes and clenched jaw, only breaking when you’d straightened your posture to stand your ground. “Whatever,” he huffed, but he snuffed it out. A glimmer of a smile danced on his lips, disappearing nearly as quickly as it arrived. Despite its fleeting nature, it managed to thaw you enough so that your arms weren’t held quite so tight to your body, your expression less rigid. “Just trying to relax and get some sleep, like you were while you were supposed to be ‘working.’” It’s his turn to supply the air-quotes, both in mockery and as a gotcha. A teasing lilt elevated his voice, smoothing out the edge he’d greeted you with earlier.

“I wasn’t sleeping, just…resting my eyes,” you volleyed back, your smirk betraying any semblance of the tough façade you’d worn.

Eddie crossed his arms and walked over to the garbage bag of clothes. He rummaged through it for a moment before procuring a pair of gray sweatpants, stepping into them hurriedly as though he just remembered his minimal attire.

“Maybe if you chose more interesting reading material, you wouldn’t be sl—resting your eyes on the job,” he amended, gesturing to the textbook in your canvas tote bag. “Ever heard of Stephen King?”

“I live in a motel, not under a rock.”

He raised an eyebrow. “You live here?”

Shit. That wasn’t information you regularly divulged. Sure, this guy seemed harmless, but looks can be deceiving. Prime example: wearing designer underwear while using a trash bag in lieu of a suitcase.

It was too late to double back, so you nodded. “Yeah,” you admitted reluctantly. The sole of your sneaker dug into the old carpet.

Eddie looked like he wanted to say more, lips parted and eyes wide like there was a follow-up question sitting on the tip of his tongue. Before he could ask it, your gaze landed on the clock radio: six AM on the dot.

“I need to go,” you said hurriedly. Shame at your sudden shyness burned a hole in your belly. Eddie Munson was a guest; for all intents and purposes, he was a total stranger. There was no reason to be intimidated by him. “Good luck falling asleep,” you added with a weak smile.

The easy banter that had been building between you dissipated in an instant, taking his good mood with it. His goodbye was a sardonic salute, the mattress springs creaking wearily as soon as you closed the door behind you.

Sure enough, your dad was in the tiny lobby, assessing some peeling wallpaper. “Gotta fix that,” he mumbled to himself, thumbnail picking at it aimlessly. He turned around when he heard the door open and smiled when he saw you.

“Sorry, I was helping out a guest,” you rushed to explain, hoping he wasn't too anxious to find the desk left unattended.

The wrinkles in your dad’s forehead became more pronounced. “Is everything alright?” The phrase ‘helping out a guest’ could range from unclogging a toilet to calling the police for a domestic dispute.

“Yeah, everything’s fine,” you reassured him quickly, flashing an exaggerated thumbs-up. “No law enforcement necessary. Didn’t even need to use the pepper spray.” You waved the canister in your palm before placing it back.

He beamed, leaning in and pressing a kiss to your scalp. “It’s times like this where I just know I’ll be leaving this place in good hands.”

You swallowed the bile that crept up your throat and feigned a smile when he pulled you in for a tight hug. The mingled scents of Irish Spring soap and drugstore aftershave tickled your nose, and tears stung along your lash line.

If only you knew, you thought, giving him one last squeeze before you headed to your room. Disappointed wouldn’t even begin to cover it.

Your parents would never say the word aloud; they’d look at each other and heave identical weighted sighs. Their lifelong goal of a long-standing family business would vanish in the blink of an eye. Dad would pretend there was a chance that they could afford a new hire, even going so far as to fumble through the years of financial statements before inevitably throwing in the towel; Mom would force a pained smile and hoarsely encourage you to follow your dreams, even at the expense of theirs.

You shook the thought away as you trudged towards your room, sneakered feet like sandbags below you. Dwelling on this scenario had you teetering on the brink of insanity, so you’d willed yourself to focus on something else. Anything else.

Like the motel’s newest guest and his smile. The way it softened the hard lines on his face, offering you a glimpse of how he wore happiness. Something about it made you want to see him happy again.

You can’t even figure out how to make yourself happy, you thought, peeling back the starchy sheets and finally crawling into bed, much less a stranger. For all you knew, he was just relaxed because his high was starting to kick in, and not from some warming presence you’d supplied.

The sun cracked pink through the sky, visible through the paper-thin curtains hanging on the window. You had become accustomed to this backwards routine, able to fall asleep while daylight broke. It took a few extra moments this time; you were anticipating marijuana-tinged fumes to float through the vents when Eddie ignored your instructions.

It was that flicker of a smile that had you almost certain he would spark up once you’d left. The smile of someone who so naturally flouted authority that he no longer bragged about it. Yet time ticked by without a hint of evidence that he was smoking again.

Which begged the question: if the smile didn’t signify defiance, what did it mean?

Eddie Munson is definitely trouble, you surmised just before you drifted off, but nothing you can’t handle.

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @chrissymjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @reidsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @bewitchedmunson @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

#eddie munson #eddie stranger things #eddie x reader #eddie x you #eddie munson x female reader #eddie munson x f!reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson fanfic #stranger things fanfic #fanfic #eddie munson stranger things #stranger things #lam

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sunniskyies · 4 months

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𝐖𝐡𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐒𝐮𝐧? || 𝐋𝐮𝐤𝐞 𝐂𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐚𝐧 𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐭

𝐑𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭: - 𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: You have loved Luke Castellan your whole life, but you two never seem to be going anywhere. So you start dating somebody else… 𝐏𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: show!Luke Castellan x Apollo!fem!reader 𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: Underage drinking mentioned, jealous!Luke 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬: Song lyrics, fluff, making-out 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 3.4k 𝐀/𝐍: Had to write about a musical Apollo kid, and the lyrics of ‘4am’ by Cherry Ghost are just too precious !! Go have a listen !! Also, a lot of this will be inaccurate because I’ve only read a couple of PJO books (:

“It'll get you on the last bus home 'Get you at the discount bend It'll get you on the old dancefloor 'Get you when the party ends”

Everyone is born with a gift. It doesn't have to be magical, although that does seem to be quite common at Camp as well.

No, what you mean is that some people are just really good at downhill skiing. There are those who can solve complex equations in their head. Others can whip up a new recipe with ease on their first attempt.

For you, your music had a way of seeping into the soul of anyone who heard it. That's your gift.

"Oh 4am, is the time when you were mine Frozen in deepest sleep, for only I to keep Now there ain't a hiding place on earth Where loneliness ain't been first"

Today, you've decided on a lyre as your musical accomplice. You sit on a patch of grassy earth, sandwiched between two rows of strawberries. You're just making up random words, plucking absent-mindedly.

But when you sing, the sound tends to carry. People far off seem to stop in their tracks for a moment. Faces around you can't help but turn. The clouds float away for a while to bathe you in sunlight.

"It'll get you hanging out your clothes ‘Get you when you wash your hair It'll get you as you're making plans Catch you trying to climb the stairs"

Next to you, your friend Marshall—a son of Demeter—tends to a patch of blight-stricken plants. You can't see the way his eyes watch you, enamoured. Without you noticing, the boy fills a basket for you with all the sweetest strawberries he finds.

In the distance, a boy with ebony curls effortlessly strikes at a practice dummy. His strokes are calculated and fluid, resembling a painter wielding a brush on a canvas rather than a sword.

When your voice drifts through the air, it pierces through him. With gooseflesh skin, Luke sheathes his sword and turns to look around for you. His seeking gaze locks onto you, a golden spot in amongst the strawberry fields. Your eyes are shut, your skin drinking in the sunlight. Luke's heart flutters and he feels a pull towards you, like a moth drawn to a flame.

As he approaches, a flash of disgruntlement ripples through him at the way Marshall is staring. Marshall also notices Luke and straightens up as he approaches, eyes wary. But Luke shrugs it off. Some boy from '4 means nothing to him.

"Hey, Sunbeam," Luke grins.

You open your eyes, startled by his sudden presence. Your fingers freeze on the strings of your lyre as you take him in—slightly sweaty from training, black hair falling into his eyes, a smirk adorning his lips. A gentle shiver rolls through you.

"Hey," you reply, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. "Enjoy the show?"

Luke plunks down. He sprawls out leisurely on the grass beside you, propped up by an elbow. "Wasn't too shabby," he smirks, popping a strawberry from Marshall's gift basket in his mouth.

