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stevieschrodinger · 8 months ago

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Part One TwentyThree

This Chapter is NSFW

Steve blinks awake; something woke him, some movement. Eddie. Eddie’s half flopped across Steve’s back where Steve’s laid on his stomach. He’s kissing his way across Steve’s shoulders, “twen-ty two,” he whispers haltingly to himself, then another soft kiss, “twe-n-ty three.”

Steve stretches, his shoulders still aching from finishing the pool yesterday. Eddie had helped a little, mostly holding the hose and washing down the sides. Even with Jon as an extra pair of hands it had still taken hours. Steve shifts, dislodging Eddie a little, “what you doing baby?”

“Winning.”

Steve snorts a laugh, “how do you mean?”

“Eddidie try more kisses,” he kisses Steve again, “twen-ty four.”

Steve rolls over, “I didn’t realize giving kisses was a competition.”

Eddie darts forward, kissing Steve on the cheek this time, but Steve manages to grab him and get him back, making Eddie giggle, “Eddidie twen-ty five. Stee One.”

“Oh you come here you cheater, I’m gonna’ win.”

Steve sighs as he hangs up the phone. Keith is a prick, and he’s always going to be a prick, who even works at nine in the morning on New Years day? Steve is certain that the store actually closes for New Years day and Keith has invented that shift just to torture Steve.

And he’s on the close on New Years eve which just...sucks. He sighs again. At least that one is with Robin. It’s like he wants to punish both of them.

“Okay Stee love?”

“I’m okay, but I’ve got to go back to work in a couple of days.”

Eddie frowns, “Eddidie work?”

“I...yeah. Maybe. When you’re ready yeah?”

Eddie looks a little sad, but he agrees, “Stee work time calendar?” Eddie goes off and gets a pen before Steve answers, and then waits, watching as Steve writes the shift times he has so far in the boxes on Eddie’s calendar.

Eddie squints at it, “called am p-m?” He says A M like the word, ‘am,’ and Steve knows he really needs to get onto those books Eddie got for Christmas.

“A.M is in the morning, and P.M is the afternoon. The night time.”

“Nine morning, nine night time?” Eddie asks, pointing.

“You got it baby…what do you want to do today?”

Eddie perks up immediately, “drive car?”

“I...yeah. You know what, fuck it, what’s Hopper going to do, arrest us?”

“Fuck it!” Eddie crows back, a massive grin on his face.

“Huh...I don’t know if I should tell you off or not. It feels like I should but that also feels dumb.”

“Feels dumb. Called arrest?”

“Oh it’s…so if Hopper finds someone who does something bad, he locks them away to keep everyone else safe?”

“Someone who...hurts people?” Eddie volunteers cautiously while they get their shoes on.

“Yeah. Yeah like that. It keeps everyone else safe, yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“Come on, get your jacket.”

The ruins of Starcourt are pretty comprehensively taped and fenced off...but half the lot isn’t. Eddie eyes the ruin speculatively, “Eddidie in before?”

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s where you were when I found you.”

Eddie frowns, leaning over to touch Steve’s face delicately, around his eyes, the bridge of his nose,“Stee hurt.”

“I was, but that was ages ago now. I’m fine.”

Eddie accepts that, so Steve sits and explains to him what all the parts of the car do, how to put it in drive, and back into park, and then lets Eddie do it from the passenger seat. Then puts the seat all the way back, letting Eddie lean over to watch his feet, he shows him how to go and how to stop. He doesn’t bother with stuff like indicators yet, not wanting to over complicate things.

Eddie seems alright with all of it, and Steve figures he does trust Eddie; Eddie does pick shit up really really fast.

They swap seats, “okay, so, what do we do first?” Eddie reaches for the key where it hangs in the ignition, “ah ah,” Steve chides. “What’s first?”

Eddie thinks for a second before sheepishly clicking his belt on; Steve does the same, “now?”

“Sure baby, you can go now.”

Eddie starts the car, grinning big as it starts up. Steve watches as Eddie does the brake and carefully puts it in drive, “good?”

“Yeah, go on then, carefully though. Slow.”

“Carefully, slow.”

And Eddie does, the car inches forward, then picks up a little speed. Eddie’s leaning all the way forward in his seat, chest practically pressed against the wheel, both hands studiously at ten and two. They're probably doing all of a brisk walking speed, maybe a jog, but Eddie’s got a massive happy grin on his face. “Okay, turn then,” Eddie does, making random loops across the lot and then back again. “Okay, stop.” Eddie does, carefully shifting his feet. It jolts a little when they come to a full stop, Eddie pressing too sharply.

“Sorry.”

“That’s okay, put her in park.” Eddie does, “okay, good, go on then, go again.”

Eddie does, and they do go a little faster, Eddie slowly gaining confidence.

They stop a few times, Steve explaining about the mirrors and then sets Eddie the challenge of parking the car up between the white lines in the empty spaces.

They go until Eddie’s stomach rumbles audibly, Steve completely having lost track of time, “okay, time to go home.”

Eddie nods agreeably, “home.”

They’re laid on the couch together, Eddie’s holding open one of the kids books he got for Christmas, sounding out the letters and making out the words. He never ceases to amaze Steve with just how fast he picks this stuff up.

Steve helps occasionally, but Eddie seems to be able to, mostly, intuit how the words should sound by working through the letters. He keeps digging Steve with his elbow though, when he shifts to itch his stomach, keeps wriggling around, and it only seems to be getting worse.

“What are you scratching at?” Eddie puts the book down, pulling his shirt up so they can both see; part of Eddie’s stomach looks like it’s peeling, like bad sunburn. It only seems to have been made worse by Eddie’s itching, the skin pink and lined.

Steve hums, “lets go put some cream on that.”

Investigation only revels more patches of dry flaking skin, randomly all over Eddie’s body. Steve was there when Eddie got dressed this morning, so he’s one hundred percent certain that these weren’t here then. The more he looks the more he finds, they’re up Eddie’s back, and under Eddie’s bobble hat looks like the worse case of dandruff Steve’s ever seen.

“I hope you’re not allergic to something.”

“Called allergic?”

“It’s- I. I don’t even know how to explain this,” Steve sighs, “sometimes people...something doesn’t agree with them?” Eddie tilts his head, scratching absently at his thigh, Steve gently pulls his hand away, “don’t itch it. Okay...for some people, just very few, laundry powder makes their skin itchy. For no reason, it just...happens. Or some food. Maybe just one person can’t eat nuts, it’ll make them hurt.”

Eddie frowns, but nods, using his free hand to scratch at his back, so Steve grabs that hand, too.

“We should call Joyce, she might know what to do with the itching.” The cream doesn’t seem to be helping, it’s just making Eddie itchy and greasy at the same time.

“Call Joyce yes.”

“Hello?”

“Oh, hey, Will. Is Joyce home?”

“Sure yeah, just a minute. Can we come over to the store tomorrow? Mike said Nancy said Robin said you’re going back to work tomorrow morning?”

And Steve can hear Mike in his head, ‘and Steve’s at least good for his stupid staff discount,’ “Yeah, yeah sure-”

“Cool so we can come watch stuff tomorrow afternoon?”

“I-yeah,” Steve looks at where Eddie is using a door frame to scratch between his shoulder blades, rubbing back and forth aggressively, “yeah, maybe.”

“Cool, okay, see you tomorrow!”

There’s a moment of quiet, and then, “hello?”

“Oh, hi, Joyce. It’s, uhm...Eddie’s kind of, itchy? Like he’s suddenly peeling all over? Do you know what we could do?”

��Oh...well when the boys had had chicken pox I put them in the bath with some baking soda, that helped?”

“Okay, okay yeah, I’ll give that a go, I just don’t know why this is happening.”

“It does kind of make sense, new born babies peel.”

“They do?” Steve asks, slightly horrified.

“Yeah, yeah, usually happens sort of within the first week, I think. What was his first poop like?”

“I-” Steve stalls for a second, this conversation having just taken a really weird turn, “I don’t know, hang on,” Steve pulls the phone away from his ear, “Eddie?”

Eddie comes over, “Joyce says the peeling is normal, we can go have a bath in a minute, it might make it better, okay?”

“Together?” Eddie asks, and Steve can hear Joyce snickering down the phone, clearly having heard it.

Steve just ignores that whole thing, “what was your first poop like?”

Eddie wrinkles his nose, “green. Sticky.”

Really? Steve thinks, green? Steve puts the phone back to his ear, “did you hear that?”

“Yeah, that makes sense Steve, it all tracks. He’s just like a newborn.”

That is...not appealing, Steve can’t help but think.

Eddie’s skin sloughs off like something out of a horror movie. Once lubricated by the warm water, made to feel slick with the baking soda, it comes away in great curling pieces. Eddie picks at himself with his claw like nails, Steve leaning over the edge and getting all the little flakes with a loofah. Steve gets to Eddie’s feet, and Eddie giggles and tries to drag his foot away when Steve gets to the arch, thrashing in surprise.

“You’re ticklish!” Steve tells him, delighted.

“Not,” Eddie insists, almost immediately.

“Alright, so you won’t mind if I-” Steve pins his ankle in the water, using his other hand to tickle Eddie’s foot.

Eddie thrashes, water going everywhere, “stop. No. Stee, Stee, stop,” he can barely get the words out he’s laughing and thrashing so much, but Steve takes mercy on him and doesn’t do it for long.

Eddie’s still laughing after, trying to catch his breath, wriggling his toes and watching in amazement. Once he’s settled down, he reaches into the water, bending a knee to reach and tickle his own foot, then frowning when nothing happens, “Stee? Not ticklish.”

“Oh,” Steve says the picture of innocence, “let me try?”

Eddie nods, watching, and then instantly fighting again, laughing, Steve’s clothes are wet with splashed water, “Stee Stee noooooo,” Eddie wails, but when Steve stops again he’s grinning, all flush and breathless.

“Ticklish,” Steve tells him.

“Stee ticklish?”

“Nope,” Steve lies confidently, there is no way in hell he’s giving Eddie that one.

“Why ticklish time Stee touch, not ticklish time Eddidie touch?”

“I...you know I don’t actually know why you can’t tickle yourself. Just one of those things, I guess,” he says, shrugging, “right I think you’re all done, most of it’s gone, right?”

“Most of it’s gone, right.”

Eddie’s still flaking the last tiny bits as he dries off, but it seems to be pretty much done; Eddie drops his towel in the hamper, and pouts when Steve makes him put his hat in there too, “it’s covered in skin, we can do laundry and you’ll have it back, okay?”

“Okay. Bed now?”

“It’s too early for bed-” Eddie comes and stands in front of Steve, completely naked, pressing himself forward, holding Steve’s hips, “ohhhhh...bed now. Sure, yep, we can do that.”

Eddie grins, peeling Steve’s damp shirt up, Steve lifting his arms to help. Eddie drops it carelessly on the floor, going next for Steve's pants, pulling everything down in one go and letting it drop so that Steve can step out of it and kick it away. Steve takes Eddie by the hips and walks him back towards the bed.

Eddie goes easily, shuffling his way back, Steve crawling on after him to climb between Eddie’s parted legs, keeping his weight off Eddie and on his forearms, leaning down for more hungry kisses.

Steve feels it when Eddie’s dick slips out, the head nuzzling against Steve’s pubic hair as Steve’s own cock starts to firm up, to fill out. Eddie’s dick isn’t as intimidating now Steve knows it can’t bite him, those little nobbles are too small to do anything, and even when it was holding on as tight as it could to Steve’s thumb, during Eddie’s orgasm, it didn’t hurt at all.

Steve reaches down to adjust himself, pulling his hardening cock up to lie against the crease of Eddie’s hip, rather than being trapped pointing down. Eddie’s cock follows Steve’s fingers immediately, and Steve stops a second to pet it, stroking along the length before he goes back to resting on both arms, leaning in for more kisses.

Eddie wraps his arms around Steve’s shoulders, parting his legs naturally to accommodate Steve as he settles in, Eddie drawing his knees up a little. The position is close enough that it makes Steve think...makes him remember a thought he'd had from the first time, “can we try something?”

“Eddidie try,” Eddie replies easily.

“Okay, but I need to make you come first, alright?” Eddie nods, clearly very happy with that plan.

Steve hums, thinking. Eddie’s never had sex with anyone else; Eddie is, also, a creature from The Upside Down. Eddie bit Steve’s toes off and it never got infected, and they’ve also kissed and touched a lot and Steve’s never gotten sick, never shown any sign of catching anything. There doesn’t seem to be any possibility that Eddie might be a...carrier, of some sort of disease but...on the balance of probability, Steve figures better safe than sorry. Steve’s been with plenty of girls, but he’s always used protection, so he’s pretty sure that he’s clean but...what if he isn't, and he inadvertently gives something to Eddie? Steve has no idea what Eddie’s immune system might be like and...yeah. Eddie definitely can’t make an informed choice around all this, at least, not yet. So.

He leans over, shifting off Eddie a little to rummage in the top drawer, his fingers fiddling in the box until he manages to pull out a condom.

He leaves the wrapper there on the bed, in easy reach.

“Called?”

“Oh, it’s a condom. I’ll show you what it’s for in a bit, okay?”

Eddie nods, accepting that, before pulling Steve down for more kisses. Soft and sweet, with just a hint of Eddie’s only slightly too sharp teeth. They kiss, Steve taking his time, just enjoying the feeling of Eddie holding him. Eddie’s hands are just as curious as his mind, left to their own devices they roam every bit of Steve they can reach, flowing the dip of his spine and the curve of his ass. Groping and kneading at his shoulders, the tops of his arms. Buried in his hair, scratching gently and tugging lightly. Steve drinks it all in; can feel how much Eddie loves him, how intent every touch is. Like Eddie’s memorizing him.

Like every inch of Steve is precious.

Likewise Eddie’s cock is wriggling back and forward between them, burrowing it's way through the narrow space, the head rubbing against Steve’s hip and then nuzzling into his pubes; he feels it when the head opens, the flower petals pressing against Steve’s skin before moving on. He feels it when Eddie’s cock finds the base of his own, it seems to wriggle around it, the head pressing against one side and withdrawing, only to creep along the other. The petals open, grasping at the hard flesh at the base of Steve’s dick. He moans, rutting against the crease of Eddie’s thigh, Eddie’s dick following the movement, hanging on in a gentle clutch at Steve’s flesh.

Eddie likes it too, if the huffing, breathy little sighs he’s letting out are anything to go by, so Steve doesn’t stop. He lifts enough to look down between their bodies, and Eddie does the same. The black flower petals are a stark contrast against the skin of Steve’s cock; they’ve latched to the side, near the base, and a thick drip of precome stretches a connection between the head of Steve’s cock and the skin of Eddie’s hip.

Eddie starts wriggling, hips lifting, “Stee. Please more? Eddidie come.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Steve lets his hips rest against the cradle of Eddie’s again, keeping his weight on his forearms he leans in for kisses that Eddie returns eagerly, matching the movements of Steve’s hips with an enthusiastic slide of his own, Steve’s cock slippery wet now with precome, “you close to coming baby?”

Eddie frowns, head tilted back, letting Steve kiss and nip at his throat, “yes no.”

“Okay,” and Steve can’t keep doing this for that much longer, otherwise he’s going to come and that’ll be the end of his idea, “want me to touch you?”

“Yes. Touch good.”

“Okay,” Steve pulls off completely then, letting himself tilt to the side. Eddie’s dick looks like it’s stretched to the absolute limit, clearly not wanting to let go of Steve. Steve reached down, distracting it with the touch of fingers; it goes eagerly. Once Eddie’s dick has let go, Steve rolls the rest of the way to lie on his hip, the same as last time, snugged up against Eddie’s side. He takes Eddie’s eager cock in hand more naturally this time, more sure of what he’s doing.

He kisses Eddie’s cheek, and Eddie turns into it. He’s clearly distracted, his kisses sloppier now, wetter, half the time his mouth hanging open as he pants and moans quietly, Steve’s thumb working circles across the open head of Eddie’s cock.

Eddie whimpers, “okay?”

Eddie shakes his head, frowning, “not-not coming.” He squirms, face crinkled up in frustration and, possibly, discomfort, so Steve stops but Eddie immediately says, “no. More touch,” so Steve starts up the gentle movements of his thumb. Eddie’s hips squirm more, his cock pulsing and twitching, almost bucking in Steve’s hand; he’s so close, Steve knows he is, there’s just something stopping him.

Eddie needs more, and Steve doesn’t know what to do for him; it’s not like Eddie has nipples he can play with, “baby, what do you need?”

“Rough,” Eddie says suddenly, and oh, Steve gets that, maybe his thumbs tugging a little. He sits up, leaning over same as before, letting his mouth fill with spit. He pins Eddie’s cock still, but it’s wriggling so much that only half of it lands on target, the rest spattering on the webbing between Steve’s finger and thumb.

Steve doesn’t have chance to even get his thumb back in place, that’s enough, Eddie’s hips bucking as he cries out, the loudest noise he’s made so far. The flower petals half close, then open a little, doing a weird little celebratory Mexican wave type thing as Eddie’s back arches sharply, and his right leg twitches violently.

Steve just rides it out, letting Eddie’s body lift his own as Eddie’s hips roll again and again. Eventually it passes and Eddie settles, “okay baby?”

Eddie hums, his cheeks flush and his brown eyes bright, “perfect okay.”

Steve snorts a laugh, “all done?”

Eddie nods, then sighs with contentment, “inied.”

“Good,” Steve lets his cock go, it’s almost funny how it sort of lays down, like a little drunk dude just lying right there on the floor. “Still up for trying something?”

Eddie nods.

“Okay,” Steve clambers up, sitting on his knees next to Eddie, he opens the condom and then, pinching the end, carefully rolls it down to the base of his own cock.

“Why?” Eddie asks, watching with interest now.

“Oh it...well. If you were a girl, it would stop you getting pregnant.”

“Called preg-nant?” Eddie sounds the word out slowly.

“Yeah,” Steve pats his own stomach, trying to word it how Eddie might understand, “planting a baby.”

“Eddidie baby,” Eddie points out.

“Yeah, yeah I know, but I mean baby like...tadpole.”

Eddie sits up then, “tell Eddidie many many baby! Baby called tadpole! Eddidie not kid!”

Steve rubs his face, “oh man,” Steve gets Eddie by the shoulders, but he can’t help but smile, “baby is because...I love you, okay? I know you’re not a tadpole. I know you’re not a kid, okay, it’s just...someone special. Someone important. I love you, okay?”

“Okay,” but Eddie doesn’t look like he’s buying it, at all. And Steve’s sitting here with a throbbingly hard dick and it’s not exactly the conversation he wants to be having right this second.

“Okay, moles? Remember how moles are little animals but moles are also this,” Steve points to his neck, Eddie nods, “two different...but it’s the same word, yeah?”

Eddie’s face lights with understanding, and Steve knows he’s won, “okay, yeah. Eddidie baby.”

“Okay...so how do you feel about me putting my dick in you?” Steve shuffles between Eddie’s legs, his hard cock pointing the way to exactly where he wants to be.

“In? Wet?” Eddie questions. He reaches down to indicate what he means, he uses two fingers, his black oval shaped nails part his glistening wet slit in what is, unintentionally, possibly one of the most erotic things Steve’s ever seen. From where he’s kneeling between Eddie’s spread thighs, he gets a good look at just how wet and pink Eddie is inside, flooded with clear, jello like come.

Steve cock twitches, remembering just how tight it was on his finger, he tries to speak and fails, needing to clear his throat, “yeah, in. Do you want to try?”

Eddie nods, lying back and bending his knees more, letting his thighs fall further apart, the mouth of the slit slick and gaping.

Steve takes a deep breath, letting himself sink forward and down, he takes his weight on one hand where he hovers over Eddie. Using his other hand to guide the head of his dick, notching it at the opening of Eddie’s body.

Eddie's hand flies to Steve’s shoulder, gripping hard, so Steve stops, his eyes dragging, with great difficulty, away from where the rounded head of his condom covered dick is just breaching Eddie, “okay?”

Eddie frowns a little, looking worried, “slowly? Carefully?”

“I-yeah, of course. Eddie we don’t have to do this-”

“Eddidie try,” Eddie insists, “Eddidie tell no.”

“I don’t want to hurt you.”

“Eddidie tell no,” he says again, “it doesn’t hurt.”

“Okay, but you’ll tell me if it does hurt?”

Eddie nods, “Eddidie tell ow.”

“Okay,” Steve looks back down to what he’s doing, allowing himself to slide forward just the most fraction of an inch.

Almost immediately Eddie says, “ow.”

Steve freezes, looking back up. “It doesn’t hurt,” Eddie says innocently.

Steve can tell Eddie’s trying, and failing, to hide a grin, “you’re such a little shit.”

Eddie does laugh then, “little shit. Okay, Steve in now. Promise okay now.”

Steve shakes his head, taking a deep breath, he sinks in. Eddie’s channel is narrow, and it grips the sides of Steve’s cock beautifully. Eddie’s come is so thick and wet it slicks the way, and Eddie is just so fucking warm inside. It’s bliss.

He’s so wet inside that when Steve bottoms out, there’s an obscenely wet squelching noise, and Steve can feel the thick gloop of it dripping out and seeping onto his balls, forced out of Eddie’s body by Steve’s cock. “How does that feel? Okay?”

Eddie opens his mouth, closes it again, like he often does when he’s searching his limited vocabulary. He presses a hand to his stomach, lifting it a little to indicate being bloated or...“after Christmas food.”

“Full.”

Eddie nods, “full,” he shifts then, experimentally rolling his hips, and Steve can’t help but moan at the sucking drag of Eddie’s hole on Steve cock. “Good?”

“So good. You’re so so good for me baby, can I move?”

“Go, yes.”

Steve keeps his weight up off of Eddie, mostly because he wants to watch. When he pulls his cock back out, it’s shiny wet, clumps of Eddie’s slick clinging to the condom like slithers of jello. Steve, cautiously, slides all the way back in.

Eddie sighs, lifting one leg to rest his calf on Steve’s back, changing the angle a little so that Steve’s cock is guided now by the bottom of Eddie’s channel, he’s gripped tight on three sides, and it’s not like anything Steve’s ever felt before.

He already knows this is going to be a short show, but he’s pretty sure Eddie said he can’t come like this anyway, so hopefully he doesn’t mind. The glide is so slick Steve rocks in and out easily, his skin warming, the space between them becoming clammy. Steve can distinctly feel that crease of flesh, the pucker he’d found, dragging up and down the underside of his cock with every thrust.

