#as you can see from this evidence he is very aware of the conversation and desperately in need of chen yi's affection and attention

[casualavocados]

Why do you always use that to piss me off? ...It makes me happy. We agreed that I'm in charge of the bars. But you come here all the time to watch me. How am I supposed to lead my people? Use your head, okay? Suit yourself. What's the matter? Chen Yi. Chen Yi! [...] Don't make me worry.

Chen Bowen as CHEN YI & Chiang Tien as AI DI KISEKI: DEAR TO ME (2023)

[shy-writer-999]

1-800-LONELYCHEF . ₊ ⊹ .

Summary: The same man calls you every Friday at 11:30PM. It seems like he has nothing better to do. After months of the same routine, you've started to take a liking to him, which is a problem, considering that he's your client... and you work at a phone sex hot line. WC: ~7k. CW: NSFW content! ANGSTY! Afab reader w/gendered language (she/her pronouns). Masturbation, oral sex. MDNI plz!

“Hello?”

You’re very familiar with the caller on the other end of the line. He calls you once a week—every Friday, after his shift at the bougie restaurant he works at, 11:30PM on the dot.

He must be very attractive, or at least that’s what you’ve garnered over talking to him for many months.

At first, he was evidently too shy to make use of your more… explicit services. This is a phone sex hotline, after all.

He honestly sounded like he just needed someone to vent to. So, you listened, as was your job. After the first few months, you both got more accustomed to one another. His shyness melted away. He got friendlier.

It’s been six or seven months since he first called. You’ve become very fond of him, but you have no idea what he looks like. So, one day, you decide to ask.

“Your voice is so sexy,” you start, giving him a line that you gave everyone, except this time you mean it. “I can’t help but wonder what you look like, Sanji.”

With other callers, you’d have to check what their name is before you say it. But you’re far past that point with him, and every time you say his name it makes his heart flutter.

“Well,” he says. “I’m blonde. And my eyebrows have a little… curl to them. I’m a decent height and I have a bit of a goatee.”

“And what color are your eyes?” You ask, trying to get the full picture.

He notes that question. It’s a thoughtful one. You’re thoughtful, in general. He knows that you are just being nice to him because, well, it’s your job, but also… he can’t shake the feeling that you have a soft spot for him. Do you talk to everyone like this?

“My eyes? Hmm. It depends on who you ask. I don’t know, really. Some people say they’re black, other people say grey, I’ve had a few tell me they’re blue. I’m not sure.”

You hum in response. There’s a beat of silence.

“What sort of eyes do you like?” He asks. He’s cheeky like that. You have the feeling that he has a real soft spot for you, too. Why else would he call you every week? There are plenty of others he could call. But he just sticks with you every time.

You respond. “It depends on who you ask. But historically I have liked guys with black, grey, or blue eyes. Do you happen to know anyone who fits the bill?”

He can tell that you’re smiling. He finds himself blushing, getting giddy for a few moments before he realizes that oh, right, you are at work, and oh, right, he is paying you to talk to him, like the loser he is.

His voice falters a bit the next time he speaks, a couple of seconds later. You know the exact thought that just went through his head. It’s something you are well aware of but… it does make you a bit sad with him. You like him far too much for your own good.

You wonder if you would like the look of him in real life, painfully single as you are. You wonder if he would like the look of you.

You might have a teeny tiny crush on this guy you’ve never met. Teeny tiny is a massive understatement. Just because he’s so consistent—you’ve never met a man as consistent as him—and so kind, and such a gentleman, even on the phone.

But tonight, the call ends earlier than usual. It seems that your open flirtation was a bit too genuine for him. Hit a bit too close to home. He finishes the conversation and dodges your attempt to take it farther.

“Thank you as always, beautiful. It’s a pleasure to talk to you. See you next week.” The phone hangs up abruptly. He’s gone now.

He always calls you beautiful, like everyone else does, but… it just means something coming from him. Maybe because he’s the only caller who has ever wanted to truly know something about you. And every time he hangs up, he says ‘see you next week,’ even though you never see each other. It’s cute.

You find yourself wishing he was still on the line. You’re a bit bummed that he hung up this early, not because you’re going to be left wanting for money (he always overpays), but because you always look forward to talking to him.

When you take the next caller, you’re quickly reminded that Sanji is by far the youngest and kindest of anyone who has ever called you.

---

“Hello?”

He’s on the line again. It’s Friday again, 11:30PM sharp.

You respond, tone warmer than it needs to be, given that you’re speaking to a client. “Hi.”

You’re glad to talk to him. Very realistically, this is the only interesting thing you have to look forward to—it’s not like you can afford to go out and party on the weekends. Or any day, for that matter. He’s your Friday night date every week. That doesn’t escape him.

“How was your week?” He asks, like he always does. He’s the only client who has ever asked you that.

You respond as frankly as you can without overstepping. “Hmmm. It was alright. Pretty boring, in general. It could have been better. How was your week?”

He pauses for a moment. “It was pretty good.”

“Tell me about it.” You prompt, and he begins detailing his week for you, as is your routine.