Marshall scowls, watching the exchange with a prickle of unease. You don't notice, of course, too busy trying not to stare at Luke.

Luke's been your best friend since you both arrived at Camp Half-blood five years ago. He's always been there for you, through thick and thin. But that's why you hide your feelings towards him. The way your heart races when he's near, the butterflies that flutter in your stomach whenever he smiles at you—those feelings are dangerous. They hold the power to ruin your friendship.

As the gorgeous boy lounges in the grass, you find yourself studying the scar that runs from his temple to his cheek. Your fingers itch to trace its path, but you resist. You wonder if other girls have already traced it before you.

Despite your reservations, you often find yourself wondering if he smiles at you differently than them. If he does seek you out like you imagine he does. If he craves your touch like you do his.

Luke himself wishes you weren't so oblivious to his affection. He lets his eyes linger just a little too long, hoping that maybe one day you'd get the hint.

Of course Luke sees you staring. "We ought to do some training, Sunbeam," he remarks, prying the instrument from your hands.

"Gotta prepare for capture the flag tomorrow." He shoots a petulant glance at the Demeter boy, a silent jab that reminds him that you are on Hermes' team.

Luke hauls you up, leading you off towards the Arena. You protest but follow him regardless, as you too are excited about the game tomorrow. After all, you are known as the best archer at camp; your skill with a bow and arrow rivals that of Artemis' Hunters themselves.

Slightly behind you Luke snatches up the basket of fruit. "Thanks, '4," he dismisses, eyes distractedly trained on you.

Marshall glowers. "They weren't for you, Castellan," he retorts bitterly under his breath.

Luke pauses, pulling his gaze away from your retreating figure. "Hm?"

Marshall's scowl deepens, but he knows better than to argue with the Counselor. Instead, he turns his attention back to his plants, trying to ignore the pang of jealousy that Luke managed to steal you away.

You and Luke are slinking through the undergrowth. Ahead, two Aphrodite girls guard the large red flag. Terrible strategy, you think smugly. The Hermes boy grins at you, and you draw back your arrow.

Luke steps out, sword brandished, ready to knock past the girls to grab the flag while you wait behind a tree. But instead of fighting back, one of the girls just smiles coquettishly.

"Luke!" She coos, stepping over and clasping his bicep, taking him by surprise. "Me and Allegra were just talking about you."

The girl is gorgeous. All intoxicating green eyes and flowing bronze hair, her voice like silk. Luke's eyes widen, his cheeks flushing slightly. You watch, hidden behind the tree, and your heart sinks.

"Shouldn't you be guarding that flag?" Luke questions, one brow raised. He's probably used to this, you think bitterly. Luke Castellan, Head Councilor, brave and responsible and breathtaking with a sword, could have any girl he wanted.

Not some random Apollo girl.

The other girl, Allegra, steps closer to him. "We were wondering if you'd be interested in joining us for a little post-game celebration," she purrs, running a finger down his other arm.

You feel a surge of jealousy rising within you. This isn't supposed to happen. Luke is supposed to be focused on the game.

"Y/N," a voice hisses behind you. You whip around, arrow is immediately pointed at the boy's heart. You relax when you see it's just Marshall. You don't drop your weapon, though. He's still on the opposite team after all.

"No, stop, I'm not trying to fight you," he whispers, pushing down the arrow's point with a cautious finger. You raise your brows.

"Don't you care about winning?" You ask skeptically. Marshall smiles, stepping closer. He's so close now, and your breath catches. His hand cups your chin.

"No, not right now. I just need to ask you something." He breathes.

Back over by the flag, Luke glances subtly over in your direction, as if seeking some kind of guidance or approval. But instead, Luke is met with the sight of that blasted Demeter friend of yours kissing you against the tree he left you behind.

Luke's stomach plummets. His mind races, grappling with a storm of emotions—disappointment, jealousy, and anguish. He had always thought that just maybe, one day, you would reciprocate the affection he holds for you.

But it’s not going to happen now, that’s evident. He feels a hollow pit growing in his stomach, as if all the food he’s ever eaten has been taken away. Hunger like he’d never experienced before.

He wants to walk over there and tear that boy from your lips, throw him to the ground and lead you away. But he can’t, instead, he can only watch as you choose another.

"Excuse me," Luke growls, extracting himself from the Aphrodite girl's grasp. The two girls look disappointed to lose the handsome boy, but shrug and ignore him as he takes the flag and storms off to the Zephyros Creek to finish the game.

Back in the embrace, you feel yourself kissing Marshall back. His hands trail down your arms as he deepens the kiss.

"Will you go out with me, Sunbeam?" Marshall says, breaking away. Your gut tightens at the nickname, something so sweet sounding from Luke's lips sounds harsh from Marshall's.

You swallow. Why shouldn't you date Marshall? He's kind and caring and everything you want in a boyfriend. And Luke...

Luke isn't interested, you snap at yourself. Why should you deny yourself a relationship because of a childish crush?

So you find yourself nodding, pressing another kiss to Marshall's lips.

Luke watches with narrowed eyes as Marshall snakes an arm around your waist at the Demeter table. It's forbidden to sit at another cabin's table, but you had snuck over to sit with him. Something you only used to do for Luke.

"Dude, just go talk to her," one of Luke's half-brothers says impatiently. Luke turns back to face the table, shooting a glare at the boy.

That doesn't stop the boy. "Honestly, Castellan, you've been ignoring her for weeks. How is she going to know you're an option if you don’t communicate?"

"I'm fine," Luke grunts. "I'm happy for her." Despite his words, an unconvincing degree of bitterness laces his tone.

The unclaimed camper Luke had been showing around that day frowned from his seat beside him. "Are you? You seem to be staring an awful lot."

Luke's glare is directed at him now. "You don't know what you're talking about, kid."

The blond boy stares. "Don't I? You obviously like her."

Luke frowns, unwilling to talk about his nonexistent love life to a 12-year-old. Ultimately, he shrugs and turns back to his dinner. "It doesn't matter. She has a boyfriend."

"Yeah? So?"

"She's happy, I'm not going to be the one who ruins that for her." I care too much to do that, Luke thinks to himself.

"Happy?" Percy asks, cocking an eyebrow. "Is she? Is she really?"

Luke glances over again, your body pulled into Marshall's side. He must've just told a joke because everyone's laughing. So are you, that sweet look on your face that Luke craves to see above all else.

The familiar flutter that usually accompanies the sight of you now morphs into a sickening twist of jealousy. It takes all Luke has to not punch the boy simply for smiling at you.

But Percy may be right. If he looks closer, you don't seem to be leaning into him, instead shifting restlessly under Marshall's grip.

Hope flares in his chest, and he quickly quashes it with a stab of guilt. Who is he to relish in your discontent? He has no stake over you, you are free to be with who you want! As your best friend, he really should be prioritizing your happiness. Not a pathetic rivalry.

"You don't know what you're talking about," Luke repeats with a grumble.

"Gods, Y/N, I don't know how much longer I can watch this," Annabeth groans, tilting her head up to look at you. "It's actually painful."

The two of you are sitting underneath a wide-brimmed tree, you perched on a raised root clutching your cello, she's lying on the grass at your feet.

You pull your bow away from the strings from where they were previously composing a mournful tune on your instrument-of-the-day. "What?" You pout. Annabeth rolls her eyes.

"All the sad songs and the pining."

Your eyes stretch wide. "Pining? Annabeth Chase, what are you talking about?"

Annabeth rolls her eyes, sitting up and turning to face you. "Oh, come on. It's obvious. Every time Luke is around you stare at him like a puppy at the pound, begging for attention!"

You flush red.

"Not that you didn't do that before," Annabeth continues. "But it's worse now. Do you even like that boyfriend of yours?"

"Yes!" You protest, but the pause of hesitation before it ruins the effect. Annabeth's lips curve into a smile.

"Look. The boys from Hermes'—no, not Luke—asked me to ask you to sing at the bonfire tonight," she says, standing up and tying her braids back into a low ponytail. "I'm going training. I'll see you later."

"You're probably just going to stalk that boy you like!" You shout after the girl defensively as she saunters off.

"Break up with your boyfriend!" Is all she calls back.