Eddie holds him tight, one hand gripping Steve’s side, the other on his shoulder before it migrates into Steve’s hair when he leans down to kiss Eddie.

His balls are tight and wet with slick where they're nudging up against Eddie's body, and he’s so close already, he just needs his mouth on Eddie, needs Eddie’s tongue in his mouth when he chokes out a groan, “gonna’ come baby,” against Eddie’s mouth.

Eddie’s eyes are alert and bright, watching with interest. He makes little huffing noises when Steve goes particularly deep but otherwise he’s not showing much sign of actually getting off on this, “yes. Come in Eddidie.”

Steve does, his cock twitching as he grinds up tight to Eddie, filling the condom with sticky mess. He’s a little out of breath as he comes down, panting where his face is buried in the crook of Eddie’s neck; Eddie rubbing his back lovingly, “good Stee?”

“Yeah. Yeah so good baby, thank you.”

“Get cleaned up?”

Steve laughs a little, then forces himself to move, reaching between them to grip the condom at the base so he can pull out. Eddie makes a little chirrup of a noise when Steve’s clear of him, a little shiver running the length of his body and then he stretches luxuriously, arms above his head, wriggling his toes, a picture of contentment. All of his crotch is shiny wet, and as Steve watches his dick sort of rolls over and then slowly withdraws.

Steve pulls off the condom and ties it, Eddie watching with interest, then wrinkling his nose when he sees what’s inside, “taste bad.”

“Well I’ve never had any complaints before.”

Eddie trails after Steve into the bathroom, watching as he ditches the condom in the trash, “called complaints?”

“Uhm...no one else, other people, non of them said it tastes bad.”

Steve’s got the shower going, and when he turns, Eddie’s frown is nuclear, his hands on his hips in a determined Steve pose, “other people,” he repeats icily.

“Oh boy.”

Steve sighs. He’s been back to work for, he checks the clock for about the hundredth time, nearly two hours, and he’s already had enough. He’s almost looking forward to the kids showing up. Not that it isn’t nice to finally spend some time with Robin but...he kind of misses Eddie. It’s probably like, the honey moon stage, or whatever, the first shiny new part of a relationship when all you want it them but...still.

When the phone rings, Robin calls, “I’m not getting that.”

Steve sighs, leaving his stack of returns and leaning over the counter to scrabble for the phone, “hello, Family Video, how can I help-”

“Stee love.”

“Eddie? How did you- never mind, you okay?”

“No. Eddidie ow. Hurt.”

“Okay, I’m coming home, not long.” Steve hangs up, “Robs! I just got to go home a second, that okay?”

“Oh no,” she says from where she’s rolling back and forth on the office chair, waiting for a tape to rewind, “whatever will I do in the face of this horde of customers,” there’s currently one dude in the store, “I shall never cope with-”

“Yeah yeah, back soon.”

Steve doesn’t break any traffic laws on the way home, but he probably pushes it. Eddie’s on the couch when Steve gets in, looking alert and watching for Steve, “you okay?”

“Eddidie hurt,” he says, looking sad suddenly.

“Okay, show me.”

And Eddie stalls. Just for a moment, but long enough for Steve to catch it, before he, vaguely, indicates his tummy.

Steve suddenly has an inkling as to what’s going on here, but he comes to sit next to Eddie anyway, resting a gentle hand on his tummy, “hows that.”

Eddie nods, “good. TV?”

“Oh no. If you’re sick, then no TV. We just have to sit quiet.”

“Dinner food?”

“Definitely not. No. Here, lie down.”

Eddie does, but with a frown on his face, “Stee Eddidie out in car?”

“Nope.”

Eddie’s pout has achieved spectacular levels, “why?”

“Because you’re sick.”

It seems to dawn on Eddie that he has been completely caught out in his lie. Steve watches it happen, the emotions slowly play out. Eddie looks like he’s going through the stages of grief or something.

“How did you get works number? To call me?”

“One book,” it sounds like ‘own book.’

Steve hums, “how did you know which number it was?”

Eddie points to Steve’s vest, where it clearly says ‘Family Video’ over the little breast pocket.

“You’re so fucking clever. But I have to go back to work. You’re fine, aren’t you?” Eddie pouts, “you must never tell lies.”

“Called lie?” Eddie asks, shame faced now, plucking at his sleeve.

“Not true.” Steve tugs at his vest, “this is green. True. This is blue. Lie. Eddie is fine, true. Eddie has an ow, lie. We never tell lies.”

“Sorry,” Eddie mumbles.

“It’s okay,” Steve bends down to kiss Eddie on the cheek, “I’ll be back around nine, okay?”

“Steve, you want anything else?”

“No thanks Joyce that was amazing. Here, let me help with dishes, you should sit.”

“No, you’re a guest-”

“Let the kid help-” Hopper starts.

“Because it gets you out of it,” Joyce huffs, but it’s fond, and she leans over and kisses Hop on the cheek.

When Steve gets back, Eddie is sitting on the couch with El, one leg pulled up, his fingers locked together over his shin, “Steve,” she says.

Eddie leans forward, a look of great concentration on his face, “Ste-eee,” he says, but it comes out wobbling and uncertain.

“No, it’s got a ‘v’ in it,” and she makes the ‘v’ sound again, “so, Stee-ve,”

“Vee?” El nods, “Ste-vie?”

Steve’s heart flutters in his chest. Watching them, he feels a strange sense of happiness for Eddie, but also melancholy; he knows he’s about to loose, ‘Stee’. It was inevitable, he knows, Eddie’s getting better at speaking all the time. This was always going to happen.

“Almost, Steve,” she stresses the second part of Steve’s name.

“Steee-vie?” Eddie frowns, looking a bit frustrated that his mouth isn’t cooperating.

“I like Stevie,” Steve says, heading over to them.

Eddie nods, “Ste-vie,” he says proudly, “Stevie love?”

“Sounds good to me,” Steve wedges himself between Eddie and the arm of the couch, then Jon files in and sits on the floor, making room as the coffee table gets shifted. Joyce

Hopper and Mike squeeze onto the other couch, “here kid,” Hopper passes an envelope across.

Out of it fall a drivers license, a passport, a birth certificate. Steve is caught for a second looking at the little picture of Eddie in his wig, and he guesses it works well enough. You have to really squint at the little picture to figure anything is up with it, and even then Steve figures he knows so he's looking for it, and the picture is obviously Eddie. He reads the details on the license, “Edwin!” He says, suddenly outraged, “Munson?! Hopper what the-”

“It’s what it said on the paper!”

“It did not say ‘Edwin’-”

“Eddie is not anyone's name kid, Eddie is always short for something else-”

“Edwin though?!”

“It was the first thing that popped into my head-”

Steve feels Eddie take the stack of papers out of his hands to inspect them, “and Munson? It said Mon-son! With an ‘O’!”

“It did not!” Hopper digs around in his pocket for the scrap of paper Steve had handed him along with the photos, “here, Munson.”

“That’s an ‘O’!”

“Well it looks like a ‘U’!”

“Stevie,” Eddie says carefully, “Stevie love, drive car again now?”

Steve looks over, Eddie’s carefully turning the pages of his new passport, inspecting his license, reading his birth certificate, like all of it is the most precious things he’s ever seen, “yeah,” Steve sighs. “Yeah, yeah of course.” Eddie beams at him.

Hoppers eyebrows are practically in his hair, “what does he mean, ‘again’?”

Part twentyfive

#eddie munson #steve harrington #stranger things #steddie #ficlet #ao3 author #mermeddie #mermaid eddie #upside down creature eddie #Fish Guy Eddie #creature eddie munson #creature

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rebelliousstories · 3 months ago

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Single Awareness Day

ValenFics

Relationship: Jake “Hangman” Seresin x Reader

Fandom: Top Gun: Maverick

Request: No

Warnings: Fluff, Mentions of Alcohol and Drinking, Brief Strong Language

Word Count: 698

Main Masterlist: Here

Top Gun: Maverick Masterlist: Here

Summary: Another year of failed romance leads to a night at the bar with her best friend.

Consider Donating: Here

“Pen, can I get another one, please?” She called to the brunette behind the bar. When the older woman came back with her drink, she looked at her with sad eyes.

“Why are you so down in the dumps, honey?” Wetting her lips with her drink, the naval communications officer began her lament.

“Had a date again this week. Some IT tech in the force. He spent the whole night talking about how what he did was so important. Was reliving his high school glory days too. Just… been a shit week. Hell, a shit year.” She finished, taking a swig out of her glass. Penny giggled at this.

“It’s only February. You have ten more months on the calendar.” The brunette teased.

Waving her off, the officer decided to shift gears, “how are you and Mav?”

“Good,” Penny replied, wiping down a section of the bar to remove something sticky. “He’s gonna take me on a date Saturday morning since he’ll be working Friday morning, and then I’ve got this place in the evening. Valentine’s Day is always busy.”

Another drink washed down her throat, which made her upset that she was now on a dry cup. “Well, you enjoy. I’m not planning on going on a date again anytime soon.”

“Who’s not dating?” A soft drawl of a voice saddled up next to her at the bar. Turning her gaze to view the man, she was greeted with the familiar blonde- haired, blue- eyed best friend pilot.

“Me, Jake. I’m not dating.” The woman confirmed. “I’m just so over guys and their bs. Seriously, what does it take to find someone that checks at least most of the boxes? Doesn’t have to be all of them, but maybe shoot for a nice seventy- five percent.”

At this, the pilot let out a boisterous laugh. “What you need, darlin’, is a night of no troubles. Come on, another round Pen, and we are going to the back.”

She groaned as she was now carrying her next drink, and being pushed towards the back of The Hard Deck. Hangman had been a friend for many years, being one of the few women that never fell for his bravado or southern charm. There were definitely times that she felt like maybe they could be more, but then the fear of ruining her one good, stable, and longest friendship creeps in, and that goes out the window.

So she just let him bring her to the back, where he could continue to run them a, now, joined tab, while fighting over darts and pool. It brought her mind away from her crippling loneliness for a while. Each time that she scored against him, she would cheer and revel in Jake’s playful defeat. And each time that he scored, the woman would just chuckle, and watch as Seresin winked over towards her.

In between games, Jake would tug her close by the shoulders, and usher them to the bar. Chatting about their latest dates, and why they did not pan out. She fell further into his side the longer the night came on, and the drunker she got. However, Hangman was not in much better of a position. As his inhibitions loosened, he found himself becoming far more touchy with her, but still remaining polite. He tried not to push the boundaries, even though he was fairly certain that she would welcome it; but now was neither the time nor the place.

They had bother been drinking heavily, which meant that he would not be able to get the consent that he would require. Besides, he was trying to save her heart from being shattered as she grappled with being single. For now, he would just be the other single friend that hung out with her when she was down in the dumps.

What neither of them saw, was the keen eyes of Penny Benjamin who was texting Pete to tell him about what she had been witnessing the entire evening. Starting from now until next Valentine’s Day, they also had a bet on how long it would take the two to get together, and who would be asking who out.

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jjeremysstash · 2 years ago

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Fixing Windows 11 - A Masterpost

Windows 11 is absolute crap for a good bunch of stuff so yeah, have a masterpost with most of the things I've found around to fix it haha (they're not all here because I did stuff around and I don't remember what)

YES, I KNOW at this point Linux would be a better alternative, however some here can't use Linux due to some proprietary programs that are not on Linux. This Masterpost is for the people in the same situation as I, aka those who have to have Windows or they can't do their job.

I am currently unemployed and haven't worked enough for the government to help me. I have a ko-fi if ever you want to help.

Stopping W11 from making you create an account/setting up your computer without internet (with a way to create gpedit.msc if your version doesn't have it)

Fixing the Taskbar (in case you also don't like the grouped Battery/internet/sound or the way the windows look)(there's more to it, check the settings)

There is the chance that Windows can't update because of this, you just have to uninstall it and reinstall it afterwards. They also completely nuked the Windows 10 look in the 24H2 update, so use the "Windows 10 (Explorer Patcher)" option instead of the plain "Windows 10".

Removing the rounded windows (since ExplorerPatcher doesn't do it anymore on 24H2)

https://github.com/valinet/Win11DisableRoundedCorners

How to move the volume and luminosity pop ups (so you can finally see those sweet sweet subtitles)

In case ModernFlyouts doesn't automatically start up, possible solution

Fixing the Start Menu (ExplorerPatcher can do that too, btw)

How to show all options right away

A way to bring back the Calendar

https://github.com/matej137/OutlookRemover

MICROSOFT FULLY NUKED THE CALENDAR!!! Possible fix is to downgrade the app (which is fine if you don't use the Mail), but do use the OutlookRemover to stop the automatic installation of the new version.

https://github.com/matej137/OutlookRemover/issues/15

How to remove Copilot if you have it (I don't, but it might be because I'm in Europe??)

Archive

Apparently Copilot is being forced on people so hummm

Other stuff not specifically related to the shit W11 did

Changing the size of the scroll bars

How to fully remove Cortana

Website with tools to fix W10 and W11

#Windows 11 #W11 #Windows #computer stuff #computer #last updated on the 13th of February 2025

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babextoken · 6 months ago

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⋆☀︎｡Smile Back ... At Me ⏾⋆.˚

Grumpy!Vessel x Sunshine!Reader

grumpy/sunshine, sickfic, housemates, fem!reader, hurt/comfort, fluff goes smut

a/n: there's easter eggs in here for three people 🧍🏻‍♀️

Taglist (that I decided I have now): @inv3ga

“No no no. Don’t do this. Please. Please!” Vessel was distraught. Panicked. Verging on crisis. He stared at himself in the mirror, white knuckling the vanity. “Get it together, Ves. Don’t…don’t.” His breath was ragged…”fuuuuuck...”

How many sneezes in a row was that? 5? Oh…oh they’re still going. You knock on the bathroom door softly. Vessel rips the door open with a scowl, his nose and eyes red from whatever irritant deigned to infect your intrepid workaholic housemate.

“What?” He asks, deadpan.

“I heard you sneeze like…8 times in a row. That’s concerning.”

“Yes. Thank you, doctor. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to get cleaned up and go to work.” He looks you up and down. “Think you ought to do the same?”

You look down for a second at your pjs and gasp. Work? “Oh shit! I…hey… wait a minute!” Vessel just titters as he splashes some water on his face. “It’s my day off!” Again, he chuckles and pushes past you. “You know for someone so crotchety with me you sure know a lot about my schedule!” But he’s already down the hall. Of the housemates, Ves was the one you had the least positive interactions with…and yet…you saw each other the most. It just worked out that way with your schedules. Ves could go to the studio or work from home at will, and you seemed always to be home at the same time.

“You’ve done this on purpose. To torment me.” Ves said once as his phone buzzed incessantly with notifications as you input your schedule in the shared housemate calendar. And, in your endlessly witty, carefree way, you responded “Aw Ves, finally you’re noticing all I do for you!” For the record, Vessel doesn’t hate you. He doesn’t really hate anyone. No. He’s just a little brusque. And short tempered. And he just likes things done a certain way, ok? You, on the other hand, seem too happy to be here. What are you plotting, he wonders sometimes.

But today those thoughts are dulled by a throbbing pain behind his eye and the annoying feeling of his nose leaking at any moment. By 2:30, he’s ready for a 20 year long nap. He rubs his face in agony as he sits at the control panel. Usually the studio is a reprieve but one of his worst nightmares is unfolding. He’s sick. He has a cold. A sinus infection? Christ…the flu? He has to push through. He has to see this day to the end and finish this…”fuck it I’m done. I’m going home.”

“Literally just asked how the cymbals sounded, man. For fuck’s sake.” Even poor ii wasn’t safe from Vessel’s sick tirade. The two share a silent look of “the hell is wrong with you/me?”

“Sorry mate,” Vessel rubs his temples and sniffs. “Uhm…yeah…there could be more…definition or whatever. I’ll see you lot later.” Vessel sulks out of the studio and towards the bus stop. If this was a comic strip, he’d be kicking a can with little fumes over his head. Vessel hates getting sick. It throws off his groove. Makes him unproductive. He’s no stranger to powering through but it doesn’t seem worth it this time around. This makes him feel weak. Like once he gets better he’ll need to work 10x harder just to make up for his time off. Make it up for who? Well…the label, for one thing. And ii. Part of his brain says “it’s only for yourself,” but he pushes that aside. Yeah he’s proud but he still needs to prove to everyone else he’s fine. He can manage. Hasn’t he always landed on his feet? Looking out the bus window at the passing houses and buildings doesn’t provide any distraction—just more fodder for his migraine. As Vessel rests his temple against the window, his phone vibrates, but he ignores it. Whatever it is couldn’t make him feel any worse...oh but he was wrong. So very wrong.

You: I’m sure you saw this on the calendar but it’s just us for the weekend. Are you still feeling sick? Want me to get some soup? Let me know. :)

You’re not surprised Vessel doesn’t reply to you. He’s at work and, well, you’re you. As you��re about to text him again, because you reaaaaalllllly want to get a jump on ordering food, he comes through the front door. “Tsk, you look miserable.”

Vessel so badly wants to be snarky. To tell you what an astute observation you’ve made. “I am…where is everyone?” You look at him a bit quizzically and tell you texted him…and that their trip was on the calendar, etc etc. Oh the defeated sigh he lets out! The misery of being cooped up with someone so chronically pleasant might do his head in if this migraine doesn’t first. And maybe it wasn’t your best idea to follow him to his room to ask if he needed or wanted anything, if he was hungry, did he have a fever, can you do— “Have you considered leaving me alone? You’re not my mum and you’re definitely not my girlfriend! Can take care of myself just fine without you flitting about trying to fix everyone’s problems…maybe you should...” He stops himself and rubs his hand down his face with a heavy sigh. “Fuck it. It’s not worth what little energy I have. Let me know what takeaway you’re thinking.” He shuts the door and leaves you in the hall. Was he suggesting that you spend more time on others than yourself? How dare he? How dare he be right and sound mean about it. But you don’t pout long because he opens the door again, but this time his shirt is off. Your eyes trace the curve of his shoulders…down to the ridges of his chest and abs. Close enough to touch. ‘Stop…he’s sick. And your roommate.’ He sniffs hard. He’s so stopped up. “I…should not be like that. I’m sorry. Pizza?” You look away, feeling shitty after overstepping…he must be really sick if you got an immediate apology.

“Don’t you think something like soup or…you know what? We’ll do whatever you want.” That elicits a soft smile from him...with teeth no less.. Wait…”you just smiled at me. An honest to god smile...Ves…”

“Oh, sh-shut up.”

After dinner Vessel feels…weird. His head and body hurts…he can’t even think straight. And you notice. He can barely stay awake but there’s no way he’d be comfy on the couch. His long legs…you imagine him trying to curl up and get comfortable like a big dog on a tiny bed. You take a chance and put your hand on his shoulder. “Let me help you get in bed.” He sighs heavily like you asked him to give up music. “Is it really this hard to accept some kindness?” Apparently that was a shit question because he huffs and takes himself to bed. Fine. Maybe you should leave it alone but damnit he needs help…and attention. You come into his room with your arms full.

“What are you…” But you cut him off by dumping a big blue quilt on him.

“I always always always sweat shit out with this quilt.”

“I don’t have a fever.”

“Oh well, it’ll make you feel better. And…alsooooooo…” you hand him a stuffed puppy with floppy ears and a dumb, goofy look stitched on his face. “Just give him a squeeze.” Vessel looks at the stuffed dog and the quilt but can’t seem to look at you. If anything he’s looking down and past your feet.

“As persistent as my cold, you know that?”

“You deserve a break. Let me know if you need something…you know where I am.”

“H-hey…wait…” You look back at him, and it’s as if he’s forgotten how to breathe. Did he ever know in the first place? All he knows is that any breath he takes after this night is for something beyond the music. Beyond himself, even though his efforts there are questionable. “Sit with me…for a bit?”

And you did. All night. Waking up next to him hugging your stuffed dog under your “sick day” quilt was such a sight. His eyebrows knit together like he was thinking. It must have been a fever dream, you think, as he groans softly and clutches the dog closer. You want to reach out, move the hair off his brow, feel if he has a fever…caress him. But you have to at least act like you know better. When he blinks awake he gives a lazy smile.

“You shouldn’t have stayed in here. What if you get sick?”

“I could deal.”

“Hm. Maybe you’d accept some kindness in return?”

After his cold finally fucks off, Vessel looks at you differently. Not necessarily because you did something for him. No. There was something different. After he snapped at you, and then later after you two had a long conversation about nothing before he drifted off, Vessel noticed something behind your eyes. God, those eyes. His walls came down. He was defenseless. It’s not like you’re best friends now or anything, but he felt moved to treat you gently. Hell, to smile back at the very least.

Late one night, long after everyone went to bed, Ves notices your bedroom light is still on. “What am I doing?” He whispers to himself, but apparently too loudly because soon you’re opening your door.

“Oh thank fuck it’s you. Thought I was hearing things.”

“Jus’ me…I…why are you up? It’s 1:30.” You shrug. There’s that look again. He has to dig. He has to pry just a little. Just like you had with him. “Can I come in?”

You nod and let him in, motioning for him to sit on the bed. He sees your laptop out and wants to ask what you were up to, but you quickly put it away. “Better question is why you’re awake, Ves.”

He smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his neck. “So no one has a good excuse, hm?”

“Hm.” You tease back, gently pinching his arm. He looks down at your fingers on him and his heart flutters. Ves lets his gaze drift slowly up your body…taking in every curve and slight movement before resting on your eyes.

“What’s wrong?”

“W-w-what…? What are y-?” You try to act nonchalant.

“Can just tell…something’s off with you.”

You sigh heavily and look up at the ceiling. “This…” you put your hands out, “is actually my natural state. Tense. Not nearly as bubbly or…like”

“A sunshine girl?”

“Yeah or…a sunshine girl.”

Vessel looks at you with a sympathetic smile…he can see that blush dusting your pretty cheeks. He lets his hand rest on your shoulder, squeezing it slightly but then pausing. “You’re knotted up, love. Can I…?” Without even hearing your answer, he moves behind you and rubs your shoulders. It hurts a little, only because you’re so tense. His wide hands cover your shoulders and luxuriously knead into your muscles. “What’s made you so tight,” he rasps close to your ear, “Hm? What’s eating at you?”

You can’t help it. Your head lolls back to his chest and turns so you can look up at him. “All I do is run around taking care of business and other people. I don’t know how to care about myself.”

