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okiedokrie · 2 months

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Meet Me In Amsterdam

Summary: "Minghao finds himself under a mentorship program from one of the most brilliant artist in the contemporary circle, where he meets Y/N and bond with their journey through art, overcoming traumas, and hopeless romanticism of the life and love around them. But all things come to an end at some point, the mentorship program ends, and they both go back to their lives. But they do meet again to finish what they started; 'if there is a next time, meet me in Amsterdam.'"

Characters/Pairing: Artist!Minghao x Artist!Fem!Reader

Genre: smut, some angst, fluff

AU/Trope Info: Non-idol AU!, idiots to lovers

Word Count: 10.8k

Warnings: Religious themes, implication of past sexual assault, homophobia mention, some cursing, food mentions, smut warnings under the cut

Rating: 18+

A/N: this is for the @svthub 2024 world tour collab! Thanks to @whipped-for-kpop-fics and @hobeemin for beta-reading!

Smut Warnings: oral (f receiving), sex in a church, unprotected sex, implied creampie

The air in Minghao's studio is dizzying. A broken exhaust and paint fumes don't really mix, and his open windows could only do so much. He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose in frustration. Touching grass may solve his problem, but he doesn't feel like dealing with the morning dew on the grass.

He quickly closed his windows before packing all his belongings in his commuting bag, opting to rush to a recent exhibit that opened. Minghao knew very little about the artist, but a change of scenery might help quell his throbbing headache.

Minghao took this opportunity to space out during the commute to the gallery, popping on his headphones and trying to ignore the touchy couples in the train car with him. He wonders what it'll feel like to find his person like them; Minghao only craves the warmth of another's arms.

He wonders what it'll feel like to fall for someone, to be comfortable with vulnerability and the trusting bond between two lovers. Ever the hopeless romantic, he'd love to love and be loved.

He snapped out of his thoughts when the intercom buzzed to life, announcing the arrival at Minghao’s stop. Adjusting the strap of his messenger bag, he pushed his way through the busy crowd to head out of the station. The walk to the gallery was calm and relatively quiet. This part of the city mostly had walking paths rather than roads, so it was really only bustling with people and the occasional bicycle.

Arriving at the gallery, the pieces were gorgeous, as expected. This artist was well known in the contemporary circle, so it's no surprise that the gallery is almost busier than the outside. Minghao felt drawn to one piece in particular, the warm tones, swirling and melting into one another, blending into a flame-like flow; it was stationary yet moving.

He hears a chuckle behind him, only to see an older man, about mid-forties, smiling at him. “I see you enjoy this piece; you have great taste. What's your name, boy?”

Minghao is a little flustered, but he introduces himself nonetheless. The man before him introduced himself as the artist and noticed Minghao's paint-stained hands before asking if he was an artist himself. Minghao confirmed the older man’s speculations, offering to show some of his work as photos on his phone. The older man was impressed by Minghao’s talent and potential, and he then mentioned that he had an apprenticeship program open, but it was in Amsterdam.

Minghao agreed a little too enthusiastically, seeing as this man quite literally defined an era of art in a way nobody else has.

It was only a few weeks after that interaction, but Minghao found himself on a flight to Amsterdam.

Taking in the city's air, Minghao feels a sense of dread washing over him, and the hustle and bustle of a new city scares him a bit. Being alone in a foreign land wasn't why his nerves were all over the place; no, it was the fact that he felt this opportunity wasn't meant to be his.

Sure, his mentor got the opportunity to see his work before he accepted the offer, but still, he feels this mentorship program would've been more suited to someone more fitting.

Nonetheless, Minghao is here now. And he swears he'll make the most of the time he spends here.

Taking one of the many old trains out of the airport, the rumbling train rails helped ground him a little; the sound was new and familiar at the same time. He thought back to his small studio back home, wondering how well it'd hold up in the year he'd be gone.

Minghao is snapped out of his daydreams when the train arrives at his station. He lugs his luggage to what will be his living quarters for the rest of his time here. Wiping his palms over his sweats, he finally takes the time to haul his bags over the stairs to the small apartment that was provided to him. His mentor mentioned that he has a roommate, another artist in the program, so he doesn't let his stuff get too comfortable in the main room.

Instead, he randomly picks one of the rooms, hoping his roommate doesn't mind. If they did, it's not as if he's opposed to switching.

He hums a simple melody while setting his bags to the side, still catching up to the jetlag and too tired to put anything away. He inspects the room, noting that it is a little dusty. He has to settle his sheets and wipe everything down before he can get too comfortable.

He thinks that heading out for brunch is a good idea, guessing that his roommate would most likely want to get situated in peace. He gets his wallet and phone and heads out to find somewhere to eat.

The streets weren't too busy. It was midday and the middle of the week, and most likely, people were still at their jobs. Still, they were full of people to the point that Minghao felt the pressure of needing to always be on the move. He constantly tried to go with the flow of the crowds while trying to find an establishment he could eat at, preferably something to quell his growing homesickness.

He stumbles across what seems to be a small business with very familiar-looking signs. Bingo! It's a Chinese restaurant! He thanks whatever force managed to lead him here before he enters the restaurant. The distinct smell of the classic spice mix calms his nerves, and his posture relaxes significantly.

The man at the counter doesn't look up from his paper, pointing at a booth near the back where Minghao could set his stuff before ordering. The curt behavior of the man doesn't phase him; in fact, it comforts him. He sets his bag down before standing at the counter, reading over the signs that were both in Mandarin and English. He starts ordering his food in Mandarin, finally getting the man at the counter to notice him. He nods in understanding, taking his order diligently before yelling his order at the cook at the back.

He pays, nods at the man again, and gets situated at his table. Getting comfortable with the smell of the food cooking and the chatter of the people around him. He fiddles with his phone a little, mindlessly scrolling through Instagram to see what his friends are up to. Mingyu got another modeling gig, Jungkook with his new single, and Dokyeom got to play Orpheus in Hadestown.

Soon enough, he doesn't realize how much time has passed, only noticing that his food was ready when the waitress hurriedly slides his food onto the table and takes his table number. Mumbling thanks, which he believes she ignores, Minghao starts to eat his food.

This is so good, actually; I need to post this to my story.

Minghao took a picture of his food. The digital camera shutter almost distracted him from the sound of someone bumping into the table next to him.

“Oh! Sorry, sorry!” A feminine voice said, frantically apologizing to the patron at said table, holding her hip. She desperately tried to wipe up anything that was spilled, apologizing profusely. Minghao got up from his table and offered to help her, wiping up the mess with her like the gentleman he was. Once the table was free from any spills, she apologized again to the person at the table and Minghao for troubling him.

“It’s fine; accidents happen all the time. Just be more mindful next time.” He says calmly, returning to his booth before a smaller hand grabs his arm.

“Uh, I can't find a place to sit. Would you mind sharing a table with me?” she asked shyly but politely. Minghao shakes his head no. Offering her a polite smile as they walk back to their now shared table, she leaves her items in his care before going to order her food.

Minghao finally gets to enjoy the food he ordered. The decadent aroma was mouth-watering, and most importantly, it reminded him of home. It helps warm him up, literally and figuratively. He chews slowly, savoring the flavors of his food as usual. He'd always been a slow eater, slow enough for the lady he shares a table with to get her food and finish eating with him.

They both get up from their table with a curt nod of acknowledgment. Thinking this would be the last time they'd ever interact, Minghao didn't bother introducing himself. And neither does she.

Yet, Minghao can't seem to shake the feeling of disappointment once he leaves her.

Minghao finally arrives at his apartment, ready to settle down after a long day of exploring the city and taking photos of places that inspire him. He closes the door, running a hand through his hair to look around the living room.

He nearly dropped his camera when he saw the girl from the restaurant staring back at him, and he almost dropped the tray of paints from the shock.

“What are you doing here?!” She asked, surprised and on alert. Minghao could only guess what emotions she was going through at that moment. A random man she met once is suddenly in her apartment. Oh dear.

Minghao starts to feel panic settle into him, too. Both of them look like deer in headlights, trying to make sense of the situation.

“Oh- uh- fuck, I live here!” Minghao says frantically, holding both his hands up in a show of innocence, showing his copy of the keys to their apartment.

Her posture immediately relaxed a little, “Oh uh, so, you're my roommate? I'm Y/n, by the way.” She says, still a little weary of him. He doesn't blame her; he did come in unannounced.

“It's nice to meet you again, I mean. I'm Minghao. Let's try to get along for this mentorship program, yeah?” He says, scratching the back of his head. “I'm gonna go head to bed; I'm exhausted from all the traveling, so uh, yeah.”

Minghao hoped his exit wasn't too awkward. Maybe it was, but he was too tired to deal with the intricacies of small talk. He changed his sheets quickly, throwing the old sheets into the wash before doing his nightly routine. He crashed into his new, cool sheets and drifted off into dreamland.

It was the next morning, and the warmth of the sunlight was seeping in through the cracks between the curtains. He blinks away the sleep from his eyes, rubbing his face into his palms. He sits up and shakes his head to fight off the rest of his fatigue. He was always a morning person, but the jetlag is making it a bit too difficult for him to uphold that.

His morning routine was simple: shower, get dressed, make-up and hair, breakfast, and out. He rarely breaks from this simple pattern, which consistently makes life easier for him. So it came as a surprise to him that he didn't have to make breakfast this time since his roommate kindly left a portion for him.

He thinks this is such a nice gesture to leave for the guy who scared her half to death yesterday. Maybe this was a sort of peace offering to make getting along easier? Either way, he won't complain—it's just another thing to make his life a little easier.

His roommate is nowhere to be seen, most likely already on his way to the studio to meet their mentor. So Minghao also leaves the apartment, making sure to lock the door on his way out. He pops his headphones on, listening to his favorite commute playlist with a lightness in his step, his messenger bag slung over his shoulder.

The train ride to the studio was calm; the morning train was much less busy than the afternoon one he took when he arrived, so he got the opportunity to sit down and enjoy the book he recently got. It was a story about two soulmates finding each other in the middle of a city that was new to both of them; he thinks that maybe he's starting to lean into the hopeless romantic stereotype that his friends would always compare him to, which, he could never beat the allegations.

His mind drifts to his art, and he describes how the romanticization of life became a heavy inspiration for his work. Minghao loves the strokes of color on the canvas as much as he loves life, and his passion for existence weaves itself between the fibers of his canvas.

After being snapped out of his daydreams by the conductor, he feels a sense of deja vu; he finds himself in his head constantly these days. He is always such a dreamer.

The doors of the train open with a mechanical hiss, old rails squeaking under the friction. He thinks the train still needs to go through the desperately needed maintenance. Same train, same. He thought to himself, stuffing his book back into his back with a huff.

Minghao takes in the scenery around him; this part of the city is much less busy than where his apartment was, so he could finally appreciate the city's beauty without the pressure of constantly having to be on the move.

His mentor's building comes into view. It is an older building; the exterior has long since been weathered, but history still makes it gorgeous. He noticed that buildings, most of them having yet to be touched since they were first built, added a charm to an otherwise monotonous city.

He pushes in the door, noting that his only option for getting to the studio is a set of ancient, creaky wooden steps. Minghao is lightheaded from looking at the flight of stairs, so he doesn't bother counting how many floors he has to climb just to get to his mentor.

I have to climb this every day. I don't need to bother with leg day here. He thought to himself, already making the long trek up the stairs.

It wasn’t that long—about 5 minutes of walking time—but it felt like an eternity to him. Walking was no issue; walking upstairs? Torture. The first treadmill was a step design, so it may not be an exaggeration.

Minghao finally reaches the top of the stairwell, pausing to catch his breath in an attempt to look presentable to his mentor and possibly his roommate. He stands by the door for a while, mentally preparing himself for the first day of the program. He arrives earlier than the agreed-upon time, so he's not in a rush to make his presence known.

He takes his water bottle out of his bag, puts cool water in it, and helps his poor self finally calm down from his mini workout. He curses whoever designed this stairwell. A five-story building should have an elevator, and arguing that it doesn't need one feels like a hate crime.

He stops himself before arguing with fictitious architects, who are probably long gone, about how old the building looks. Anyway, he finally has a hand on the doorknob to the studio; taking a deep breath one last time, he twists the knob and pushes the door open, the old wood creaking in protest from the force of him opening it. He cringes internally, the squeak passing straight through his skull, making him want to grind his teeth in annoyance.

Still, he doesn’t show his disdain for this geriatric building on his face since his mentor and roommate both whip their heads around to see him at the doorway. Suddenly, having two sets of eyes on you doesn't help the nerves.

He offers a polite smile, successfully fighting his grimace with a more pleasant expression. Both his mentor and roommate smile back. He noticed his mentor was a lot more relaxed than when he first met him, which makes sense. He is where he's most comfortable—in his very own studio.

Minghao feels the same about his tiny studio back home. He steps further into the bright studio, closing the door behind him. The studio's top floor and many large windows bring loads of natural light, making it feel more comfortable and inviting. Couple that with the fact that it's in a relatively quiet part of the city, and he feels as if his mentor really put thought into every detail of his permanent studio.

Minghao wonders when he will be able to get the studio of his dreams in his art career, but for now, he admires the studio. His mentor greets him and urges him to explore and get acquainted with the space. Since he'll be spending most of his time here in Amsterdam. Minghao nods, dropping his bag on the cubbies near the door and carefully walking around the studio, avoiding the items and canvases scattered around the floor. His mentor seemed to have an organized chaos mindset, seemingly not bothered by the mess or the health hazard tripping on any of these might cause.

He finds it amusing how much of his mentor he finds out about just from looking around his workspace. He has a husband, married young, it seems. He has twin girls, who he can only assume are grown now. He used to have a dog, a poodle named ‘Cloud’ despite being a black poodle. He made prints of older paintings before sending them off to an auction for fundraisers. He remembers those fundraisers very fondly, it seems.

Minghao also finds the bathroom and takes note of its location for future use; he’s definitely going to use that. He joins his mentor and roommate by the window, then takes the time to drink their morning coffee and watch the birds. His mentor offers him coffee, but Minghao asks if he has tea. His mentor confirms that he does and points toward his pantry, which is just a wooden cubby that he appropriated to be a pantry after he got tired of getting his snacks off the floor, sighting back pains.

Minghao calmly prepares his tea, passively listening to the conversation between his mentor and roommate. They seem to get along well. Maybe his mentor has some fondness for her because she reminds him of his daughters. He could only guess, though.

Minghao finishes making his tea and finally joins them by the window. “Are you guys birdwatching?” he asks, joining in the conversation.

“Yes! Mr. Jones was talking about how his youngest loved visiting his studio just to view the birds.” His roommate answers, his mentor confirming it. Though he does mention that she doesn’t visit as often—after all, she has a family of her own now—when she visits, she brings his grandchildren with her, which makes the old man happy.

He adopted his twin girls pretty early in life, seeing them as inspiration for most of his work. The way his mentor talks about his family and life with so much pride makes Minghao think about his future. He wonders if he’ll ever be as proud of his life as his mentor is, but considering he’ll be learning everything this man can offer, he’s pretty confident about that, at least.

After finishing their morning drinks, his mentor started his first assignment for them, one of many he’d assign throughout the program. His mentor was a patient and calm man. His instruction and tips for injecting emotion into your piece were very cohesive; it was almost like he got it down to a science. His enthusiasm and passion for his work were truly remarkable, and getting to witness it and learn from him felt surreal.

Minghao feels proud of having the opportunity to have him as a mentor. At the end of the day, instead of feeling exhausted, he's excited to learn more from him tomorrow.