You sigh, leaning back into the tree. Above you, a family of songbirds belt out a tune. You listen to their notes and begin to hum a tune that harmonizes perfectly with their song. The birds pick up on this, and begin tweeting little riffs and chirping with delight when you replicate it. You've always had an affinity for music and tone, always knowing what a song needs or doesn't need.

And right now, your song doesn't need a gardener. It needs a black-haired son of Hermes.

Luke sips from his cup as an Ares girl hangs off his arm, feeding him marshmallows off her skewer. He's trying desperately not to meet your gaze through the campfire, but it's so difficult when he feels your e/c eyes trained on him.

"Angel! Sing us a song!" A Hermes boy calls over to you, voice slurred. Luke wonders if he's put something in his drink.

"Yeah! Sing us a song!" Someone else cheers.

The campers around the campfire are chanting now, begging you to play them something. Luke can't help himself, eyes flickering over to you.

Lucky for him, you're too preoccupied with laughing nervously, reaching behind you to fish out the guitar you brought along. "Okay, okay! Hush or you won't hear me!"

The tipsy campers fall silent, watching as you start strumming. Luke feels his breath still, eyes hungrily drinking you in now that there's no chance of your gaze meeting his. You tend to close your eyes when playing music.

"Oh 4am, is the time when you were mine Frozen in deepest sleep, watching the morning creep"

The spot beside you absent of Marshall doesn't escape Luke's notice. But he honestly couldn't care less about the boy at this moment. He’s too busy imagining you’re singing this song for him, not your boyfriend.

"Now there ain't a hiding place on earth Where loneliness ain't been first"

Your voice carries over the crackling fire, filling the night air. Luke can't help but feel bad for your brothers and sisters when your father has blessed you with such an incomparable gift.

"Hard times, hole in my heart Who stole the sun and left me alone again?"

For Luke, everything else fades away—the whoops of the campers, the warmth of the fire— all that remains is you. The parts of your face the firelight licks, the curve of your lips when you sing, the way your arms cradle the instrument.

"Give me a guiding light, Stretch of sky and the hand on my shoulder.”

“Man, she’s good.” Luke hears the Hermes boy from before say to his mate. “Good thing she’s single now. Might ask ‘er out!” The boy laughs drunkenly.

Single? Luke freezes, mind racing. She broke up with Marshall? Hope, long extinguished, flickers back to life in his chest. He studies you through the flames, wondering now who this song is for.

“Singin' hard times, hole in my heart Who stole the sun and left me alone again?"

You probably could've kept going, but you open your eyes and have the breath beaten out of you by the intent gaze you are met with.

The campers around the fire erupt into applause, yet all that you can focus on is the way Luke is looking at you, his melted chocolate eyes filled with a mixture of longing and... desire.

You know that's what it is because that's all you've felt for the last 5 years when you're with him. Alongside this revelation, you're frightened by the familiarity in his eyes.

Has he always looked at you like that?

A nervous flush paints your cheeks as you finally tear your gaze away from him. "Um, thank you," you managed to mumble to your friends, setting your guitar aside with trembling hands.

You've been planning what to say to him all evening, but your mind goes blank when you see Luke on his feet, making his way towards you.

The butterflies in your stomach threaten to fly up your throat as he gently takes your wrist, pulling you to your feet and leading you off to the lake without a word.

'Ooohs' and 'ahhhs' follow you, but you're struggling to think clearly enough to care. Your mind is swimming, the way Luke holds your arm, that determined look he has in his eyes making your stomach do flips.

He lets you go when you reach the treeline in front of the lake, the sound of waves lapping at the shoreline bridging the endless silence between you.

“Y/N,” Luke begins, reaching you for your hands. Tears spring into your eyes, and you shake your head, pulling your hands away.

“Don’t call me that,” you sniff. “You never call me that.”

Luke’s serious expression melts into a sad smile, reaching up to cup your face instead. “Sunbeam.”

You don’t pull away now, instead leaning into his palms and staring up at him. Luke's jaw works as he skims his thumbs over your face, brow furrowed. “Is it true?” He asks after a while.

“What?” You breathe, scared to disrupt the moment.

“About Marshall,” he asks, eyes searching yours. “That it’s over?”

You don’t know what possesses you, but you bring your hands up to rest on his chest.

“Yes,” you whisper. Beneath your palms, you feel Luke’s heart skip a beat. “It’s over.”

“We can’t let this happen again.” he hums, his thumbs now resting achingly close to your lips. “I thought— I thought that hiding this would preserve our friendship, but it only forced me away from you.”

Your hands subtly run up to his neck. “This?” you murmur.

Luke nods. "This," he confirms, thumbs now teasing your lips open ever so slightly, as if waiting for your say-so.

In response, your fingers curl around his collar, pulling him down to meet your lips. For the first few seconds, it’s sweet and slow. But when one of Luke’s hands wraps around your waist and pulls you in flush with him, a gentle shudder goes through you. Confident now, Luke’s mouth becomes fervent and half-starved.

His hands tug you in the right way to make you melt, and his palms guide your face into him at the right times. He kisses you deliberately, knowing exactly what to do. All doubt of his desires is erased from your mind— he’s been imagining this for years.

“Strategic even off the battlefield, Castellan,” you pant in the brief moment your lips are apart before the boy pulls you back up to him again. You feel him smile at your words, and he pushes you back gently until your back presses up against a tree. Your hands curl into his hair tightly when his lips leave yours and begin trailing kisses down your face before settling under your jaw, teeth grazing skin. You feel a noise escape your lips.

Luke smirks up at you. “Singing even off the stage, L/N.”

You flush red, but Luke doesn’t allow you to be embarrassed for long, pressing his lips back on yours. He grabs fistfuls of your hair as you kiss him, leaning hard into eachother.

Eventually, you both pull away, both of your eyes dilated and sparkling.

“I’m in love with you,” Luke confesses, cautious eyes staring down at you. “Definitely.”

“Me too,” you say, arms tight around his neck. “I always have.”

He frowns, fingers never stationary; tracing every feature and dot on your face. “Always? Are you serious?”

You smirk. “Yeah, idiot. I just didn’t want to lose you if you didn’t feel the same.”

Luke winces, shutting his eyes and resting his forehead against yours. “Fuck’s sake,” he groans. You giggle.

“We’re both idiots, then?” You snort. Luke grimaces.

“Yes, Sunbeam. Idiots. Two massive idiots.”

#ph☆ebe's scribbles #percy jackson fic #one shot #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan x you #luke castellan #luke castellan x y/n #fanfiction #fanfic

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angeljeonjk97 · 7 months

Text

BodyWork || Bell #1

Jungkook x reader

friends to lovers

18+ (fluff, smut)

warnings: mentions and descriptions of violence, mentions and use of drugs and alcohol,

Jeon Jungkook is not the same 19-year-old boy you used to know. Fame has really matured him, in more ways than one.

“You already know how I like it baby”

You sit behind the desk of your dad's gym, playing a mobile game on your phone, waiting for the last person to leave before you can lock up. It was now dark outside, the entire sky was pitch black, not even a star in the sky. Your head jolts up at the sound of the male changing room door opening.

A tall, muscular man with jet-black hair and an arm covered in tattoos wearing a plain white t-shirt and black basketball shorts, emerges from the opening door.

He glances over at me behind the black-painted desk,

"Yo! Where's your dad?" he asks you, throwing a towel over his shoulder.

Jungkook is a famous boxer and has been for the past 5 years, and the gym that your dad owns just so happens to be where he trains. Your dad has owned this boxing gym for as long as you can remember and many professionals have trained here, but none for as long as Jungkook.

"Oh, he left already," You respond after realising you were probably looking at him for a bit longer than you should have, "Why?"

He casually walks over to the desk, leaning against it slightly to speak to you.

"He said he wanted to tell me something but, it obviously wasn't that important," Jungkook pauses before taking a sip from his bottle that rested in his right hand.

Your dad has always been the type to never wait around for anyone. He will do what he wants in his own time, without thinking of others most of the time. That's not to say he's selfish or anything but he can be quite... let's just say... assertive sometimes.

"How's training?" you place your phone down on the desk, placing your elbows on the platform with your chin in your left hand, looking up at Jungkook's muscular frame.