He can’t stop himself. Brain shutting down. Hands and lips have a mind of their own now. “I’m not gonna sit here and let you run yourself into the ground like I did. You should care about yourself…I…I could teach you…” Vessel trails his nose up your neck and kisses your ear softly before you jump up.

“Jesus, dude, you can’t just come in here and…” but fuck it he doesn’t look precious wiping his hand down his face and hiding the strain in his pants. “Oh…fuck… actually you totally can.” Immediately you’re straddling his lap, held in place by his soft hands cupping your face…pressing you desperately into his. His kisses trail hungrily down your jaw and to your neck. He finds your pulse point and claims it with his hot, open mouthed kisses. Your hips grind against him like it’s the most obvious thing in the world…but of course, he adjusted to press his strong thigh against you...you are supposed to do this. Suddenly your thoughts are poisoned with guilt as you realize how tightly you’re squeezing his thigh and how you weren’t being exactly quiet. Vessel gently guides your head down so he can whisper to you.

“I’d take you far away from here…anywhere you wanted…just to hear it…I want to hear what I can make you say…how loud I could make you…”

“V-v-es we-...“

“Shh shh shh. It’s ok. Do you want to stop?” His voice is warm and sincere, like he’s meant to take care of you.

“No.”

“Then let me do this…for you. Some comfort…” he turns slowly to lay you on your back, “would you like that…” his fingers gently trace your breasts and tummy over your shirt… “could make you feel good…safe”…your shorts and panties are thrown off the bed…”when was the last time someone did that for you, darling? Made you cum…just to cum?”…your shirt is lifted, tits exposed to the chilly room and his starving eyes.

“Never.”

“For fuck’s sake,” he murmurs as he kisses your thighs and settles on his tummy, “no pressure for me then.” But you’re moaning softly already. You’re a live wire as the hands you’ve desperately tried to avoid fantasizing about explore your inner thighs and folds. His finger glides up and down the length of your needy pussy as he looks up at you…pure bliss etched all over his face in the dim lighting. “Atta girl, love. We’re just here to feel good. Hm?” You hear and then feel a wad of his spit hit your clit, followed by his fingers pressing against either side of it. Vessel wraps his left arm around your tummy as your body chases his touch. “Found something you like, did I?”

“Vessel,” you whisper breathlessly but it’s cut off by a strangled moan. His tongue gently darts out for little kitten licks on your clit. You don’t know if your reactions or what he’s doing is making him whimper like that, but you don’t care. Your hand caresses his hair lazily until you have to grab it and keep him in place. He’s taken your clit in his mouth…something you’ve never experienced. Forgetting every wall you placed around yourself with this man, you let your hips grind shamelessly against his perfect mouth. Vessel’s moans and hot breath nearly push you over the edge multiple times.

“I…” he exhales, trying to catch his breath and contain himself, “am really going to enjoy this.” His middle and ring finger work into your wet cunt and find your g-spot quickly. “That’s it…that’s it…you feel that? Feel my fingers rubbing you from the inside, yeah?” You can’t respond directly…you’re too busy squirming and whimpering fuck fuck fuck. It feels like you’re on fire as Vessel licks and sucks at your clit, your eyes rolling as your brain tries to compute that the same spot is being stimulated from different angles. It’s too much.

“I’m yours…I’m yours….please I’m yours.”

“Mine, yeah? Good. You sound s’perfect…haven’t even had my cock.” It’s a miracle that you aren’t screaming out loud now as he sucks at your clit. Both hands tangle in his hair when he starts thrusting his hips against your bed. He moans pathetically into your clit, his hips landing soft blows into the mattress. “I…I’m sorry.” He stops and quickly pulls off his clothes…you swear you’re cumming a little just from the sight of his cock alone. “See what you do to me?” He breathes heavily, standing at your bedside with his cock throbbing without contact. “Seeing you…let yourself go… enjoying yourself… so fucking hard for you. Could cum just licking you out, babe.” You’re tempted to tell him to try it…but you feel empty.

“Make me yours…”

“How would you have me?”

You’re speechless for a second…he’s really into this. Into you feeling good. “Get on your back, angel.” Vessel does as he’s told and blushes at the pet name. He teasingly rubs his cock against your slit…tells you how tight you felt around his fingers…how good you are for him. You moan quietly…weakly…dreamily as you slide down each inch of Vessel’s cock. The stretch is beyond perfect…not uncomfortable…but still more than any stupid toy in your bedside drawer could do. You grind against him and bounce on his cock seemingly without much thought other than feeling good. And he doesn’t stop you, nor does he grab you and fuck up into your pussy. No…he just lays back like a good boy and takes it. Luxuriates in the feeling of the warm stickiness of your pussy…how it hugs his cock and threatens to drain him. You wince a little as your hips tense; still you weren’t fully relaxed despite your blissful state.

“I’ve got you.” Vessel pulls you close to his chest, pressing your hips down. “Just lay down on me. Let me feel you.” He moans softly as you lay out, your legs scissoring with his just enough to keep his cock buried deep. Your lips crash together. You taste yourself on him…his mouth…and your mind goes even fuzzier. “Sweet girl…you like being lovey, don’t you? Hm?” His hips snap up and press into your cunt. “Little lover girl??”

“I’m…fuck I’m yours Ves…I’m your girl…”

“Let’s make it real then…” his hips thrust back and forth again before pressing deep into you, holding his cock hard against the limit of your pussy…”I’ll fill you to the fucking brim with my cum…leave my handprints on your ass…and-“

“And I’ll leave…little love bites on your chest,” you add, trying to weigh in and stave off your climax. Vessel groans out in response and holds you in place like a toy as you suck and lick at his soft skin. So much for handprints on your ass, though; he can’t help but cradle your back and head. Neither of you have ever felt this before. The soft, warm middle of equal parts wholesome chemistry and earth shattering lust. What was that in the delicate in-between? You bury your face in his neck and forget the world…forget your name…it’s just him.

“So tight…” He gently lifts your head. “There she is…mmm. Need to see you…need you to see what you do to me.” Vessel tangles his hand in your hair to help fix your gaze on him. His throat bobs with each broken moan…god he wants to cry out for you so badly. For the way your body melts into his as he rolls his hips up and into you. For the way your slick runs out all over him, making a mess of you both. It’s all too much. You press your forehead to his and bear your hips down. Vessel grabs you and presses his hot, greedy lips to yours not just for a kiss, but to muffle the pornographic noises your pussy rips out of him. The feeling of his tongue on your lips pushes you over the edge. Your fluttering orgasm squeezes and milks Vessel’s cock for all it’s worth, causing him to fuck up into you like a rabid animal. He completely and unapologetically ruins you.

You wake up the next morning curled up against his back. He’s already awake and smiles brightly when he feels you pull him close.

“Guess what.” He whispers. You barely mumble “hm” back to him, still sleepy and fuzzy from your late night tryst. Vessel chuckles and rolls over, your stuffed whale shark from the aquarium clutched to his chest.

“Hey! That’s mine,” you grumble.

“Oh and suddenly you don’t share anymore…hm? Not my lover girl when the sun’s up,” he teases. “Anyways…it’s just us this weekend. We have some wasted time to make up for…don’t you think?”

#sleep token fanfiction #sleep token smut #vessel fanfiction #vessel x you #vessel x reader #vessel smut #vessel x reader smut #sleep token #vessel sleep token #vessel fanfic #sleep token fanfic #woofie's situations

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wlntrsldler · 1 year ago

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poisoned mercury | end up here

a/n: i'm going FERALLLLLLL over this chapter. enjoy poisoned mercury's debut album hehe.

iv. end up here by 5sos

series masterlist | previous | next

“your band name doesn’t even make any sense,” you argued, eyes narrowing at the boy in front of you.

luke crashed your secret spot, again, and refused to let you smoke in silence until you gave him a detailed explanation of how your day went. he knew you didn’t smoke every day, only on days that were particularly hard. he noticed that your bad days always had something to do with your dad, but it didn’t feel like the right moment to bring that up.

anyway, you got fed up with his badgering and that stupid smirk on his face because he knew you were about to crack, and decided that if he was going to act like a toddler, you would too. hence, why you were now bringing up his band name.

luke took offense to that because he thought the band name was cool. he was the one to suggest it. he crossed his arms over his chest, trying not to let his hurt show on his face, “what do you mean? poisoned mercury is a sick name.”

“mercury is already poisonous. your band name is like redundant or some shit.”

“then why did so many people in history ingest it?” luke asked, recalling the one thing he remembered from his high school history class before he dropped out. he took a drag from his cigarette, turning his body a bit so the wind didn’t blow the smoke directly in your face.

“they fucking died, castellan,” you replied, deadpan.

“oh,” he blinked, staring off, “i didn’t know that.”

you rolled your eyes, a habit that you’ve picked up whenever you were with him and sat back down on the bench. luke joined you, silent as he thought about what you just said. he really needed to stop zoning out during lessons, but since he was already out of high school, he guessed it didn’t matter anymore.

as much as you hate to admit it, luke castellan was growing on you. sure, he got on your nerves like nobody else– the boy just doesn’t quit– but, he wasn’t half as bad as you originally thought. not that you’d ever tell him that though.

when you got back to the cabin last week after helping with concert prep, the cabin was spotless. there were no empty red bull cans in sight, the table tops were free of crumbs, floor vacuumed and mopped, and there was even a candle burning on the counter. you approached your bedroom door to find a post-it on the handle. luke’s messy writing was smudged around the corners, but you could still make out what it said.

“five star,

i snitched on the boys and my mom will have a stern talk with them about their cleanliness. can’t promise that people will stop talking about me, but i can promise you won’t have to live in the dojo casa house mojo or whatever it was.

ps i’m using the spot tomorrow, just thought i should let you know. maybe we can set up a calendar for reservations.

luke :)”

the cabin hasn’t been as messy since. whatever may castellan told the boys worked like a charm. there was still the occasional trash, but nothing crazy. it smelled better in the cabin too, still like a boy, but it smelled like expensive cologne more than anything. cedarwood and pine.

and thankfully, the luke castellan hype train was starting to run out of steam, with many people finally realizing that he was also just a human being and the surprising revelation that luke castellan was not entertaining anyone during his time at camp helped with it as well. you still heard whispers about him here and there, but you were glad the topic of conversation was beginning to switch to something else.

you and luke walked to the gym and back home every morning together. he and the boys sat with you and clarisse during meals. they tagged along for music lessons and spoke to the kids, which they really appreciated. they helped the older campers with writing music, luke particularly. you’d been around a few musicians in your life and many of them only kissed ass when your dad was around, but poisoned mercury was different. they were passionate about their music. that was clear.

after a conversation with clarisse, where she managed to convince you that not all musicians are like your ex, you began to let loose a little bit. you hung out with the boys more, partly as an excuse so clarisse could hang out with chris without causing too much suspicion, and found that you actually enjoyed their company. and luke castellan? well, he wasn’t half bad. that doesn’t mean he got off easy though.

you took a hit of your vape, facing him, “are you done interrogating me?”

“for now, yeah,” he smiled as you shook your head. “are you coming to the concert tonight?”

“well, i did help organize it.”

“a simple yes would’ve sufficed, five star,” luke teased, relighting his cigarette. it was burning unevenly and luke was never one to waste his cigarettes. “you gonna watch us play?”

“don’t have a choice. dad wants me there the whole time.”

“you can act a little excited,” luke ran a hand through his curls, “we are pretty good, you know.”

“i know,” you hummed. the sun was beginning to set and there was a slight breeze in the air. goosebumps formed on your skin, the t-shirt and denim shorts you wore didn’t offer much comfort. you shivered, “i have listened to your music.”

“are you cold?”

your teeth chattered, but you shook your head, “i’m fine.”

luke took off his hoodie, tossing it in your direction, “take it.”

“no,” you tossed it back to him, “told you i’m good.”

always so stubborn, luke thought.

“if you catch a cold, that’s not on me,” he placed the hoodie on the bench between the two of you. “which songs have you listened to?”

“kilby girl, of course. it played on the radio so much when you guys first dropped it,” you said, remembering the days where you and your hometown friends would blast it in the car. it reminded you of high school, reckless decisions, life-long memories, and the thrill of knowing you were going to be playing the sport you’d worked so hard to excel in at a d1 level in the fall. you looked at him, sincerity in your eyes, “i really like family line. it might be my favorite.”

luke’s eyebrows shot up. not many people talked about family line. it was probably their least streamed song. they never performed the song on tour because it was difficult for luke to sing it. it was a personal song to him. it was inspired by his relationship with his father, or lack thereof.

when poisoned mercury first got signed to olympus records, luke sent a message to his dad on facebook. luke hadn’t tried to contact him since he was ten, not since his father returned his letter to him unopened, no response but a “return to sender” stamp plastered over the envelope. but after the small congratulatory party his mom set up for the band after they signed, luke felt like a little kid again, a kid who wanted to share the great news with his dad, so he found his dad on facebook, made an account, and sent him a message.

he didn’t get a reply, which was expected, but it felt good for a second to pretend that he had a father to tell his good news to. luke thought he didn’t care about whether or not his dad was proud of him, but when his message went from “sent” to “read” a few days later, he was brought back to those moments in his life when he cried and wondered why he wasn’t enough to make his dad stay. he wrote family line in one sitting, on his bed in his bedroom in connecticut, looking at the little league medals on his wall that seemed to mock him.

he originally didn’t want it on the album because he felt like it didn’t fit the vibe of the rest of the songs and that it was too real, too vulnerable for a debut album, but then he played it for his mom and she loved it. she cried when she first heard it and luke knew that even if people didn’t like the song, he was going to put it out for his mom.

“huh,” he cleared his throat, trying to regain his composure, “wasn’t expecting that one. thought you’d be more of a crash my car type of girl.”

“i like that too,” you shrugged, “but family line. that song. i don’t think i have the words to describe it.”

“thanks, five star,” luke looked down at his feet, taking a puff from his dying cigarette. “that’s my mom’s favorite, too.”

“did you write it?”

luke nodded, looking to face you. there was a new expression on your face, one that you’d never used with him before. it was a mix of disbelief and awe. he tried not to get offended that you didn’t think he could write something like family line, but he couldn’t blame you. he didn’t really portray the type of person who would be able to be that raw and vulnerable on a song. “me and trav write the lyrics for our songs, mostly. chris and connor help too, but the bulk of the lyrics are me.”

“you need to stop doing that.”

he cocked his head to the side, crushing the cigarette butt on the hardware of the bench, “doing what?”

“surprising me,” you shook your head, “i don’t like it.”

“i don’t know what to tell you,” he chuckled, leaning back on the bench. he looked out into the lake, watching the sun disappear behind the mountains, “i have layers. you just gotta give me a chance.”

“how do you do it?” you sat criss cross on the bench, leaning against the arm rest. “how do you write like that?”

you’d always been curious about music, even if you weren’t good at it. your dad was never one to answer your questions, especially because you were interested in lyrics more than anything, and that wasn’t his forte.

luke mimicked your actions, “i dunno. personal experience, i guess?”

you frowned, thinking about the lyrics of family line. luke never talked about his dad, but spoke highly of his mom. was family line based on his own life? if it was, his dad was an asshole.

you relented to the cold, grabbing the hoodie that he left in between the two of you. you ignored the triumphant smile on his face when you draped the sweater over your bare legs, shielding them from the wind chills.

he continued, “sometimes things happen to me that get me worked up and i have to write a song about it. sometimes, it’s based on my imagination. it depends.”

you wanted to ask him about his dad, but you didn’t know if he considered you guys friends yet. it’s not like you made it easy for him anyway. you could deal with the banters and annoyance, but you didn’t want to push him to talk about something he wasn’t ready to. you could be a dick, but you weren’t cruel.

you changed the subject, “okay, let’s play a game.”

“21 questions?” luke bit his bottom lip, trying not to laugh. he waggled his eyebrows, dodging your arm that reached out to smack him.

“you’re gross,” you gagged, knowing the implications of the game, “no, i’m gonna ask about the songs on your album and you tell me if it’s real life or from your imagination.”

“alright, go for it five star,” he beamed, propping his elbows on his crossed knees. he loved talking about music with anyone. he could go on and on for hours.

“18.”

“real,” luke snorted, remembering the first time travis pitched the idea for the song to the band, “but not my experience. it was trav. he met this girl at one of our gigs in new york, right after we got signed, and he was obsessed. she was a freshman at nyu and she kept telling him he was too young for her, even though she was just less than a year older. trav was hooked.”

you could picture it. it was definitely something travis would do. “okay, another one of my favorites. only angel?”

“not real,” luke shook his head, a slight blush creeping up on his face. “if you tell anyone, five star, i will vehemently deny it, but i had a crush on jade west from victorious and i wrote it about her.”

there was something about jade west that made luke like a love-sick puppy. ignoring the fact that she was hot, her attitude was something that luke was attracted to. she had a tough exterior and acted like she didn’t care about people, but she had her moments where she was soft and kind to the people she cared about the most. luke liked that. the idea that someone could be sensitive but only to the people they deemed worthy.

he’d spent so much of his life trying to be worthy, in whatever way the stage of his life defined it, and he craved it– a pat on the back, an approval, a confirmation that he was worthy of it.

you threw your head back laughing, surprised by his ridiculous confession. the sound of your laughter rang across the woods, making luke smile. your voice echoed throughout the trees and he his senses were surrounded by you. it hit luke like a truck.

he sucked in a breath, taking out his phone. he jolted from his seat for more than one reason. “shit, five star. we gotta go.”

you took out your phone too, checking the time. your eyes widened as you got up from your seat. you threw his hoodie over to him, “fuck, we’re late.”

the two of you raced out of the woods, arriving to the concert venue with flushed faces and rapid breaths. you could feel clarisse’s knowing eyes on you as you got ready for the concert. you tried your best to ignore it. you were going to deal with that later.

–

“and for the final event, i know you guys are looking forward to this one,” your dad laughed into the mic. the sun was long gone and there were disco lights illuminating the stage. a smoke machine was on either corner, making it difficult to see the bottom half of the stage. you and clarisse stood in the front row, listening to the deafening cheers of the campers. “ladies and gents, welcome poisoned mercury!”

the screams got louder which you didn’t even know was possible. travis entered the stage first, sticking his tongue out as he expertly twirled his drumsticks around his fingers. connor came in next, smiling and waving at the crowd as he plugged his guitar into the amp. chris walked in with his bass strapped around his neck, eyes immediately finding clarisse and sending her a shy smile. you nudged her teasingly, enjoying the way she blushed under the lights.

then luke castellan walked in. he ditched his hoodie and t-shirt and walked in with a white tank top on, messing with the curls on his head. he tugged on the silver necklace around his neck as his eyes scanned the crowd. he threw a wink to the group of the older girls in the back, turning to travis to let out a laugh at their reaction. the lights on the boys were blinding and a thin layer of sweat already began to form on their skin despite the bite to the air.

luke took center stage, picking up his guitar. he leaned over directly in front of you, fingers pretending to mess with the wires connecting his guitar to the speakers, “hey, five star.”

he straightened his back before you could reply. clarisse’s eyes darted between you and the boy, now nudging you like you did to her earlier. you rolled your eyes, smiling at the rest of the boys as luke began talking on the mic.

“what’s up, camp half blood?” luke screamed into the mic. the crowd roared. “we’re poisoned mercury and we are so happy to be with you guys here this summer. before we close out this awesome concert, i wanna introduce our lovely band.”

“on drums, we have the one and only, travis stoll!” luke turned around to applaud travis as he did a little drum solo, head banging as he hit the drums. he turned to connor, “on lead guitar, we have the amazing connor stoll!”

connor strummed his guitar, leaning over on the left side to soak in the applause of the crowd. the girls beside you swooned as he unleashed one of his award-winning smiles.

luke faced chris, “and on bass, we have my very best friend in the entire world, my 4lifer, chris rodriguez!” clarisse cheered loudly for chris as he played a tune on his bass, mouthing, “love you, brother,” to luke as he played. the crowd quited for a second as luke addressed them again, “and my name is luke castellan. we’re poisoned mercury!”

you turned around to look at the crowd. the size of the crowd tripled when the boys got on stage. everyone had a smile on their face, excited to hear them play.

“the song we’ll be singing for you guys today is from our debut album,” luke adjusted his mic on the stand. he got closer to it, lips touching the metal, “this is only angel.”

you couldn’t help but let out a laugh at their song choice. this was not the song they were supposed to sing. they’d been rehearsing kilby girl for the past week. luke saw your reaction, laughing along with you.

the instrumentals began and you nearly missed the beat drop because of the cheers from the crowd. as the song progressed, the boys were one with the music. you watched luke sing, working the crowd like a pro. his skin glistened under the spotlight, beads of sweat tricking down the side of his face. he approached chris when the chorus started, dragging his mic stand with him. he swung his guitar around so it rested on his back as he sang the lyrics. his curls were sticking to his forehead, eyebrows raised in glee as he performed.

you couldn’t take your eyes off the lead singer, not even when the rest of the band had their own solos in the song. your eyes were glued on luke; how his adam’s apple was on full display as he threw his head back, getting lost in the music, how his arms flexed as he wrapped the mic cord around his fist, how his thin tank top stuck to his body and how it raised when he lifted his arm up to bring the mic closer to his lips. you saw the outline of his abdomen and his v-line.

but what really got you was his face. he looked at peace on stage, a wide smile on his face, full lips pink and glossy as he licked them in between verses. he looked incredible up there, like that was where he belonged. he was born to be on stage like this.

“fuck,” you mumbled, applauding at the end of their song. luke’s eyes found yours as he sang the last bit of the song, smiling at you. you hoped clarisse couldn’t hear you talk to yourself. you looked down at your feet, tugging nervously on the collar of your shirt, “i get it now.”

#frances writes #poisoned mercury #luke castellan x reader #luke castellan imagine #luke castellan pjo #luke castellan fanfic #luke castellan #luke pjo #luke castellan x yn #luke castellan x y/n #luke castellan x you #percy jackson fanfic #percy jackson

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suzukiblu · 3 months ago

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hi, question for you, have you ever experienced prolonged writer’s block before? do you happen to have any advice for getting a writing flow going again, that you’d be willing to share?

bc i don’t want to get too heavy in your asks, but between chronic illness/fatigue and longterm autistic burnout i haven’t been able to write a single word in several years now, and GOD am i tired of it. it’s like all the stories and words are stuck inside me and i can see it all in my head but the faucet is jammed and i just can’t get it OUT! i have been slowly feeling like the creative embers are maybe starting to spark again but it’s so hard not to get impatient with myself because it never seems to actually transfer to paper (or word document or notes app). any ideas or tips?

no pressure to answer this if you don’t want to of course, regardless i really enjoy your writing and i’m so glad that i can at least engage with fandom through other authors even when i can’t write my own stories! 💛

Oh god, yeah, I DEFINITELY have experienced that, hahasob. I have gone through at LEAST a year or two without, like, putting down a single word or even drawing anything, just total creative block/not there-ness. Like I feel u on that one, bud.