You and Minghao are heading home together after a long day with your mentor, walking silently through the streets; you think that maybe he just doesn't like you, seeing how he practically jumps at every accidental graze of your hands with each other.

You don't really blame him either; your first impression wasn't exactly the greatest, seeing as someone cussed you out in the middle of a Chinese restaurant. That impression was a strong one, but unfortunately, not a good one.

Minghao and you shuffle into the same train car, getting pressed together as a consequence of rush hour. You try not to think about what your roommate, who is basically still a stranger to you, feels like. He's warm, and you can definitely feel that he is in shape. You definitely try not to think about how tall he is or how handsome he is.

He's so polite, too, and very gentlemanly. He's always conscious of his movement and language around you, protecting you from being squeezed in this tiny train car without him even noticing. It was basically second nature to him.

Oh, you're never going to survive with this man for a year; you're definitely not going to stay sane with him living with you. Your mind starts reeling, cursing whatever deity thought it was funny to send over a walking wet dream of a roommate to your sex-deprived self.

You'd hope Minghao doesn't notice how you fought for your life, trying to have decent thoughts. You felt extremely guilty for thinking of him as such, he's just minding his business, and you're acting like some horny teenager. You hope you don't offend him with how much you flinch in every interaction with him.

The last thing you'd want is for him to think he was the problem.

Luckily for you, Minghao always seemed to be in his head most of the time, mindlessly picking at the stitching of his shirt and spacing out, it seems. At least you don't have to worry about him secretly being a mind-reader. The chances are low, but they're never zero.

You also take this as an opportunity to start spacing out, looking out the window to watch the buildings and trees pass by quickly, enjoying the golden glow of the setting sun over the city. This scene makes you feel bittersweet, as if another day has passed.

You wanted nothing more than to crash in your bed and sleep until the next morning, but for now, in the middle of this train car, you had to be vigilant of your surroundings. Not just because you're a newbie to this place but because you absolutely cannot get so distracted that you start to lean into your roommate like some deranged weirdo subconsciously.

The train conductor announcing your stop seemed to snap both you and Minghao out of your daydreams. “Could I hold onto you? I don't wanna get swept up in this crowd,” you asked politely, unable to meet his eyes.

“Uh, sure, hold on.” He said, adjusting his messenger bag so it doesn't block your reach of his arm.

Minghao navigates the flowing crowd with a form of familiarity. It surprised you how well he managed to adjust to the movement of such a busy city. Then again, he could have already come from a much busier city than Amsterdam. Still, you need to learn more about him to make assumptions.

Minghao weaves the two of you through the crowds and out of the station, successfully reaching fresh air once you make it to a calmer sidewalk that was already near your apartment. You wanted to ask him so many questions. You realistically had a little over a year to do so, yet you know how quickly a year actually goes by, so you wanted to work quickly, but not too quickly, that you scare the poor man away.

Arriving at your apartment, Minghao fishes his keys out of his pocket to unlock the door, opens it, and gestures for you to enter first. You say a small ‘thank you’ before entering, taking your shoes off at the entrance and hanging up your coat.

Minghao follows you after you hear the door click behind you. The shuffling of his items as they are hung indicates that he is settling down for the day.

“Hey, Minghao?” You start, wanting to lead a conversation to eliminate the awkwardness between you and your roommate; he hums, fully turning his body to you as if to signal that he is listening. “I just wanted to know what you thought of Mr. Jones. You know, not as a mentor, but as a person.” You asked, thinking it was a safe place to start getting to know him.

He thinks about it momentarily, “I can't say right now; I've only ever known him as a leading force in the contemporary circle, but other than that? Not much. Judging from his relationship with his daughters, he seems like a good father and good husband, as he still spoke about his husband fondly and was pleasant to be around. But other than that, I don't know.” He shrugged, “Why do you ask?”

“Oh, I don't know,” You answer truthfully, “I like him a lot; he reminds me of my dad somewhat, you know, except maybe less of a religious nut.” You joke, gauging to see Minghao's reaction to it; luckily for you, Minghao finds it funny. Offering a restrained pfft- at your quip.

“Yeah, I get that; my dad was the same too. But I like him a lot less than Mr. Jones.” He said through laughter, running his hands through his hair. “I'll go take a shower; see you around, Y/n.”

And with that, he disappears into his en-suite.

You celebrate the tiny progress you made with your roommate, and you get to exchange words with him that aren't just common pleasantries. This motivates you to fan the spark of this new friendship, and maybe more, if you play your cards right.

It's too early to say you liked him, but he is objectively very attractive. So you can't really blame yourself for ogling at him. Respectfully, of course.

You also prepare for your night routine, opting to go through your entire skincare routine for the first time in forever after showering. You put on your best pajamas and tuck yourself into bed, dreaming of the day your hot roommate sees you how you want him to.

Kidding, not really.

Minghao has yet to learn what he's doing.

He'd been staring blankly at his canvas for what seemed like a solid 20 minutes, these inner thoughts fighting for dominance and splattering their metaphorical blood all over the pristine canvas.

He wanted to paint something so badly, but alas, getting struck with a severe art block on the second day of his mentorship felt like a sick joke from fate. His mentor watches over their shoulders, monitoring their progress. He seemed to notice Minghao's growing frustration from being stuck, “I think you should take a break, son. You should enjoy some tea by the window and clear your mind to make room for new ideas.” he said gently with a hand on Minghao’s shoulder.

Minghao agrees with him, finally setting his brush down to make his tea as usual before getting comfortable on one of the chairs by the window. He watches the trees sway in the wind, the birds playing on a random rooftop, and the clouds drifting slowly. All of these help calm his racing mind, which is preoccupied with so many things to think about that he doesn't have room to think about new ideas.

Minghao has a nasty habit of overthinking and holding onto ideas that no longer serve him a purpose. He thinks back to the first time he did this, the day he decided to become an artist. He's always known that he wanted to be an artist. He was eight at the time, telling his parents about his dreams for the future.

Unfortunately, they disapproved of such plans. The first thought Minghao ever held onto was, “You need to aspire to get a real job, not just some useless skill that will leave you with no money.”

The second thought Minghao held onto happened at around the age of 17, just before graduating high school. He decided not to go to college, seeing that he still held out hope that he could become a great artist one day. He wanted to prioritize honing his skills, and his parents, once again, didn't approve of that.

That was the first time he ever felt fear from his parents. Before, he was only met with stern lecturing and maybe being grounded, but he never saw his dad that angry before or ever since. Since that day, Minghao has held onto the following: “If you're going to choose to throw your life away, then so be it. Just don't come crawling back here when you end up on the streets!”

Minghao doesn't want to recall the last thought he held onto; the memory is still fresh and feels like a weapon being used against him. He wished it didn't turn out that way, but it did. And there's nothing he could do to change the facts.

Minghao savors the flavors of his tea before finally trying his best to get rid of all those thoughts he holds onto. He's far away from his parents, far away from the people who could hurt him, and far away from the past.

He finally stops overthinking as soon as he sets his cup down, wiping off his palms on his pants before joining his roommate and mentor again. His head was finally free of any troubles he might've had. But he knows he's never truly free, only temporarily setting it aside to focus on his current goals.

He feels a sense of pride while he is painting this time. Strokes of vibrant color dance across the weaving of the canvas, and his brush glides smoothly and freely across it, finding a path of its own, making its mark like it was always meant to do.

In a way, it was freeing to paint without the pressure of making it look ‘good’, Minghao only had to focus on laying a color down the way it wanted to lay, and this show of emotion sparked a flame of determination in Minghao that he thought he lost so long ago.

Minghao finally sees the colors for what they are again, and in a way, he starts falling in love with creating again. His joy is evident on his face, and the controlled strokes slowly turn into free ones with every passing moment.

He looks away from his canvas once to look at you, and he smiles the biggest smile you've ever seen on him. And you realize his smile is contagious, absolutely stunning in a way you've never felt before.

That smile was detrimental to your poor little heart, your small crush on him only worsening. You think it's a bit unfair that the universe had to dangle such a gorgeous specimen in front of you. You didn't even have an idea if he was single or not. He could have a wife and kids back home and you'd be none the wiser.

Still, you enjoy his company while you can. After all, it's not like you applied for this mentorship just to mingle. You were here to learn under a great artist, and to gain the experiences necessary to advance your career and skill.

Having a hot roommate is a nice touch, though.

“Hey Minghao?” You ask from the living room, looking up from your book to look at him in your tiny kitchen.

“Yeah?” He replied, not looking up from the stove. It was the weekend, and Minghao offered to make dinner as you’ve been making breakfast for the past few days.

“Are you in a relationship? If you don’t mind me asking.” You asked, the question has been bugging you for a while now, ever since you realized your tiny crush. You’d feel incredibly guilty if he was in a relationship and you tried shooting your shot with him.

“No. But why do you ask?” He said simply, focusing more of his attention to not burning the food. Stir-frying the noodles with familiarity.

“Nothing, I just thought about it.” You paused, “We’re friends, right?” You finished with a question, thinking that maybe your line of questioning might be too much for someone who doesn’t even consider you more than a roommate.

“Of course. I like your company, I don’t have a reason to try and alienate you.” He said, now with more focus on you as he turned the fire of the stove down. Plating your food in one of the plates your apartment came with.

“Cool. We’re cool.” You said a little awkwardly, thinking that maybe your questioning was a bit too on the nose. Even if he wasn’t a mind-reader, he’ll surely be able to tell that you’re interested in him just from your weird line of questioning in recent days. Surely Minghao isn’t dense.

Minghao called you over to your dining room table, saying that dinner was already served. You rise from your comfortable position on the couch, making your way over to the tiny table in the space between the living room and kitchen.

“I hope you like the food, it's something I always used to make in college. It was one of the few luxuries I could afford, but it’s still very delicious,” he said, serving you a portion before taking some for himself.

“Thank you for making dinner. This looks amazing, I’m honored to try it.” You said, taking in the sight of the food that Minghao made with care. Minghao feels a sense of pride from your praise, sure, he’s not the best cook, but he’s definitely proud of the progress he made in recent years.

Cooking was one of the first skills Minghao had to learn when he got kicked out of his parents’ place. Having focused all his energy on studying before, he only really had the time to learn how to take care of himself once he was on his own.

Watching you eat his food enthusiastically made Minghao unexpectedly happy. Sharing something he was proud of is often how he tries to get close to people, the little piece of vulnerability made him feel closer to them, like offering a piece of himself to them.

To you, this may have felt like a simple dinner, a meal between two friends in the comfort of their own home. But to Minghao, this was him accepting you into his space. Finally being comfortable enough to associate you to a dish he holds almost sacred.

The days easily turned into weeks, weeks into months, and before you knew it, it's already six months into your mentorship program. The days began to blur into each other, the most interesting thing that happened in the six months was your budding relationship with your roommate, whom you found out to be as much of a hopeless romantic as you are.

Your weekdays were spent at the studio, diligently working under your mentor and improving your art. While your weekdays were spent unwinding and spending time with your new friend. Minghao's taste in movies doesn't differ much from yours, opting to watch romantic movies with happy endings.

It was during one of these movie nights that Minghao asked you a question, “Do you believe in true love? ‘The one’, so to speak. Someone that is a perfect fit for you as you are to them.”

You think about this question for a bit, “Yeah, I do. It's a little silly to ask for perfection, but if someone is perfect to you, I think that's pretty plausible. Though, I do think true love is more of a choice than just aimlessly searching for them, you know?” You answered carefully, eyes still glued to the tv screen.

“I see,” Minghao started, “do you have an idea what your ‘one’ might be like?” He asked, this time a little more determined to get a more pointed answer from you.

“Not necessarily, but I already have a feeling that I know them already.” You said, relaxing and leaning back onto the couch, “Or, at least I hope I do. And I hope they see me like that too.” You sighed, wishful thinking taking over you again.

Over time, your little crush on Minghao had grown into a genuine romantic interest, especially since learning that he was single a few weeks ago, you started to see him in a different light. Almost as if the confirmation of his availability gave your subconscious the green light to start thirsting over him like a horny teenager.

It also didn’t help that he got comfortable enough to walk around the house shirtless, or worse, with just a towel loosely around his hips, sitting low as he’s fresh out of the shower. This put you in a loop, almost all thoughts being occupied by him in a sick and twisted way.

Some days, you convince yourself that Minghao does this on purpose, trying to kill you in the reflection of the light from his sweet, wet abs.

“Y/n?” He said, breathless. With a whiny tone in his naturally airy voice.

“Hao? You’re back from your run?” You ask from the kitchen. Trying not to think about how delicious his voice sounded.

“Yeah, I picked up some bread on the way back. Thought it’s go well with the soup you’re making.” He replied as he placed a paper bag of fresh bread on the counter. You turn away from the stove to check out the selection he brought back.

“Hm, you got good taste. I didn’t expect any less.” You say with a proud smile, Minghao’s chest fills with a sense of pride as well. It was always validating to hear from someone else that they trusted your judgment.

The two of you had the day off today, your mentor visiting his daughters somewhere on the other side of the country. Giving the two of you free reign to settle chores that you haven’t been keeping up with.

Minghao offers to help you set the table, but you tell him to take a shower first. Letting that sweat dry on him might make him sick. Or worse, sticky.

He laughs that off, “Oh please, I think you’d want that.” He said suggestively.

That was a new development too. Minghao is getting bolder with his jokes. His jokes were always tasteful, never trying to push your boundaries. But sometimes you wish he did, just so you’d have the excuse to tell him how much you wanted him.

But for now, with Minghao not showing any interest in acting upon his suggestive jokes, you swallow down the urge to jump his bones. For now, at least.

Your mentor returned from his family visit the next day, with an assignment for both of you.

Sitting in the studio as usual, your mentor explains what your assignment entails, and how it’ll most likely span the rest of your time here in Amsterdam. He took it upon himself to assign it as a final project for the two of you, finishing this would finish their apprenticeship.

“A local cathedral reached out to me looking for my services. They wanted a mural painted for the interior because it started to look a little too clean after renovations. I think this would be a good opportunity for the two of you to show me what you’ve learned. I give you half a year to finish it, and then, you’ll be done with your mentorship.” He said, voice wispy like a proud father recalling the time when his children were just small, not looking at them, all grown up, he can’t help but tear up.

You and Minghao look at each other, unable to fathom this amazing opportunity that has presented itself to you. You and Minghao eagerly accept the offer, excitedly heading out to check out the said church so you two can plan out what to do for the mural.

The people attending the church are already briefed on the situation, happily showing you around their shiny new church, happy to find new artists to commission for this project. You and Minghao take photos of the interior, wanting to plan around the implements and fixtures, to give everything a cohesive look.

You and Minghao do this for hours walking around the city to look for inspiration along the way, taking in all the sights you didn’t have the chance to take in before. The city was filled with inspiration, ideas flowed out the both of you like a river, and it was so easy to find passion for this project. With a giant canvas and free reign to paint whatever, you and Minghao felt like kids at a candy store.

But suddenly, the sky started to grumble, clouds darkening in a tell-tale way. You hadn’t anticipated the rain, so you both scramble to find shelter as the rain starts to pour. Taking shelter under the awning of an abandoned shop, you both watch as the rain pools and puddles around you. You turn to Minghao, he was a little damp but relatively dry, water dripping from his hair, soaking into his clothes. His mouth was slightly parted from panting, the unexpected run knocked the wind out of both of you.

At that moment, Minghao looked delectable.

“Hao?”

“Yeah?”

“Can I kiss you?”

He only smiles at your question, leaning down to softly press his lips to yours. He had an arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, pressing his body to yours. You can feel the warmth of his skin radiating under his clothes, warming you up from the chill of the rain.