He scoffs, standing up straight to face you properly, he spans his arms out to his sides, with a cocky smirk on his face,

"I'm gonna win, so easily"

You roll my eyes and smile at his painfully obvious act. Despite his skills and how he hasn't lost a single match in the past 3 years, Jungkook is one of the humblest people you know. You both have known each other for 8 years and even though he's 26 now and is known pretty much all over the world, he hasn't changed at all.

He laughs at your response before getting closer to the desk again.

"You need help locking up again?"

"Nah, I should be fine," You reply, swivelling around in the black leather barstool, jumping down and pulling the keys from your pocket, proceeding to lock the cash register up.

"You got a lift home?" The black-haired man asks watching you as you walk from behind the desk and towards the changing room doors.

"I'm taking the bus home,"

"The bus? Why didn't you ask me to take you home?"

You turn your head to him behind you, flashing him a small smile.

"I didn't want to bother you, Kook, you've already worked hard today," you answer honestly, looking at Jungkook as you walk up the stairs. He follows behind.

"Oh come on. I've told you before to ask me if you need a lift home, buses aren't safe at night," He raises his voice a little so you can still hear him, "I'm driving you home."

You stop what your doing before looking at him with a disappointed look.

"Jungkook, I'll be fine-"

"No, I am driving you home," He cuts you off, crossing his arms across his chest. He goes silent for a bit as you don't respond to him before he breaks it again with a declaring tone, "I'm going to my car, if I don't see you in the passenger seat next to me in five minutes I'm dragging you out of here."

His voice fades as he begins making his way back down the stairs. You shake your head with a smile, knowing that you can't say no to JK.

After a few minutes, you make your way out of the gym, locking the doors behind you and pulling the shutters down afterwards. Before you turn around, you hear the sound of a car pulling up behind you. Of course, when you turn around it's a black Mercedes, that had Jungkook sitting behind the steering wheel. you open the passenger door seating yourself next to him, in which he sets off a few seconds later.

Once he parks up outside your apartment complex you turn to Jungkook,

"Thank you again, kook, but like I said, you don't have to be my taxi driver all the time. Someone might see you"

Jungkook shrugs back, his tattooed arm leaning against the steering wheel, "So what if someone sees me? It's not like you're in here giving me a blowjob or something"

You slap him on the arm with the back of your hand, giving him a disapproving look. He laughs back casually as these types of crude jokes are common coming from him.

"I'll walk you in," Jungkook says as he swings his car door open before you are doing the same.

Making your way up the stairs Jungkook remains behind you the entire time, looking up through the hole that the stacked up stairs, all leading to different floors, created.

Reaching your apartment door, you pull your keys out from your pocket, rattling them in your door, as Jungkook watches over you from behind.

"You coming in?" you ask looking up at him from behind innocently.

"Aw nah, not today y/n. It's late and I gotta be up early again tomorrow for training," He gives you a guilty look, glancing into your apartment, "I promise I'll be over soon though"

You give him a sad smile, remembering how much time he used to spend at your place with you. Because of his big fight in 2 months, he's been busy since the beginning of the year and hasn't spent as much time with you as you had liked, but you're not mad. You understand how tiring training can be, plus it's not like you two don't hang out at all anymore, you still make time for each other when it's possible.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow then?" You respond, walking into your apartment and facing him again.

"Goodnight y/n"

index-next->

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Authors note:

hiii, I hope you all liked this chapter. I know not a lot has happened but I promise it'll get better from here. This was just a little introduction to y/n and Jungkook's relationship and lore explaining. I'm so excited for this new fic so I hope you're all just as excited as I am. Please look out for when new chapters come out!!!

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timetothirst · 10 days

Text

His big wet eyes and loser boy personality have captivated me (Simon 'Ghost' Riley x GN!Reader)

Summary: you see Ghost's big beautiful calf eyes and you HAVE to say something. also he calls u love because he’s British and it’s cute IDC

inspired by something @suimon said because of course it is

The warmth of the cafe was a welcome reprieve from the biting winter cold outside, and you dusted the snow off of your clothes and hair as you made your way to the counter, not bothering to take off your scarf or light jacket.

You exchanged a polite greeting with the cashier and ordered your favorite hot drink, along with a pastry that caught your eye. Might as well, right? After you had missed your bus home, you deserved a little treat for having to walk in the cold instead!

The wait was blessedly short despite how crowded the small building was, and you grabbed your drink and snack with a quiet 'thank you' before looking around and searching for a seat. A lot of people had the same idea as you, it seemed, because every table and chair in the place seemed to be occupied. It was nowhere near nice enough for anyone to want to go outside to enjoy their food and drinks, so the small cafe was packed.

Well, almost packed.

There was one place left to sit; on a plush chair near a coffee table. A prime spot, if not for the man who was in the chair directly across from it. He was dressed all in black, with nearly every square inch of his skin covered. He was wearing a balaclava, with the bottom rolled up just enough to expose his lips and allow him to take sips of his tea. Not too unusual considering the weather, but still a little off-putting. No one had wanted to occupy the seat closest to him. You could guess why. He was massive, with biceps that were probably bigger than your head, and he didn't exactly seem the most approachable. Still, this was a public place. If he didn't want anyone to sit by him, he should have taken his tea home.

You cleared your throat as you stood in front of him, and he looked up.

"Mind if I sit?" You asked with a slightly anxious smile. The man grunted and shrugged his shoulders before replying.

"Nah, s'fine." He said, his accented voice rough. He gestured for you to approach, and you did, setting your drink and snack on the coffee table before settling in.

"Thanks, I didn't want to go back out in all of that just yet. My hands were starting to get numb…" You chuckled awkwardly, and the man hummed, taking in the sight of your snow-covered boots and rosy cheeks, but he didn't say anything else.

You saw that as your cue to stop talking, and you took a big bite of your pastry.

But then you noticed his eyes. They were...gorgeous, for lack of a better word. Observant and soulful, a warm brown color that looked like honey when the light hit his face. You inhaled quietly, your own eyes widening as you took in the sight. You absolutely had to say something. He wouldn’t get mad if you complimented him, right? He couldn’t just walk around looking so stunning and not expect anyone to mention it!

—————

You weren’t the worst person to be stuck sitting by, he supposed. Not one of those fuckers that wouldn’t stop trying to start a conversation with him despite his one-word responses and clear disinterest. The worst thing in the world for Simon was getting stuck near someone chatty, and you were blissfully quiet, which was all he could have asked for, really.

Not to mention, you were pretty easy on the eyes. A hot tea and a good view was just what he needed to get him through the rest of the day.

He could tell you were thinking about something as you ate your pastry, your eyes trained on the floor and your foot tapping rhythmically the entire time you enjoyed the snack. You were probably just anxious though. He wasn’t exactly the most approachable person, he’d be the first to admit it, but he really did hope he wasn’t making you too uncomfortable. He didn’t particularly enjoy scaring people- provided those people weren’t out to kill him or his friends, anyway.

“Hey, I…um. C-Can I just- say something real quick?” You asked. Your cheeks were still red, but it definitely wasn’t from the cold now.

Despite himself, Simon laughed. Or, well- he snorted really quietly and exhaled out of his nose. His lips twitched upward, and he glanced over at you.

“Don’t need my permission, love, but sure. Go on.”

“Right. Sorry, it’s just-“ You got even more fidgety, and you couldn’t seem to look directly at him while you spoke. It was like he was the sun, and you were trying not to blind yourself.

“I wanted to tell you…your eyes are beautiful.” You finally looked at him then, and your expression was so open and sincere that he knew you meant every word you’d just said.

Simon couldn’t help but be a bit shocked. His physical features had been commented on before, sure, but not like this. You didn’t seem like you were trying to get into his pants- hell, you didn’t even seem to be flirting with him. It was like you simply had to let him know.

“…What.” He said before he had time to formulate a proper response.

Damn it, Simon.

“Your eyes. They’re just really nice, and- i’m sorry, maybe I shouldn’t have said-“

“No, no! It’s…”

More than okay? Incredibly flattering? The nicest thing anyone’s ever said to me? Making me want to kiss you on the mouth?

“…Fine.”

Damn it, Simon!

Despite his lackluster response, you looked relieved, a smile gracing your features.

“Oh, good…I was worried i’d made you uncomfortable, or…” Simon shook his head, immediately shutting down that train of thought as soon as it started.

“Not at all, love. You just…caught me off guard for a second. Can’t say anyone’s ever called any part of me ‘beautiful,’ much less my eyes.” He said, trying to ease your nerves. To his amusement, you looked scandalized, as if it was a travesty that you had been the first.