Good news: now if I write less than 2k in a day I think "oh that's kinda low, huh", so like . . . definitely "didn't write jack shit for [ INSERT TIME PERIOD HERE ]" has yet to sink me, and therefore fuck if it's gonna sink ANY of us. We persevere!!

So like, in my experience actually helpful writing advice is just SO wildly "you just gotta try shit 'til something works"-based that I'mma just give you a list made up of a bunch of, like, assorted tips and tricks that I use on myself to make my brain put words down when it's being stubborn about it, though different ones work at different times and obvi YMMV here anyway because for obvious reasons these are all approaches that I have tailored to my own needs, hah, and some of them are a bit facetious and some are also a bit heavy, but absolutely and unironically I reguarly use them all and they have all repeatedly worked for me.

Also, they're all gonna be goin' behind a cut because WOW there's actually a lot more of them than I realized I had, hahaha. The psychiatrist who recently used me as a case study told me I was very self-aware, so take from that what you will, friend.

Get up and do a chore/take a shower/eat a snack/literally just walk through a friggin' doorway, more often than not it'll at least make your brain reorient enough for you to realize you were just beating your head against a wall and need to do [ INSERT DAMAGE CONTROL/HARM REDUCTION BEHAVIOR HERE ].

Track your progress. Write to-do lists and cross shit off 'em. Keep track of your word count when you write; put it in a spreadsheet or a notebook or on a graph on your bulletin board.

Get a NEW way to track your progress. I currently use, like, three different "to-do list" apps to varying degrees in varying ways, not counting just my basic calendar app ( for the record: Finch, Structured, and just a generic notes app, but mostly Finch and Structured and seriously I CANNOT recommend Finch enough, go get yourself a bird buddy immediately. do you want a friend code, I will GIVE you a friend code, I think it gives you a bonus mini-pet or something if you use it. ), and also set myself MANY a phone alarm to remind myself of things that I need to do in case I space out or get distracted by somebody/something/the specific phase of the moon.

Did you take your meds? Take your fucking MEDS, self, good LORD.

Leave the house even if for literally, like, thirty seconds to just stand in some actual natural light. Or leave the house to go eat at a cafe or library or fast food place and just put yourself in a new environment for literally any length of time whatsoever.

Switch pens. Switch notebooks. Get a NEW notebook. Use your laptop instead. Use your PHONE instead. Get a nicer notebook. Get a shittier notebook. Use the scratch paper at work. Use the Procreate app on your friggin' iPad if you gotta, whatever, you do what you want!!

Don't write!!

Seriously just don't, go watch an actual scripted TV show or movie or read a book or a comic or some fic. Feed your brain something you didn't have to make up yourself.

Come up with a convoluted way to trick yourself into being accountable to someone else. Join a writing group. Make a Tumblr post about how you're gonna go write now. Ask Tumblr for their opinion on what you should write now. Ask Tumblr to spin this random wheel spinner game you generated and tell you what answer they got, and then write THAT.

HAVE you had a snack? Did you eat breakfast? Did you eat lunch? Did you remember to move around the house at any point whatsoever during the day? Maybe like, do that. Like, at least the snack part. Maybe a stretch or something wouldn't hurt either though.

Meal prep is so fucking useful and saves you SO much annoying time and also, like, makes you eat actual veggies and fruit and shit, genuinely actually works, the gym bros were not wrong, go figure. Also then you don't have to think about what you're gonna eat all the time and then cook it and then clean up and then--yeah anyway meal prep, god bless it. Once a week I make a batch of pasta salad and roast a pan of good-when-roasted veggies with like, garlic and salt and pepper and some olive oil and add bacon after, and then I portion it all into tupperware and in the morning I add spinach or crack an egg into that day's share of veggies for breakfast and maybe make some toast, and just grab one of the pasta salads whenever I want something lunch-like. It saves SO much time and distraction when you are hurting for free time/focus. So, SO much.

Unfortunately the gym bros were also correct about exercise, if that's doable for you. Exercise does in fact make you feel better and more energized and less depressed, fuck those guys for being right about that shit. Assuming you have enough iron in your blood to actually, like, do it, which admittedly I frequently do not, but the point stands.

Dude why are you even trying to write, you're so tired, go to bed and get up early, you write SO much better in the mornings anyway.

Hey, I know that's how you USED to write, but like, is that actually how you write right now? Is that actually even what works for you anymore? Actually maybe outlines COULD be helpful or maybe you don't need all those worldbuilding notes all at once; maybe your inner architect needs to let the building decay and go back to nature or maybe your inner gardener has developed a taste for trellises, metaphorically speaking and all.

Please eat something. Also please DRINK something. Like ideally water but we'll go for anything that involves a liquid, seriously.

Hey did you know actually if you ONLY eat instant ramen and microwave pizza you'll probably get scurvy and die instead of, like, writing your magnum opus? Like probably?? Put a fucking egg in that ramen, man! Slice up a scallion in that bitch!! EAT AN ACTUAL WHOLE FRUIT or at least, like, buy a smoothie with actual fruit involved somewhere in it on occasional. The whole fruit, unfortunately, is better. I like apples. Apples take a REAL long time to rot if I forget they exist for a couple weeks or whatever. But like, mango smoothies are also the shit, can't turn down a mango smoothie or a good strawberry-banana. Hey did you know the grocery store just, like, will let you just buy one single apple and they don't give a fuck? You're free! The cashier won't remember you in five minutes!! Buy your one single apple and work your way up to maybe two apples next time!! Also now I want an apple!!!!

Don't write. Don't write THAT. Write the other thing. No, the OTHER other thing. No, not THAT other other thing.

The rules are made up and the points don't matter.

Fuck it, we ball.

[ INSERT FULL-THROTTLE STIMMING BEHAVIOR HERE ]

Only God can judge me and I'm still technically agnostic.

God, that's the weirdest fucking idea you've ever had, literally NO ONE but you would read it. So you should write 180k of it and also make it even weirder and yes it will absolutely be the one fic that just about everyone in MCU fandom who knows you exist knows you for, don't even worry about it, this isn't based on a true story at all.

Actually you could probably storyboard this scene to figure out wtf is happening here. Or like just draw literally anything related to this story, a bit of that might work some kinks out of the whole process.

Did you get that snack yet?

Hey go pet your dog, she's very soft and wants attention and also her OWN snack. Pet your dog and eat an apple and idk watch some anime or a weird niche documentary or an even more niche reality show, have you seen Deep-Fried Dynasty yet, it's on Hulu and was surprisingly engrossing.

Why are you even following the rules, we've been over this, they are made up and the points do NOT matter, and also you're not even getting graded for this anyway.

Yeah okay that thing you wrote sucked, but it turns out that Dean Koontz somehow has a writing career and also Twilight happened to all of us, so actually even the suckiest thing you ever write is gonna be better than the perfect ideal of the scene in your head, because the suckiest thing you ever write is something OTHER people can READ. And again: Dean Koontz has a career. Colleen HOOVER has a career. And fucking good for them, they're killing it, they are fucking WRITING!! Who gives a damn anyway, fix it in editing if you're that worried about it, they call it a rough draft for a reason.

Hey if that thing doesn't work you can just, like, delete it. Or rewrite it. Or stick it in your back pocket and do something else for a while. The sunk-cost fallacy is bullshit and you don't have to listen to it.

Maybe drink some more caffeine, that'll calm you down. [ DISCLAIMER: THIS PIECE OF ADVICE TAILORED TO A PERSON WITH MORE ADHD THAN LITERALLY NINETY-FIVE PERCENT OF PEOPLE WHO HAVE BEEN DIAGNOSED WITH ADHD; THAT PERCENTAGE IS ON THE ACTUAL LEGITIMATE DIAGNOSTIC PAPERWORK ]

Seriously you can just write anything you want, nobody can stop you. Only God can judge me and I'm still technically agnostic enough that that's like, thirty-seventy odds at BEST.

God that idea is so niche and weird and niche, better tone it the fuck down to--oh wait no mass appeal means you're writing popcorn and literally no one will remember it in five minutes anyway, stop reflexively censoring yourself for some imaginary audience that will just chew straight through your one-size-fits-all story for The Content(tm) and then immediately move onto the next one without even bothering to hit "kudos" or remember anything about it later. I have written shit so weird that people still remember how weird I was TWENTY-FIVE YEARS LATER, man, and that is why literally anyone will EVER remember that you exist or wanna read your stuff or follow you to a new fandom where they don't even know the source material, fuck it, they'll wiki some shit. And also who cares anyway, it's YOUR stuff and YOU wanna read it. Your agnostically-possible god did not make you this weird and niche for no reason, don't pussy out now!!

Actually you can just write in the bath/on the bus/while waiting for your roommate to finish up with the guy running this estate sale. You've got your phone, right? Fuck it, pack a notebook. Pack an extra notebook. Pack a smaller notebook. Pack a BIGGER notebook.

It's not stupid if it works. You don't have to do what literally ANYONE else is doing, you just have to do what works.

You can literally just skip to the good part and write that, actually. Nobody's gonna throw you in writer-jail. What are we, cops?? Actually do you even need this lead-up here or do you just need to write this one specific blorbo gettin' laid REAL enthusiastically kinkily and/or maybe having a nervous breakdown sobfest over their perception of their personal self-worth and everything else is kinda just window dressing??

I mentioned the snack thing, right? Also sugar rushes are fake but sugar CRASHES are real so maybe be a little careful on that one, maybe buy some trail mix/jerky/smoked salmon, smoked salmon is SO good, smoked salmon is just objectively delicious.

Go talk somebody's ear off about what you're trying to write about. Bonus points if you can find somebody who matches your freak enough that you write, uhhhhh /checks smudged writing on wrist/ a 60k Overwatch fic in two weeks and also like 280k of Witcher fic in less than a year specifically because they're just a real good cheerleader. Wow. Wow that was a lot more Witcher fic than I was aware I had written. THE POINT IS LOOK FOR A WRITING BUDDY, WRITING BUDDIES ARE THE SHIT.

If the writing buddy doesn't work out though the first time I won NaNoWriMo I did it directly out of spite because someone said they didn't think I actually would. So like, spite is always an option, you can always keep that one on tap if you gotta.

Stephen King did not write "On Writing" because he didn't want you to write. Francesca Lia Block did not introduce you to the weirdest and gayest shit teenage!you had ever read so you'd grow up and be a fucking NORMIE about this shit. SIR TERRY PRATCHETT DID NOT WRITE LIKE SIXTEEN OF YOUR FAVORITE BOOKS OF ALL TIME BECAUSE HE DID NOT WANT YOU TO WRITE WHAT YOU WERE ACTUALLY FRICKIN' INTO.

Clean your room. No, better than that. Okay fuck it just set a ten-minute timer and do what you can in that time, we work with the spoons we've got.

Random number generator. Random color generator. Random "hey followers here's a very oblique poll, don't even worry about what it's about, just click a button please and thank you".

Did you know the internet will just GIVE you free graphs/trackers/bullet journal page designs and you can just print 'em out and do whatever the heck you want with 'em?? Yes my new little "color in the squares every day you do the thing" tracker IS just six daily writing tasks and two daily "just go pick some stuff up in this specific room" tasks and that is MY BUSINESS, MS. SIR AND MR. MADAM AND MX. [ INSERT BUZZER SOUND ]. And also, like, has done much better at getting me to do chores than anything else has in a minute, go fig.

You can actually just do whatever you want forever.

Literally, like just forever.

Fuck, how many times HAVE you done this? You'll never get better for good, it'll always go bad again, you'll always get sick again, you'll always get SAD again, you'll always fucking forget how to even DO this again and have to start all over.

Well yes, obviously, because you'll always have done it again. So do it again. One more time.

( seriously though did you take your meds-- )

#anonymous #rinquiry

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artists-ally · 2 years ago

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can i just say you write harvey specter so fucking well i had to take multiple pauses throughout my reading cos i was literally gasping 😭 please write more harvey!! with an exhibitionist and breeding kink maybe? 😮‍💨

{To My Knees} Reader x Harvey Specter

Okay first off thank you so much?? You’re literally so sweet thank you babes. I try to keep my writing as canon as I can so I’ll take this as a good sign!! I got myself a little hot and bothered writing this so... Enjoy!! And as long as you keep showing up in my inbox with more recs I will gladly keep writing for this man 🫶 (please I am so desperate for requests) title from this song <- Highly suggest listening to while reading!!

Word Count: 4,240

Warnings: angst, smut, exhibitionism, breaking kink, degrading, oral (m!receiving) cum eating, Harvey being an asshole.

Summary: you test Harvey’s patience when out to dinner with a prospective client.