You felt a little light-headed, not just from the lack of air, but because you didn’t expect a random blurt of your desire would lead to Minghao kissing you breathlessly. Not that you’re complaining, not at all, in fact, this made you want him more, softly moaning against his lips before pulling away, remembering that you’re in public.

“Oh, wow, um.” You start, heads still spinning from the dizzying kiss Minghao had pulled you into.

He just laughed his signature laugh, joy coursing through his veins. How could he not be happy? An amazing opportunity to advance his career, getting to spend the day in the city with someone he cares deeply for, and getting to kiss her in the rain? Oh, he’s weak in the knees.

This day was perfect, you were perfect. Minghao couldn’t ask for anything more.

You and Minghao started the mural for the cathedral, buzzing with excitement for your first big project, as well as your budding romantic relationship with him. The two of you work on opposite ends of the mural, working to meet each other halfway, and taking the time to get the details down before moving on to the next section.

In a way, this was reminiscent of how you and Minghao are taking the steps to make this relationship work. Though unlikely that you’d meet like this, you still did, and you’d like to believe it was fate. Both of you agreed not to put a label on it just yet, just enjoying each other's company, and exploring the possibilities of this new romance.

You sneak glances at him every so often, his face scrunched in concentration, focusing on perfecting the sections of the mural he assigned himself to. And sometimes, when he looks back at you, his face instantly relaxes and glows. You love how expressive his face is, almost as if you could tell what he was thinking about at any point. It comforts you how open he is, knowing that he looks at you with genuine affection and adoration. It's fun, it's freeing to feel this way about someone who feels just as strongly.

The two of you worked on the mural until lunch when the two of you decided to take a short break, “Maybe I’ll take this opportunity to take you out on a proper date.” He said cheekily, offering his arm for you to hold.

“Oh, that’d be great. We keep passing by this one restaurant that I’ve been dying to try.” It was an open-concept place, clean and modern but it didn't give off “steak dinner” vibes, it just seemed like a nice sit-down place to have lunch or brunch, if you’re of the local housewife type.

Asking the waitress at the front for a table for two, the two of you were promptly seated at a table facing the street, offering the both of you the menu. Apparently, the menu changes seasonally, this time they offered a variety of vegan dishes, which intrigued you. You never realized vegetables could be cooked in so many different ways.

Your food was served, and the conversation between you and Minghao flowed like free orange juice refills. You both enjoy your lunch, more than you usually do, you don’t know if the food was actually good, or if the company just made it better, but either way, you don’t think you could enjoy a meal without Minghao anymore.

He’s just so charming, kind, and funny. So, so funny. The tables around you started to look at you two funny for all the giggles coming from your table specifically. The restaurant being open-air doesn’t even help to dampen the sounds of your joy, even the hustle and bustle of the street fade to the background with him. It’s just you, and Minghao, and the delicious veggies the two of you decided to have for lunch.

Lunch was over before you realized it. Minghao flags down the waitress, asking for the bill and paying for it himself, much to your protests. Yet, those fall on deaf ears as he winks at you. Offering his arm for you to take again before walking back to the cathedral to continue working on your mural.

The two of you continue to act like love-struck fools, much to the church staff’s chagrin, but it's not like either of you cared, you enjoy his company, and you, his. You haven’t brought up the kiss from before, but you wanted to, mainly to ask him for another one.

Minghao really wasn’t the type for much skinship, but it’s not as if he’s opposed to it. If you asked, he’d comply. He’s willing to do many things for you, or with you. Minghao thinks it’s too early to call it love, definitely, but it’s really really close to it.

He adores you to no end, no words could describe how much you became an important part of his life in just a few short months. And getting to work with you on this? He almost couldn’t believe it.

Growing up, he always thought love like this only happened in movies or books. But he’s living it right now. He’s living in Europe, doing what he loves the most, and finding an unexpected light in his life. Maybe life does have things worth worrying about.

Still, ever present in Minghao’s thoughts, is the sinking feeling of anxiety. It’s ugly, rearing its head whenever it can. The last time he felt this strongly about something, it nearly broke him. Minghap always felt too hard, nothing is ever ‘just’ happy or ‘just’ sad for him. His loyalty and devotion is both a blessing and a curse.

And yet, he still believes in love.

He’s a hopeless romantic, even if it’s scary, even if it’ll hurt, he still holds onto hope that he could get away with it. Making a religion of your lips, worshiping the false god that is your adoration for each other.

It’s ironic to think like that in the middle of a cathedral he thinks, yet, he’s not guilty, not after what the church has done to him, to his once level-headed father.

It was another day of working on the mural, this time, you and Minghao worked until the late hours of the night, until all the church staff bid both of you goodnight, leaving you two to work in the dim light of the chandelier.

“Hey, have I ever told you that this is the first time I went inside a church since I was seventeen?” Minghao started, concentrating on his section of the mural, painting the rosy cheeks of a cherub.

“Huh? No, you haven’t. Why did you stop going to church? If you don’t mind me asking.” You said, a little startled from being broken out of your concentration.

“It’s simple really, my values didn’t align with the church anymore. And, I may have been in love with a man at the time.” He joked, chuckling at the end of his sentence as if he was reminiscing about something humorous.

You nod, “You know, I haven’t been in a church for about as long.” you say, setting your brush down to continue speaking, taking a short break to avoid cramping your hand. “I didn’t like how I was basically brainwashed all my life to devote my time and soul to the church, I didn’t feel a connection to religion anymore, not after what my group told me after what that priest did to me.”

Minghao’s expression softened, shoulders dropping with his grip on the brush relaxing. “That’s terrible, I’m sorry that happened to you.” He said, also resting his brush. He walked towards you, offering a hand to help you get off the floor. You take his hand, muttering thanks, and you follow him to the back of the church, in the pews nearest to the altar.

“You know, sometimes I feel as if some unknown force led us to meet each other.” Minghao started, “Think about it, how is it that we’re the only two people in the mentorship program, and how have we managed to fit together so perfectly? I think,” Minghao pauses to lick his lips, “if it were anyone else, I wouldn’t have felt this way about them.”

“I know that confession was a little misplaced, especially after what you just told me. But I just wanted to give you context for my offer,” He said, taking your hand, the warmth of his palm radiating to yours, warming it up, “I want to give your power back to you, I like you a lot, too much really. Ever since that first day, you made me breakfast. And I’d do anything to take that pain away from you.”

“Minghao…” You said, “I like you a lot too. I’m flattered by your confession, and so moved by your offer. But I can’t seem to figure out what your offer is supposed to mean.”

“You were attacked at a church, violently, as if your body wasn’t yours for a time. I want to override those memories with ours, make it your choice. To have an outlet for your anger.”

You openly gape at him, not believing his offer. He wanted to…?

“Minghao, I want you.”

It felt cathartic to say that, especially in a place you’d never think to say that. It was satisfying as if a weight had been lifted from you, the burden of memory weighing on your chest being removed, like the first time you could breathe freely again.

Mingahao gently cups your cheek, stroking the flushed skin with the pad of his thumb, slowly turning your head to face him, his lips hovering over yours, “I want you too.” He said before locking lips with you.

Your hands immediately find their place at the back of his neck, fingers threading to the soft ends of his hair, pressing him closer to you, the warmth of his body radiating through his clothes. Your skin felt hot, like desire was just boiling under your skin, blooming on the surface as a flush of red. Minghao crowds you, kissing you with want, with need. He kissed you, letting his hands do what his lips wanted to, his faith turning into despair. The tragedy of not having a taste of your skin yet, swirls in his gut, manifesting in desperation. He kissed you with urgency, as if this was the only chance to have you like this, his greed taking over his thoughts as it filled his mind with images of you in the most depraved positions, your usually clean image tainted with evidence of his lust.

After all, Minghao is just a man, a man who now finds religion in your lips.

He reluctantly parts from you, surprising you with his strength but lifting you suddenly, walking the short way to the altar. His plans dawn on you as soon as you feel the cool marble under you, eyes rolling to the back of your head as you lock your lips with his again, moaning pathetically and the feeling of his palms snaking their way under your shirt, squeezing and kneading the flesh, taking handfuls of it as he needed it.

He parts from your lips with a whine, panting for air like just running a marathon. He only parts from you for a second, only for his mouth to connect with your jaw, placing open-mouthed kisses on it. Goosebumps litter your skin, his simple touch leaves you shivering in a way you didn’t think was possible. Your legs part and Minghao takes his place between them, now sucking and biting marks into your skin, maroon blooms all over your collarbones, as you pull him impossibly close, bodies flush together perfectly as if it was always meant to be.

You paw at his jacket, wanting to feel him without the barriers of fabric between the two of you. He frantically shrugged his jacket off, and pulled his shirt over his head without being prompted, using his weight to press you down into the marble altar. Takes his time to unbutton your shirt, kissing the skin with every button he undoes.

Warmth ripples under your skin like drops hitting the surface of a still body, each kiss sending a spark of heat directly to your core. Simple, but powerful. The way Minghao delicately worships your skin made a sense of serenity wash over you like a wave, crashing over your restless state.

Minghao rises to meet your lips, again, swallowing the sound of your moans, nipping at your lips. His hard cock presses into your core through his pants, layers of fabric between the places where you needed each other the most. Desperation turns into slight relief from the pressure of your bodies pressing together.

He takes his time to strip you of your effects, taking time to peel it off of you with care. This is the first time he's seen you in such a compromising position, yet you don't feel pressured or nervous at all. The way he looks at you, it's as if you hung the stars in the sky one by one, just for you to take them in your eyes, a galaxy of secrets waiting to be uncovered; and you're willing to let him explore.

Minghao falls to his knees, fingers pressing into the flesh of your thighs. He presses kisses on your kneecap, slowly inching his way to your core, lips brushing against your skin, making you shiver. You watch as his head of hair reaches the apex of your thighs, placing a kiss on your pelvis, right above where you need him.

He looks up at you briefly, eyes locking with yours as if asking for permission to just dive right in. You nod, giving him the silent permission to do so. He smiles, his eyes fluttering shut as his mouth connects with your core, lips wrapping around your throbbing clit.

Your back arches from the marble, hands frantically searching for his head, threading your fingers through his hair to get a grip on anything. The way the wet muscle that was his tongue guided the swirl of hot desire in your stomach made you dizzy, his eyes shut tightly, and small whimpers left his lips, making you feel the vibrations.

He ate you like a starved man, “Oh, fuck, please-! Keep going!” The frantic pace of his mouth and tongue got more desperate with your praise, your encouragement made him press his face closer to your core, his jose bumping your clit, making him breathe in deep, taking in your scent.

His eyes flutter open at the smell, eyes rolling to the back of his head, and a pathetic, high-pitched whine leaves his lips. His tongue pressed against the spongey spot in your walls, immediately this sends a shiver down your spine, your moans turning into desperate whines, grinding on his mouth.

And Minghao just stops to take it, exaggerating his moans to help you over the edge.

A knot starts to form in your core, only a mixture of pleas of his name leaves your lips as you topple over the edge, reaching your high. Your orgasm was blinding, a hot, white pleasure ripped through you, your body shaking from the impact of such a powerful climax.

Minghao groans as he savors the flavor of your release, drinking it like a sacred Ambrosia. He delicately licks at your folds, careful not to bump into your sensitive clit.

After being satisfied with cleaning you up, Minghao starts to unbuckle his belt, his pants hanging low on his hips. He finally takes his cock out of his boxer briefs, the tip is red and bulbous, angry and leaking. His mouth parts with a moan, licking his plump lips, finally getting the friction he so desperately wanted.

He gets on top of you, his warmth radiating off of him in waves. He brings a hand up to brush your hair away from your face, soaking up every detail, committing the look in your eyes to memory. He looks at you with adoration, eyes clouded with lust yet still shines with the respect he has for you as a person.

In his eyes you were perfect, especially with that fucked-out look on your face, panting and shaking under him.

He kisses you again, this time with less desperation. You could taste yourself on his lips, highlighting your desire for more. He finally guides his cock to your entrance, the tip of it bumping into your clit, a gasp falling from your lips.

You look up at Minghao, a halo of many colors forming around his head, the cross-shaped stained glass behind him glowing brightly in the full moonlight. If it wasn't for the depraved things he's done to you, you'd think that he looked angelic.

Finally, he slowly pushed his cock into you, a shaky breath leaving his lips, taking every ounce of self-control to not start frantically thrusting into you, letting you take the time to adjust to his size. Minghao was bigger than you thought he'd be, the sheer size of his cock stretching you deliciously.

He pressed your foreheads together, your breathing synchronized. You open your hand on his chest, pressing your palm over his heart, you can feel the steady beating of it, and you can feel him breathe with you. The silence only amplified the feeling of being connected, a kind of vulnerability that you’ve never felt with anyone else before.

You savor his warmth, his closeness to you, before asking him to move. He nods wordlessly, not trusting his voice at the moment. He was buried to the hilt, but he slowly started to pull back until only his head stayed inside you, only to push back in, a wet, lewd squelch of your juices mixing with his echo and rung in your ears.

He started to pick up his pace, intertwining your hands together to gain leverage. “Fuck, you feel so good babe, so warm. So perfect for me.” He said lowly, mind emptying all thoughts except for the feeling of you around him. He can't get enough of you, your image infecting his mind, making a home in every crevice.

Both of you were very vocal about how good it felt, pleasure rising to a pressure that made both of you light-headed, your grip on his hand tightening with every pointed thrust to the spot where you needed him the most.

His lips meet your neck again, more maroon marks blooming over your skin, marking you with evidence of him. He separated from the skin with a wet pop, his nose brushing against your cheek, his hair tickling the skin, “Please, I need you to cum around my cock. Don't make me beg for it, please, oh- please-” he whimpered in your ear, breathless from the force he was using.

He turns to kiss you again, both of you swallowing each other's whines and moans as your desperation grows stronger.

Soon, the coil in your stomach starts to tighten again, you can't hear much over the ringing in your ears, but you do hear the wet slapping of skin together, and the ragged breathing coming from the man above you. You barely registered your own orgasm, you felt like you weren't in your body, like your soul was floating in the space where you felt neither pain nor pleasure.

Tears ran down your face, your body shaking like a leaf. Minghao watched as your juices squirted out of you, coating his cock and legs with your release. This violently sends him into his own orgasm, barely catching himself with the altar as the force of it knocks the wind out of him, his knees shaking, barely able to hold his weight up.

He almost collapsed into you with how much his body couldn't handle the sensations, his hips never ceasing even with both of your oversensitivity.

He finally stops, both of you winded from the intensity of your sex. He kisses you with finality that night, right at the altar with the light of the cross over you.

It's been months since you and Minghao started the mural, and also started hooking up. The first time you slept with him was certainly not the last. You were sure you desecrated every inch of this sacred space, as well as every corner of your shared apartment.

But, all good things come to an end.

Today was the day you finally added the finishing touches to the mural, marking the end of your program, and the end of your time in Amsterdam.

Your mentor was pleased with how it turned out, he was proud of how far the both of you have gotten in your skills. And decided to throw a party in his studio to celebrate the completion of your final project.

You and Minghao skirt around the idea of what will happen next after the program ends, enjoying the company of your mentor and the few friends you've made in Amsterdam.

It was after the party that things finally started to feel grim, each item you packed into your suitcase felt like heavy weights or a nail in the coffin of your relationship with Minghao.

You couldn't fathom going back to reality, back to your lonely apartment without the anticipation of waking up and making breakfast for him.

You realized too late that you loved him.