“No one? Really?”

“Really. S’ppose you’ll have to make up for it by tellin’ me again how pretty I am, eh?” He tested the waters by nudging you lightly, and you laughed.

God, he’d do anything to hear that laugh again.

“Humble in spite of your beauty, I see.” You teased back. Your demeanor became more relaxed then, and you leaned back in your chair a bit.

“Of course. Can't let myself get a big head, can I?"

Simon really liked you. You were a sweet little thing, polite, too- and he started to lose track of time as the two of you spoke. You were really listening to him, enjoying the conversation and not just waiting for your turn to talk, and he found himself talking a lot more than normal as a result. It was then that he noticed you glancing out the window, noticing how dark it was getting outside.

"...Shit. I didn't mean to stay for this long, I-I gotta get home." You muttered, clearly more than a little hesitant.

"I'll walk you." Simon offered right away. He couldn't help but feel protective, not wanting anything to happen to you during your walk home. He knew no one would dare to fuck with you if he was around, and he told you as much.

"Are you sure? I wouldn't want you to go out of your way, or-"

"No, no...it'd be no trouble at all. S' the least I can do for keeping you all this time. You'd probably be back by now if it weren't for me." He insisted, standing up and gesturing for you to do the same. He had made up his mind, and he knew you realized that as well, an affectionate chuckle escaping your lips.

"Well...true, but it was worth it. And it's not like I didn't enjoy talking to you. I'd love it if you walked me home."

He had to fight the urge to pump his fist in victory. Instead, he guided you to the door and held it open for you.

"Cold?" He asked, watching you shiver as the winter air hit your skin.

"Y-Yeah...I didn't think I'd have to spend so long outside today, but I missed the bus and I had to walk home..."

Without a word, Simon unzipped his coat and draped it over your shoulders, the warmth immediately transferring to you as you looked up at him with an adorably confused expression on your face. He gave you a look that said 'don't you dare try and give that back to me,' which you seemed to understand.

You smiled up at him and put your arms through the holes, quickly zipping it up and crossing your arms as you walked. You thanked him, and he was grateful for the balaclava covering his face, because he was definitely going red right about now.

The walk to your building was much too short for his liking, and it seemed you shared that sentiment based on the way you frowned as you stared at the door.

"Well, um...thanks for letting me use your jacket, but-" You went to unzip it, but he placed his hand over yours before you could.

"Hold onto it for a while, yeah? You can return it next time we see each other." He said with a wink. Your eyes lit up and you giggled. He gave himself a mental pat on the back.

Damn, that was smooth. Good on you, Si.

"When should we..?" You began.

"Don't worry about the details right now, love. You can next me later an' we'll work it all out."

"I don't have your number..."

"Sure you do. check the jacket pockets."

You did so, and your eyebrows shot up in surprise when you pulled out a scrap of paper with his name and number already written down. While you were staring at it with disbelief, Simon took that as his cue to slip away.

#call of duty #ghost x reader #ghost cod #simon ghost x you #simon ghost riley x reader #simon ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley #fluff #i feel like we don’t acknowledge the fact that he’s a cocky bastard #mister Simon ‘quite the opposite’ ‘impeccable bronze’ Riley #he’s such a goober #kissing him on the mouth 1000 times

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highhhfiveee · 6 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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st4rbwrry · 16 days

Text

━━━ 𝑝𝑟𝑎𝑦 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑐𝑎𝑡𝑐ℎ 𝑚𝑒. a.h

warnings 𑄽𑄺 6.4k. fem reader, lowercase intended, she/her pronouns, murder mystery, aki is a chef, oral [ f + m.], sneaking away, marijuana use, praise, fingering + finger sucking, aki's tongue is pierced, sexual acts happen quick, mentions of depression, brief mention of emotional/physical abuse, reader is desperate for help/attention, parental neglect, grooming, minors aren’t allowed.

━━━ ꒰ 𝑚𝑜𝑐ℎ𝑎'𝑠 𝑝𝑟𝑒𝑡𝑡𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑜𝑢𝑔ℎ𝑡𝑠 .ᐟ ꒱ ; another old piece of mine i never fully finished and now posting yrs later!

“okay, i'm out!" aki is shouting as he tosses his white chef coat over his shoulder, book bag on the other, the cool breeze of spring blowing through his raven hair the minute he opened the tall glass door that led to the front of the restaurant. his friend, also a coworker, is busy, in the mix of gathering dirty dishes and clearing trash bins but still sends him a farewell, a quick, 'see ya tomorrow. good job today!' till he's off to his bus stop. he was thankful he got out early, just before five in the afternoon meaning the sun hadn't set yet.

he sighs, extremely worn out, in dire need of a steamy hot shower and a greasy pizza while laying in the comfort of, finally, his own apartment he worked entirely too hard to gain. the commute to his place in brooklyn, new york became rather annoying due to rush hour traffic at this time. having to take the bus then switch to the 'n' train, hopping off and walking fifteen minutes until he finally reaches his destination. his second goal was to afford a vehicle to save him money instead of wasting it on expensive monthly metro cards.

aki's lived here his entire life, growing up in the bronx, not much different. he loved new york, but not their uppity expenses. the fact that he's paying nearly two grand for a 600 square-foot apartment with no in-unit laundry nor a gym at that, was nonsensical. did he want to reside here forever? yes. he'd feel homesick if he ever were to leave. having the opportunity to travel seemed like a much better alternative, that way he'd still have his home but be anywhere in the world doing what he loved, and that was cooking. aki hayakawa was twenty-six years old, earning his master's in culinary arts at the culinary institute of america, also known as the C.I.A.

his ultimate dream was to open his restaurant, which he would name after his tragically deceased mother. a terrible accident in which he dreads the memory of. falling endlessly into a black hole, hearing nothing but the sound of his own fear, the breaking of his bones when it interacted with brick interior, the feeling of his heart thumping excessively against his chest as he continued to drop deeper like a rock that was chucked down an empty well. this emotion he knew all too well; failure. when he lost his mother, it felt as if the world crumbled beneath him, malicious dark vines slithering up to grab him by his ankles and pull him down a bottomless pit of nothingness.

he tasted the agony, the anger, the sadness, and even the hate from the fact that she was gone and never coming back. countless tantrums, anxiety attacks, and depression summed up the apathy of it all. it took him six years to realize that drowning in pain would never help him gain the strength that he knew she wanted him to have. by letting her witness the pain he was going through from above, he was hurting not only her . . but himself. so to overcome the tragedy, he kept himself busy with cooking. going to school, earning his degree, and the current job he had with his best friend since middle school.

school was probably the greatest thing he'd ever done to reinvent who he was as a person. cooking is a delicate yet challenging obstacle to undertake, yet, it's so therapeutic to him. the nature of it all, being able to witness what he can do for many people, bring laughter and happiness—it's a beautiful thing. when aki was small, he and his mother would give back to people all the time. whether they were donating clothes to the homeless, or feeding small pigeons pieces of bread on a sunny day as they flew to the gray pavement, awaiting a feast. they always cared about others. they would experiment a lot, going to food markets just to come home and whip up a good meal which they would then donate to the less fortunate. that's when he learned how humble he felt to give back to those in need.

he wanted to show his mother his achievements, to push himself and become a world-renowned chef, just like gordon ramsey—without the aggression. he wanted his name plastered on articles for his extraordinary talent, talked about on tv, in fact, given his own cooking show on foodnetwork. aki grew up watching that channel, an obsessive enticement his mother could never break the young boy from. he was making recipes at the age of twelve, and learned how to cook at eight. eggs were the first thing, usually everyone's first, then as time progressed, he grew from simple pasta dishes to revitalizing gourmet meats, and anything french. just recently he schooled himself on how to create wine. every day he learned something new, and that was the beauty of culinary.

"hayakawa! come here!" star yells as soon as she sees the tall man emerge through the front door, ready to start his morning shift, raspy voice laced with slight panic, instantly making the man run to her out of worry.

"what's wrong?" he furrows his brows.

"look who just fucking walked in," she grabs his bicep, pulling him closer to the front counter. aki curiously follows where her finger points, seeing a slim man with black curly hair dressed properly in a white and black suit. silver and sapphire rolex on his wrist, his pale green eyes scanning through the lens of his glasses at the menu while he sips his water. expensive.