Tagging: @rosedpetal

~~~~~~~

When Harvey got a call saying that he was going to have to cancel your planned dinner, to say you were pissed would be an understatement. This night has been planned for weeks because of this exact reason. He always had last minute shit pop up and you were sick of it. So you called him.

“Yn, now is not the time-“

“Harvey, I don’t care. You promised this was going to be our night. I know you’re dedicated to your work and clients, but what about your dedication to me?”

He took a long pause. “I know, I’m sorry. But babe this is- this client isn’t one I can just roll over. It’s for one of the biggest private airlines in the world. I can’t skip this.”

“But you can snub me off?” You were fuming. And maybe you were being a bit aggressive, but he was being a complete asshole.

“If I had another choice, I’d take it but I don’t. I will make it up to you I promise, Yn.”

An idea popped into your head. “What if there is another option?”

“What are you talking about?” He sounded so puzzled.

“Take me with you.”

“No.” He snapped instantly. “Absolutely not, Yn. That would be breaking attorney-client privilege.”

“No it wouldn’t, he isn’t your client yet.” You had him by the balls with that one. You may have not gone to law school but in the years you’ve been with Harvey, you’ve picked up on a few things here and there. This tidbit of information may have just saved your ass and put Harvey’s tail between his legs.

Harvey let out a groan. “Fine. You win. Meet me at Keens at seven?”

You did a silent dance in your kitchen. “I’ll see you there. I promise I’ll be on my best behavior.”

You were absolutely not going to be on your best behavior. You wanted to shove it in Harveys face that you were not second place. In the beginning of your relationship, it was difficult to find a healthy work/personal life balance for him. It took time– and a calendar on your fridge– to get him all to yourself every once and a while. Things had been going great, and the scheduled time together made up for all the hard work in the beginning. But now? Oh, were you going to put on a show.

The plan was to get dressed up in something he couldn’t resist. To pin up your hair in a way that shows off your neck and shoulders. Those drives him crazy the most.

It takes a little bit of deciding before your eyes land on a velvet dress in the back of your closet. It was black and barely went to the middle of your thigh. Around the square neckline was cream colored lace, as well as around the edges of the sleeves. You paired it with some lace stockings and platform heels that made your legs look so long and irresistible.

After painting your lips dark with a cranberry lip-stain, you grabbed a jacket off the rack and headed out.

Much to your surprise, Ray was downstairs, ready to pick you up.

“Don’t you look stunning, my dear,” the older man smiled sweetly.

“Why thank you,” you did a little spin. “Don’t tell Harvey I said this, but I have a plan to ruin his night.”

“Can I ask why?”

“To teach him a lesson. He tried to blow off our date tonight because he got a last minute call with a client. Do you know what he would say to me if I had abandoned him to go cover someone's shift?”

“Nothing helpful,” Ray sighed, turning out of the parking lot and onto the main street.

“Exactly,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “It’s unfair.”

“I don’t disagree with you, but can I offer you some advice?” You nodded. “Don’t agitate him too much? I know you feel like getting some revenge, and by all means, go terrorize that hard-ass. But only a little. He can be very unforgiving when it comes to his clients. Especially when he’s about to close.”

You knew better than to do that. It would land you on his shit-list, and not the fun one that led to him bending you over the nearest surface and taking him at his own will. His business shit-list was one of pure wrath, and you didn’t want to be on that one.

With a sharp left to the valet section, Ray parked the car and opened the door for you.

“Thanks, Ray. I’ll try not to cause too much trouble,” you gave him a subtle wink.

“You and I both know that wont be possible, dear. Have fun,” he gave you an equally daunting look before driving off.

The top of the line steak house stood in front of you, two minutes to seven. Right on time. The host greeted you with a smile and a not-so-subtle once over of your outfit. He showed you to your table, somehow managing to beat Harvey and his prospective client. It couldn’t have been more than four-five seconds when Harvey was brought over, and you stood to greet him.

“Don’t you look lovely,” Harvey grinned. You knew that look on his face; the one that told you to behave or you were going to get it. Anyone else but you would’ve missed it entirely.

“Thank you,” you grinned back, an equally challenging glint in your eye.

“Yn, this is David Cranwall, owner of Mystique Airlines,” Harvey gestured to the man off his left. “David, this is Yn, my girlfriend.”

“A pleasure,” David shook your hand. “Harvey tells me great things. And thank you for your flexibility.”

Flexibility? What in the hell did Harvey tell this guy?

“It’s not an issue.” It is most certainly a big fucking issue.

With a heated glance at Harvey, you took your seats and the two boys began their discussion about company plans and blah blah blah. You prowled the menu and pretended not to pay attention. When the waiter dropped by to grab drink orders, you intentionally ordered a rather expensive bottle of wine for yourself, not bothering to ask if anyone would like to share.

Harvey didn’t mind spending his money on you one bit, encouraged it actually, but he did give you a funny look. All you offered was a shrug before turning back to the waiter.

“Would anyone like to place an appetizer or an entree?” He asked politely, eyes staying on you.

Judging by Harvey’s tone, he was beginning to pick up on my intentions. “No, we’ll order when we’re all ready. I’m still deciding between the prime rib and sirloin.”

Bullshit. Harvey always went with the filet mignon. Especially at Keens. He was buying time. The waiter scurried away and you took a sip of the water that was already there, eyeing Harvey. Two could play this game.

Over the course of the next several minutes, you plotted your next move.

“... And when we finally get the airspace you’re looking for, we can start booking flights to anywhere you can put a billboard. I’m talking about Canada, Indonesia, even Christmas Island if you want. What I’m trying to get at is if you let my firm represent you, we can send your customers anywhere in the world. And that’s a promise.”

As you unrolled the napkin from your utensils, the spoon tumbled off the table. Oops. Harvey shot you an annoyed glare, but you just batted your lashes prettily before bending to pick it up. You knew he watched, because you saw him shift in your seat.

When you came up, you dragged your hand up the side of his leg, pausing at his knee before you came back up.

“Apologies,” you smiled at David, flagging down the waiter for a new one. He was a little too excited to follow your request. While the boys talked, you carefully scooted your chair closer to Harvey, and he didn’t seem to notice.

You wanted his attention.

When the waiter– Max? Mickey? Something like that– came back, the wine and scotch came with it. The three of you placed your orders and a shared appetizer of brussel sprouts. Harvey almost turned green at just the thought of eating those.

Picking the glass up, you tipped the wine a little too quickly for all of it to make it in your mouth. A few drops trickled down your cheek, all the way to your neck. “Jeez, I am clumsy today.” It was all part of the plan.

“Excuse me, my daughter is calling me. Let me take this,” David’s brow furrowed, quickly getting up and turning away.

“Take your time,” Harvey gave a single nod before whipping around to you. “What are you doing?”

“Whatever do you mean, Harvey?” His eyes followed your fingers as they drew along the line of spilled wine that went between your tits. You took that finger all the way to your mouth and were not shy with the show.

“Don’t start with me,” he warned. “I am not in the mood for your… your shenanigans.”

“My shenanigans?” You were a little appalled. You plucked one of the small slices of bread from the basket, dipped it in butter, and popped it in your mouth. “This was supposed to be a You-and-I kind of night. I was not supposed to be the third wheel here. You should be thankful I didn’t walk in here a half hour late, smack you in the face and cause a scene.”

“You wouldn’t do something like that.”

Your eyebrows went up. “Wanna make a bet?”

“No,” he seethed. “Stop whatever you’re doing. Now. This isn’t some type of game, Yn.”

“No, it isn’t. And I don’t think I will. Last time I checked you didn’t own me.” That was going to seal your fate. Harvey sucked in a deep breath and his eyes narrowed. Now he was playing into your games. You had him exactly where you wanted him.

When David returned, he didn’t notice the silent battle between the two of you as he asked about your relationship. How you met, how long you’ve been together. All that boring shit.

“Well, Yn was a friend of a client of mine. She was at the celebratory party and I couldn’t keep away from her. And she liked my jokes, even if she denies it.” “You know they were bad,” you chuckled. “You kept calling me Mrs. Specter from the second you opened your mouth.” “You guys are engaged?” David asked.

“No,” you shook your head. “Not yet, anyway. I already iron all his shirts and fix his tie every morning. I think I have completed the ‘wife starter pack’ to earn a ring.”

That got a laugh out of David. Harvey reached for your hand, and you rested it in your lap. Big mistake. Harvey’s finger pulled back the hem of your skirt and slid down your clothed pussy. It was an effort to not jolt at the sudden pressure.

His finger hooked under the elastic and you covered up the movement of his wrist by adjusting yourself in the seat, uncrossing your legs to give him access. That got a brush of his fingers against where you needed him, a sign of his approval.

It amazed you that David was clueless. Clearly he was a smart guy, but he was oblivious to anything else other than his business. Oblivious to the way Harvey dragged up his finger, circling your clit. To dissipate the urge to lean into it, you crossed your ankles, trapping his hand between your thighs.

He dug his nails into your skin. You flinched, letting out a small noise and knocking into the table with his knees.

“You alright, Yn?” Harvey asked, expression filled with anything but real concern.

To cover up your squirm, you did it again and grit your teeth. “Yeah I’m alright, just a cramp.” As you bent over to soothe the nonexistent ache, you dropped low enough so Harvey had to remove his hand. The glare you gave him was nothing short of pure rage. You knew when you stood up that there would be several nail marks just below the safety of the skirt.

Revenge time.

On your way up you plopped your hand in his lap, maybe a little harder than you intended. Maybe not. He lurched forward a micro-inch, and you had to suppress the giggle that bubbled up.

Their conversation went on, and you listened, getting details here and there. Soon the entrees came out and you all busied yourself with the rich and flavorful course. That was surprisingly the smoothest part of the night. David was very passionate about telling us about his grandson who had just gotten really into horseback riding. All about the different types of jumps and competitions– and how fucking expensive it was. He beamed with pride though, and it was sweet to see.

The waiter stopped by again to collect finished plates and ask for dessert. Without a second thought, you took the menu from his hands and settled on a big piece of blueberry cheesecake.

“I know I was intruding on your original plans, so I will let you all enjoy each other's company. Mr. Specter, it has been a pleasure. I will be in touch to discuss the contract agreement and our plans going forward. Miss Yn, a pleasure to meet you.”

“You as well,” you offered a small wave to his departure, but Harvey walked with him all the way out. Time for step three: get Harvey alone.

He took longer than you would’ve thought, so out of curiosity you sent him a text to see if he was coming back. Of course he was coming back, who could resist spending time with you? Harvey most certainly couldn’t. There were things you could do to that man that no one else had been able to. He was a bit of a control freak. But with you? He wouldn’t want to give his control to anyone other than you. Not just in a day-to-day sense either.

There was nothing more sexually appealing than a man who was confident and could prove his word. At times Harvey was a bit arrogant, but at least he could back it up. He was quick witted and snarky to the core. Extremely petty and a little revenge crazed, but he was damn loyal. Which is what landed you in this situation in the first place.

Harvey-fucking-Reginald-fucking-Specter. Leave it to him to simultaneously break and keep his word at the same time.

Maybe it was because you weren’t entangled in the shit-show that was the corporate law world, but you just didn’t understand why he couldn’t ask to meet in the morning. Seriously, was money worth so much more than the time spent with the person you loved? Now you were just being jealous of David. That he took time away from your and Harvey’s night. But then again you have a right to be pissed. It was supposed to be your night. And without consulting you prior, Harvey went and changed your night.

“Excuse me miss,” a polite, quiet voice said from my side. “Mr. Specter has asked you to meet him. Follow me?”

Oh, well alright then. With a nod, you grabbed your purse and followed the staff member back, through the kitchen, and to this random little room filled with a few stacks of chairs and shelf of cleaning supplies.

“Here you are, Mr. Specter,” she said, like you were some gift or prize being handed to him.

“Thank you, Steph,” Harvey had a polite smile on his face that dropped the moment she closed the door. “I cannot believe you.”

“Oh please, save your breath.”

“Yn, I asked you to do one thing. One fucking thing, and you didn’t do it,” Harvey was furious, making all kinds of crazy gestures.

“This relationship isn’t a one way street, Harvey. And the last time I checked no relationship is, so why are you bossing me around like I’m a child, telling me what I can and can't do?” You came right up to him, inches from his face.

“Because you’re acting like an entitled brat.” He did not just say that. “All I asked was that you don’t cause any trouble and have some fucking manners.”

“And I think I did a pretty good job at that. I didn’t cause a scene, I didn’t blow your goddamn client. Why the hell are you so mad at me? All I did was have a little fun for once.”

“By making a show of yourself and embarrassing me in front of David?” Harvey scoffed. A cruel, wicked sound. “And did you really have to hit me in the balls?”

“Yes,” you smirked. “I did. And clearly you were enjoying my presence whether you want to admit it or not. I certainly wasn’t the one who put your hand between my legs. And by the looks of it, you were having fun playing along with it too.”

Harvey’s eyes narrowed and he crowded you against the wall, palms flat on the space beside your head. “So that’s what this is about?”

You blinked innocently. “I don’t know what you’re-”

“Don’t play stupid with me, Yn.” His hand was firm on your jaw, gripping it in a way that made your lips pucker out. “You know fucking well what you were doing.”

“So what if I did?” You shrugged.

Harvey gripped your throat, bringing you in closely to his lips. “You’re such a fucking brat, you know that? We can’t even enjoy a nice night out without you being desperate and needy for me. You want to be a brat and make a show of yourself? Fine, turn the fuck around and shut up.”

“Harvey-”

“Now.” Bingo. You got him. With a bite to your lip, you turned around and faced the wall, Harvey’s hard cock pressing into your ass. He was not gentle about pulling up your dress and tearing your underwear down your legs. “Yeah, look how fucking messy you are. All because you were mad about sharing?” He clicked his tongue together, fisting your hair between his fingers. “You’re lucky we’re not at home right now or I’d be far less forgiving.”

“What’s stopping you from taking me home then?” You asked, hissing when he pulled your head back.

“I thought I told you to be quiet.”

He let go of your hair and instead of the routine smack he usually gave to your ass, he opted for his nails. Which, objectively, was more painful. To keep quiet, you bit your lip and leaned into it.

The sound of Harvey undoing his pants sent energy pulsing through your body. Your core ached with the need to feel him. And he clearly didn’t feel like wasting any time either.

“If you so much as let out a pathetic whimper, I will put you on the ground and make you regret it. Do you understand?” His hand was back against your scalp, yanking roughly.

“Yes,” you answered.

He drug a couple fingers between your legs, coating his cock in the wetness before stepping flush with your body. As he pressed, he kicked the inside of your ankle to get you to spread your legs apart farther. Harvey’s hands were unforgiving on your hips, pulling you back into his thrusts.

Air was forced from your mouth with the power of it. It was so fucking hard not to beg and plead. But you kept quiet, unlike how Harvey normally likes it. He fucking loved it when you screamed.

“I know how hard it is to not get what you want,” his tone was condescendingly sweet. “But don’t worry, I’ll make sure you know who owns with fucking pussy. We both know you can’t make yourself feel the way I can.”

You quivered at his words, suppressing whimper after whimper when he put his hand back around your throat. He didn’t squeeze, but he pulled you flat against this chest, ass pressed all the way into the hollow of his hips as he pumped in and out. A brutal, unforgiving pace.

“Harvey-” “If you think for a second you’re going to be able to cum,” he let out a vicious laugh. “Oh, pretty girl, do you have another thing coming. You wanted to be a whore, so I’ll fuck you like one. Girls who disobey direct orders don’t have permission to get what they want, do they?”

It was impossible to answer. You couldn’t move with the way you were pinned against him and the wall. In a quick second he spinned you around and lifted up under your thighs, holding you up against the wall. It was cold on your back, despite the heat coursing through your veins with such a fury it made you dizzy.

“Answer me, Yn.”

“I don’t deserve it,” you croaked.

“That’s fucking right. Suck.” He forced his fingers into your mouth and down your throat. Tears bubbled into your eyes and they closed, becoming weak and boneless in his grip.

Harvey bit at your neck and ear, and a pathetic moan slipped from your lips. The fingers in your mouth slipped out and wrapped around your neck, pinning your slumped body up.

“Keep quiet,” he demanded. His other hand slipped from your waist and covered your mouth. Fuck his hips were brutal. His cock even more so at this angle. How he was keeping you up, you’ll never know. But he did, fucking into you like his life depended on it.

You were so close to cumming. You just needed a little bit more friction. So you ground your hips down into his, desperately trying to get off.

He tightened his grip, cutting off more air, and you stopped immediately. “What the fuck did I say, hmm? Try that shit again and I’ll drag you into the main dining area and bend you over my knee for everyone to see what a desperate, cockslut you are. But I think you’d like that, wouldn’t you? Clearly you like making a show of yourself. What do you say? Should we go out there and put on a show?”

The scream that tore from you couldn’t be controlled. The two of you have done some messing around in public before, but nothing like this. Or the promise he made that you’re sure he’d follow through in. It thrilled you, the thought of all those people watching him fuck you… you’re just not sure it’s worth the criminal charges.

“Aww, you’re crying. I’m sorry, pretty girl. Fuck do you look so fucking hot when you cry from my cock. Fuck-” Harvey’s hips stuttered and he almost dropped you. “Don’t be sad you didn’t get to cum, I can figure out a way for you to make it up to me. Fuck- I’m gonna cum.”

You clenched hard around him, tears falling over his fingers as he forced his hips harder harder harder-

“I fucking own this pussy. Yeah you know I do, don’t ever say that I don’t ever again. This is my pussy to fuck and breed.” Harvey bit his own lips purple as he forced you down on his cock when he released. Fuck there was too much- “Take it. Take all of my cum, pretty girl. Yeah that it, take it all out of me and into that pretty cunt of mine.”

You didn’t have a choice. Not that you wanted one anyway.

Harvey held you up and rocked his hips in and out. There was a splat on the floor and he looked down, smirking like the devil.

“Was there too much of my cum to keep all inside that tight pussy of mine? Why don’t you get on your fucking knees and clean me up since you want to waste it.”

You obeyed and sank to the floor. Harvey forced his cock between your lips, and the familiar taste of him warmed your mouth. His thick length touched the back of your throat, and you gagged, but Harvey only grabbed the back of your head and forced you all the way down. His pelvic bone was flush with your nose, and more tears were forced from your eyes.

“Next time you wanna try some shit like that, remember who you’re dealing with, Yn. When we get home I am going to be far from gentle when I get back between your legs.”

He pulled out of your mouth and hauled you up to your feet. The feeling of his fingers inside you filled you with sparks as he coated his fingers before making you clean those off too.

“Good girl,” he praised. “Now, fix yourself so we can get out of here and I can punish you properly.”

Harvey fixed his pants and tucked in his shirt, leaving you all by yourself to clean up his mess. It had gone exactly how you wanted it to. Whether Harvey saw that or not, you didn’t know, but you have always had him under your control. You could make him smile just as easily as you could make him pull stunts like this one.

Curiosity and excitement filled you as you slid your sticky panties back on and fluffed your hair to one side before following Harvey out the door.

#harvey specter #harvey specter suits #suits #harvey specter x reader #harvey specter smut #harvey specter fanfiction #suits smut #smut

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eevees-hobbies · 10 months ago

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HIHIHI may I request some Sakura please, your greatness 🧎‍♀️ who despite his tough boi act, absolutely worships the ground his lover walks on and showers them in love (before, during AND after sex) oooou it’s rotting my brain i need him to cuddle me stat

Author’s Note: Ah, so you’ve come to me with a Sakura request, I see. And a cute one like this, too? I get it, anon…I do. I get it because you and I are a lot alike. Sometimes you like the idea of Sakura bending you over and delivering loud, nasty, toe-curling backshots to you as he talks shit in your ear (same, same), but other times you crave a different version of him. You crave a soft Sakura, a comfortable Sakura, a tame Sakura that doesn’t flinch when you touch him but instead leans into your touch and looks at you with absolute devotion, right? Me fucking too. So you want broken-in, house-trained, and domesticated, Sakura? My pleasure.

Content Warning: Fem!ReaderXHaruka Sakura. Business (fluff) in the front & party (smut) in the back! Smut will be below the last divider. Sweet Sakura, who shows you love through some love-language type things. And then intimate love-making. You make love while half-asleep (mmm). Tame smut. Eve mentions Bridgerton again because there is now continuity in my stories, and I’m not sorry about it (don’t ask me about the show; I’m on season 1, episode 3, but I love the idea of it). Minors Do Not Interact.

Word Count: 2K

Divider by Saradika. Banner by me.

Sakura had watched you all day, and he hated what he was seeing. You two had planned a beach day on a rare day off for him and a light work calendar day for you. But when the universe hears about plans, it often laughs aloud and offers a wrench.

He couldn’t quite understand the intricacies of your work-from-home job beyond that shit was hitting the fan. You sat dutifully in front of your laptop, answering constant pings coming from god-knows-where and from god-knows-who to the point that Sakura felt he could time them perfectly.

Ping

…

Ping

Yup, perfectly timed.

And with each call or message you answered, he saw your shoulders rise closer to your neck, the tension making you hunch in a way you’d certainly feel later.

And he couldn’t help you with whatever the fuck KPIs or logic models were, but he could help you in other ways. So, he grabbed his keys and set out for the day.

As your workday concluded, your fingers found the bridge of your nose in an attempt to massage away the tension migraine that was rearing its head. Not only was today stressful, but as you looked around your empty apartment, you found Sakura to be gone. You hoped he wasn’t upset about not going to the beach, but you’d understand if he was.

As you stood out of your ergonomic office chair to stretch, ready to open the refrigerator to cook something up quickly, the door to your tiny abode opened.

You let out a breathy laugh—Sakura is blocked from your line of vision, and only a few single tufts of black and white hair peek over the various restaurant and grocery bags in his arms. As you croon your neck to watch him struggle his way inside, you also see that he’s carrying a bouquet of flowers with an unmistakable logo tucked firmly under his armpit.

He’s grumbling as he sets the items down on the kitchen island; something about hating living so high up, but you can’t bring yourself to dial in on his ramblings as you read the names of your favorite places on the bags.

“You got us ramen, kitten?”

“Yeah. Miso with extra beansprouts like you like, with some Gyoza on the side. It’s probably cold since it’s like climbing a fuckin’ mountain to get up here, but I can heat everything back up.”

He begins removing food, snacks, face masks, popcorn, and drinks from the bags. Your heart pangs with remorse at even thinking he was upset about your inability to go to the beach. Sakura is complicated, but he’s not childish.

“Also, Umemiya said something about the flowers, but you might have to text him about that. I zone out when he starts talking plant-talk.”

“Same,” your arms find his waist, your cold hands sneaking up his shirt and rubbing at his prominent v-line as you wrap yourself around his whole person. “Thank you for this. I love you so much.”

Sakura blushes, a personal trait he’s tried to stop fighting long ago. “Sure, but go ahead and sit on the couch. New episode of Bridgerton tonight?”

You rub your palms together excitedly, “I’ll get the fuzzy socks, kitten!”

After getting through half an episode of Bridgerton, Sakura noticed you were fighting a losing battle with your sleep needs. Heavy eyelids and your head growing slack on his shoulder were all the signs he needed to turn off the TV and scoop you up in his arms.

“Bath,” you mumble against his chest.

“Bath,” he offers in return.

“You sure?” he mumbles against your lips, “your eyes are barely open.”

“Mmm, but my legs are open, baby. See?” You wrap your thighs around his midsection, trapping him in and pulling him closer.

The heat radiating from your clothed cunt is undeniable, you’ve probably wanted him all night, and fuck, he felt the same way.

Sakura’s lips trace the curve of your jaw with gentle kisses and flicks of his tongue until his face is nestled in the crook of your neck. Your pulse is calm—so slow that he wonders if you managed to fall asleep until you shift under him and let out a sigh.

“Sakura...need you.”

“Yeah, babe. You got me. I’m right here.”

As he pulls the seat of your underwear aside, the slit of his cock already giving way to shiny droplets of precum, he sinks into you with a sigh escaping his lips at the familiarity of you. He can’t help but think of all the ways he loves you. Moments like this make him feel like the best version of himself—someone worthy of being loved and giving love.

He briefly presses his forehead into the valley of your breasts, letting your slick walls adjust to his girth. You’re wearing one of his white tee’s and smell so unmistakably like him that he’s positive you put on his deodorant after your bath. The thought of being so connected that you dress and smell like him while still maintaining your own smell makes him want you more.

His cheeks rub against your breasts, soft and heavy even through the pesky fabric, and because even one barrier is a barrier too many, he is now lifting the shirt over your head and tossing it to the corner of the room.

His cock twitches at the erotic sight of you, fully naked except with your panties shifted ever so slightly to the side, puffy pussy lips wrapped around his cock, and hole stuffed to the brim with him. He’d call it a fantasy if this weren’t his real life.

His feather-soft touches—reserved only for you—cascade from your stomach down your hip before the idea of not moving and not making love to you becomes too unbearable. His hand grips one of your thighs, and he pulls his hips back slightly, dragging the length of him against your silken walls and then forward, your pussy so wet, so creamy, and welcoming for him.

In his mind, he’s giving thanks, thanks to the shitty universe that finally felt enough pity for him that he was blessed with you.

He has to steel his resolve, however, because when he begins to think like this—think about how lucky he is to have you, to be buried inside of you—he’s prone to lose himself to you far earlier than he’d like and he wants this tryst to last.