“What happens to us now?” His question surprised you, you didn't think he was thinking about this as hard as you were.

“Well, we go back to where we came from. Go on with our lives, I guess.” You reply, too cowardly to admit what you truly felt, as it'll only hurt more.

“That's it?” He asked incredulously, “You don't want to even try to make this work?” His tone wasn't one of anger or disappointment, Minghao had always been an expressive person, but this was something worse. Hurt.

“Minghao I-” You start, but he cuts you off,

“Well, you know what? Okay. It's okay- just… if there's ever a next time. Meet me in Amsterdam. Please, at least, try for me?”

You nod, your breathing becoming shaky as tears begin to well in your eyes. You hug him tightly, almost as if it'll be the last time you ever see him.

But no, there will be a next time. No matter how long it'll take.

You let the tears fall when the plane finally took off.

It's been several years since your time in Amsterdam, your experience there marked you in more ways than one.

Your art career found success after the mural you worked on with him received critical acclaim. Opening galleries and exhibits all around the world, people enjoy the art you made greatly.

You find yourself in the place where it all started, Amsterdam.

“So, there really is a next time, huh?” You said, your voice was calmer than you expected it to be, especially with being overcome with such intense emotions.

Minghao smiles at you, wordlessly coming in to hug you.

“I'm not letting you go, not this time.”

332 notes · View notes

therealcocoshady · 5 months

Text

Recovery - Chapter 35

Eminem x Female Reader Fanfiction

Synopsis : Reader is mad at Em after their heated argument and he does everything he can not to lose her.

Y/N’s POV

You had decided to sleep in one of the guest rooms after your argument with Marshall. He had tried to reason with you, apologize for the millionth time and tell you he loved you but you just needed to be in a different room and not see or hear him. With him begging and pleading, it was impossible to process your feelings. After you locked yourself in the guest room, you heard him knock and apologize for a while but he eventually went away when he understood that you would not open the door, let alone talk to him. To say you were hurt would be the understatement of the year. How did he dare accuse you of lying ? How did he dare imply that you would not deserve to raise children when he knew full well that it was all that you wanted for yourself ? You understood that he might have said that out of anger, fear or whatever extreme emotion he might have felt in the moment but that was no excuse. And it did prove one thing : after knowing you for nearly two years, having witnessed you work towards recovery, he still saw you as an addict. This made you feel worthless, like everything you had done, all the meetings, the therapy sessions had done no good and that you would always be seen as the stupid girl who made a couple of bad decisions because she had a hard time handling trauma. Before messing with your anxiety prescription and eventually overdosing, you had never done a lot of drugs. You had never been the party type, drinking too much and experimenting with substances. The heaviest thing you had ever tried was smoking weed during trips to Amsterdam with your friends from college. You were not a crackhead, for crying out loud ! Looking at the bigger picture, your experience with drugs was limited and represented a few months. It could have been worse. You did not want to minimize your mistakes, but you also did not want them to be held against you for the rest of your life. You were twenty-eight, you still had a lifetime ahead of you. Three months messing with Xanax should not earn you a life sentence. And if Marshall thought different, to hell with him.

Having him throw all these things in your face hurt on so many different levels and you cried yourself to sleep. Out of anger, sadness and frustration. And on top of that, you had to deal with the guilt of feeling unable to truly rejoice for Talia. You were feeling more lonely than ever. The last time you had felt this lonely was after you lost your baby. Simon was there physically but nowhere to be found on an emotional level and your friends, despite trying their best, did not really understand what you were going through. Now, things were different but also similar in a way : you couldn’t really talk to your friends and it was painfully obvious that your partner would not be of any support. All you had wanted for the night was to have some peace, some alone time and, eventually, Marshall’s arms to fall asleep in. Instead, you had an argument that led you to sleep in a guest room and a possible breakup on your mind.

You didn’t want to break up with Marshall. Even after the awful things he threw in your face, you were still in love with him. It didn’t make sense. If anything, you should hate him. And in a way, you did. But you still loved him. The perspective of breaking up was making you sick to your stomach but what choice did you have, when the person you loved the most, the one who was supposed to protect you, be there for you and have your back did not respect you and thought of you as a failure ? Yes, he had apologized countless times and professed his love for you, but what good did it do if he saw you as an addict and a charity case ?

The only reason you managed to sleep at all was from the exhaustion from crying. You had sobbed so much that your head was hurting when you woke up, your vision still blurry. That’s when you felt a presence in bed, next to you. You rubbed your eyes and saw Marshall laying there, staring at you intently with bloodshot eyes. You had locked the door behind you. What the hell was he doing here ? How long had he been staring at you for ?

What are you doing here ? You asked in a raspy voice. How did you even get here ?

Masterkey. Baby… I can’t sleep without you, he said. I don’t want to sleep without you. Not tonight. Not ever.

So you thought you’d stare at me in my sleep like some sicko ?

Y/N, I… Please don’t do this, he sighed. Don’t leave me.

He was staring into your eyes, as if he were trying to read into your soul. He was wearing a white tank top and gray sweatpants. He knew full well that was the clothes you liked the most on him. You had told him countless times how sexy he was in them. And you had to admit that, laying on top of the covers, icy blue eyes and muscles on full display, he was a vision. Even when you were mad at him, he had you drooling and it was painfully unfair.

Marshall…, you began.

I can’t lose you, he pleaded. I don’t want to lose you. I can’t live without you.

You hurt me, you said as you swallowed dryly. You really hurt me.

I know, baby, I-

No you don’t ! You interjected. You have absolutely no idea how bad it hurts. This is worse than the time you told me I should have overdosed before we met. Losing this baby, it’s the worse thing that ever happened to me. How dare you tell me I shouldn’t get to be a mother ?! How dare you tell me that when it was my biggest dream and the reason for our breakup ? How dare the man I told everything about my miscarriage to, the one who consoled me when I was hurting, say something so mean when I gave up on this dream in order to be with him ?!

I’m so sorry, he sobbed. I don’t deserve you. I know it. I fucked up.

And I don’t deserve you either ! You spat. I deserve better. You said you had my back. You said you were here for me. You were supposed to be my best friend in the world. You were supposed to protect me. You had me believing that I could recover. The man who gave me this fucking sobriety pendant and told me I wasn’t alone doesn’t believe in me and thinks I’m basically a crackhead !

No, Y/N, it’s not true, he said. I don’t think that at all. You’re so strong. I know it. I see it.

Then why would you say what you said ? You cried. What good reason can you possibly have for hurting me this bad ?

I… It’s hard to explain.

The both of you were crying, laying in bed, staring at each other. Seeing Marshall in tears broke your heart but, hell, he had broken yours. You were mad at yourself for having so much empathy for him. He reached for your hand and, with the other, wiped his tears.

Look, I know it’s no excuse, but… When I saw the tests, I freaked out, he said. Because it’s not even that I don’t want kids. I mean, I don’t, because I’ve had three beautiful daughters, I feel like my family is complete and, who wants to change diapers in their fifties anyway ? Or be mistaken for their child’s grandpa ? But really… When I thought you were pregnant, I was terrified. Because there is no fucking way I can be chill with the idea of having another baby when I put mine through so much. I traumatized my daughters. Their mom traumatized them too. Their parents were fucking zombies. They saw us struggle. No child should ever, ever see that. No kid should have to call 911 because their dad is dying on the bathroom floor, or have to wait for their mom to call them from jail. They should not have to say “Mom is in rehab. Again. She was sober for years but she relapsed and now she’s a mess”. I can’t even begin to tell you all about the times my kids didn’t have their parents with them for important events. Or the times when we were there but not mentally present.

You stared at him in silence as he spoke. He had already told you about his addiction, how he had struggled, but he had never really spoken about the impact it had on his daughters, on his family. Tears were falling down his cheeks as he spoke and you could tell the memories were still vivid.

And when I say that addicts are shitty parents, I’m just talking from my experience, he continued. No matter how much I’m trying now, no matter how long I’ve been sober, it doesn’t erase everything the girls have been through. And I can’t, in good conscience, have another child. Being an addict doesn’t mean you don’t love your kids to death. But it means that they have to put up with a lot and might end up having to care for you when, really, you’re the one who should take care of them. And I won’t even get into the bad genetics they might inherit. When I got back from the hospital, the girls had to take care of me. And throughout the years, they’ve had to take care of Kim, too.

I know, you said. And I’m so sorry you had to go through this but… You were mean to me. You were cruel.

I never meant to say you wouldn’t be a loving mother, he explained. Because there is absolutely no doubt in my mind about this. And I know it’s a sensitive subject for you. What I really meant to say is that, even though you’ve worked so hard, even though you’re doing so good, there is no certainty you won’t relapse at one point or another. It doesn’t mean I don’t trust you, it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t be there for you if something happened. It means that it’s scaring the living shit out of me. I wouldn’t be able to handle having a kid with anyone, but if I’m being honest, I couldn’t handle the pressure of having one with you especially, because I’d be even more scared.

You nodded sheepishly. When he put it in these words, it made more sense. You were still hurt but, in a way, you would see where he was coming from.

But I realize that… It’s a me issue, for the most part, you know ? He finally said. And I guess that, just because it’s the way I see things doesn’t mean it has to be true for you. I know we’re in different situations.

Yes, you said with tears in your eyes. Because for me… It was three months, Marshall. I only used for three months. And it doesn’t change the fact that I made mistakes. But I don’t want to be thought of as an addict for the rest of my life. Because that’s not who I am. It shouldn’t have to define who I am. And I will not have you think of me as a charity case.

I know, he agreed. I fucked up. I’m sorry. But I don’t want to lose you. I can’t lose you. For the record, I don’t think of you as an addict. And you are not a charity case. You have never been. Even at the beginning, we bonded over the topic of addiction and I wanted to be there for you, but it was never about charity or whatever. Or maybe it was, but with me being the damn charity case.

I never saw you like that, you said.

Before I met you, I was a fucking mess, you know ? He said. I was sober for fifteen years, I was doing good on paper, but I wasn’t… I wasn’t happy. I never really thought I could be. Content, maybe. But happy ? No. You’re the one who showed me what true happiness looks like. You were never a fucking charity case, Y/N. You’re the air I breathe.

You could see the sincerity in his eyes. He was holding your hand in his and staring at you. Things seemed a bit clearer now but you weren’t ok. Maybe he didn’t actually mean all the things he’d said, but you still took them to heart. You stared back at him, not saying much. And if you weren’t pushing him away, you weren’t exactly making a move in his direction either. You were just sitting in bed, feeling emotionally drained.

I’m really sorry, you know, he reiterated. I know I’ve said that a hundred million times tonight, but I mean it. Can you forgive me ?

I… I don’t know, you said blandly.

I’ll do whatever it takes, Y/N, he said. I swear to God, all you have to do is tell me what to do and I’ll fucking do it. I’ll jump in front of a train, I’ll sell a kidney, I’ll take my heart out of my chest and offer it to you. Anything.

Can you… Leave me alone ? You asked.

He looked absolutely heartbroken and you didn’t want to hurt him but, at the same time, you didn’t want a sacrifice. What you wanted, what you really needed was time and space. You looked at him as he swallowed dryly. There was a hint of panic in his eyes.

Please don’t leave, he pleaded.

I need time, Marshall, you explained. I need space.

Please, he begged.

He cupped your face and whispered to you how much he loved you, how much he needed you. “I can’t lose you”, he kept on saying. He then proceeded to kiss your forehead, your cheeks, your lips… He seemed virtually unable to let go of you. You burst into tears as soon as his lips touched yours and he held you as you sobbed in his arms, repeating how sorry he was. Your tears were getting his tank top wet but he didn’t seem to care. He kept on spilling soft kisses on your face, holding you close. You let him kiss you as you clutched his top. His hands slowly started to wander, gently stroking your thighs. “Let me show you how much I love you”, he whispered before kissing you. You enjoyed his touch, the warmth of his embrace… But something was still off. You didn’t feel in the right headspace. You knew he loved you, but you didn’t feel safe on an emotional level.

Marshall… No, you simply whispered.

Are you alright ? He asked. What can I do ?

Please, just leave, you asked with tears in your eyes.

He bit his lower lip but eventually nodded. He stroked your cheek with a worried look before getting up and walking towards the door. He took one last look at you as you muttered an apology. After he closed the door, you let your head fall onto the pillow.

MARSHALL’S POV

After leaving Y/N alone in the guest bedroom, Marshall was unable to sleep. He had fucked up big time, he knew it. And now, she might leave his sorry ass. For good, this time. The perspective of her walking away from him again was making him sick to his stomach. He kept on thinking he’d done everything wrong in their relationship, perhaps from the start. All he wanted was to give her the very best in life but he kept on fucking up, on saying the wrong things, on letting his anger and past trauma take over. Perhaps he was right when he said he’d end up alone. He was consumed by self-loathing and self-hatred, with absolutely no clue as to how he could possibly make things right (assuming it was even possible). His mind kept on going to the darkest places. He’d always been prone to weird, dark and intrusive thoughts but it’d been a long time since he had felt this way. Ever since they had gotten back together, life had been sunshine and candy. Now, it was the contrary. He kept on filling pages upon pages in his notebook with words, rhymes, schemes, phrases… If anyone ever found this, they would probably call a psych ward to have him committed. His lyric sheets had always resembled the scribblings of a mad man - something a lot of people made fun of him for - but these pages were something else. They were deeply disturbing. Probably because that’s exactly what his thoughts were. Disturbing. After a night alone in the living room, staring at the ceiling and writing, he decided not to go to the studio. Whenever he was having a bad day, going to work and keeping up with his rigorous 9 to 5 schedule usually helped but, this time, he didn’t have it in him to get ready, get in his car and go to work like nothing happened. Not when Y/N might be gone by the time he would come back. So much for their first holiday as a family. For the perfect future he had planned for them. For all the places he wanted to take her. All the plans he wanted to make. He couldn’t imagine facing his family and telling them that he had fucked up. He could already see the look of disappointment on his daughters’ faces. They had managed for Y/N to get back to him only for him to ruin everything.

He was laying on the couch when he heard her come down. He immediately went to see her.

Hey, he said.

Good morning, she replied.

Did you sleep well ? He asked in a sad attempt to make small talk and connect with her.

Not really, she admitted. Aren’t you late for work ?

I’m not going, he said. Not today. Look… Can we talk ?

I came to talk to you, actually, she said. I have made up my mind. About leaving.

For a few seconds, she didn’t say anything and time seemed frozen. He found himself unable to breathe as he stared at her, waiting for her to elaborate and put him out of his misery. He needed to know. These few seconds were absolute torture. The nine circles of hell.

So ? He asked nervously.

I don’t want to leave, Marshall, she said. I want to give us a chance.

Thank God, he sighed as he went for an embrace.

But, she said intently as she put distance between the two of them, I need time.

O-ok, he said. Sure. Whatever you need, baby. Whatever you want. I told you, I’ll do anything, I’ll give you whatever you ask for.

Would you consider therapy ? She asked carefully.

I already do therapy, he replied with a puzzled look on his face.

You haven’t been to therapy since we came back from Europe, she pointed out. And I know that it’s mostly addiction counseling. With everything you told me yesterday, it’s clear that you have unresolved trauma that you should work on. So that you don’t take it out on me. And so that you can move on.

I-I don’t think it’s something you can move from, he said honestly. But yeah, sure. If that’s what it takes, I’ll do it.

Ok, she said. Thank you.

Is that all ? He asked nervously.

And I’m taking over the guest bedroom, she added.

You want to sleep apart ?! He blurted out.