"i have no idea who that is," aki blinks, making star gasp.

"he's alexander bodari, one of my favorite authors of all time. remember the novel i told you i was reading, about this girl who was kept in this lunatics basement and almost murdered?"

aki's eyebrows raise. "the book dylan bought you for your birthday, right?"

"yeah! that's him. oh my fucking god, i'm so nervous, whew," star begins to fan herself, nearly having a breakdown. aki grabs her shoulder and chuckles.

"chill out, star. you don't have to serve him if you don't want to."

"of course i do! i just. . . can't," she frowns.

"you can, you've done it many times before. this isn't the first celebrity we've come across."

star sighs, nodding. "you're right, i can do it."

"good girl," aki smiles, patting the top of her head. star catches his wrist and scowls.

"fuck off."

"aki," another voice calls to him, this time it's the head chef, also known as his boss. aki greets him with a small, 'good morning, chef' before waiting for his response.

"i'm guessing you know that alexander bodari is here," lane says, arms crossed over his broad chest. aki nods. "i want you to cook for him."

aki and star share a glance of shock.

"uh, why me. where's dylan?"

"he's not feeling well so i gave him the day off. you're the only one here that's near his level, and he's a higher-up man, so i want you to cook for him. star will cater to his needs. we're kinda short-staffed today, and i trust you two will handle it properly."

"yes, chef," they say in unison.

star was only a waiter, working here for four years while aki earned his position two years into her time. the last thing the woman could do was cook, ironic since she worked in a restaurant with very talented people. lane would've asked her in a heartbeat if she was as skilled as aki. aki was known for making dishes at the top of his head, so if anyone asked for a special, he was the one to ask. before they began to serve anyone inside, aki gave star a small prep talk before sending her out. eventually, she got through with taking his order without stuttering or sweating. when she walked back into the kitchen, actually shoved the doors open with a joker smile on her face, aki cocks his head at her.

"you—"

"he wants your special!" she screams, doing a goofy dance, and skipping in her spot.

aki's face drops. "are you deadass?"

"yes! when he was looking at the menu, he saw your four courses on the back and chose your mom's stew! fucking a, man!"

aki is still frozen, weakly giving star their signature handshake, smile slowly easing onto his face. "my mom's stew? seriously?"

"yeah. chop chop, get to it."

aki was persistent. no one's ever ordered his mother's stew, which made this day very special for him. even if the dish was only on the menu for a month, it still meant a lot to him. he made sure there were no distractions, taking a tender chuck roast and cutting them into cubes, seasoning them well while throwing in worcester sauce, balsamic vinegar, garlic cloves, bay leaves, and beef broth. making a slurry with flour and water to thicken the stew. adding onions and potatoes. it was a simple yet fulfilling dish he looked forward to every sunday.

"deep breaths," star whispered as she carried the steaming tray of stew plated professionally on a porcelain oval-shaped bowl. in a way, it felt like she was telling not only herself but him. it's a rarity that people order his courses, and serving this to an author, a bestseller, a man worth millions, made him giddy. he was cheesing like an idiot, pushing star out the double doors to the dining area.

although as soon as she walked out, that's when doubt clouded his gut. did he put too many seasonings? is the meat tender enough? what if he doesn't like it? will he write about it on his author blog? god, he hoped the potatoes weren't hard. he had only tasted the broth, it tasted just like his mother's. what if. . .

"aki," star walks back in, an even wider grin on her a-symmetrical face this time. he blinks, realizing that he's been standing here for three minutes now. "he wants to see the chef."

he's dumbfounded. "me?"

"no, lane. yes, you!" she's squealing like a girl, and sometimes he forgets she is one, even underneath her blunt features and boyish sense of style.

he's clearing his throat now, strolling mindlessly towards alexander bodari's table, greeting himself and waiting for his constructive criticism.

"you're aki hayakawa?" the man questioned, lifting his glasses back onto his face.

"yes, sir."

"i just have to say," alexander chuckles, softly clapping his hands. "this may be one of the best stews i've ever had."

the tenseness in aki's shoulders relaxes, and he's sighing with relief, alexander noticing and laughing. "i'm really glad to hear that, sir."

"did you create this on your own?"

"it's actually my mother's recipe. it's my favorite. every time i make it, it reminds me of her."

"that's really ironic because this reminds me of the stew my mother used to make," he grins. "yours is the first that i haven't seen carrots in."

aki laughs. "my mom hated cooked carrots."

"mine did too," he fixes his collar. "is this your restaurant?"

"no, no. i'm just a cook here. i plan on opening my own soon. i already have my master's."

his brows raise. "wow, that's amazing. wow old are you?"

"twenty-six, sir."

"well, you're definitely going places," he compliments and aki feels even more satisfied. "say what, i'm having this pre-book release, about a hundred guests. i was wondering if you would like to cater the party. i'll pay you however much you want."

it's like the whole world collapsed on his chest. he'd never gotten an opportunity like this, especially this big. to cook for so many famous people at once was a blessing. he could really show off his skills if he took this offer . . . and did. after thanking him, exchanging contacts, and then handshakes, aki lets the man finish his meal before jogging back into the kitchen to scream about it to aki, lane, and the rest of the crew. alexander offered star to come along to serve, but unfortunately she couldn't, seeming as she'd be out of town for family matters that day.

alexander, of course, knowing she was a big fan signed a copy of his book she already had in her bag and letting her know she could help the next time he had an event. that made her happy enough. the two of them couldn't wait to finish their shifts today, taking the train to star's place and planning dishes all night, even cooking them to get them just right. alexander was hosting the party at his penthouse down soho. and aki had a week to prepare himself.

୨♡୧

cashmere sweaters, silk gowns, and jewelry that most likely cost more than his savings account roamed the lovely terrace of alexander bodari's home. every inch of it screamed filthy rich. rows of tables were set outside, the dark night sky making the moon shun brightly amongst the glass centerpieces filled with calla lilies and moss. white cloths, sterling silverware, and porcelain dinnerware. the terrace itself was elegant; freshly cut bushes trimmed as squares, a marble three-tiered italian water fountain placed in the middle. roses, dandelions, tall plants ranging from bamboo, snake plants, and pothos. alexander was very in touch with nature and his spirit. it's crazy he writes about the things he does.

speaking of, the book he was presenting that would be released in august was titled, 'to riven a magnolia.' he wouldn't quite reveal what it was about yet, wanting it to be a surprise, but did read an excerpt from the novel. aki only paid half attention, big words throwing him off plus he wanted to set the food table properly so guests could take what they wanted after his reading. aki didn't go all out since only seventy-two people were available to make it, and he didn't want any meals that would make anyone too full to converse, so he kept it simple yet exquisite. each guest received a slice of japanese fluffy cheesecake with a side of strawberry and mandarin orange tanghulu. beef wellington, and a six-sided cream garlic bread.

he received praise all night long. people gasping and thanking him for the food, giving him all sorts of compliments making the man blush like a child. at one point he held both sides of his face in his palms when a woman and her husband approached him to talk, way too shy, and the woman flirting with him didn't make it go away. eventually, her husband dragged her out of his sight. the night went on, classical music played as people sipped their champagne and talked about their wealth, their yoga classes, their thousand dollar dogs, golf, marketing . . . aki hopes he never becomes this way.

as he's pouring an elderly lady a glass as she rambles about baking, he notices a woman he's barely seen all night. he's disoriented, eyeing this girl leaning up against a vintage roman painting reaching the ceiling once the lady departs. brown eyes; the first captivating part of her body he captured. they appeared lonely, bored perhaps as they scanned through the crowd of people, soon landing on another pair, his own. the godly woman stared at him longingly. aki had no business nearly losing his shit under her gaze. wow. she was truly stunning.

one feature that stood out the most were the freckles scattered from the bridge of her nose to the swell of her cheekbones. pretty. her black hair styled protectively in butterfly locs that grazed her collarbones, seeing the industrial piercing hiding behind a piece. her lashes were long, naturally extended. heart-shaped lips were full and pouty, the upper lip brown while the lower, salmon pigmented. an emerald satin mini dress loosely clung to her alluring brown skin. cowl neckline, ruched waist, and an open back partially revealing the red dragon tattoo painted on the side of her hip. black suede gucci heels strapped prettily around her ankles, showcasing her white painted toenails. a three layered gold necklace on her chest. this woman, you, were the rationale of celestial.

it was the moment you smiled at him, tilting your head slightly to the side while tapping your ombré acrylic nail amongst the glass of your champagne, calling to him while he thoughtlessly followed, that aki would realize he had made one of the worst mistakes in his life.