“Haru, feel so good.” your words are slurred and dripping with the slow drawl that comes with sleep, but your body is deliciously reactive for him. The creamy sounds of his cock mixing with your thick slick fills the room so lewdly and loudly that it makes both your cheeks heat up as your love is audibly personified.

“You do, too. P-pussy feels amazing.”

He loves you so much his heart hurts. His other hand finds yours, entangling his long fingers with your own. And the way you rub at his bruised knuckles, fresh from a fight, doesn’t go unnoticed by him. Even in your half-awake state, you still care for him and want to ease his discomfort.

He slots his lips against yours where they belong, wishing that he could give you a more heated kiss, the kind that you like where he lets you suck on his tongue, but this is perfect, too.

You open your mouth, ready, so willing to accept him. He’d never say no to you, and he’s not going to start tonight. His tongue eagerly slips into your warm cavern and is immediately greeted by yours as he traces and flirts with it.

God, the taste of you is perfect.

If he could drink every bit of your saliva, thick and minty, he would.

Sakura pulls back, his chest aching a bit as he does so, but this question is important.

Breathy, soft whispers from a mind and body that is so lost in his lust for you can’t stop him from checking on your well-being. “Is this… you ok?”

“Mmmhmm”

His thrusts are steady and deep, practically slow, as he pulls out until the head of his dick stretches your tight hole to the thickest part of him. He’s then languidly pushing back in, savoring you and how you feel around him. He knows the feeling so well, yet it feels novel every time.

His eyes watch your face as your brows furrow; your tongue darts out past your lips to moisten them, the way your mouth falls open when he grinds the tip of his dick against your g-spot.

You’re so beautiful.

His hand travels down and finds your clit. His thumb gently pushes the hood back, flattening the pad of his thumb he gently flicks at the sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re so warm and drooling with want from him that he lets out a whimper.

“I love you.”

Your breathing quickens, but you lap up his words like they are a scarcely available resource. When Haruka Sakura tells you he loves you, he means it.

“Love you too, Kitten.”

“I want to make you cum. You think you can be a good girl for me and cum?”

“Yes, baby, I’d love that. Almost there, please don’t stop, Haru.”

“No, never.”

He leans down and takes a nipple into his mouth, moaning as your fingers rake through his hair. Every part of you is his favorite, but your breasts hold a special place in his heart. He sucks on them maybe a bit too eagerly, but you don’t seem to mind; as he pops each nipple out his mouth, they glisten with saliva and stiffen into needy peaks.

Your pussy is clenching him more now; he can tell that you’re close, and he loves that he can do this for you.

His thrusts have picked up slightly in speed, but they’re harder—communicating more want—the headboard now bucking against the wall and making consistent banging noises. As your cum splashes out of you with every flick of his hips, your inner thighs and his abs being coated in nothing but your slick, you pull him down flush against your soft body.

You see your orgasm before you feel it like fireworks exploding in your brain and setting off each pleasure sensor as your eyes dilate. You get that wonderful lightheaded feeling that comes with taking too many rapid breaths in a short amount of time.

Sakura moans as you clench around him, your walls gripping the head of his cock and massaging that sensitive spot on the underside of his dick. He can feel hot, white streams of his cum pouring into you, filling up every inch of you until your walls are painted white with his seed. He gives you a few more final, deep thrusts to ensure that his nut is deep and buried in what’s his, his thighs trembling at the idea of you being stuffed to the brim with his love, making him absolutely weak.

“Mmm, pervert. Did you just nut inside of me?”

He pulls away, leaning across the bed to grab a towel that’s settled nearby—first to clean you up, dabbing at your folds and thighs, and then himself.

“Sorry, should have used your face for target practice. Go pee so you don’t get a UTI.”

He helps you up; your eyes are still half-open as he guides you to the bathroom. As he hears the click of the door and the sound of a steady stream hitting sitting water, he turns to continue his routine.

Sakura grabs the previously discarded white tee, places it on the bed for you, and then heads to the kitchen. He grabs a glass of water and a granola bar, just in case, and places both items on your side of the nightstand.

He looks down at the sheets and briefly considers changing them; streaky, white, wet stains stand out as evidence of your lovemaking, but he hears the sound of water coming from a faucet, and he doesn’t want to hinder your sleep any longer.

You exit the bathroom, rubbing your eyes and yawning.

“Here,” he says, getting up with the shirt, pulling it over your head and down your body, and then guiding you back to bed.

You snuggle up next to him, and you drift off. Typically, Sakura might spend this time staring at you, wondering what you’re dreaming about as your face gives way to adorable expressions in your sleep, but this time, he joins you in your slumber instead.

#anon fulfilled #wind breaker #windbreaker smut #sakura haruka smut #haruka sakura smut #haruka sakura x reader #sakura x reader #sakura haruka x reader #haruka sakura #anon #request

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fabaulti · 2 years ago

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I think most of us should take the whole ai scraping situation as a sign that we should maybe stop giving google/facebook/big corps all our data and look into alternatives that actually value your privacy.

i know this is easier said than done because everybody under the sun seems to use these services, but I promise you it’s not impossible. In fact, I made a list of a few alternatives to popular apps and services, alternatives that are privacy first, open source and don’t sell your data.

right off the bat I suggest you stop using gmail. it’s trash and not secure at all. google can read your emails. in fact, google has acces to all the data on your account and while what they do with it is already shady, I don’t even want to know what the whole ai situation is going to bring. a good alternative to a few google services is skiff. they provide a secure, e3ee mail service along with a workspace that can easily import google documents, a calendar and 10 gb free storage. i’ve been using it for a while and it’s great.

a good alternative to google drive is either koofr or filen. I use filen because everything you upload on there is end to end encrypted with zero knowledge. they offer 10 gb of free storage and really affordable lifetime plans.

google docs? i don’t know her. instead, try cryptpad. I don’t have the spoons to list all the great features of this service, you just have to believe me. nothing you write there will be used to train ai and you can share it just as easily. if skiff is too limited for you and you also need stuff like sheets or forms, cryptpad is here for you. the only downside i could think of is that they don’t have a mobile app, but the site works great in a browser too.

since there is no real alternative to youtube I recommend watching your little slime videos through a streaming frontend like freetube or new pipe. besides the fact that they remove ads, they also stop google from tracking what you watch. there is a bit of functionality loss with these services, but if you just want to watch videos privately they’re great.

if you’re looking for an alternative to google photos that is secure and end to end encrypted you might want to look into stingle, although in my experience filen’s photos tab works pretty well too.

oh, also, for the love of god, stop using whatsapp, facebook messenger or instagram for messaging. just stop. signal and telegram are literally here and they’re free. spread the word, educate your friends, ask them if they really want anyone to snoop around their private conversations.

regarding browser, you know the drill. throw google chrome/edge in the trash (they really basically spyware disguised as browsers) and download either librewolf or brave. mozilla can be a great secure option too, with a bit of tinkering.

if you wanna get a vpn (and I recommend you do) be wary that some of them are scammy. do your research, read their terms and conditions, familiarise yourself with their model. if you don’t wanna do that and are willing to trust my word, go with mullvad. they don’t keep any logs. it’s 5 euros a month with no different pricing plans or other bullshit.

lastly, whatever alternative you decide on, what matters most is that you don’t keep all your data in one place. don’t trust a service to take care of your emails, documents, photos and messages. store all these things in different, trustworthy (preferably open source) places. there is absolutely no reason google has to know everything about you.

do your own research as well, don’t just trust the first vpn service your favourite youtube gets sponsored by. don’t trust random tech blogs to tell you what the best cloud storage service is — they get good money for advertising one or the other. compare shit on your own or ask a tech savvy friend to help you. you’ve got this.

#internet privacy #privacy #vpn #google docs #ai scraping #psa #ai #archive of our own #ao3 writer #mine #textpost

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awionetka · 7 days ago

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❝ 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑'𝐀𝐂𝐓𝐄 ❞ ft. 𝐑𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥

in which you want nothing but to finally film your magnum opus. so much so that you find yourself willing to trade part of your freedom for a chance at greatness.

𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐫: slice of life...? mostly angst for now, but also heartwarming at times. arranged marriage / marriage of convenience. (old money) actor!rafayel x (sort of new money, sort of aspiring) film director!you. some entp x intj dynamics but maybe i'm just projecting. is he misunderstood or simply spoiled? let’s take a look. just showbiz, baby!

𝐜𝐰: foul language. alcohol(ism...?). (cigarette) smoking. trust and attachment issues. unhealthy coping mechanisms. burning of a building.

𝐰𝐜: circa 14k… when will i ever get to the point honestly

You shifted in your place, uncertain if you’d heard him well. "Pardon?"

Nikolai, one of your assistants, sighed in defeat, turning his laptop around and presenting you with a rather unpleasant sight.

As your eyes shifted quickly from word to unbelievably audacious word, you realised that you’d heard him incredibly well.

"You cannot possibly be serious."

There was a certain bashfulness in his gaze, as though it was him taking on the responsibility of shattering your long-held dream. "Apparently they’ll be starting a new mini series on some streaming platform. That’s what they used as an excuse at least."

"Motherfuckers…" you muttered under your breath, knuckles turning white as you gripped onto the chair situated in front of you. "I’ve spent years working on this goddamn script and they know that better than anybody else!"

And to think that merely a couple of hours ago you were cheerfully visiting local diners, a box of fries in one hand and a worn out notebook in the other, searching for the perfect place to shoot at. Swallowing the growing lump in your throat (or at least trying your absolute best to do so), you forced yourself to come up with a way to solve this brand new, soul crushing problem.

Nikolai reached out towards you awkwardly, patting the table right next to where your hand was resting.

"For what it’s worth… you’ll succeed. You always do."

Do you now?

"Thanks."

"No problem, boss." He smiled, already rising from his spot, laptop propped under left arm. "Oh, also. I almost forgot to remind you. Your meeting with the marketing team director is scheduled for half past six this evening. I noted it down in your calendar some time ago, so I just wanted to make sure you didn’t forget."

Shit.

Of course you forgot to check that god forsaken calendar.

"Sure thing, Nikolai." You beamed right back at him, raising your arm to wave him goodbye. "I’ve already made the necessary arrangements."

Not only your beloved project had been brutally tossed away like garbage, but now you also had to spend a fortune to secure a last minute reservation at one of the most luxurious restaurants in the district.

Days like these truly did make life worth living.

The Linkon Retreat served primarily seafood dishes.

Which was unfortunately a loss in your book, since you’d rather eat pretty much anything else other than fish, shrimp and ostriches.

Malena – your manager, an (almost worryingly so) optimistic UPenn graduate with a gummy smile and a plethora of old school tattoos, seemed to enjoy the dietary options quite a lot, however.

"He agreed to the arrangements I’d made and said he’ll go over it with the board but…" She chased a piece of shrimp with her fork for a bit before stuffing it in her mouth. "Let’s be honest here, I will probably have to constantly nag him until he does. I truly have no idea whatsoever why nobody in this field can actually carry out their responsibilities like a normal person."

You just hummed in response, staring down at your own plate.

The waiter managed to find you a dish that didn’t contain the entire oceanic ecosystem, but it still seemed unappetising. At this point, you couldn’t care less about Malena’s updates, her polite inquiries towards you or literally anything else for that matter. The safety of your flat half an hour away from this place was calling you relentlessly and, God be your witness, you were about to pick up.

"Hey…" She cleared her throat. "Are you doing alright?"

Not even bothering to look her way, you downed the rest of your drink.

"Sure."

Malena reached over the table to wrap her hand around your curled fist.

"Love, I am so sorry." Her expression softened. "I’ve heard what happened. You’ve worked so hard for this…"

You shrugged her off. "Live, laugh, learn to lose, isn’t it?"

She only frowned at that, clearly unamused by your half-hearted attempt at a joke.

"Doesn’t matter anyway." You tried to hide your discomfort by pretending to stretch. "Let’s not dwell on it, yeah?"

"You know…" There was a certain look in Malena’s eyes as she spoke, one you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to know the origin of. "There is something I’ve thought of that could possibly help you out. However, it’s not exactly… a conventional solution."

You raised a brow, wordlessly urging her to continue.

"Well… You know that I’m not just your manager, right?"

"Ouch...?"

She rolled her eyes. "Ugh, I didn’t mean it like that. You know it."

"Suppose so." You gestured at one of the waiters, requesting yet another drink. Your companion for the evening chose not to speak on that, even when she saw you absentmindedly checking your nails, clearly not expecting much from the upcoming offer.

"Anyway." She cleared her throat. "I took this job recently, it’s more of a PR thing, really."

"Are you trying to turn your new client into some grandiose lesson for me?"

"God, no. It’s not like you’d listen to my advice anyway."

A fairly amused chuckle escaped your lips. "Fair point. Go on."

"This family… They’re struggling with their public image quite a bit. However, their finances are doing pretty well, considering."

God, she surely knew how to keep her interlocutor on their toes.

"Okay."

"It’s not like I’ve set this up beforehand, you know." Her gaze kept slipping away, as if she became embarrassed. "Just… on my way here, I figured it out. God, I am so sorry about your project…"

That you just couldn’t hear anymore. Everyone was sorry. Everyone wished they could do something. But without actual deeds, all these words were worth less than dirt stuck to the soles of your shoes. It’d be better if they just didn’t mention it at all.

"Malena,” you chose to say instead. "I appreciate your concern, but please get to the point."

She sighed, leaning over the table just slightly.

"Would you be opposed to signing a business contract with them?"

A what now?

"Sorry?"

"Don’t fret, I can vouch for them. Well… sort of. I’d be the one writing the agreement anyway."

"Hey. Hold on a second." Your left hand immediately went up to stop Malena right in her tracks. "Agreement on what? They’d fund my filming, that you’ve made quite clear, but what do they want in return? For me to go around chirping about how wonderful they are?"

"Not… exactly."

"Malena–"

Your reply was cut short by a human-shaped shadow appearing on the tablecloth in front of you. Malena rose to her feet in an instant, suddenly much more cheerful than just seconds before.

"Oh, perfect timing! Good evening, dear!" she exclaimed, shaking the unknown woman’s hand with deliberation. "Love, there is someone I’d like to you meet."

The woman stood before Malena looked and felt like royalty. Tall and striking, in a magnificent, shimmering gown made of dark blue velvet complete with delicate pearl detailing. She lifted one of her hands clad in an ivory glove that reached past her elbow and you froze, panicking.

"You must be the brilliant director," she spoke, smiling in an utmost dignified way that left your throat dry. "I am so pleased to finally meet you, I’ve heard many great things."

Malena chimed in, watching excitedly as the two of you shook hands.

"This is Lady Talia, my newest associate."

Your brows furrowed involuntarily, yet you didn’t dare to speak just yet.

"Lady Talia, please, take a seat. Would you like anything to eat? Or a drink perhaps?"

Watching as the woman settled in the booth right next to you, back straight and elbows nestled neatly at her sides, you couldn’t help but wonder what on bloody Earth Malena had cooked up for you in your absence.

Newest associate meant newest client, an easygoing euphemism created to form some sort of bond between the employer and employee. That much you knew. So, Lady Talia had to be one of the apparently disgraced family members in urgent need of Malena’s assistance. And those two simply couldn’t coexist in your eyes, not with the way she held her champagne glass in between two fingers while politely inquiring about tonight’s special dish, gracing the nervous waitress with a distinguished smile on her lips.

She had probably never shopped at a farmer’s market before, wore nightgowns instead of pyjamas to bed and put out candles with one of those bell-resembling devices instead of extinguishing it with her fingers. You tried long and hard to imagine her pulling up to a McDonald’s drive thru, but it just wouldn’t stick.

If you were to be the one to help her with a PR problem, it would mean that Malena considered you a god.

"Love, are you alright?"

You looked up, meeting your manager’s worried expression across the oval table. The corners of her lips twitched slightly, as if she was nervous.

"Perfectly fine," you assured, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

Lady Talia also looked your way.

"I am glad to hear that." There was a certain warmth in her tone as she spoke. "Miss Malena told me of your recent difficulties regarding your film."

Oh, of course she did.

"Is that so?"

The woman hummed, glancing down at her drink.

"I believe we could be of some help." A pause. "Only if that'd be your wish, of course."

For a while you stayed silent, trying to come up with an eloquent and polite reply that hid how anxious you’d become. Trying to navigate this game of distinguished business offers you felt as though you were set up for failure from the very start.

Malena cleared her throat.

"I had only just gotten to explaining the possibility of a contract, Lady Talia. There is still plenty to discuss. But, I do believe we are on the right track here. It is certainly a lucrative arrangement, for all of us."

A droplet of champagne slid over the rim of the glass, making its unhurried way down.

"For you, it would mean full financial support of your project," Malena continued on. "Lady Talia would provide you with possibilities you wouldn’t have encountered otherwise. You’re free to film wherever you wish. It could be the moon for all we know."

"I see."

"On the other end…" She sighed, clearly avoiding your scrutinising gaze. "The Qi family would benefit greatly from your position in the professional scene and associating themselves with your line of work. Public appearances, a dinner party or two, a movie screening. Two birds with one stone."

"And how exactly would that happen…?"

"Now, that is trickier to describe. However, we–"

Lady Talia placed her glass back on the table with a dull clink.

"I would like you to marry my nephew."

A moment of silence. Someone started laughing a couple of tables over. One of the waiters dropped a fork on their way back to the kitchens.

Then, a storm.

"WHAT THE ACTUAL FU–"

Cigarette smoke furled around your form as you paced from one side of the terrace to another, fuming.

"I’m sorry." Malena was one step behind you, trying her absolute best to console you with her pleading eyes. "If I only had more time, I would have explained to you–"

"Explained what exactly?" you snapped back, turning around to face her. "That you decided to just marry me off like it’s the 1920s? What the hell, Malena!"

She seemed remorseful, she really did, but you just couldn’t help yourself. First you lost the biggest opportunity of a lifetime, then forced yourself to commit literal bribery to get a table at some boujee restaurant where even a glass of water cost an arm and a leg, and now you were being asked to get engaged to a man you’ve never even laid your eyes upon, because apparently he held such a catastrophe of a reputation, the only thing that could save his sorry ass was public hand holding and tagging along to your events.

And the undeniably worst of it all – he was an actor.

"I’ll be frank with you here," you stated, voice low and almost threatening. "Shit like this only works in movies. And even there it barely makes a fucking difference. I don’t see why I would babysit a twenty-something old man who crashes two cars every month and gets banned from every foreign country he visits."

Malena whined in response, knees bent as if she was about to get down on the cold tiles and beg.

"It was only three countries, not all!" You rolled your eyes at that. "Love, please, consider it. I mean, come on, they’re filthy rich! You’d live in a house so big you probably wouldn’t even have to see him much. And she offered to put a time limit on it too! As soon as he hits forty, you’re free to file for divorce!"

You scoffed, turning around to take another drag.

"Oh, that is just lovely, isn’t it?" Malena looked away at the bitter tone of your words. "Just a couple of years, maybe the most crucial ones of my life, maybe not. But who can tell! Especially when there’s such a magnificent man by your side!"

The silence that stretched in between you two seemed non-disputable, final. You didn’t look her way and she made no further effort to convince you. The last remnant of Malena’s presence was a thick purple envelope she placed on the railing in front of you. The golden seal shimmered in the light pouring from the wide terrace doors behind your back.

The air began to gradually thin out and you stood there, watching as cigarette ash coated the edges of the expensive stationery.

Oh, what a horrible, horrible mistake you’d made.

The silky fabric of your dress pants kept tugging at the underside of your heels as you made your way to the correct seat.

They must’ve splurged quite a bit (well, Lady Talia must’ve splurged quite a bit), just to situate you two on the highest balcony of the opera hall. Actually, it would’ve been much more fitting if you said you alone, since Rafayel, your "date", was still nowhere to be seen.

You were supposed to meet somewhere in the main hall, maybe have a cup of coffee or tea in the cafeteria downstairs, before proceeding to go watch the ballet performance. It was an agreeable spot for the first meeting between two (potential) soon-to-be business partners, one that arrived into your hands in the form of a scented envelope with a personal ticket and a brief, printed invitation.

You’d never seen a ballet before, although you did listen to all the musical pieces included in The Nutcracker back to back when you were still a university student. It seemed personal, the way it just so happened to be the very play you were somewhat familiar with, as though it was chosen for you on purpose. So you thought and thought, and then drank half a bottle of wine before fishing out Lady Talia’s business card from the inside pocket of your jacket and sending her a quick text, confirming your attendance.

Defeated, at last. Tempted so easily into agreement simply because your eyes managed to catch the name of your favourite composer. That night you went to bed more disappointed in yourself than you were back when you allowed some rookie to beat you in the high school screenwriting contest. The bitterness of it remained somewhat the same.

The attendees below moved along the seats, slowly finding their assigned places. You observed them through a cautious, guarded lens, eyeing their tailored attire and exquisite jewellery.

This wasn’t where you belonged, not in the slightest. Your blouse didn’t fit you quite right, pooling under your arms in an almost worrisome manner. The bracelet draped over your wrist seemed too shiny and too dull at the same time. There were leftovers from yesterday’s casserole in your fridge and half a packet of off-brand maltesers waiting for you back home. And, truth be told, you considered whether or not that was where you were actually meant to currently be.

It would be easy, sneaking off, while hopefully not getting too tangled in the heavy curtains which guarded the door to the main corridor. Two buses back home, maybe a double serving of raspberry sherbet on your way there. You weren’t above taking off your heels and walking the remaining distance barefoot either, already predicting the dull ache your feet were about to inevitably suffer.

However, the atmosphere of the opera hall was utterly mesmerising. It was almost magical, the way you felt in that moment, as though you were royalty yourself. How could you deny yourself such an indulgence? Especially when it was completely and utterly free of charge.

Besides, as far as you were aware, your companion could even skip the entire event altogether, crashing some party or terrorising an art auction instead. That seemed more up his alley, at least from what you’d managed to rip out of Malena during your earlier interrogations.

No, you were already there. Lights were beginning to dim and the lorgnette you managed to find at the very back of your underwear drawer laid patiently on your lap, waiting to be of use.

He’d have to personally drag you out of that seat to get you to leave.

The whispers gradually quieted and you eased further into your chair, excitement creeping in as you waited for the performance to start. The twenty year old you squealed almost audibly when the crimson curtain began to rise. This is for her.

Time seemed to pass differently in the opera hall, as if you entered some sort of enchanted bubble that kept you hidden from the outside world. Your chest rose as the various instruments picked up their pace and eased back again as soon as the dancers gracefully landed back on their feet. It didn’t take long for you to forget how you even secured your ticket for this performance in the first place. How could it matter, when your entire being physically shook with each step, each musical note?

In fact, you were so immersed in the performance, you didn’t even register where those annoying sounds were coming from at first. Furrowing your brows, you tried to shut them out, but to no avail. Then, giving up, you spun around in your seat, just in time to see a silhouette slipping through the doorway.

"Thanks, man."

No fucking way in hell this guy actually dared to show up.

The shuffling continued on as he made his way to the seat next to yours. The chair creaked under him as he draped himself over it leisurely.

"These doors are menace, I can say that much." He sighed, head slightly turning in your direction. "So… what’d I miss?"

You didn’t bother to look his way, although the closeness of his hand placed on your armrest irked you to no end.

He muttered something again, shuffling in his seat.

"Can you stop?" you hissed at Rafayel, finally giving him half a glance.

His eyes met you somewhere halfway, shining in the dark almost unnaturally. The corners of his lips twitched slightly as he tilted his head to the side.

"Are you mad at me?"

Oh, the sheer audacity of that question.

"Take a wild guess."

He let out an amused chuckle and it took every single muscle of yours, straining and fighting in order to NOT give in to your violent impulses.

For a while, it was quiet indeed, even though his fingers tapped along to some imaginary beat he’d conjured up in that brain of his. God be your witness, you could see loud and clear exactly why people absolutely despised him.

You were slowly beginning to drift back into the magical state induced by the ballet, when suddenly an outstretched hand came into your view.

"I’m Rafayel."

"I’m aware." You swatted his palm away, refusing to give it a shake. "Now back off."

His eyes widened in pure bewilderment.

"I’m sorry?"

"Oh, you will be even more sorry if you don’t close your mouth right this second, I can tell you that."