I told you I need time, she said. Marsh, I… I love you. With all my heart. And I know you’re sorry. But I’m still hurt. And I have a lot to process. I’ll still be in the house, I’m not moving out.

Ok, he sighed.

He wasn’t happy about the prospect of spending more nights away from her, but at least she wasn’t moving out and that was enough for him to be able to breathe properly again. He would just have to suffer through it and do his best not to fuck things up. Y/N went to her appointment and he waited patiently, not too sure what to do. When she came back, she informed him that Talia would be coming over. No offense to Y/N’s best friend, but he had absolutely no wish to see anyone, so he simply decided to retreat in his home studio, trying to at least do something with all the lyrics he had written. Putting together tracks and getting the words out of his head was therapeutic, more so than any amount of time he would spend in a shrink’s office. He’d seen therapists before. When he started addiction counseling, he’d been advised to seek help regarding his childhood trauma, but he wasn’t too keen. So therapy had mainly been focused on his anger issues, his anxiety regarding work and addiction. He wasn’t a big fan of therapy, but if that’s what it took for Y/N to forgive him, he would bite the bullet. When he went back to the living room, at the end of the day, he was spent and his voice was raspy. He had been yelling in the mic a bit more than he usually did but, at least, his mind was a bit clearer. He found Y/N and Talia on the couch, drinking tea and looking at bridal magazines.

Hi Em, Talia said with a huge smile before hugging him.

Hey, he said. How’s wedding planning going ?

Lots to do, she said as she gestured to the pile of notebooks and magazines on their coffee table. By the way… Are you free two months from today ?

I’d have to check with Tracy about my schedule, he shrugged. Why ?

Because I’m getting married, she shrieked ! We have a date !

That’s… soon, he pointed out.

Well, I told Y/N not to tell you, and we’re not telling people yet, but you’re Jamal’s best man so you might as well know… We’re having a baby !

He looked at Y/N who was standing behind Talia, gesturing to him not to say anything. Obviously he wasn’t supposed to know. He smiled and congratulated her. He could see a sullen expression on his girlfriend’s face while Talia was talking about how Jamal took the news. Apparently, he was surprised but overjoyed and they decided to get married before she started showing. Y/N was smiling but he could see that she was not doing too well. Given everything he knew about how hard losing her own baby had been for her, it wasn’t too surprising.

So, anyway, we’re going to need all the help we can get, Talia said. Can we count on you, Em ?

Sure, he sighed. But don’t count on me to help pick flowers or stuff like that…

Can you at least hook Jamal with one of your stylists so that he has a decent tux ? Oh, and if you know a venue we can use, too… I mean, I bet you’ve visited a few between Hailie’s engagement and Alaina’s wedding.

None that can fit your guest list, he chuckled. Jamal has told me about it. Nothing that’s available two months from now can accommodate 350 guests !

Believe it or not, they have actually agreed to shrink it down, Y/N said with a slight grin. We’re down to 50 guests.

Only because we’re having a second wedding after the baby is born, Talia warned. This is basically eloping. With a few guests, a party and an actual ceremony.

So it’s an actual wedding, he said.

Y/N and Talia went back to their wedding planning. From what he gathered, his girlfriend would have her hands full for the next two months. He went to chill in his office for a bit, listening to some music. When it was dinner time, he went to see Y/N and ask if she wanted to have dinner but found her on the couch, curled into a ball. She was crying and seemed in pain. Talia was gone.

Baby, what’s wrong ?! He asked as he checked on her.

Nothing, she mumbled. I got an IUD inserted this morning and I’m having contractions and cramps. They said it’s normal, though.

I’m sorry, he said. Is there anything I can do ?

Don’t worry about it, she said.

She tried to move and pick her phone from the table but even that seemed too hard to do for her.

You seemed fine, earlier, he commented.

They gave me pain medication immediately after but it’s starting to wear off, she explained. Plus, I didn’t want to worry Talia, you know ?

Right, he said. Don’t you have any pain meds you can take ?

They prescribed some for me but they warned me it was pretty strong so I didn’t pick up the prescription.

Oh, he said. Do you want me to take you to the doctor ? ER ?

It’s fine, she said. Don’t worry about it.

Maybe you should have taken the prescription, he commented. I don’t like seeing you in pain.

I still don’t fully trust myself, you know ? She said as she nervously played with her sobriety pendant.

You’re stronger than you think, Y/N, he replied. I mean it.

No you don’t, she huffed.

Yeah I do, he insisted. Remember, when we started hanging out, when I told you nothing would happen between us ? I thought your sobriety was too new and I was scared But you proved me wrong. You’re doing so good. It’s impressive.

Thanks, she said sheepishly.

You never cease to amaze me, you know ?

She blushed and smiled a little. Watching her act so shy made him realize what an asshole he’d been for failing to protect that smile. She was too precious and she had absolutely no idea about it. All he wanted to do was to take care of her. And that was exactly his plan.

I wanted to know if you were hungry. Do you want to eat dinner ? He asked.

Sure, why not, she said as she started to get up.

Stay here, he said. I’ll cook.

I can do it, she assured him.

You’re not in the state to cook, he pointed out. Let me take care of you, ok ?

Before she got a chance to protest, he went to get her hot water bottle, her favorite blanket, a hoodie and the book on her bedside table and brought them to her before heading to the kitchen and preparing something to eat. They ate in relative silence. He couldn’t speak for her but he wasn’t too sure what to say. At that point, he’d apologized enough times that she knew for a fact how sorry he was. She was a bit distant but, at this point, she didn’t seem too mad either. Ever since they started dating, it was the first time they had an argument that wasn’t solved in the next hour. With anyone else, he wouldn’t have cared too much but with Y/N, he hated it, probably because he realized it was his first serious, loving relationship with someone who had a rather healthy outlook on relationships. No shade to Kim, he had truly loved her but, looking back, he knew they’d been doomed from the beginning, always scheming and playing games. Y/N, on the other hand, had always been brutally honest, when she made it clear that she was attracted to him, or when she broke up with him to stay true to her dreams. He’d always been used to his partners bending their own rules in order to be with him, wanting to be with him at all costs even if it meant that the whole thing would be unhealthy and disingenuous, but Y/N was not like that. She was honest and true. She would rather leave than take bullshit and, even for his fifty-two year-old self, it was intimidating.

Thank you for taking care of me, she said softly.

I take my job seriously, he said with a slight smile. I promised to care for you and I fully intend to stick to the plan.

You don’t have to, you know ?

I want to, he replied. How’s the pain ?

The water bottle helps, she shrugged. I think I’ll go to bed, though. I’m tired.

Before she could get up, he wrapped his arms around her and lifted her up before carrying her up the stairs. She gasped in surprise but let him. She was securing herself with her arms around his neck.

You know… I could have walked, she pointed out.

Oh. Too late, he said innocently - enjoying the contact with her far too much.

He let her down on the bed in the guest bedroom. For a split second, he considered bringing her to their bedroom but he wanted her to see he respected her decision, however strongly he might disagree with it. He wasn’t sure how he could be expected to sleep well without her. Last night had been a nightmare, just like any night without her. In retrospect, it was a miracle he hadn’t ended up in the hospital in the six months they’d been apart. He had gotten so little rest. To be fair, he had Talia and Jamal to thank for keeping him somewhat sane and healthy. He wouldn’t have been able to release the album and tour otherwise. Hopefully, this time, he wouldn’t have to sleep without her for the next six months.

So, do you need anything ? He asked as he tried to hide his nervosity.

I think I’ll be fine, she replied with a soft smile.

Look, I saw the look on your face, earlier, when Talia was here, he said. Are you sure you’re alright ?

I’m triggered, that’s all, she said as she looked down. These contractions are bringing memories. So does Talia’s pregnancy. If I’m being honest, I’m having a bit of a… hard time rejoicing for her.

Tears were welling in her eyes and he could not resist the urge to hold her. He sat on the bed and pulled her in his arms. She looked at him with a sad look on her face.

I’m a terrible person, she muttered under her breath. My best friends are having a baby and I’m thinking about myself.

You’re not, he assured her. Considering what you’ve been through, it’s absolutely understandable. And I guess I didn’t really help last night, with my shitty remarks…

Not really, she admitted.

You’re a great friend, Y/N, he said reassuringly. You just need a little time.

I guess, she shrugged. Plus, they deserve to have a happy family life, you know ? That’s everything Talia’s ever wanted. They’re going to be amazing parents.

They are, he nodded. And they’re pretty lucky to have you, too.

You think ? She sighed.

Of course, he said. You’re always there for people. Look, you’re even putting together their wedding at the last minute.

That’s the least I can do, you know ? They’ve always been so good to me. I just want to make them happy.

He pressed a kiss to her temple and she gave him a weak smile.

I think I should sleep, she said softly.

Ok, he replied. Call me if you need anything ?

Sure. Thanks, Marshall.

They stared at each other in silence. Sleeping in separate rooms felt unnatural and he could tell she felt it too. He reluctantly left her and went to their room, though he knew for a fact he wouldn’t be able to sleep.

In the following days, things seemed to ease up a little. Y/N was still a little distant and keeping to herself but, from the looks of it, she could see he was making efforts. He tried not being too obvious and not sucking up to her too much but he also wanted her to see that he was serious when he said he would do whatever it takes. They managed to have small talks and ate dinner together in front of the TV before going to sleep - still in separate rooms. As for physical intimacy, it was sparse. The only thing he got away with was holding her hand. It was incredibly frustrating - having her so close but so far away at the same time while trying his best to get her to forgive him. He was nervously beating around the bush, avoiding the topic but it was driving him crazy. In all of his previous relationships, it would have led to angry sex and the matter would have been settled and buried only to be dug up for the next argument. Not very healthy but, at least, he wouldn’t have to sleep alone. Thankfully, the evening before Thanksgiving, the universe seemed to be on his side. When he got back from the studio, he found Y/N in the home theater, preparing to watch a movie.

Hey, he said. Mind if I join you ?

Sure, she replied with a smile. How was your day ?

It was alright, he said. What are we watching ?

You can choose, she offered. I just wanted to get my mind off flower arrangements for a minute.

Horror movie ? He suggested. I bet we can find one where a bridezilla gets killed, that might comfort you.

Hey, Talia’s not that bad, she giggled. But yeah, let’s go for horror !

She seemed in a good mood, which was a good sign. They settled on a movie and he joined her on the couch. In all honesty, he couldn’t care less about the movie - all he wanted was to be with her. And the only reason he had suggested watching a horror movie was because he knew she was chicken-hearted and, at that point, he would take any excuse and opportunity to hold her. If that implied relying on a jumpscare scene, so be it. He usually had better moves than that with the ladies, but this felt like a last resort. Sure enough, a scary scene came up and he saw her jump up a bit. He tried to hide a smile and he wrapped an arm around her shoulders. She muttered a “thank you” and focused on the movie. Every time the atmosphere got tense in the movie, he could feel her squirming and nervously bite her lip. And every single time, he pulled her a bit closer to him, until her legs were practically over his. He was almost brought back to the times when they were just friends and every brush against her took his breath away. Being with her, he had gotten used to the proximity, but now that she had deprived him of her touch, it felt the same as before. She took him by surprise by reaching for his hand and interlocking their fingers. He was feeling like a teenager on his first date at the movies. Should he try and kiss her ? Or would it ruin the moment ? It was stupid how much power she had over him. How nervous she could make him, and her ability to make him fall for her all over again just by holding hands. Another jumpscare scene occurred and she let out a small scream before hiding her face in his neck. God bless horror movies. He couldn’t contain a small laugh.

You’re enjoying this, aren’t you ? She whispered accusingly.

I missed this, he admitted. I missed you.

I missed you too, you know ?

She looked at him and he could not resist the temptation to capture her lips with his own. She immediately kissed him back, her lips feeling softer than ever. Four days without her touch was way too long. He could feel his heart rate increasing as her lips parted and their tongues found each other. He ran his fingers through her hair while she traced his shoulders with her fingers. Her touch was electrifying and he simply couldn’t get enough. He kissed her over and over again.

I love you, he whispered. I love you so much.

I love you too, she said emotionally.

I need you, he pleaded. Let me make love to you.

Ok, she whispered, her breath accelerating.

As soon as she spoke, he did not waste time and got up before taking her hand and leading her to the bedroom. Their bedroom. He closed and locked the door behind them, making it clear that she was not going anywhere. Thankfully, she didn’t seem to want to. She was looking at him in anticipation. He went back to her and kissed her passionately before pushing her on the bed. He took his time making love to her, enjoying her soft moans and the sensation of her legs around his waist. Her nails scratched his back as she cried his name when they both reached their apex. He wrapped his arms around her and nuzzled her neck as they caught their breath.

You’re incredible, he said lovingly. And I’m never letting you out of this room ever again.

Really ? She giggled.

Try me, he said with a grin.

She gave him a playful look and tried to get out of bed but he held her even closer, causing her to struggle a little. She tried wrestling him, but to no avail. Eventually, she gave in to his warm embrace and let her head roll onto his chest.

So… I guess I have no choice but to sleep here tonight ?

Don’t tell me you were seriously thinking about sleeping in the other room ? He groaned.

Not really, she confessed with a small smile. I don’t like sleeping apart. I hate being mad at you, you know ?

And I hate it when you’re mad at me, he replied. I’ll do better. I promise.

I know, she shrugged. Sorry it took me a while to cool off.

I really hurt you, he said. I understand. But just so you know, I want to do everything I can to deserve you.

In all fairness, it wasn’t just you, you know ? She explained. It was a lot to process in very little time. I was triggered and brought back to some tough memories. I needed a little time on my own…

I get it, he said. I missed you, though.

I missed you too, she said.

I don’t want to lose you, Y/N, he said in all seriousness.

I know, she said. I’m still here.

He nodded and closed his eyes, relaxing a bit as she traced the outline of his tattoos with her index. She let out a small giggle as she looked at his stomach tattoo.

What ? He asked as he opened an eye.

I just remembered I’m meeting the woman whose name I see every time I go down on you, she said with a smirk.

He was a bit taken aback by the comment. She was smiling but it was the first time she commented on Kim’s name being tattooed on him. He’d had these for so long that he tended to forget about them anyway. Now that she mentioned seeing the tattoo every time she went down on him, though, he was feeling a bit self-conscious about it.

Is that a problem ? He asked with a raised eyebrow. The tattoo ?

Not really, she shrugged. I don’t really see it, most of the time, you know. It’s just kind of funny, when you think about it.

Right, he hummed. So… You’re not too stressed out about tomorrow ?

I don’t know, she said. It’s still weird but, realistically speaking, I don’t have anything to worry about, right ?

Of course not, he said.

I’ll be fine, then, she replied. I guess I’m curious, though.

About what ? He asked with his eyebrows furrowed.

About her, she said. You had a complicated relationship with her.

That’s one way to put it, he said. But, you know, as far as I’m concerned, she’s more like an old friend, and I know it’s the same for her. I’m just good old annoying Marshall. So, really, you have nothing to worry about.

I know, she said with a smile. And when I start freaking out about it, I remember that you’re not married to her anymore.

She was smiling softly, visibly at peace with the situation. That was encouraging and a good sign for the next day’s celebrations. However, he was starting to feel his anxiety rise once again. Right when he thought everything was getting back to normal and that he could enjoy Thanksgiving in peace, his past had to come and bite him in the ass. Y/N was looking at him lovingly and he could not find it in himself to contradict her. The only problem was, by saying nothing, he was lying to her face. He was still very much married to Kim.