"you're pretty."

it's the first thing you say when he walks towards you, offering a piece of cheesecake with a cheeky smile. aki is taken aback, chuckling nervously, palms already clammy the minute he approached you.

"pretty?" he's perplexed.

"that's what i said," you say, taking the gold fork from his palm and cutting a slice to taste, widening your mouth while maintaining eye contact. the man swallows.

"uh, i've never gotten that before. thank you."

you're too busy eyeing him to say a thing. even if he dressed in simple black skinny jeans and same color tee, a silver necklace tucked beneath his shirt, sable combat boots, and a white apron around his waist . . he looked damn good. his eyes were blue, somewhat smoke gray, dark hair long and straight, the top half tucked into a small messy bun on the back of his head. a few loose strands swaying around his cheekbones. he was tall, shoulders broad, forearms and hands slightly veiny. you gazed at his hands holding the plate for you, wide and rough, fingers long.

"you don't seem to be enjoying the party," he says, knocking you out of your daydream.

you hum with displeasure. "he's a fake."

aki furrows his brows. "sorry?"

"alex, he's unoriginal. most of his novels are stolen by people he pays to keep quiet," you side-eye him while downing the last drop of your champagne, slowly licking your lips. his eyes flicker there for a split moment.

"how do you know?"

the question makes you quiet, tapping your glass. "think of it like this; everyone starts off as a cocoon. eventually as time goes by, we evolve into butterflies. the cocoon represents our innocence; the purity and unawareness of what's to come in life. once we sprout into butterflies, we become tarnished, facing the real world and learning to adapt to its cruelty. life can be beautiful, but it's always painful no matter how happy or dismal we are. it's our choice to fly in the direction we want for ourselves even when the harshness of life beats us down. butterflies only live for so long. we disintegrate after inhumane amounts of stress, loneliness, or tragic events that take a toll on us, removing the power of staying beautiful. we show beauty to the public but don't feel it when everything around us is falling apart. but we can't make life harder on ourselves by dwelling on what we can't have rather than pushing for what we can have."

aki is speechless, half-understanding what you meant. "are you saying alexander is a butterfly that can't fly?"

"he's more like a mosquito, latching onto those who want to sprout into a butterfly but sucks the nutrients from them for his pleasure. he's a fraud. he'll never be a butterfly because he simply can't."

"did he steal from you? is that why you resent him?"

"no," you bluntly state, although aki doesn't believe you.

he takes the fork from you, cutting you another slice before holding it towards your lips, waiting for you to bite. you looked like you needed it. the drowsiness in your eyes may have indicated that you were tipsy. you giggle, shaking your head before he feeds you, your big eyes captivating him more. "is there something you want?"

"you."

aki nearly chokes and he's not even the one eating, your bluntness throwing him in a spiral of emotions.

"am i beautiful to you?" you lean closer, aki swallowing, scanning his surroundings. most of everyone remained in the living area, the two of you far behind a wall near the glass door of the terrace. he could smell your scent better, a sweet smell of caramel. soft skin shimmering with glitter.

"very."

"so what's stopping you? you got a girlfriend or somethin'?"

"n-no, it's just. i barely know you."

"that's part of the thrill," he watches as your small wrist turns and your palm is flat outward. "come upstairs with me."

like any man would, his feet walked on their own, stupidly following behind you up the black marble staircase, hand in yours as his eyes watched your hips switch.

"what's your name?" that should've been the first thing you asked, idiot.

"[♡]."

"i'm aki."

"i know who you are."

that's right, alexander introduced him to everyone after his reading right before supper. things felt like they went too quickly. aki didn't know who he was at this moment, completely floating out of his body and letting you take over like a spell. he was entranced. one thing leads to another, you're locking the door to one of the four bedrooms here. aki's sitting on the bed while you walk around, talking to him more about anything. his age, his aspirations in life. nonsense, basically. until he notices something.

a room with an open bay window revealing the late-night city of new york, stars in the sky, skyscrapers high. the breeze is warm, the air making the fabric of your dress rise just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the pink thong you wore. he's gulping, your legs shifting and a grin coming on your face as you see the tint of red blush across his cheeks. you're leaned against the window, toes pressing into your other foot, a gold anklet with the first letter of your name clasped on your skin. your shoes were off, and in between your two fingers sat a blunt, maybe about three inches now since you were too busy talking, letting it burn away.

once you flick it out the window, you fully turn to face him, sharp nails skidding up your thighs teasingly slow until the hem of your dress rises fully, and he's staring at the belly button piercing you have. your thick thighs, your curves, and your nipple when you moan and lift your arms to stretch and one of the straps falls down your shoulders.

"oops," you're pouting, and aki's had enough. he got it now. he understood why you wanted him to come up here. the liquor buzzing in your veins, and going straight to your clit like a drug. you wanted him the moment you saw him. you needed him, for more reasons than one.

aki was always one to put a woman's pleasure before his own. so when he saw you drop to your knees to crawl towards him, dainty hands trailing up his clothed thighs until you're undoing his belt and he's biting his lip. . . he was drawn in further. pulling him out of the confinement of his jeans, holding his pulsating dick in your hand, darting your tongue out, and pressing it flat to the aching head. he's squeezing his eyes shut when he's deep in your throat after a while, moaning around him and twisting your hand along as your mouth glides. his hand is in your hair, gathering some of it in his large fist while leaning back a bit to see those gorgeous eyes of yours stare into his, slightly watery. he liked that. he liked you.

"nnn, baby. like that," he's throwing his head back, jaw slacked as he tried to keep his voice down, not daring to let too much slip out regarding the guests below them. eyes back on you, he's watching as your hips gyrate in the air, desperately needing to be touched.

it's so foreign, this level of intimacy. it's been so long since he's had his dick buried deep in anything. sure, he masturbates like any other human being, but it's a rarity. he's so consumed in work that by the time he goes home he's knocked out in slumber, not even thinking about grabbing his fleshlight to fulfill his pleasure. the last time he had sex was at the beginning of his freshman year of college. it was some girl in his cutlery class who invited him over for late-night drinks, leading to more than just that. it was frequent until he realized he was failing courses because of the distraction and had to get back on track, so, he called it quits.

now he's pulling you up, feverishly pressing his lips to yours in a messy kiss, lips smacking, tongues bumping. you're keening when his thick fingers clasp around your throat as you straddle his waist, clinging to his shirt you eventually pull over his head. it's as if the both of you forgot that people were here and might hear you, but neither of you cared. aki's not even scolding you when you're moaning too loud the second he has you beneath him, your clothing still on, barely, and his jeans and briefs clinging to his ankles, your knees to your chest as his hot mouth latches around your puffy clit, back arching off the plush mattress.

the metal from his pierced tongue rushing against you as he holds the back of one of your thighs to keep them up, grunting and swallowing your arousal. you're whining so much it has his dick twitching, pulling on his hair not helping either. you're rocking your hips with urgency, legs twitching after he lifts his head to spit, collecting his saliva with two fingers before curling them into you, holding your stomach down while he shakes his fingers. that alone has you convulsing around him, tears in your eyes as you whimper his name and squirm helplessly, his lips kissing your inner thighs.

coming down from your high, aki's already propping himself behind you, turning you on your side while he laid on his, leveraging your head with his forearm underneath your neck, fingers in your mouth you suck while glaring at him. he curses, monotoned voice rasping, "don't do that."