The sigh that escaped his lips sounded more theatrical than the performance you were trying to watch.

"Forgive me for merely wanting to get to know you… What an unpardonable crime."

With blood already boiling in your veins, you turned around abruptly to face him yet again.

"You had time for that before the ballet. Missed your chance. Not my problem. Now sit back down, stay quiet and for the love of God, stop fucking moving so I can watch the performance in peace."

Not even waiting for his reply, you let your eyes drift back to their rightful spot. Your mind, however, refused to return where you wanted it to. Instead, it wandered around the balcony, looming over the odd presence situated at your right. You could barely make anything out in this light, but you swore you saw him somewhere. Definitely not in a high end production, not with that boyish grin of his. Maybe some romantic comedy or one of those low budget tv shows that run for fifteen seasons, supplying the viewers with a whole bunch of nothing. He’d definitely suit something of that sort. It was an easy, non-demanding job, ideal for pretentious rich people who wanted to play house for a bit.

Although, you kept questioning yourself how exactly he’d ruined his family’s good name. No background research was made on your part since you met his aunt, there were more pressing matters on hand and frankly, you didn’t really care. Malena supplied you with enough entry level information to last you up until he finally hit the forty year mark. Anything besides that seemed rather redundant.

But what if he was addicted to gambling? Handling stolen antics? Did he sell hard drugs?

Suddenly wary of the fact that he was nothing more than a stranger, you sneaked a quick glance at him, only to jump in your seat as soon as his eyes met yours. Rafayel was already staring at you.

He let out an amused chuckle, clearly pleased with himself. Didn’t say a single word.

Good.

Because the vivid image of his multi-coloured eyes, part ocean and part sunset, sent an unfamiliar shiver down your spine.

The performance was nearing its end. Your companion stayed utterly silent till the very final musical note that graced your ears that night. Not like that could help much at this point; not when your heart was racing faster than your usually rational mind could make its calculations.

Applause filled the room and the two of you joined in, rising from your seats politely. You were suddenly a little too aware of how crumpled your pants looked in this light and that singular broken fingernail on your left hand.

His hands looked positively pristine. Adorned with intricate rings of all shapes and sizes, made of gold and gems. A thin, shimmering bracelet hung loosely around his wrist, making you hide your own jewellery under the fabric of your blouse. It’s a good thing you didn’t let him shake your hand before.

The attendees were unhurriedly making their way to the exits, prompting you to do the same. Rafayel motioned you to go first, still situated at a reasonable distance. As he was pulling back the curtain to let you pass, it happened – the narrow streak of light allowed you to see a bit more of his face.

There could be no doubts whether or not him and Lady Talia were related, not with how regal he looked in that moment. Dressed in an écru shirt with wide sleeves and a hand-sewn waistcoat fitted neatly to his figure, Rafayel could very much be a prince of some far away region, where sun set late and all the palace windows were open wide to let in the evening breeze.

And then you saw it – the soft arch of his nose, sprinkled with the faintest of freckles, his long bottom eyelashes casting lazy shadows across his cheeks and the most obvious, vulgar hickey right at the base of Rafayel’s neck.

All the yelling that surrounded you in that instant made your head throb and throat go dry. Already partly turned away, you hissed as Rafayel looped his arm with yours and tugged in the opposite direction.

"The exit is that way!" he yelled, unnervingly close to your face.

"I don’t give a fuck!" you shouted back at him, making sure his right eardrum wasn’t left in too good of a condition.

Swatting his hand away, you slipped past one of his bodyguards and the crowd of fans surrounding him, ignoring the way he called for you to come back.

That face of his, those sharp yet soft features, all of it framed by wavy strands of lilac hair, of course you’ve seen it. It belonged to the Rafayel, rising star turned misfit, the one who drove one of his most luxurious cars right off the cliff for a movie scene, showed up to auctions where they sold his own memorabilia, only to buy them all and toss in the trash. Rafayel who gave long, detailed interviews on how exhausting it was to be the people’s sweetheart. The one who whisked away some European princess a day before her wedding, took her on a week long cruise and left her right back where he found her. Modern day casanova, lover boy extraordinare.

And now, apparently, also your to-be fiancé.

"Well, that escalated quickly."

Your laptop screen effectively covered the newspaper tossed onto the table by Nikolai. Even if you wished to grab it, you were surely no match for Quinn, your second assistant, whose eyes widened in pure shock as she read the article on the front page out loud.

"'Serial heartbreaker out of his league? Rafayel Qi shoots his shot at the industry’s best and brightest – and scores!' Well, that is just gross."

You rolled your eyes, busing yourself with something on your own computer.

"I’ve had relatives I thought were already dead call me just to say how much of a disgrace I am for having a quickie in the opera," you mumbled, taking a sip from your mug.

Quinn and Nikolai exchanged wary looks.

"And did you…?"

"Are you being serious right now? No, I didn’t. What the fuck?"

After catching yourself typing the same exact word over and over, you furiously slammed the laptop shut and stuffed it into your bag. Nikolai cautiously handed you your worn out leather jacket before you could say anything.

"Leaving," you stated briefly, finishing the remnants of your morning coffee in one sip. "If anyone ends up needing me more than necessary, you know where to find me."

Refusing to wait for anything else they could potentially add, you made your way downstairs, already eager to escape this utterly suffocating office building. A gentle breeze passed through the floor to ceiling windows which were cracked open just slightly in some spots. It was as though everything else was waking up from its slumber, ready to bring in brand new experiences and fresh inspiration. Everything and anything other than what you needed. Why was it always you who got the short end of the stick…?

The annoyingly insistent vibrations of your phone pushed you off this new trail of thought. You looked at the screen. It was Malena.

"Just saw the news…" she trailed off. "Congrats…?"

She couldn’t see your clearly displeased expression so you opted for the next best thing – an exaggerated huff.

"Don’t piss me off."

There was something suspiciously similar to hope in her tone as she spoke.

"At least you took a liking to him, no?"

"Jesus, Malena, don’t tell me you also think I spent two hours eating his face on the opera hall balcony."

The chuckle that fell through the phone made you involuntarily roll your eyes.

"It’d be quite romantic though," she drawled, smile evident in the way she responded to your quip.

"Im not even going to grace that with a comment."

"So, how is he?" Malena angled the subject just slightly. "Funny?"

"Forty minutes late," you replied instead, nodding at the receptionist who greeted you from behind the lobby. "Couldn’t open the balcony door on his own and hoarded my side of the armrest. Yapped my ear off throughout the entire performance. Should I go on?"

Malena responded with a sigh of obvious defiance. "No need… Point taken."

You pushed the glass doors open, squinting at the sun reflecting off the neighbouring buildings. The buildings, as well as this absolute marvel of a car which stood parked neatly right at the bottom of the staircase.

It was an undeniably majestic third generation Cadillac de Ville with chrome detailing, all in pristine condition. Spray-painted blood red, it looked as if someone pulled it right out of an old gangster movie. It took you a good couple of seconds to realise you’d stopped breathing altogether, desperately taking in each carefully crafted detail.

If you only could produce this god forsaken film of yours, complete with the actually useful cast and costumes that made sense, maybe you’d have earned enough to buy yourself one of these. Was this one up for sale? You couldn’t see even a speck of rust on the Cadillac’s body, it must have cost a fortune to keep it that way. The owner was probably some old man with one foot already situated in the family grave, so your chances could be pretty high...?

All your hopes were crushed just a couple seconds later when the doors opened, presenting you the car’s owner, young and energetic, with a pair of retro looking sunglasses and a colorful newspaper in hand. The breeze swept through his long-ish curls; curls the color of freshly cut lilac flowers and agleam amethyst stones.

"Hold on…" You could feel your throat going dry in an instant. "I’ll call you back."

Before Malena could protest, you shoved your phone back into the inside pocket of your jacket, stopping mid-step.

"This can’t fucking be."

Rafayel looked up from his magazine, pushing the glasses up and letting them tangle in his wind tousled hair. The smile that graced his features a second after could be only described as radiant.

"Hey there, pretty girl. Done with work?"

Choosing to ignore the nickname, you raised a brow.

"What are you doing here?"

"Not happy to see me?"

He pushed himself off the car in a laid-back manner, stopping right in front of where you stood. You couldn’t ignore the playful glint in his eyes, even if you tried.

"We’re not scheduled to meet until Friday," you said plainly.

"Schedule this, schedule that…" he drawled, clearly unamused. "What are we, business partners?"

"Yeah, well, pretty mu–"

"Hop in," he interrupted. "I’m taking you to dinner."

You just stood there, dumbfounded, watching as Rafayel made his way around the car. That day he was wearing a more casual jacket (a leather jacket, much to your dismay), one that made him look like a motorcyclist. Slipping his sunglasses back on, he gave you a pointed look from where he stood, one leg already inside the Cadillac.

"Come," he urged with an impatient wave of his hand. "I didn’t even drive you back home last night, let me atone for my sins."

A couple of your distant coworkers passed by, eyeing down the vintage car and its peculiar driver. You felt awfully exposed, much like yesterday when hoards of reporters surrounded the two of you after the ballet. How you managed to slip past them all, grab your coat downstairs and catch a cab in less than than seven minutes total was still beyond you. Yet here you were, presented with an opportunity to go through all of that again.

The gentle spring breeze flew in between you, creating an invisible barrier. Rafayel’s smile had diminished by then but there was still this curious spark in his eyes that made him seem content. You wondered how he managed to stay this joyful regarding your current circumstances. How badly did he want this deal to go through…?

Well, guess you had around fifteen years to find that out.

"Fine."

He beamed at you.

"No seafood though."

"Hey, I was just about to suggest–"

"Absolutely not."

Having an obscenely rich, fairly charming man at your side proved to be more helpful and prosperous than you could’ve ever imagined.

Not like you were prone to dwelling in delusions of this sort, God forbid, he just suddenly seemed much more useful than any potential contract would describe. Perhaps it was yesterday’s misfortunes that caused Rafayel to act this way – giving in to your each and every whim without a question. And perhaps it just simply did not matter to him, at least not in a capacity it did to you, certainly with the abominable prices plastered atop of the restaurant menu.

"Did you see how much they’re trying to sell this risotto for?" You pointed at the sum, as Rafayel used his straw to fish out a lemon slice from the bottom of his drink.

"Trying and succeeding, may I add."

You sighed, leaning back in your chair. "Have you ever eaten here before?"

A nonchalant shrug.

"Don’t remember. Hey, are you going to eat those?"

You slid your own glass towards him without a word, observing as Rafayel repeated the citrus-retrieving process. He squeezed his eyes at the taste, shaking his head a couple of times.

"Ooh! It’s like the whole rum got sucked into this thing… Magnificent."

"I apologise for the interruption." The waiter from earlier appeared right next to you, almost out of thin air. "Madame, Sir, did any of today’s desserts capture your attention?"

You opened your mouth to speak, but Rafayel beat you to it, tongue darting out to get rid of the very last remnants of brown sugar on his lips.

"Actually, no," he quipped, turning you anxious in an instant. "I’d like to request a cherry cobbler for the lady."

The waiter glanced at you curiously and your face immediately flushed with embarrassment.

"Rafayel–"

"I’ll have a tiramisu." Ignoring you completely, he smiled up at the man without even a gram of shame.

As soon as the waiter disappeared behind the steel doors of the kitchens, you leaned forward, almost leaping over the table.

"Are you out of your mind?" you hissed. "There’s no cherry cobbler on the menu, you can’t just–"

"Darling." He placed a finger on your lips to shush you, leaving you entirely flabbergasted. "You said you wanted cherry cobbler. I’m getting you one."

Rafayel let out a huff when you slapped his hand away from your face. His eyes trailed your movements, not without certain mischief hidden somewhere behind his pretty words.

"I said." You closed your eyes for a brief moment to collect yourself. "I said I wished they had cherry cobbler on the menu. It wasn’t a suggestion for you to bother the fucking chef to bake me a simple cake out of the blue."

The smile that lit up his features was anything but bashful. With his chin resting on his palm, Rafayel observed you casually, as though it was the easiest, most natural thing in the world. Unable to hold his focused gaze, your eyes darted back to your lap, silently cursing out any deity that would listen for making you cross paths with this man.

Luckily for you, Rafayel knew exactly when to shut his mouth (albeit it did not happen often, as you’d noticed). Your desserts arrived earlier than expected, a gracefully served cherry cobbler with a generous scoop of traditionally made ice cream placed right in front of your hungry eyes.

Rafayel watched you silently, smiling to himself. "Looks good."

"Don’t." Your left hand came up to face him in an unspoken warning. "I genuinely feel so bad."

That seemed to stir something in him. The silver fork froze right in between the tiramisu and Rafayel’s mouth. He set it aside with a delicate clink.

"Please don’t."

His hands were twitching slightly, as though eager to reach over the table in a makeshift peace offering.

"If they didn’t want to make it for you, they wouldn’t," he assured, brows furrowed slightly. "Why do you think they ask if you liked anything?"

"To be polite…?" you suggested.

He rolled his eyes.

"If it helps ease your discomfort, I’ll double my usual tip for your sake. Sounds good?"

You just nodded in defiance, knowing well this was a fight you’d never manage to win.

"So…" he hummed after a minute or two, sending you a playful glance over his dessert. "How’s your cobbler?"

"It’s fucking amazing."

The genuinity of Rafayel’s laugh washed over your entire being like a tidal wave, leaving you helplessly sprawled on the shore.

Two weeks have passed since your unfortunate first "date" at the opera hall.

You tried and tried, focusing on decoding his entire demeanour more than on your own work; yet you were constantly failing to figure Rafayel out. All those scandalous whispers you’d encountered, vividly painted newspaper headlines and compromising photographs seemed to belong to someone else entirely. Sure, he did have a certain flair for dramatics and kept embarrassing you with his unashamed antics wherever he dragged you to, but you were yet to witness Rafayel "ruining" his family’s good name.

The fact that he accepted it all, this abnormal courting period and business arrangement in one, without any protests whatsoever had only made it worse. When your phone buzzed, signalling one of his countless daily messages, you just rolled your eyes and went about your very day. It was all easy. Talking to Rafayel was easy. And that was perhaps the most worrying aspect of this entire predicament.

"So." Malena put away her pen, finally done with the document. "You’re halfway there. Two more weeks till the agreement takes place. How do you feel?"

Odd. No other word could describe it better than this.

"What does he even get out of this?" you questioned her instead, clasping your hands on your stomach. "I mean, he could marry anybody."

She scratched her chin, deep in thought. "Maybe, yes. But not anybody could marry him."

Your brows furrowed.

"Is there a difference...?"

"He’s tough to deal with. Demanding. Talks a lot and rarely listens. It’s a true miracle that throughout all these days you’ve been together he didn’t make a single condescending headline."

"We’re not together," you corrected. "Besides, he’s really not that bad. Obscenely rich, yes, which does make him horribly annoying, but…"

You trailed off, realising just now that you took on a role of his public defender, shielding your potential soon-to-be husband from anything that could harm his precious image.

Malena just raised a brow, intrigued.

"Yeah, well, you’d be the only one to have that kind of opinion on him. The other day I met up with Lady Talia to discuss her involvement in your project and she received a call from him. Turns out he got arrested and was asking her to bail him out."

Your mouth went dry in an instant.

"I… I didn’t know about that."

"Of course not." Despite her harsh words, Malena’s features softened upon looking at you. "It’s not exactly a husband material anecdote."

Leaning back in your chair, you anchored your eyes on the expensive chandelier in Malena’s office. Should you ask what he was arrested for? Did you even want to know?

"That being said." She cleared her throat, sliding a plain white envelope your way. "Are you sure you want to invite him? I still haven’t informed Lady Talia about this. It’d be great for his image but it is also a huge step forward. And, you’re not even legally bound by any contract just yet."

You thought back to that one time the two of you completely missed a movie because he stopped to play marbles with some random kids near a park fountain. Or when he scraped both of his knees on the harsh pavement after having urged you to pick a hang out activity, only for you to come up with cycling, which he apparently despised.

Rafayel was always just slightly late, his outfits were rarely coordinated with the weather, so he was constantly either overheating or freezing, and he genuinely had some acting talent. Upon meeting him (actually meeting him, not after that god forsaken opera hall incident), you sat down to conduct a brief google search and watched a couple of episodes of a tv show he starred in a few years back. His hair was longer and they kept styling him in these oversized flannels that he wouldn’t be caught dead wearing in real life. As of then, you were yet to ask him about those, embarrassingly curious to witness his reaction first hand.

Rafayel wasn’t inherently reckless or rude or spoiled. He opened the car doors for you, gave generous tips in restaurants and made you laugh in ways you hadn’t laughed in what felt like millenia.

So what if he got arrested? Let he who is without sin… He probably just drove over the speed limit or talked back to a policeman or something. Since they let him go so easily, it couldn’t have been anything actually harmful, at least not to a degree that mattered. Jesus, it’s not like you could go on and make a fuss about such matters, not when for the first time in years you felt like you’d made a friend. As peculiar as he was, Rafayel gifted you a space in which you could exist without pretence. And despite your rather rocky beginnings, he became someone you didn’t care to perform in front of.

And, against your own better judgement, you were starting to hope he felt the same way in your presence.

"Barely two weeks ago you were the one trying to convince me to do this," you prompted, leaning back in your chair. "It'll be fine. I've been through worse."

Malena only nodded, handing you the envelope. As you exited her office, you could only pray what you'd just said wasn't about to turn on you in some vicious, malevolent way.

The Valentine Club was the first of your projects to "make it".

Before the medium sized, yet steady success of the film, you stumbled around many different production companies, scribbling down scripts and conducting small-scale evaluations. So, when precisely five years ago you saw a chance to create your very own project entirely from scratch, you didn’t dare to leave it hanging for too long.

Back then you didn’t have nearly as much creative freedom as you did now. One of the main actors would normally never make it on screen if you could help it, but still had the necessary connections, so you were „strongly advised” to accept his offer. The budget was limited, so you hand-painted all the shop signs needed for the movie. Nobody forced you, of course, they even encouraged you to let it go, deeming it unnecessary, but you wanted, you needed it all to be perfect.

Looking back at it now, it obviously wasn’t anywhere near your definition of perfection. However, over the years you managed to make at least some peace with the fact that nothing could ever reach such state. Not like that ever stopped you from trying your absolute hardest nonetheless.

And that was precisely why you were currently picking out shades of purple for sashes that were to decorate buffet tables at the venue you decided to hold your event at.

"What about the other one?" You pointed at the rack behind the shopkeeper. "Sorry, I just can’t get behind any of those…"

The woman waved you off, patiently laying out yet another material on the counter.

Well, it sure as hell wasn’t going to be this monstrosity. Still, you feigned contemplation out of politeness.

"I’m not sure…"

Then, something situated in your peripheral vision caught your eye. "And that one? Number… number twenty four?"

"It’s one of the more expensive ones." The shopkeeper sent you an amused glance over her shoulder, already reaching for the fabric you spotted. "You have a great eye."

"Yeah…" Your fingers grazed the delicate material, marvelling at the way it shimmered subtly. "Unfortunately for my wallet."

Your eyes fluttered shut, already imagining this particular shade of purple lighting up the entire venue. With the slightest of reflectiveness and these intricate details made with silver thread, it would be a (near) perfect addition to your anniversary banquet.

"I'm taking this one." You sent her a smile, trying to make up for all the time you spent complaining at each one of your own previous picks. "Here are the measurements."

Sliding an unfolded piece of lined paper over the counter, you mentally checked your bank account in nervous anticipation.

However, the shopkeeper’s brows furrowed in worry.

"Oh, honey. That is quite a lot of fabric… We don’t have even near this much at the store."

Your throat went dry.

"What…?"

"I’ll try to see if any other of our stores have some left…" She rummaged through a couple of drawers, fishing out a phone number scribbled on top of a pizza joint flier. "It’s a rather old-fashioned motif."

Just a couple minutes later, you were presented with a list of shops (a list that contained only one place, actually), and even though things were beginning to look up, the address of it made you internally swear.

"Chansia?"

The shopkeeper sent you a sympathetic look.

"I can contact them and make sure no one buys it before you get there?" she offered.

With all the preparations you were still to overlook and a rather unforgiving, narrow timeframe, you wondered if any of this could even prove successful in the slightest. The fabric of your choice was undeniably beautiful, precisely what you were searching for, but maybe you could find something else still, something that wasn’t preferably situated in Chansia City, a place only Rafayel could frequently visit without missing ten deadlines…

Rafayel! What if he was there right now? Chances weren’t too high, but… Plus, he did explicitly say to let him know if you ended up needing anything for the event. Ever since you’d given him the invitation, he’d been gushing about your movie constantly, possibly ending up even more excited for the anniversary than its director herself.

Letting the shopkeeper know, you took out your phone and dialled Rafayel’s number. He didn’t make you wait long before picking up.

"Hey there, pretty." You could hear the smile in his voice as he spoke, tone bright and welcoming. "Whom should I thank for the undeniable pleasure of receiving a call from my dearest director?"

Trying not to let his sweet words get to your head, you decided to keep the matter brief.

"Hi, Rafayel. Are you currently in Chansia by any chance?"

He hummed, seemingly used to not hearing direct replies to his half-hearted advances.

"Why?"

You let out a sigh. "Remember when I was telling you how I’d like to set the tables? So, I found the perfect fabric for those sashes, but the only store to have enough of it is in Chansia."

"Well… Today’s your lucky day then, miss director."

Your breath sped up. "Really?"

"Just send me what it is you need." You could tell he tried his absolute best to feign indifference. "How much time do I have?"

"Till this evening...? Tomorrow also works, as long as it's early. There's still plenty I need to do at the venue." You couldn't contain your excitement. Glancing over at the shopkeeper, you gestured for her to make a reservation on your behalf. "Keep the receipt. I'll pay you back when you get here."

"Now, that is just plainly offensive," he huffed over the phone. "It's already taken care of. Don't worry 'bout it."

Your brows furrowed, almost out of habit.

"You do realise that I have the funds for this, right?"

"Sure thing." The tone of his voice was cheerful as always. "Now why don't you go ahead and use said money to buy yourself something new to wear at the event?

Well... You didn't hate that idea.

Judging by the quiet chuckle on the other end of the call, Rafayel caught on in an instant. "It's set then. See you this evening, cutie."

"Yeah, see you."

Already about to hang up, you were abruptly stopped by Rafayel chiming in yet again.

"Now, quick question." The way he said this made it seem as though he was presenting you with a business deal. "Would you be opposed to watching the next episode of The X Files with me? Yes or no. They've been adding a lot of those connected ones lately and I can't lie anymore, I am rather invested in this."

Smiling to yourself, you texted him the necessary fabric measurements, ones he received with a characteristic "ding" you heard even through the phone.

"Bring some Vietnamese take out and I shall consider your request."

"Are you sure...? I still think that seafood restaurant–"

You sighed audibly, dragging a hand over your face in an exaggerated manner, almost like a cartoon character. "Rafayel..."

"What? I'm just saying!"

Back when you were a child, around five, maybe six years old, you had three potential careers in mind.

The first one was an astronaut – fueled by your never ending thirst for knowledge and adoration of the unexplored. Drummer was your second pick, warranted by your mom's almost career as a rockstar. And when it came to the last ideal job description, you fell victim to the classic case of peer pressure, as well as a couple of surprisingly well written fairytales – you wished to become a princess.

Movie director was, obviously, nowhere on this entirely probable list of yours, and sometimes you did in fact wonder if the young you would approve of the life you chose to live. What you were absolutely sure of however, was that she would definitely give you a thumbs up after seeing the venue you picked for your anniversary screening; all organised and decorated, it looked eerily similar to a princess' castle.

Although, you did have to admit that choosing to rent one of the smaller mansions on the outskirts of Linkon had probably more to do with it than the rest put together.

The way it all clicked, the entryway decorations, various poster designs propped artistically upon wooden easels and, of course, the purple sashes looped around the tables, made you almost giddy with excitement. The photographers you hired for the night were making sure everything would end up documented thoroughly, saving you the trouble of preserving the memories any other way. Even Malena found an empty spot in her rigid schedule, stopping by with her girlfriend to congratulate on your anniversary.

It seemed perfect. Well, as perfect as anything human-made could turn out to be, except for one, rather crucial matter at hand.

He was nowhere to be seen.

The event was launched personally by you less than half an hour ago and you knew Rafayel had the unpleasant tendency of showing up fashionably late. In fact, you actually considered switching the inauguration time on his invitation to trick him into being there for the opening, but ultimately decided against it, deeming it all not too important anyway.

However, with the hour of the anniversary screening approaching steadily, you were beginning to worry you'd made a mistake choosing to be truthful.

"Everything alright?"

You blinked a couple of times, snapping out of your trance.

"Yeah?"