#eminem #marshall mathers #slim shady #eminem fanfiction #recovery fanfiction #eminem x reader #eminem fluff #marshall mathers x reader #marshall mathers imagine #eminem imagine

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jamesfitzjamesdotcom · 5 days

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i just want to say that following your blog and progress with your fitzfuture has literally inspired me to pursue my masters and hopefully my doctorate in maritime history, when it used to seem like a pipe dream. i am so excited for every book you have in the works and i just want you to know that you’re ridiculously cool man. congrats on your fitzertation!!!!!

Owwww, I got teary-eyed reading your message. It is incredible to hear that my work has inspired you to pursue a Master's, too! 🥹👏 Thank you for your kind words!

My academic journey has been bumpy, to say the least. I first did an MA in Art History 10 years ago at Leiden University, which ended horribly. After I had submitted the final version of my thesis, the second reader said that she thought my research question was wrong and that my entire thesis was not MA-worthy. My supervisor, who obviously had approved my research question and had approved my work in progress, said he agreed with his colleague. Furthermore, he said that he didn't think that I belonged at a university and would be better off at a lower level of education. If this had happened today, I would have filed a complaint with every possible committee. But back then, I was afraid. I was so hurt and angry that I left that university and went to the University of Amsterdam instead. If I had to pay tuition fees again to rewrite my thesis, I might as well follow some courses, too. About three-quarters through the MA I suffered from overexhaustion because I had two jobs besides my studies. I quit the MA, thinking that I would never study again. When I handed in my dissertation yesterday, I was feeling the hurt and trauma of how things went 10 years ago. This is just to say to anybody who needs to hear it: sometimes you take a detour, but eventually you'll arrive exactly where you're meant to be. ❤️

#academia #university #student life #some proper #dark academia #inspiration

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ieatangstforbreakfast · 9 months

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Pairing ೃ⁀➷ 𝐄𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐡 𝟒𝟐! 𝐌𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐬 x Fem! Reader

Summary ೃ⁀➷ Lovers have secrets of their own, no matter how much they come to trust each other, whether it be a past mistake or an unspoken trauma. For you and Miles, however, your secrets came in the form of hidden identities— one being a masked vigilante, and the other a mastermind.

Genre ೃ⁀➷ Forbidden love, mutual pining, angst♡

Tags ೃ⁀➷ Both are artists, reader is from a very wealthy family, both are living double lives, underaged smoking, reader is female and uses she/her pronouns, forbidden love (ish?), swearing, daddy issues, mommy issues, reader is unhinged, both are mentally unstable, lots of flirting.

Author's Note ೃ⁀➷ SO SO SORRY for the late chapter! I was going through a lot these past weeks, and I was drained as hell, but I think I’m a little fine now.

Tag list ೃ⁀➷ @sakura-onesan @coffeeandtealol @luvjunie @noetophat @proudgojofucker @depresssedcowboy @adorefavv @l0starl @your-girl-mj @nyumeii @iheartamajiki @yoluv-tiannaaa--212 @bakauwu

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟏𝟏: 𝐏𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐫𝐬

Summary ೃ⁀➷ You discover the gruesome extent of your powers. You open up to Miles once more— and Montrell makes a devious introduction. Inside your household, another catastrophe unfolds.

⚠️WARNING⚠️ This chapter consists of harassment and gruesome display [The reader is Venom], if you want to skip past it, scroll until you see a purple line. Reader discretion is advised.

FIC MASTERLIST

Previous Chapter || Next chapter

“.. Never call me again.”

Beep.

… No, the proposal wasn't approved.

Your father called it a weird choice of an investment, and after hearing that you seriously wanted to buy the store, he hung up on you without the need of another explanation. So you stood by the gasoline stand, outside of the local bodega, with a blank phone in between your fingers, not a single connection to be found.

"Shit, I am so fucked." You sighed, pulling a palm across your face. "I am never going to financially recover from this, ever."

"You're a conglomerate heiress, you’ve got all the money in the world.”

"Strictly in name," You corrected of the symbiote. "As much as I am inheriting a lot of the money, I am not going to control over anything since that is Montrell's right, and my grandfather and father's will."

With that, you press your head against the flat of the glass door, a long and tiresome sigh dragging out your throat. ".. If only I were a boy."

"You're living in modern society, your father can't possibly be that old fashioned."

"Well, he isn't." You mumbled. "The only difference is that Wilson Fisk had a son, not a daughter. If I were a boy, or rather, if Wilson Fisk had a daughter— it would've been Antonne's problem, both mine."

"Then.. Do you think running away can fix all this?" Emerging from the bones of your back, a black matter materialized beside you with its white, dead gaze and spiky grin gleaming from the light of the street lamps. Though it unsettled you, nothing topped the hard glares that came from your parents. "As cunning as you are, when the people get angry, they won't leave you alone."

That was a well-made point— you weren’t free from the sins of your family. You indulged yourself in the wealth they stole from poor, and you chose to blind yourself from the truth. It doesn’t matter how much you try to make up for all the lives lost and all the money stolen now, it’s all too late.

But there was something about trying.

"They can find me in Amsterdam, I guess." You looked at the glass windows, pulling out your lipgloss from the pockets of your jeans and swiping it across the plump of your brim. "Once I leave this place, I'm never coming back."

"Then what about Miles?“

As you placed the gloss down, the alien's question made you think.

What about Miles?

Fooling him, lying to him, with the highest risk knowing he'd one day learn all about your secrets, you still managed to question: What about Miles?

How far would you go for your own survival?

You exchanged glances with the sight of New York. Without Miles, and being there all alone, made you notice the ultraviolet themes puckering out from the crevices of the darkness, a sort of dystopian hue of green-blue and pink-purple lying beneath the wicked façades of tall buildings and withering carcasses of what could’ve possibly housed hundreds of people.

There is no more ‘New York, New York’. It didn’t make you think of tall, slim rockettes with their shiny legs and glittery uniforms of gold and red, nor did it make you think of bussing bentleys with rich bachelors inside them, waving the fifty-star flag of blue, red, and white outside of their windows.

New York was desolate.

But Miles only made it warmer. Tolerable, you think. Through Miles, you managed to slip on a pair of rose-tinted glasses in the midst of this decaying city, and through him, you earned a sense of hope— or patriotism for a country you’d only ever really seen the worst of. You wanted to think you were capable of being compassionate for other people’s lives aside from your own, but there was only so much you could do, so much you could consider.

New York has warm places, was your conclusion.

And without Miles, New York would be a black hole.

And in a sparing state of delusion, you pondered about running away with Miles to Amsterdam. Married and settled in a home by the waterfront, where the both of you could walk to work everyday while taking in the sights of the tulips every spring. You wanted, needed to feel his hands entangle with yours every morning. For him to embrace you from behind every after frustrated sigh during every artistic block.

You were tired of being little Miss Americana. Perhaps you’d find a more loving life away from New York and in the heart of Europe.

ＳＬＡＭ.

“Hey, pretty.” A dirtied, damp palm slams against the glass before you. “What’s a girl like you doin’ out here all alone?”

The symbiote crawls right back into your skin as you processed the sudden rude disruption. Before you stood a couple of men with their yellowing teeth, grinning and laughing at your reaction. Instinctively, you tossed your head to the side out of fear of getting caught. Still, they knocked in intervals of three, knuckles pressed against the fogging wall of glass.

“You come here often? Got a man?” The man asks. “Don’t be so shy, baby. We don’t bite.”

ｏｈ、　ｂｕｔ　Ｉ　ｄｏ.

“Leave me alone.” You grumbled in between seething grit, refusing to look at any place other than the ground. You couldn’t count how many men there were, but they were a group of rusty late-twenty aged drunks. Something pulsed inside you, aside from a heart, it twisted like this beast-like gluttony that made your mind simmer.

Ｈ　Ｕ　Ｎ　Ｇ　Ｒ　Ｙ.

“Wow, ain’t you sassy?” They cackled, reeking like cigars and axe cologne. You turn to leave, but they easily block your way with their brick-like bodies. “Hey, hey, where’s you going? Can’t just leave me like this, baby, smile for us a lil’ bit more.” He cooed as though he were talking to a toddler. That only irked you even more, hearing the men’s devious giggles as you struggled to stride past him.

“I’ve got a boyfriend.” Was your attempt of a defense, the man only grinned. “Why don’t you call him then?”

“I will.” You choke, knowing you wouldn’t. “If you continue keeping this up.”

He lifts his hands up like a captured criminal, still amused— annoyingly. “Alright, I’ll leave you alone mami.”

Mami. It only sounds nice when Miles says it.

You swiveled your way to leave, prancing past their prying eyes.

ｓｌａｐ.

You jolted at the hit of your posterior, their cackles following right after like a mockery of your shame. Without even processing the amount of your anger and embarrassment, your hand finds itself latching onto the man’s neck without another word uttered.

The coarse flesh of his skin pricked at your pretty fingers, a growing stubble you hadn’t noticed as you were too busy ignoring him earlier. What stared right back was terror in his quivering, dark, and wrinkled gaze. It’s as though he could see his life flashing before his eyes.

Your arm was enveloped, rather, your whole body was enveloped by the wrath of what boiled inside you— dark and slimy, it growled with white eyes and spiky teeth.

You could hardly remember the flash and swiftness of how everything went off. You heard muffled screaming, and thundering footsteps— growing fainter with each passing second. The man struggled like a bird within your grasps, begging you to let him go. The thing was, he wasn’t all too knowledgable of what ‘no’ meant, and at that moment, you didn’t feel like teaching him what it meant.

You could hear it so faintly, his begs and curses tossed forcibly at you like a hurricane before silencing itself after a crack and a rip.

Suddenly, you weren’t so hungry anymore.

And along with the cracks of shattered glass, your little apparition of European folly broke too.

“.. I wonder what’s taking her so long.”

Peering from the aisles, the group searches for you in all throughout their long walk. Mostly, it had been Miles’ worries thwarting every question. Monique hummed, similarly turning her head. “Ain’t no way she’s lost. She ain’t ever been here before?”

“Ion think she’s been here before seeing as how she went straight to the exit. You sure your date didn’t just ditch you, Miles?”

Miles couldn’t reply, he was too busy dialing the hell out of your number.

“I can go check on the second floor bathroom, if ya want.” Monique suggested, earning an earnest and somewhat thankful stare from Miles. “Yeah, can you go check? M’getting worried, dios mio.” His occupied hand shifts downward, the other arm hugging both of your costumes’ bags close. He figured to pay for the both of your costumes, being the gentleman that he is.

Monique excuses herself from the group, making it her personal journey to search for little lost you.

Amadi and Voshon were the only ones next to him by the queue.

“.. You know when you first told me ‘bout how pretty she was, I didn’t expect her to be.. Like that.” Amadi chuckled, arms crossed before her chest. “To think she can afford to maintain looking like that.”

Miles raised a brow.

“You don’t see girls like that everyday.”

“Yeah, you don’t.” Miles managed to pluck out a smile. “I’m so lucky to have her, man. I can’t wait for our date tomorrow.”

Amadi nodded, seemingly getting gist of his excitement, until.. “Miles, I’m going to be honest with you.” She maneuvers the plastic bag into her other arm just to lean a little bit closer. “Your girl’s lookin’ like she hasn’t touched a spec of dirt her whole life— with a silver spoon in her mouth since the day she was born. And I’m worried for you, considering your whole thing with your Unc Aaron.”

Amadi, who’s completely like a sister to Miles, knew about him being the Prowler. They’ve been there for one another since they were kids, since her first coming out, since his dad’s death, and through thick and thin. Amadi, when she’d first heard about you, didn’t mind much initially. It was great for Miles to have a first love— he drowned himself too much in expectations he had for himself, when he could only do so little for the world. But the more he talked about it, the more her suspicions arose.

“Why’d she suddenly change her mind?” Was her first question. “Kissing you and then suddenly running off and then coming back to say yes.. Does your girl not know a thing ‘bout social cues or what?”

“She’s going through a lot.” He snaps back immediately. “Her family’s putting a lot of pressure on her. Ionno much ‘bout what’s going on in her home, but I ain’t judging her for being confused ‘bout her own pace. But I respect her decisions, and I ain’t going to say anything ‘til she tells me herself.”

Amadi took a step back, acknowledging that it was her mistake for speaking beyond her grasps.

“I’m just worried, Miles. Ion have a problem with her in particular— she seems sweet, kind even, but Ion want you getting hurt. No todo lo que brilla es oro.”

He cringes a bit after hearing the same words his mother would always tell him.

“No quiero hablar más de esto.”

Amadi shrugged. “Bueno, then let’s talk ‘bout something else.” She rocked forward along the line. “Who’s Tiya Rio going to be voting for?”

“She’s a hard Christine Brown.” Miles quickly replies, relieved at the sudden change of topic. “Better off than that nepo-shit, Barlowe.”

Christine Brown was a candidate for the upcoming election— an economist, hailing from the Bronx, with a mind bright enough to light up a room. Despite her popularity amongst the youth, however, the older people were less than willing to place their bets on her.

“Good for you. Papa’s goin’ full Barlowe.”

Miles snaps his head in distaste. “Que? Por que?”

“Said he couldn’t trust the any other candidates. Brown’s proposals are too good to be true, so he gotta go with whoever everyone else is going for.”

“Only thing special ‘bout Barlowe was his father’s legacy, but even then, a lot of people died all throughout his father’s bullshit doings— and don’t ever forget, Barlowe helped the Chávez’s cover up the media when the collapse happened.”

“Well, for the lot of us, that’s still a theory.” She mumbled. “Not everyone has access to sensitive information like you, Miles. A lot of us have lost hope, because either way, no matter who we vote for, we’re all going to be stuck working for the rest of our miserable lives. Papa said that maybe, Barlowe might actually do something like his father.”

With a furrowed brow, Miles snaps back. “Barlowe is riding off of his father’s achievements— man’s got nothing to his name other than his dad’s legacy.”

“Well we don’t know yet. He might be a good president.”

“Amadi, we can’t say ‘might’ when we’re voting for a great president. We need someone who will become a great president. Politics ain’t trial and error. Barlowe’s as good as a puppet for the elite.”

Realizing his heightened tone, Miles looked around to check if anyone was listening into their little talk. Amadi attempts to search for a rebuttal, but she fails miserably, leaving her only clutching onto the plastic of her costume with a gap in between her lips.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

Without another second wasted, Miles picks up the phone, hoping to hear your voice. Instead, what rang was this haggard breath and a worried shrill.

“Miles, we’re at the second floor bathroom— [Y/n]’s sick, she’s been vomiting a lot. Can you get her some— some, I don’t know, water?”

And Miles bolted off.

Oh, God, you ate someone.

ＷＥＬＬ, ＴＥＣＨＮＩＣＡＬＬＹＩＤＩＤ.

Shut up.

“Hurk!—“ And there goes the last bit of dinner, straight into a bowl. Beside you, Monique gently tugs your hair farther away from your mess. “Oh, God. I’m so sorry.” You incoherently babbled. “I just ate something really, really bad. I’m usually not like this, really, just— hurk!”

You are being dramatic. I was the one who ate the damn thing, not you.

Same fucking difference when you’re literally living inside of me!

“Don’t worry, babe, I called Miles. He’s going to arrive soon.” Monique cooed like a teacher informing her student that her parents were on the way.

That just makes everything so much worse!

“Thank you.”

You suddenly decided, you were feeling better. You picked your head out of the bowl, flushed everything away, and rinsed your tongue by the sink, only to realize that water tasted bad, and whatever was left inside your stomach threatened to resurge again, so instead, you stood there and stared at yourself in the mirror. Your hair was all over the place, a bit of your mascara was running down, and your lipgloss was gone.