"do what?" you hum, wrapping your lips around them again and moaning.

aki clenches his jaw, lifting your right leg to open you up before slipping inside, hearing you gasp as you adjust to the stretch. both of you groan in unison, turning your face to the side to kiss him while your nails clawed at his hip, then his ass as he rolls into you, too horny to be gentle and snapping his hips hard against your ass, grunting, "i heard you, girl," and drilling faster. your eyes scroll to the back of your head, aki swallowing the breath out of you as he sucks on your bottom lip and chokes you, the two of you whining in each other's mouth, muffling the noise although the skin interaction didn't cease.

he's brutal, a different person when in this form of bond. dropping your leg and reaching between to rub at your clit, heavy breaths on your neck as he hides his face there. you can easily smell the citrus scent of his shampoo, his scent overall a main attraction when he stepped toward you. . . like lavender. when he's nearing his climax, he gropes your chest, slurring, "be a good girl and cum all over me, baby. can i feel it this time?" and you nod, doing just as he says, his taunts and praises making your gut swim with butterflies.

you try not to scream as he licks and bites your neck sloppily, dazed. instead, you grab a pillow nearby and stuff part of it in your mouth, aki's face hovering over you as tears leak from your eyes and you cum hard, harder than you ever had. aki holds you close by your waist, taking a few more pumps before he furrows his brows and slowly pulls out, cumming on your flush skin with a hiss. by this time, his hair had fallen down his face completely, and even in your fucked out state, you reach up to rake through it with a lazy smile. aki chuckles, kissing your forehead before building the strength to find a cloth to clean you up. luckily, there's an en-suite bathroom, giving him access to warm water and toiletries.

fixing his posture in the mirror, he's rubbing his face and adjusting his clothes to appear as he did when he arrived; neat and professional. although what he just did wasn't so classy of him. he fucked some woman he barely knew at a millionaires home. work, he was working. not here for personal pleasure. he wanted to slap himself for being so easily enraptured. no one had to know about it. he only hoped not a soul downstairs heard what went on.

he's good to go, done scolding himself and turning off the bathroom light before stepping out. he finds you perched up, sipping a miniature bottle of crown royal you found in the bedside mini-fridge, sniffling your nose and blankly staring out the window. aki comes forward, gently grasping your thigh and gliding the wet cloth over your skin, the silence awkward.

"dandelions.”

aki's eyes slowly drift to your face, staring in confusion. "what?"

he notices how eerily slow tears built up in your eyes, gripping the bottle harder before exhaling. "dandelions," now you're finally looking at him, the coldness on your face making him anxious. "that's where his body is."

your voice is like vanilla. it's one thing about you that he grew infatuated with. it's one of the many reasons he was captured by you, brought to where he was now. standing at the bedside as he watched tears pool down your broken face. body? what body? he grew cold, nervously eyeing you as you sniffled, standing to fix your hair, dress, and walking around the bed to slip back into your heels.

“wait," he goes to grab your arm when you try to walk out the door. "what the fuck are you talking about?"

the deadness in your eyes scares him even more, and he's panicking when you say, "alex."

“alexander?!" he shouts, dragging you away from the exit, hands on either side of your shoulders as he eyes you, his own wide. heart pumping drastically. "what did you do? where is he?"

"by the dandelions on the terrace," blunt, again. as if you aren't phased at all by his reaction. "follow me."

he's stunned, unable to fully process what you were telling him. he already assumed the worst when the term 'body' came to light. though his heart raced heavily in his chest, his feet blindly dragged in your direction. cautiously watching your every move in case he had to protect himself. fuck, he didn't have any weapon. then again, he's sure he could easily handle you, knock you out if he needed to. lock you in a closet and alert the hundreds of guest just below their feet. that's right, there are still people here. and if you mentioned alexander, how the fuck and when the fuck did you have the time to . . . kill him?

"[♡]," he began to speak your name, but your head was in the clouds, ignoring anything that came out of his mouth as you cut into a passageway that led to a grand master bedroom, then facing the terrace you spoke of. he was nervous, your neck turning to eye him as you step onto the gravel, blankly staring down at something. he couldn't see from where he stood, matter of fact, he didn't want to see.

"he's here," you say. "he's here."

aki has no choice but to advance forward, wanting to squeeze his eyes shut from the upcoming scare of a human’s body. and not just any human, the alexander bodari. a flaccid arm sticks out from beside a bush, palm facing the sky, details of a struggle bruised into his hand as the skin in the area seemed peeled. aki’s heart drops the closer he gets, hand covering his mouth as he stares down at the lifeless body laying in a pool of blood. the aluminum wire draped around his neck stained with blood gave aki the answer he needed when it came to the cause. you strangled him to death. the question remains; who are you and how were you affiliated with alexander? most importantly, why’d you kill him?

“i don’t understand,” is all he can get out.

“the proof is in his first novel,” you utter, and he’s still confused. “the story about the woman who’s trapped in the psychopaths basement? it was about me.”

aki couldn’t grasp the thought of you being the woman from the novel star always talked about. that you had been the victim of his story. that it was a real life phenomena. that he met you, slept with you, and now you want him to, what . . . cover up a murder in a house filled with two hundred guests?

“he painted this image as if he was the most prestigious man on the planet. he made money off of real events. events that played out by torturing me, and using me to get his ‘creative juices flowing.’ he needed a test subject. he was a sick man who deserved to die,” tears pour down your face, the anger in your tone thick and pent up from years of pain and sorrow. “he was my father’s partner. my father despised me simply because of my resemblance of my mother and my rebellion against him. when he died from heart failure, in his will, he married me to alex.”

“that’s fucking. . . sick. i didn’t think that was possible in this day and age.”

you scoff with agreement. “yeah. he watched me grow from a preteen to making me his wife. sick bastard for sure.”

aki wants to vomit from this information. still unable to wrap his head around any of it. his hands sit on his hips as he stares up at the sky and blows a raspberry, try to keep his nerves together. you watch him with sadness, and maybe regret. you weren’t intentionally planning for this to happen. though part of you wanted someone to save you. to see the real you and rescue you from this torment.

“i know this is probably the last thing you expected to happen. i apologize for dragging you into this. i just didn’t know what else to do. i felt hopeless. and i refused to let his popularity run by making another fortune of a sick novel.”

“did he attack you?” he asks.

“he didn’t,” you clarify. “i think i just finally snapped. granted, tonight of all nights wasn’t the correct setting.”

aki makes a face that reads ‘fucking clearly’ as he rubs both palms down his face. he doesn’t know whether to run and call you insane or feel sympathy for a victim. but, murder is murder. and now, standing here with you, that’d make him an accomplice. as scary as that was, he couldn’t risk his future career. but he was stuck in a pickle. he wanted to help you.

“there are clear signs of struggle, so we have to make it look like an accident,” aki suggests, but immediately, you shake your head in disagreement.

“they won’t believe that. he’s one of the wealthiest men in new york. it’ll be a huge investigation.”

“then the only answer would be to tell the truth,” he finalized.

“the . . truth?”

aki nods, pulling you toward him and stepping away from the body, chills still going up his spin and goosebumps on his arms. “listen to me, you can tell the world exactly who you are and what he’s done to you. you have proof. transactions, marriage certificate, i’m sure there’s documents for days in his computer that can prove what he’s put you through. there’s evidence somewhere.”

“and if i tell the world, who’s to say they’ll believe me?”

“i believe you,” aki says. your eyes fill with hope, and thankfulness. “people will have their opinions, but we know the truth. do you have anyone else that can be your alibi?”

you think long and hard, until it hits you. “the maid. she’s been working for him ever since i moved in after my father died. she’s fed me, helped me heal wounds . . even get rid of his unborn child i lost after too much stress.”

“jesus christ,” he bows his head in disbelief. “where is she now?”

“luckily, the kitchen. the woman with the braided red hair. she promised me she’d always protect me. after his book succeeded he became nicer to me, gave me a ‘real’ marriage. she was like his mother, always scolding him when he raised his voice at me or wouldn’t let me live my life. it’s all so depressing.”

“okay. it’s okay, you’re going to be okay,” aki comforts you as you begin to sob once again, cradling your head in his chest.

the night ends in the blink of an eye. aki takes you into another room and wraps a blanket around you as you sit on the edge of the bed and wait for the police. he finds the woman you spoke of, pulls her to the side and informs her of the tragedy above. she herself looks relieved. not at all shocked by what played out, as if she knew you’d go through with it. aki guesses he truly was a horrible man. and to think he would’ve worked for him in the future. the police arrive shortly after the woman goes to check on you, insuring that everything would be okay, and that she’d stick to the full story. the police instructs everyone the leave the premises, aki being questioned for a full hour, this home becoming a crime scene, and all of their faces full of black ink on the daily news the next morning.

aki will never forget the chilling smirk on your face as they removed alexander’s body from the terrace. it was . . haunting.

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