Quinn tilted her head to the side, letting a couple of elaborate braids slip over her shoulder. "Someone inquired if there'll be non-alcoholic drinks at the reception later tonight, I said I'd ask and when I did, you replied with 'not for too long'...?"

"Did I...?" You internally squirmed at that. "My bad. I... There'll be some freshly pressed juice options available? I don't remember ordering any mocktails."

"It's perfect, you know." She placed a hand on your shoulder in a reassuring gesture. "As perfect as can be. There's no need to worry."

As perfect as could be... And surely, before all this it would have been undeniably enough. So why couldn't that be the case now...?

You tried not to stress while sitting next to a hauntingly empty chair right next to you in the screening room. After all, he'd told you before that he ended up watching The Valentine Club thrice, back to back. Perhaps he just didn't deem it necessary to sit yet through another portion of the same thing. However, despite your attempted reasoning, it did sting. Not enough to whip out your phone and send him a passive aggressive text, no, but just enough to grow bitter at the feeling of getting stood up. Again.

At some point, between a brief speech after the movie and transferring everyone into the main hall, you even began to wonder if anything unfortunate had happened. What if he ended up in a jail cell again? You still haven't asked what prompted him to go there in the first place and you were slowly beginning to lose your resolve over that. Not wanting to judge him so harshly, you also spent some time worrying for his wellbeing, various kinds of accidents flashing through your head as you tried to figure out where the actual hell he was at that very moment.

In order to avoid your assistants' attention, you busied yourself with the guests, making polite, surface level conversation and accepting their congratulations as gracefully as you could. Steadily making your way through the hall, you took notice of how people moved away from a certain faraway corner, one occupied by a group of men laughing jovially. Already slightly suspicious, you moved forward cautiously to investigate, trying to catch some of their conversation.

"And, and then he offered me the same fucking deal, you know? The audacity of that! As if I was on the same level as him, can you imagine?"

Eyeing down the middle aged man situated in the very centre, you pushed through the crowd, accidentally stomping on someone's foot in the process.

"H-Hey! Watch out!"

Filled with burning hot anger, you whipped your head around to face the other man.

"No, you watch ou–" The harsh words got stuck in your throat as you took in the sight in front of your eyes. This couldn't be... "Rafayel...?"

The man you grew to be somewhat fond of, the very same you binge watched like five episodes of your favorite show with just a couple of days ago, now stood before you, clad in a crumpled navy blue suit and a pair of the most ridiculous shoes you'd ever seen.

"What..." Are you doing here? You failed to force anything out your throat.

"Hey there, sweetheart." He sent you a smile, one that didn't quite reach his absent gaze. "Congrats on your movie, yeah?"

You just stood there, unsure of how to react to this utterly absurd scene. Rafayel must have taken that as a sign of annoyance (maybe he wasn't that far off, anyway) and breached the distance between you two, enveloping you in a clumsy hug.

"Come on..." he drawled, cozing up to you like a kitten. "Don't be mad."

"Rafayel, you... Is that–" You involuntarily took a whiff, spotting an unfamiliar scent. "Are you drunk?"

He took a step back, eyebrows furrowed as though he was the one offended by you, not the other way round.

"N-No?"

Exhaling shakily, you closed your eyes for a brief moment before grabbing his clammy hand and dragging Rafayel away from the crowd despite his whiny objections.

"Hey, let go! Where are you taking me? The event is still going–"

You rolled your eyes. "If you'd actually made it here on time, that wouldn't be this big of a concern to you, I bet."

It was almost like your words weren't even registered by Rafayel's brain. He still wiggled in your unforgiving grasp, up until you stopped by one of the emptier tables.

"What's going on?" You looked him right in the eyes, hoping that would somehow sober him up, even a little. "Are you okay?"

He tried to shrug you off, waving his hand right in front of your face.

"You're late," you pressed, growing more and more annoyed with each passing second. "You're late, even though you promised me you'd show up on time. You missed the entire screening and now I find you next to some random men, drunk out of your fucking mind–"

"Stop... yelling. God..." He groaned. "I'm here now, aren't I? What's the big deal?"

"What's– What's the deal?!" You were flabbergasted.

A couple of guests, including Malena and Nikolai, stopped in their tracks, watching the scene unfolding in front of them. Rafayel leaned on the table, rubbing his forehead.

"Jesus Christ, won't you get off my dick already–"

"Excuse me?!"

He seemed to sober up at that. Jolting from his half-folded stance, Rafayel faced you properly, using his entire frame to tower over you.

"You're always so... so stuck up. Always unsatisfied. With everything that I do! Nothing is ever enough! So what does it matter, if I get here on time or not? If I stand here, pretending to care about these random people neither of us will probably see in the next five years? I might as well do what I want instead. At least I know how to have actual fun."

God, you wanted nothing more than to slap him across the face and wipe that snarky grin right off. But instead, mindful of your reputation, you grabbed his elbow, trying to take all this outside.

"This isn't the place for this. You're embarrassing both me and yourself."

"Like you give a fuck!" he snapped, yanking his arm right out and reaching straight into his pocket.

"I don't think that– Hey, what is... Is that a cigarette?!"

Rafayel gave you an absentminded glance as he flicked a lighter. You couldn't believe your own eyes, alarmingly aware of how warm your face had gotten from all these intense emotions.

"Rafayel, you don't smoke. Put that down."

"Oh? And you know that from...?"

Reaching towards the cig, you attempted to jerk it away.

"So you can but not me?" he questioned tauntingly, keeping it just barely out of your reach.

"Put that out right now, Rafayel. You can't smoke in here, it's–"

"Yeah, sure..." He looked positively bored. "Can't do this, can't do that, it's almost like– Ouch!"

He yelped, yanking his hand towards his chest, as though burned.

"I don't know what you think you're doing right now," you started, forcing yourself to sound at least partly reasonable. "But this is the last place you'd want to argue with me at. I can promise you this."

"Oh, forgive me!" he mocked your tone in cocky amusement. "I somehow forgot that you know everything there is to know! My bad!"

Already furious, you had to force yourself to do makeshift breathing exercises in a rather futile attempt to calm down. Instead, it kept making you even more agitated, especially while accompanied by that horrendous scowl on Rafayel's face, one that twisted his features in an almost devilish manner.

"You know what, you poor excuse of a man–"

But before you could finish your cold-hearted retort, someone on your far left began screaming bloody murder.

"Fire! The table's on fire!"

That sent a jolt through you, from the soles of your feet to the very top of your head. Stumbling backwards, you tried your best to assess the situation, suddenly overwhelmed by panicked guests fleeting left and right.

"The sash!" You grabbed it with both hands, trying to put out the fire with some of the excess material. "Rafayel, get back!"

"Where... Ow!"

He jumped back clumsily, not noticing when a part of his attire began catching flames itself. In a desperate attempt to avoid making the matters at hand even worse, you rushed to his side.

Shortly after, hell broke loose.

Your luxurious, eye-catching purple sashes, albeit beautiful, turned out to be entirely impractical, as they were the ones to catch fire the fastest. Acting almost like a fuse, they passed the intensifying flames from table to table, surrounding you both with an abnormal amount of smoke in the process.

Somewhat still partly rational, you yanked Rafayel's suit jacket off his body before he could become a human torch. He, on the other hand, possessed less than half of your quick thinking, still disoriented and not entirely sober. You were forced to cage his face in between your palms, shielding his eyes from the smoke as you yelled loud enough to be heard above the ever-present chaos.

"You need to show people the exit! Gather half of them and go through the backdoor, the one near the pond!"

It was as though something had clicked in Rafayel's brain upon hearing the urgency in your voice. You had no doubts whether or not he knew where to lead the panicked guests; just a couple days ago he tagged along when you visited the mansion for some last minute check ups and the two of you spent half an hour playing sea battle near that exact pond. It was particularly hard to miss, especially with this enormous statue of Apollo situated in the very middle.

As soon as you saw him nod in agreement, you headed in the opposite direction, but Rafayel took hold of your wrist and turned you back around to face him yet again.

"And you?" After noticing you couldn't hear him well, he stepped closer, leaning down, and accidentally brushed your nose with his in the process. "What about you?!"

"Me?!" You placed your thumb on the front of your elaborate outfit. "I'll grab the other half and leave through the main entrance. Meet me in the garden!"

He nodded yet again, although failed to let go of your arm. The way his eyes kept jumping from one spot on your face to the other made your stomach twist and turn. Then, before you could wriggle out of Rafayel's grasp, he pulled you closer to him, letting his lips graze your temple as he spoke directly into your ear.

"Be safe."

You barely had time to register the featherlight kiss he'd given you just now, placed right next to your eyelid, because he was, somehow, already halfway across the room when your eyes fluttered open.

Wasting no more time, you also decided to put your plan into action. The adrenaline present in your veins did its absolute best and you managed to lead most of the guests towards the right exit without breaking a sweat. As soon as you stepped out into the gardens that hugged the mansion tightly, your gaze flickered from person to person, intuitively searching for Rafayel.

You did spot a couple of guests you were sure had headed near the backdoor and Nikolai, as well as Lady Talia, were among them.

"Did you see Rafayel?" you breathed out as soon as you caught up to the woman, tugging at her sleeve like a lost child. "We were supposed to meet here but I cannot find him anywhere."

She shook her head hesitantly, opening her mouth to offer some words of comfort, but you were already running to the next person in line, asking the same question, over and over.

Hours had passed and you weren't able to find him still. There was a couple of fire brigades at the scene, as well as a few ambulances, and you navigated in between them like a skier on a particularly unforgiving slope.

It was well after midnight when the firefighters managed to convince you to finally go home; one of the ambulances even gave you three fourths of a ride back to your place. Amidst it all, you somehow lost your left shoe, as well as the bag you took with you to the event, but when you plopped on the bed, you could only stare mindlessly at the phone in your hand, waiting for Rafayel to give you a call, which didn't come that night.

He also didn't contact you the day after that, and the next. If it weren't for some meaningless press article released the following evening, documenting one of his many reckless incidents, you wouldn't even know if he made it out of the mansion in one piece.

As you stared at the blurry photograph placed next to a wall of condescending text, you kept asking yourself this one thing.

How could it not mean anything to him?

She'd told you not to do it.

Used words more suitable for a hardened sailor rather than a marketing team manager, just in hopes of getting her point across. But you'd always been stubborn. A few would say that it turned out to be part of your charm, in some wicked, roundabout way. And that drove Malena positively insane, because each time she urged you to do something, you'd become absolutely hellbent on turning around on your heel and attempting the exact opposite.

Just like in this case; your fingers were tapping faintly on the steering wheel as you navigated through the grim forest leading to the Qi Mansion. Out of pure spite, you assured yourself. You yearned to see that look on his face, the embarrassment, the poorly masked exasperation. It was so palpable you could almost envision it.

You drove like you had something to prove, and perhaps that was the case here. While Rafayel was used to running away when things went sideways, you taught yourself to chase after what you wanted and needed, despite the unfavourable circumstances. So, when the one month mark finally hit, you decided to show up to the preplanned meeting scheduled when things between you two weren't in such a horrendous condition. You also believed you sort of owed it to Lady Talia, who'd been nothing but utterly kind and doting to you, despite all the mishaps caused by her own nephew.

After passing the main gate of the premises, you assumed a rather languid pace, curiously looking around the land. Before this day, you had never visited the Qi Mansion, which turned out to be not as far from Linkon as you suspected it to be. Tall and striking, decorated in expertly placed outdoor lamps that hung to the faded brick walls, it emanated status, wealth and prestige, all of them in their highest achievable form.

Stopping somewhere near the main entrance, watchful not to park right in the middle of the pathway, you fiddled with the cigarette case placed in the pocket of your corduroy trousers. Only a few windows were lit up on the front and you couldn't help but wonder if Rafayel's rooms were among them. Ever since the burning of that damned mansion you held your event at, you did in fact have plenty of time to think it all through. Constantly switching between pure, unfiltered rage and this unfamiliar affliction, you weren't even entirely sure what you sought at the moment.

And that, this act of going in blind and undecided, you weren't used to in the slightest. Hell, this entire situation felt like something out of a novel you'd read during vacation trips, something that didn't even stand near your day to day activities. It was almost as though after meeting Rafayel, each decision you made seemed entirely new and different, like you were forced to discover parts of yourself you weren't even aware of existing prior to that. And you realised that you weren't exactly opposed to letting that continue.

As soon as you entered the mansion, someone took your coat and offered a pair of vintage looking slippers. Besides a couple of polite greetings, no one gave you any explanation to what was awaiting you whatsoever. As you passed corridor after corridor, you couldn't help but notice how utterly empty this place was. Spotless and pristine, yes, but absolutely devoid of life altogether. Like a priceless painting, locked away in a safe. Or a bottle of expensive perfume, unused and put on a pedestal, reduced to a piece of interior design.

Upon reaching a dimly lit living room (one of many, you'd noticed), you were greeted by the lady of the house herself, who enveloped you in a rushed, somewhat cumbersome embrace.

"Good evening, dear." Her hands rested on your shoulders in an almost motherlike manner. "Words fail to describe how delighted I am to see you tonight, truly. I was almost sure I would never get to meet you again."

Granting her a bittersweet smile, you sat right where she pointed at, in a spacious, patterned armchair near the fireplace.

"I..." You swallowed the lump in your throat which grew with each second spent in this peculiar house. "I wasn't sure either. If I would come."

She sat across from you, in a similar chair, one that bore clear signs of frequent usage. Her hands were folded neatly on her lap, atop of her elaborate nightgown.

"I wouldn't have blamed you, dear," she spoke. "It was only this morning I learned what truly happened that night. Although it may not mean much, I am deeply sorry for your loss and still, utterly grateful for a chance at retribution from our side."

They paid for it all.

Well, she did, you'd assumed.

"I suppose it was bound to happen. It was made rather clear what I would be stepping into, so..." you trailed off, unsure of how to continue the sentence. It was almost as if you were offering excuses. Again. You despised the sound of that.

"It truly is a shame that Miss Malena could not join us this evening." Lady Talia leaned back in her armchair, crossing her legs elegantly. "When you see her, please do send my warmest wishes for swift recovery." You nodded. "In the meantime, I had prepared a certain document that–"

"My Lady." One of the butlers, the very same that stood right by the entrance of this room, stepped in for a brief moment. "Lord Qi."

Oh, how you hated the way your body reacted in that moment, twisting around in such an utterly pathetic way and making you seem so, so desperate for merely a glimpse. Your fingernails dug in the thick armrests with such force that if it wasn't of high quality, the material would have surely ripped in half.

He stood there, stiff as a board atop the spiral staircase just outside the doorway. Hair a mess, pointing in all possible directions. Wearing this loose, tattered sweater with one sleeve rolled up and the other covering half of his palm. And the sincerest, most heart-wrenching look of stupor on his face, one you were absolutely convinced you would never forget, for as long as you lived.

You had never seen Rafayel so... raw. Without his planned outfits, fancy accessories and jewellery, generous amounts of cologne that followed him everywhere he went. How he was in that very moment, lukewarm and vulnerable, tugged at your heartstrings in such a violent way, your knees almost gave out.

He just stared at you wordlessly, not daring to look away for even a split second, as though terrified you'd disappear if he did. And, truth be told, if you weren't going through all five stages of grief back to back in that very moment yourself, you'd most likely find his gaze almost eerie.

Slowly, Rafayel came down the stairs and you met somewhere halfway, even though you didn't really plan on walking up to him. He looked even more candid here, up close, and you could feel the heat radiating off his body merely half a step away from yours.

His voice was quiet, strung-out.

"You... came."

A greater woman would put up another wall, guarding herself from what was to come. She'd prepare for the worst and be ready when it struck. But you were exhausted, so exhausted. And, judging by the slump of Rafayel's shoulders, he was too.

"You invited me."

He failed to mask the way his hands twitched at your words, or maybe he wasn't planning to do so. With utter terror, you realised that you wanted him, no, needed Rafayel to reach out instead, unashamedly, just like he'd done merely a few days earlier. And that feeling filled you with an entirely new wave of dread.

Lady Talia excused herself, muttering something about the kitchens and an extra meal, but, in all honesty, neither of you could even sense what was going on outside of this little energy field created in between you both. The way you were taking in each little detail of Rafayel's figure, from the dark circles under his eyes to the faint promise of his waist hidden behind a slightly see-through sweater, could be only described as desperate. Outside of this, in cafeterias and parks, in afternoon sun and the glow of the crescent moon, Rafayel was undeniably beautiful. You couldn't deny that, even if you'd never spoken of it out loud. It'd be utterly foolish to think otherwise and also a lie in its purest form.

But now, Rafayel was more than that. More than just beautiful or attractive or pretty. His slightly disheveled appearance had made him into something you didn't think was even possible – into perfection.

Somehow, through all the fragile, uneven parts that shone through, he achieved the absolute ideal of a man.

Rafayel broke the silence to clear his throat.

"I was sure you wouldn't come," he confessed, voice still low. "Thought you hate me."

You scoffed. "Maybe I should, after you decided to ignore me for three days straight."

Apparently, that was what touched him. With trembling hands, he reached out, gently wrapping his fingers around your wrists.

"I... I just wanted to give you some space. You were upset and I–"

"You really thought this would make me less upset?" you interrupted, brows furrowed. "For God's sake, Rafayel, for solid fifteen hours I didn't even know whether you were alive or not."

His gaze dropped to the ground for a moment and the faintest of blushes spread across his face, up to the tips of his ears. "I apologise. Sincerely. You... You deserve better than this. Just– Please, stay for dinner. Yeah? I'll eat separately if it makes you feel better?"

Distracted by the warmth of his hands oh, so near your own, you almost failed to register his words.

"What?" you mustered. "What are you talking about?"

"I..." he trailed off, suddenly unsure.

Twisting your wrists just slightly, you laced your fingers with his, letting your joined hands dangle in between your bodies in a makeshift promise.

"Of course I'm staying for dinner." You couldn’t miss how Rafayel's eyes lit up at that. "I didn't drive all the way here just to grab the contract and go."

Another staff member showed up, offering to lead you to the dining room where food had just been served in your absence.

"Wait–" Rafayel caught up to you mid step. "You're willing to go with this?"

He looked absolutely bewildered in that moment and that made you realise that he had not only believed he would never see you again, but also that you called off the almost-engagement right after the mansion incident. You couldn't help but smirk at that, realising he was still yet to see the amounts of your innate perseverance when it came to getting what you wanted.

"After all this," he continued, stepping into the dining hall right after you. "you still choose to marry me?"

"Yes, I do," you retorted, picking one of the many places behind the long wooden table. "Now, won't you sit down already? Your jumpiness is making me anxious."

He obeyed without question, most likely still rather shocked by the turn of events. As Rafayel sat down, choosing his own place right across from yours, your gaze absentmindedly locked onto the delicate skin of his collarbone exposed by the oversized sweater.

God, you felt like a Victorian era man catching a glimpse of some lady’s ankle.

Rafayel did in fact take notice of your laser focused gaze, however misinterpreted it in its entirety.

"I look horrible," he muttered under his breath, awakening a wave of immediate and all-consuming protest within you. "I’m sorry. I didn’t know you’d be here tonight. Otherwise I’d have ... gotten myself ready."

You stared at him, unable to form a proper answer when he just criticised the greatest view you had ever gotten to experience.

"I’ll go change–"

"Don't." This time, your response was produced right away, resulting in a confused quirk of his brow. "There's no need. After all, the sooner you get used to spending your evenings like this, the better. Unless you genuinely want to wear suits and ties and whatnot for the rest of your married life."

Rafayel lifted up his right hand, as though he was about make a solemn promise, but the unmistakable glint in his eyes gave away the suddenly upbeat mood in an instant.

"Is that so?" he taunted, his usual bravado coming back full force. "You plan on doing that often?"

"Got anything better to do?" You playfully stuck out your tongue and he chuckled.

"Not really, no. I suppose I could get used to this... predicament."

You felt your eyebrows lift at that. "That is an interesting choice of wording."

"Well..." Rafayel leaned forward on the table, smile wide and beaming. "Do you have any other... words in mind?"

Somewhen in the meantime, Lady Talia had returned, offering you a variety of beverages to choose from. The meal that got served shortly after was kept rather simple, but still tasted incredibly well; only after devouring it whole you realised how hungry you'd been prior to that.

Rafayel was actively chatting you up the entire night, (and, unbeknownst to him) more effectively than all the times before summed up and doubled. There was something so hauntingly beautiful in the way he appeared that evening, skin gleaming ever so slightly in the flickering candlelight, hair tousled and neck bare. It was in that moment you finally allowed yourself to admit that maybe, just maybe, all of this wasn't as unpleasant as you kept claiming it was.

Even while accompanied by the utter fiasco of your movie screening barely three days earlier. And that particular thought terrified you like no other.

After dinner you were invited by Lady Talia to her private office upstairs in order to finalise the engagement. The shock you felt upon noticing Rafayel's signature on the document already there was so evident, she even disclosed he'd put it there over ten days ago, the same night your manager dropped off the papers at the Qi Mansion. You were yet to decide how exactly you felt about that.

Rafayel was waiting for you just outside the door, most likely nonchalantly pretending like he stumbled upon you on complete accident (even though this was, quite literally, his own house). It was late, you could see that in the way his eyes gleamed softly, in the way he followed you back to the living room you met Lady Talia in, observing as you slipped your sweater on.

"Leaving already?" he questioned, sending you a cautious glance from his spot on one of the couches.

You sighed. "Soon, yeah. I'm just going for a smoke."

"Can I come with?" He smiled bitterly at your distrustful expression, memory of the last time you two were in a similar situation still fresh. "Just to be there. I don't think I'll be touching any cigarettes in a while."

"Good."

The balcony led to the other, so far undiscovered side of the property, currently enveloped in almost absolute darkness. Leaning over the marble railing, you glanced up at the night sky and Rafayel followed suit. "They are so much brighter here than in the city."

"Light pollution," he muttered, as though the late hour required all words to be whispered reverently. "How good are you at spotting constellations?"

You shook your head, blowing out smoke in the opposite direction. "Not very. I think I know the Little Bear."

"Hey, that's pretty good."

"Just don't make me test this theory," you cautioned, taking notice of how the evening breeze made Rafayel shiver slightly.

He smiled, in a different way than usual, even by today's standards. Then, he leaned in a little bit closer and pointed upward. "Here's your Little Bear," he whispered. "And if you go just slightly lower than the North Star... you'll find the Dragon. Here. See?"

Using his finger, Rafayel traced the constellation step by step.

"All this?" you questioned, making him chuckle. "That's a lot of stars."

"Mmm. Just wait till you see the Pegasus."

You whipped your head around. "Where?"

"It's a little farther out. Maybe I'll introduce you two some other time."

With your neck already slightly sore from looking up, you shot Rafayel the meanest glance you could muster. "Are you seriously gatekeeping constellations now?"

"You know." He rubbed his chin, completely ignoring your little jibe. "You're sort of like Pegasus yourself. As a mythical creature, it represents the ultimate form of sovereignty. The truest embodiment of freedom and creative expression. There is no other quite like it, no matter how far you'd look."

Despite his gaze being directed elsewhere, you still looked away in hopes of hiding the warmth slowly creeping up your neck.

"Then..." you spoke slowly, careful not to disturb this contemplative atmosphere. "Which one would you be?"

The wind tugged gently at the hem of Rafayel's worn out sweater, although he didn't seem to mind the chilly air anymore.

"I'm not sure..." he hummed, sending you a sly wink. "Maybe a peacock."

It's been quite some time since you felt such a sense of peace, one even slightly similar to what you got to experience that night on the balcony with Rafayel. Cigarette ash scattered around with the wind long ago, yet you couldn't bring yourself to retreat to the familiarity of your car parked right outside the main entrance. It was as though by merely speaking of leaving you could have broken this bubble, existing in a place and time no one else besides the two of you could ever reach. You knew, however, the longer you'd stay, the harder it'd be for you to return to what once was. Rafayel must have realised that too.

"I want you to know," he spoke, weighing each word with utmost care and consideration. "how much I appreciate you doing this with me. I can be a handful, that much I'm aware of. But this... this is different. And I think that's what scared me. That's what scares me still."

Unsure of what to reply to the sudden sincerity that soaked Rafayel's words right through, you just stared at him as he took your hands in his, gently, like he'd already assumed you'd yank them right back.

"So." He straightened up. "No more running away. Not from you."

You smiled at that, looking at your intertwined fingers.

"No more running away," you agreed after a brief moment of silence. "Not without you."

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