But hey, your highlighter didn’t budge. That’s one great brand.

I actually agree with you on that one.

From afar, you hear Miles calling out your name. Hurried and rushed. Monique heads right out.

“Hey, is she aight?” He immediately asked of her.

“Well, she’s better now. Stopped vomiting and all that.”

There was a small silence. You pondered whether to fill it in, but you were lost with hoping to hear Miles’ answer. Similarly, you were in a battle with your own wit; In a battle with the damn being inside of you. It was enough to drive you into madness— everything and everyone. You were used to going along with the pace of everyone else’s plans, but right now was like ricocheting you to the moon without as much as a warning, a suit, or a mathematical equation.

You heard a gentle swish of a bottle.

And when your gaze travels sideward, Monique appears before you with a bottle of water between her pink acrylics. Sealed and cold. Misty and likely just bought.

With a hushed thanks, you received the drink and swished it inside of your inner cheeks— the bitter aftertaste of whatever exited your body leaving after each spit. You washed your hands and washed your makeup off too— a few clumps of mascara remaining beneath your bags.

Miles calls out your name.

You don’t answer in a fit of embarrassment.

“I’m gonna buy our costumes now, I’ll pay for it, aight?”

Oh, but that was even more embarrassing.

You rushed out to greet him, messy mascara and all. “I can pay for my costume, darling, thanks for holding it for me.” And you snag it out of his hands, kiss his cheek, and beeline right out.

Miles blinked, and he looked at Amadi who shrugged. He didn’t know whether to think about the kiss or the way you stomped right out without warning.

Oh, she really doesn’t know what social cues are, huh? They think.

But that wasn’t the case, truly. You of all people would know you’ve been infinitely and unbearably awkward, but you had a deal to make. You didn’t want their pockets to hurt, so you forged a plan. Measly, small, nothing too grand of a plan. Something along the lines of using a black card and all of those things— attempting to falsify a coupon while insisting to charge your account rather than their money. This wasn’t a restaurant, so you couldn’t demand for a paycheck and pay the bill for everyone in advance, so when Miles and the others got back, you got this.

“Nathan?” You faked-recognized the cashier. A similarly blond, tall and ragged boy with calm leisure on his shoulders.

“[Y/n]? What’s good mama, long time no see!”

And within three minutes, you managed to stage a whole script with Nathan, the part-timer.

A little bribe was nice enough to let him in the job.

“You two know each other?” Miles asks, evidently piqued and disturbed at the idea of him calling you mama. “Yeah, he’s one of my older brother’s friends. Nathan, long time no see, indeed.” You ushered the costumes forward, plucking out the one from Amadi’s grasps and placing it by the counter.

Nathan plants a smirk in his lips, a hand on his hip. “How’s he, by the way? Haven’t caught up with him for months.” He asks, obviously not knowing who your brother was.

“He’s doing great, actually. All of us have been, and you?”

“Great,” The blond smiled. “Took up this part-time job to get ahead of my student loans. Thanks to your nice tip months ago, I managed to re-arrange a few parts of my fucked up life.” Well, that tip was non-existent. He was likely talking about the three-hundred dollar bribe you offered him just minutes ago. “Really, you’re.. The sweetest.”

Miles didn’t like that. He didn’t like that at all.

“Well, Miles and I were just buying our halloween costumes for tomorrow. We’re going to be celebrating halloween together, you see.” Your hand creeped up against his arm, and Miles eases. “We have a date tomorrow.”

Nathan’s smile twitched. “Oh, really? Damn, good for you.”

Miles’ chest huffed up in pride. Fuck yeah, we’re dating, what’chu gon do ‘bout it?

“Your brother know all ‘bout it?”

“Oh, not yet. It’s our first date.”

Nathan starts scanning your stuff, keeping up the small talk while Miles listened in with a half-bored expression on his face. It was a façade, evidently. He wanted to know everything about this Nathan dude, and why he was smiling so weirdly with his crooked teeth.

“You know, I can get this for you.” Nathan suggested. “I owe you a lot. I’ll pay for your costumes.”

Good work for following the script.

“Really?” You airily asked. The blond shrugged. “Yeah. I can pay for your friends too, my treat.”

“Nah, keep yo money to yo self, big man.” Miles narrowed his gaze, slamming his wallet atop the counter. “I can pay for our costumes.”

“Miles!” You whispered at him.

“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout it, man. Your girlfriend’s done a lot to help my family. Hell, I met Alicia through her too.” Nathan improvised. At the mention of another girl, Miles gradually lightens up. “So, really. This is hardly even enough. Let me just thank her this one time.”

You turn to Amadi, gesturing her a thumbs up and a wink.

.. Were you even aware of how much of a mess you looked right now?

Either way, you were somehow.. Still presentable in a way that it was enviable.

After wrapping up the prices, paying for everything, and sneaking your black card away from the man, all of you managed to depart and bid your farewells to your new friends. If you could even call them that yet. The tension was unnerving, and you could almost sense that they likely found you weird.

And you were weird. You have been acting weird, even you could admit that.

There was a fucking alien inside of you who fed on humans. It wasn’t the potential of cannibalism that irked you the most, it was the fact that you devoured a vile man who likely ate cigarettes for morning and tequila for dinner— if he could even afford it. You’ve seen a million gruesome scenes, before, so the latter of ripping someone’s head off from their body was hardly the worst of your memories.

In fact, there may have been more blood on your hands than anyone else would think.

But it did shake you. It left you trembling and silent. You were already thinking about demolishing the camera and having Liv take care of all the evidence.

Liv, yes, Olivia Octavius. You wanted to trust her for a short while, given her eccentric desire to run tests on you. She can find the answers to get rid of this disgusting piece of murky tar inside of you—

ＹＯＵ’ＲＥ　ＮＥＶＥＲ　ＧＯＩＮＧ　ＴＯ　

ＧＥＴ　ＲＩＤ　ＯＦ　ＭＥ.

You could almost snicker.

Fuck you.

“Hey, you feeling better?” Upon hearing Miles’ voice, you’re plucked away from whatever sour memories ingrained your mind. With a hopeful smile, you nod. “Yeah,” The reply came out a little raspy. “I’m doing a little better. I’m a bit dizzy, but I’m better now.”

He pauses in the midst of the street, facing you entirely. You pause along with him, evidently confused.

Gently, Miles lifted a finger and tucked a strand of your hair behind your ear. “How can you look so messy and still be so pretty, huh?”

Unlike the encounter you had earlier, this made you feel utterly warm and safe. It’s like you could melt into the base of his palm and mark it as your home. His finger grazes beneath your lashes, likely wiping out all of what’s left of your mascara.

“Only you can pull off something like this.” Miles decided. “You can start trends with that face of yours.”

“And here I thought you’d start teasing me.” You laughed.

“Well, it’s a good thing I’ve got the plague doctor costume just in case you start spreading your bubonic germs all o’er again, I can just bloodlet the hell outta you.”

You smacked his arm. “My blood’s precious as hell, thank you.”

“Said no hospital, ever.”

And there goes that heavy laugh of his, ringing in your mind. You adored it. The way he’d tilt his head and shift his eyes into crescents. You like how he crinkled his nose and stepped away from you as if to sink in your comedic and obviously pissed off side-eye.

You could stay there forever.

“I’m fucking leaving you here.” You attempted to stomp off. Miles hurriedly catches up with you in bated breath, interlacing his fingers with yours.

“Nah, you ain’t going nowhere, my girl, you’s stuck w’me til’ we both drop dead when we’re eighty.”

You giggled at his statement.

“What? You don’t plan on doing that w’me?” He pouted.

“No, no. It’s not that, just..” You looked away. “Ionno if I’ll even live that long.”

Miles took the hood of your jacket and placed it over your head. “Well if you keep yourself out in the cold too much, ya prolly won’t.”

It’s not that, Miles. You think. I can’t live a day without feeling like I’m falling apart.

“You know, I don’t get why I’m so weak ‘round ya.” You kicked at the pebbles you came across the pavement. “I’m a fighter, y’know. Got it from my daddy, actually. I’m pretty strong, but when I’m around you I sneeze a lot… Prolly has sum to do with how anxious you make me feel.”

You paused. He paused.

The both of you stared at each other. Seeing that stupid smug smirk creeping up his lips made you want to bolt away in shame.

“So I do make you nervous.”

“You make me physically ill.”

“Cause I make you nervous.”

“Shut up.”

Miles looked like the happiest boy on earth. You wanted to deep-fry yourself in oil.

“Speaking of which, you never told me much ‘bout your brothers.” He suddenly mentioned. “You told me ‘bout you being the only girl, and I’m an only child but that’s nothing alike. What’s it like?”

“Well— I’ve got three brothers, actually.” You thought about calling them by their other names. Miles gulped. “The one who drove me here was Mon. He’s.. Like a big, fluffy, teddy bear. I think, out of all of us, he’s the most approachable one. He’s my dad’s favorite. He’s like the golden child of our family. He never has to study just to get good grades, and he’s always so smiley and smart.. But at the same time, he can be such a pain in the ass.”

Hearing you talk about him made Miles sense a sort of jealousy lingering behind your teeth and atop your tongue.

“How ‘bout your other older brother?”

Without missing a beat. “He can go fuck himself.”

Alright. So you had a sibling you were jealous of, and a sibling you couldn’t stand.

“The third one?”

And you softened entirely.

“Oh, his name’s Malachi.” You said his name with such sweetness and warmth, it melted even Miles. “He’s my little brother. Six years younger than me. I know kids his age are usually brats, but I love him to bits. He was my mom’s favorite. She used to read him bed time stories and bake him snacks.. Now, I’m the one who does all that for him.”

Was. Used. Now.

Miles wondered why you never spoke about your mother. The topic seemed.. Fraught, initially, but now that you’ve mentioned her, it sparked his interest.

And, ever so cautiously, he piqued.

“I thought you were your mom’s favorite.”

Miles eyes the way you subtly flinch, your smile faltering so slightly. As the both of you pause before a stoplight, you fish your vape out from the corners of your pockets.

“What made you think that?”

He shrugged. “I thought moms usually favor their daughters ‘cause they see themselves in ‘em.”

You parted your lips and spoke before taking a hit. “If my mom ever saw herself in me, I’d be traumatized.” As you blew, the smoke lingered in the air a little longer than it usually did. Must be the cold. “.. To which, I already am, because everyone talks about how much I look like her.”

Before you could take another hit, Miles softly latches his fingers on your wrist, bringing the gadget away from your lips.

“If you don’t mind me askin’, what was your relationship with her like?”

He guided you down the crossing lane with his hand still holding down your vape. You feel a little embarrassed, and you take the opportunity to place it back inside your pockets.

“.. Ionno if there’s even a relationship I can describe to you.“ You sighed. “.. Ionno what goes beyond a mother-daughter relationship when our relationship mostly revolved around my mama hating me for being her daughter. If that’s what being a mother is, then Ion want none of it.” You sense Miles grimace. “If that’s a dealbreaker for you, then I’m so sorry—“

“No, no, it isn’t.” He mumbled. “I once told myself that I’ll only go with whatever decision my future partner wants. If you want a kid, we’ll have a kid. If you don’t want a kid, then I can live with that too.”

“.. Well, why can’t you decide whether you want kids or not?”

“Because Ion want to force my future wife to have kids she don’t want.” Miles’ grip on your hand loosened. “A few things people do that I really hate is that they usually get kids because of baby fever, or they want to fix a marriage, or they just have it because they want to but not because they can afford to. Ion want my future kids to live on while I can’t or my future wife can’t handle ourselves financially and emotionally. That’s gonna fuck up the kid, and they’ll grow up to fuck up their kids, and so on, and so forth.”

“You know a lot about these kinds of topics, huh?”

“It’s ‘cause my mama taught me all ‘bought it.” He smiled. “My mama’s been through a lot, and when she and my dad had me, she wanted to make sure she won’t pass the pain she got from my abuela to me.”

You couldn’t help but feel envious.

What is it about me that my mother can’t stand to love?

My whole life, I’ve been homesick for arms that don’t even want to hold me.

Ring. Ring. Ring.

You wanted to curse a hundred curses, but instead you took out your phone and answered. “What is it?” You answered, inching away from Miles.

“Where are you? I’m coming to pick you up.” Montrell seethed behind the phone. “It’s an emergency, we need you back immediately.”

“Me?” You couldn’t help but dumbly point at yourself. “What did I do? It’s my free time today, plus I’m not the one managing the— the house anymore.”

You hear your brother pause. You took a moment to glance up at Miles who was waiting patiently for you to finish the call.

“Well, to further inspire you, you’re right, Antonne is a fuck up.”

“Okay, and? Is that supposed to surprise me?” You sarcastically replied.

“No, [Y/n], he fucked up really badly, which is why we need an emergency meeting and I need you back immediately because everybody is looking for you.”

You took the moment to pull away from your phone and block the speaker. “Miles, what street is this?”

He answers something along the lines of being a couple blocks down. You take the answer back to Montrell who tells you to stay where you are. Well, being the smarter person, you ended the call and told Miles to go.

“Why?”

“My brother’s coming to pick me up.”

“Oh?” He straightened his back. “Oh, shit— he’s coming? Why?”

“There’s an emergency.” Not that it was alarming. Emergency, you say, but Miles could clearly see that you hardly gave any flying fucks. “I need to get back immediately before the house blows up.”

“.. There’s a bomb in your house?”

“Yeah, I call him dad.” You turn and peck his cheek one last time. “Before he finds out I’m missing, I’ve got to get back now or you won’t see me ever again. Stay safe on your way home, aight? Don’t get hit by a car, and don’t die.”

The boy stumbles. “But what if he gets lost? Do you know your way around Brooklyn?”

“I’ve got photographic memory.” You joked. “I’m kidding. Mon can do it, he’s smart, and probably has a GPS, so go! Go! Go!” You hurriedly ushered him away. Miles scratches the back of his neck, hesitant to leave you alone out of fear you’d get hurt. Unfortunately for the both of you, a slick, gray car pulls up by the curb with an abrupt halt. You freeze, watching its thick, black window roll down in a glacial, intimidating pace.

“… Mon.”

Montrell stared, unimpressed.

“.. Call him back.”

“… Call who back?” Was your stupid attempt to get out.

“You know who I’m talking about.”

“… You told me there’s an emergency.” You headed over to open the door, only to find that it’s locked. You faced Montrell, only to find that the both of you were mutually irked.

“There is, but it can wait. Call him back.”

“Mon, I will crawl through this fucking window.”

“Now.”

“Mon!”

“Don’t make me count to three.” He warned you like a mother. You grimaced at the way he used that insufferable tone. “I’m not a fucking toddler.”

“ONE.”

“Mon.”

“TWO.”

“MILES!”

From the corner of your eye, you see Miles toss his head over with a widened gaze. “Yeah?”

With your head still facing Mon, you told him to come over. Miles hesitantly made his way back slowly but surely. It didn’t help that his legs were so long that every step imitated a stride. Finally, after swallowing the lump in his throat, Miles greets your brother.

“Evening, Sir.”

By the driver’s seat sat a man. His gaze sat behind a pair of glasses, scrutinizing Miles’ entirety in a second or less. He was broad-shouldered and thick-waisted, further accentuated by the fineness of his white, collared shirt and black vest. His features were sharp, but his eyes welcoming— quite softer than yours, actually. He looked clean, polished, and infinitely sophisticated yet it didn’t harm his charm. In fact, it made him look so gentlemanly that it made Miles insecure.

It’s like your whole family was genetically blessed.

“Nice to meet you, you must be Miles, yeah?”

“Yes.” Miles answered like he wasn’t aware of his own name.

“I’m Mon, [Y/n]’s older brother.”

“Nice to meet you too, uh— Sir.. Mon?”

Montrell looked at this boy, and he looked at his braids, his freckled nose, and his unrefined stature. He was slouched, and one of his hands was seemingly glued inside the pocket of his old, winter jacket. It didn’t look anything special. In fact, it looked unluckily ragged. The boy looked skinny too, seen clearly in the slight hollowness of his cheeks and dark bags beneath his eyes. Still, he was accommodating, like a waiter donning on his best smile. There was something attractive about him— maybe it was the way he appeared so grimly enticing.

Reminded him of you.

“How old are you?”

“Fifteen, Sir. I’ll be turning sixteen this December.”

“Ah, is that so?”

You and Miles felt equally uneasy at the fact that Montrell didn’t bother to tell Miles to stop calling him Sir.

“How long have you known my sister?” He asks, a warning tone seeping past his smile. “Recently, she’s spoken about how much she likes you, so I’m curious how long you’ve known each other for.”

“Oh, we—“

“We met three months ago.” You cut him off, clutching Miles’ hand as though to signal him not to speak any further. “Can we go? I’m sure I still have plenty to attend to.”

Montrell ignores you. “Do you live nearby here?”

Miles looks at you, but you weren’t looking at him. “Yes Sir, I live around two blocks away from here.”

“That’s nice, you’ve got a part-time job?”

“Used to work as a cashier for a record shop. It was closed down months ago since the owner moved out of the city. Been working to get another since then but, it’s hard tryna find a job close to my school.”

Montrell raised his brows. “A hard worker! Just like my sister. Has she told you anything about her work?”

Silence.

Your nails scraped against the window.

“Well, from what I know, it’s a family business, right?” Miles looked at you for approval. For the first time in three minutes, you finally looked at him and nodded. “Catering business in an inn.”

Montrell held back a laugh. “Right. That’s exactly it. Say, Miles, do you have any plans next week?”

He shook his head. “Ion think so, Sir.”

“Well, you see— our family’s hosting an event. [Y/n] will be there, and she’ll be dancing tango. I think it’d be nice for you to go.”

“That’s not happening.” You flatly decided. “Our relatives will talk if I bring Miles to that party.”

“Not unless he’s my guest.”

“Mon, Miles.” You looked at them alternately. “He’s not going— you’re not going to that party, Miles, I forbid it.”

“But—“

“No one will talk about him if he’s with me.” Montrell sighed. “It’s Aunt Claire’s event anyway. No one will be focusing much on you or him. To be fair, they’ll all mostly focus on me.”

You gulped.

“Come on. Once you introduce him to dad, surely you’ll be able to meet him more freely rather than whatever the hell you’re doing right now.”

Miles lightened up upon hearing this, looking over to you with hope.

You wanted this conversation done with, now.

“Fine.” You struggled to speak. “He’ll go.”

Montrell finally unlocks the car. You lazily drag the door open and slam the door shut. With the window still down, you placed a hand over and intertwined it with Miles’. “I’ll text you tomorrow, alright? Just tell me what time.”

Montrell piqued. “You two meeting up tomorrow?.. How unfortunate.”

You exasperated. “… What do you mean by that?”

“Well..” Montrell started the car. “It’s a pretty huge emergency, and it might take you days to fix.”

“That’s fine.” Miles straightened his lips. “We can move our plans next week. I can always make time for her.”

“No, I won’t allow it. I’ll go on with my plans, I don’t care how big this emergency is—“

“Dad’s wrecking the place.”

And that shut you up.

You looked at Miles apologetically. “.. I’ll text you, alright? Stay safe.”

“Okay, you guys too.” Miles softened. “It was nice meeting you, Sir.”

“Nice meeting you too, Miles. I’ll see you next week.”

“It’s as though none of my children are competent anymore.”

Along with the click of your heel, your father swishes a bottle of brandy above his head, pouring it over his glass. You try to keep your head high, while noting the fact that the meeting was largely based off privacy. Antonne sat by the corner, his curls frayed away along with his collar. His head hung low, hand cradling his bruised cheek.

“What took you so long?” Your father asked, hardly even sparing a glance for you and Montrell.

“I was out.”

“Where off?”

“At a café, to make use of my idle time.” You cleanly lied. You watched his grey brow wiggle, eyeing the competence of your stature. You could’ve been everything he ever needed, until you weren’t. Your father stood tall— taller than the rest of you. You try to ignore the shattered glass beneath your feet. You wore heels for a reason, after all.

He trudges towards you and Montrell, taking note of every flicker of your wrist and fluttering of your lashes.

“Do you know the reason why I’m training all of you to handle the family business?”

It was a simple question, capable of being answered with a simply answer.

Why would one family keep most of its secrets together?

“Answer me, girl.” Your father pried.

You gulped. “Because whatever power the family has should remain in the family.”

It was an average answer— a textbook one in fact. Why were royal families the way they were? Why did they marry each other? Why did they remain so closely intact?

For power.

Or so you think, but it wasn’t the answer your father was searching for. It was more.

Your father places a hand against your cheek, caressing it so softly. “... For someone who has her mother’s stupid face, you’re quite smart. My young girl, I know the way you’ve been, because you’re just like your mother but bolder. I know that naïve and emotional front you put up, but mind you, [Y/n], I’ve done whatever façade you’ve put up and better.” He squeezed your cheeks so tightly, you could feel your teeth imprint on your bleeding flesh.

“I asked you for one thing, and it’s been three months. Why haven’t you brought it back yet?”

He spoke so condescendingly calm that it horrified you.

With a tiny whimper, you tried to lower your head to soften the grip of your father, to no avail.

“.. All three of you.” He seethed, calling out for Montrell and Antonne. “Do all of you want to end up like your mother?” He turns to you. “Do you want to end up like your mother, [Y/n]?”

“N-No.” You choked.

Your father shoved you right back, making you land down on the floor.

“… Then who did it? Who released the information about the warehouse to the black market?”

You winced at the glass shards that pricked your hands.

Ah, why do families keep their secrets together?

So that if one falls, all will fall along with him.

“Someone leaked the locations of the warehouses, and a few details about some of our deals with other families— if this gets out, we will lose credibility, and all the other families will drop us immediately like hot potatoes! All of us will get arrested, and everything we’ve worked hard for will diminish in a second. Now, WHICH ONE OF YOU STUPID BRATS DID IT!?”

His voice rang inside your ears. Helplessly, you try to help yourself off the floor when your father’s shadow darkens before you. With a step of his shoe, he stomps your hand back down on the shards. You resist the urge to yelp, tears pricking your eyes as you looked up.

“[Y/n]?”

“I’d have no reason to incriminate myself with something so stupid!” You cried out. “If I were to be in charge of the hotel and sell out information, I’d end up taking the most damage. Why would I do something so obvious?” Hesitantly, you dragged your bleeding hand away from the glass, only to find tiny bits of the symbiote plucking the shards away from your wounds.

It was one of your brothers. Montrell, maybe? Antonne, definitely.. Maybe even Malachi.

None of them uttered a single word.

Of course they couldn’t.

“Antonne?” Your father called out. Your brother didn’t speak, he simply stared on blankly. Montrell couldn’t bring it in himself to move or help. All of your father’s children were dead silent like mice.

ＣＲＡＳＨ.

Brandy and glass exploded onto the floor like fireworks.

“ＡＮＳＷＥＲ　ＭＥ!”

“I don’t think it’s any of us.” Montrell finally answered. “There’s likely an outsider receiving information from an insider— it’s no wonder why we can’t track down the poster.” He looked at you, to be particular, he eyed you in a way that was so subtle but it sent a message you seamlessly caught.

And then it made sense.

Montrell was accusing Miles.

But you never told Miles anything. Hell, you’ve been hiding your identity for most of the time you’ve known him. If Miles knew, he wouldn’t have stood by you, he wouldn’t have allowed himself to fall for you— he would’ve crushed you into pieces.

But if he knew.

Ding.

Eddie Brock || Just now

hey

the warehouse is gone.

it’s all burned to the ground.

“Unc.” Miles jerked up from his seat, turning to his Uncle. “Eddie just texted. He told me the warehouses were burnt down.”

Eddie Brock, a journalist tipped by Miles and Aaron after the discovery of the Warehouse, was the only journalist who metaphorically had the balls to bring a camera and shamelessly enter the elite’s premises for the sake of unveiling the truth.

Most called him a hysterical theorist.

But he wasn’t a dead one.

“That’s fucking impossible.” Aaron couldn’t help but curse, uncontrollably snatching the phone off of Miles’ grasps. “They can’t just burn down one of their top investments— even if it was meant to cover up evidence, they couldn’t have had the time to burn everything so quickly.”

“Did we accidentally set it on fire because of the explosives?”

“A fire can’t go that large without gasoline.” Aaron tossed the phone back to him. “… It was likely an inside job.. And we were sent there to take the blame for the fire.”

Ding.

“Everyone else, except [Y/n], leave the room.”

Montrell flinched, eyes landing on you. Antonne finds the strength to pull himself together, limping his way to the front door. Montrell kneels down to lend you a helping hand, cautious of the broken glass, only for you to reject his notion and unsteadily stand up yourself. There, he marveled, how clean and uncut your legs were.

Huh.

Antonne cradled his cheek, his curls all over his nose. He tossed his head, spitting out a blotch of blood on the floor before wiping his busted lip with his arm. The both of you meet gazes, both similarly full of disdain and exhaustion.

The both of them left shortly after.

You could feel all of New York witnessing your misery like an audience— watching with prying and expectant eyes from behind your father’s large, glass window. Your old man had some stank in his eye. You wondered if that was the same look he had in his eye when your mother went.

“When will you get me that damn USB, [Y/n]?”

New York was glowing, but you wanted it to smolder.

“Give me two final weeks.” Your brow creased. “I’ll present you the USB on a fucking golden platter.”

Ding.

“Then what would they gain from burning down the building?” Miles fiddled with his phone, watching his Uncle pace around the room.

“If we think about the consequences, it’ll bring the Chávez’s the most harm. It’s a shared property funded by a lot of other people in the elite— that would mean a higher up sent us that information on purpose.. But who,”

+17479256640 || Yesterday

Do you recognize the girl beside him?

You closed the door behind you, eyes glued onto the floor.

There was this emptiness inside you. One that likely plagued your mother before everything that unfolded. You tucked your hair behind your ears.

You stared at your hands, watching as each shard fell off like leaves on an autumn day. Your wounds were healing so rapidly swift, that it was quite the show worthy of praise.

ＹＯＵ’ＲＥ　ＦＵＣＫＥＤ　ＵＰ．

That makes the two of us.

With a twist of your heel, you walked down the corridor to the drawing room nearby, finding your two older brothers with similarly calm exteriors. Antonne was sitting by the edge of one of the sofas, tending to his cheek with an ice pack. Montrell was the first to notice your presence. He was sitting by the make-shift bar, sitting down like a patron but hardly drinking anything at all. He gestured at the med kit atop the auburn coffee table, indirectly telling you to patch yourself up.

You pretended to need for it, unpacking some of its utensils and brashly pouring alcohol all over your limbs and wrapping it up with some bandages.

You watched Antonne glare at you.

“It’s fortunate that purple’s a good color on you.” You grinned at him. “Hopefully that bruise won’t make a guest appearance at the charity event next week.”

“Go fuck yourself.” Antonne spat.

You headed towards the remote to get the television noisy. It was enough to cause a migraine, but it was better off that way. None of your brothers commented on it, which was miraculous, in regards to Antonne.

“You guys care for a drink?” You tiresomely proposed.

Antonne took a second before looking at you. Montrell sat erect, his once crossed legs now uncrossed. Your sudden proposal likely surprised them, seeing how similarly perplexed and amused they were.

You gestured them to go to the balcony.

With each click of your heel, you made your way around the bar, grabbing the sweetest wine you could find and about three chalices. All three of you then hit the cold deck, the green bottle clamoring against the painted, metal table as you popped the cap open.

“It’s nice it ain’t a cork,” You rambled. “Might hit and break another damn window. Can’t be too sure.”

They only listened.

“Does it hurt?” You asked Antonne. “Where did his fist land this time?”

“Up my cheek.” He chewed, spitting out another at the trees. “Couple of mouth sores, might last me about a month.”

Montrell takes the bottle, holding up the title to his gaze. “Vietti Cascinetta.. Moscato d’asti.” He read in perfect Italian. “This was that wine we got from Veronica’s wedding. It’s still here?”

“Daddy hates sweet wine.” You poured him a glass. “Might take away all of what’s left of his masculinity, the sweets I mean.” After pouring yours, you held it up and gleamed. “Cheers.”

All three of you took consecutive sips off of your glasses.

This was an odd rarity. A moment where all three of you were siblings. You hadn’t had such a moment with them in about three years. Now, all of you were old enough to drink wine without coming off as classless bastards. Oh, how the times have changed.

Montrell took out a pack of cigars— new ones, considering how he had to peel off its shiny plastic cover. Antonne reached out for a stick and plucked, making you unconsciously go for one too.

“No.” Montrell warned, taking it away from your hands like a watchful sitter. You blinked at your vacant fingers. “You started smoking at sixteen, why can’t I do that too?”

Upon lighting up the cigar, Montrell casted one look at you, took a hit, blew, and handed you over the cigarette. “Alright, go try it once.”

And you did so, perseveringly, like how every little sister wants to impress her older siblings. You took a hit, and it burned your lungs stronger than vape could ever foster. Like lil ol’ Miles, it didn’t take three seconds before you started coughing up the smoke like an ill child.

“You’re as stubborn as ever.” They say. It was a nostalgic hearing. Stubborn little girl, a walking disaster.

“Perhaps that’s what’s so well-loved about my personality.”

You wondered where it all began— everyone thinking you were stubborn. Was it the insistent way you approached people whenever you had plans, or the way you’d do things out of spite?

“So stubborn about everything. The hotel, the upkeep, the warehouses.. Hell, even about that boy.” Antonne murmured, a gruffness in his sleepy tone.

You sipped.

“… That boy.. Is a hazard to our family name.”

None of them made a sound.

“Dad told me not to tell any of you ‘cause he feared someone else might know of what Miles possesses and they’ll take advantage of it.” You swished the glass. “And since I first discovered it, he placed me on the job.”

“What job in particular? What does that boy have?” Antonne impatiently snapped.

“.. When Mom betrayed us, she had a USB containing every transaction with the other elites, and each location of the warehouses and what they’re storaging. When we sent her off, we burnt everything in her room— including all her files and her electronics, but when I discovered she used one of my old phones to hide evidence, I discovered that.. Miles’ father, Jeff Davis, had a copy of those files.”

“Holy shit.” Montrell verbalized. “But why—“

“Why hasn’t that information been outed? Go place a bet. We even requested to have his corpse researched but he was cremated, which means if the USB was with him, it might’ve been in his uniform, but if it wasn’t— it’s in his house. And since all of us haven’t been arrested yet, father figured the USB is likely currently untouched.”

“… It’s not.” Montrell whispered. “It’s not untouched. The USB is with someone, and they’re releasing information about us bit by bit in the black market.”

“That’s right.” Antonne added. “And whoever it is, is likely watching us closely.”

“But why are you telling us this, [Y/n]? That’s a violation of the code of loyalty.”

You took a sip.

So I’d feel less guilty once you’re all dead.

[AN: Happy New Year everybody! ✨✨ I hope all of you are alright🫶 Take care of yourselves]

[Q&A open too if you guys have any questions in regards to the story]

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