The things you know about this man’s life are random and vast, among them, you know that he lives in the city next to yours, he eats oats every morning for breakfast, and that he chain smokes as often as he can get away with (which is almost 24/7). You’ve been privy to him trying to cut back on his nicotine intake more than a few times, and he has never forgotten that you cheer him on every time he tries.

Among other things, this week he had to go to work on his usual day off (Wednesday) because the sous-chef called out (again). You can hear him roll his eyes when he says that. You roll them too, even though he can’t see.

He vents about that, and you hear him out.

“The sous-chef sounds like a real asshole,” you say. “Always has. Didn’t he call out a couple weeks ago?”

He laughs out loud at your honesty. “I fucking know, right? And yes, he did. It’s ridiculous.” Then his heart skips a beat. You really do pay attention to what he says.

“They don’t appreciate you as much as they should, Sanji. I bet I could talk some sense into them.” You say, and you both chuckle for a moment.

“What else happened this week?” You follow up, genuinely wanting to know. This man fascinates you. With how charming and sweet he is, it’s a wonder to you that he’s single. Also, the life he lives is quaint. He is a man of routine, a hard worker, and he’s driven. He has a strong and warm personality.

When he replies to your question, you can’t quite make out the tone of his voice—is that reluctance? Hesitation? Shyness? Or awkwardness? It’s hard to tell.

He responds to your question. “Well… I went on a date last night.”

Before you can wonder why, your heart starts to sink. Fuck. You really do have a crush on this guy, don’t you?

You regrettably (internally) acknowledge your disappointment. You do have a massive crush on this guy. And he’s your client. So, get a grip.

Your acting skills have to be excellent for this job. You make good use of them now. “Oh, a date?” You emanate the pinnacle of excitement for him. “How was it?”

This has happened maybe half a dozen times before. The dates always go well but the follow through rate is bad. Obviously. Or else he wouldn’t be here. But every time it has happened, your heart always sinks. Not a fun feeling.

“It went really, really well.” Sanji’s voice is happy. “Might have been the best date I’ve ever been on.” You know he’s smiling right now. Positively beaming. Your heart breaks a bit before you reprimand yourself. You have no right to like this man the way that you do.

He probably wouldn’t touch you with a ten-foot-pole if he met you in real life (you tell yourself this, and you know it is a lie, but you try to say it to make yourself get a grip… needless to say, this strategy doesn’t work.)

“How was she?” You ask because you know he wants to talk about it.

“She was thoughtful, kind, and considerate. Very sweet. Kind of like you, actually.” He says, not realizing how much those words make your smile fall. “One of the cooks set us up. Like a blind date. I had no idea what to expect but she was gorgeous. Wow. So funny, too.”

His voice trails off. It’s your turn to talk.

“Awh, Sanji, I’m so glad. You deserve some attention.” Your voice is sugar coated like usual and his heart patters.

The conversation wanders into various topics. The woman he went on a date with is a veterinarian. That sours your mood. She must be real swell. Caring for sick animals and all that stuff. Ugh. The whole topic is forcing you to accept the fact that you like this guy wayyyy more than you should. You have no business having this intense of a crush on him, having this intense of a crush on a man who is, ostensibly, and for all intents and purposes, using you as his rent-a-girlfriend.

The pair of you then talk about relationships—has he ever been in one? (Yes, ages ago.) What is his love language? (Physical touch and acts of service.) What’s his type? (Essentially, you.) You ask him questions and he asks you them back. It’s a nice conversation, an intimate one, one that would have you feeling better if not for the fact that he just happened to have an amazing date.

After a while, the conversation dwindles. You know that he’s in the mood to do what this whole thing is really about—phone sex. When Sanji is in a really good mood or a really bad mood, he takes advantage of your expertise in this area. Tonight is the former.

“Is there anything else on your mind, handsome?” You ask, gauging what he’s up to tonight.

“Mmmm, there is. What are you wearing, gorgeous?”

You smile. He’s cute. Usually, you lie when men ask you this question. But with Sanji you tend to be a bit more truthful. Maybe it’s the fact that you feel like he’s going to get taken off the market soon and never call you again one day, or maybe it’s something else, but you’re getting the urge to be more candid and flirtier with him than you’ve ever been before. Real flirty, not work flirty. You’re getting the urge to step out of whatever character you put on when you pick up the phone.

“Do you want the regular client answer, or the Sanji answer?” You say, bold and not giving a fuck. Why not? He can have the real answer, hell, he can have some realness because you’ve talked for so long, and because you like him so much. Like you said, he deserves some attention.

“Oh. How about both?” He’s tickled and intrigued. “I’m flattered that I have my own option.”

“You always do. Well, the regular client answer would be that I’m wearing a babydoll slip dress made of black mesh… with a black lace thong and thigh-high black stockings. Do you like that?” Your voice starts to transform; it starts to drip pure lust, candied in honey and flattery. It’s a well-trained skill. Sanji gets hard almost immediately, tenting his pants and widening his thighs.

“I like it very much.” His voice is getting huskier, thicker. You love it when he sounds like that. His voice really is sexy. He continues. “Now, tell me the Sanji answer.”

“It isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

He nods, but it’s not like you can see him. “Of course.”

“I’m wearing a black tank top and blue plaid sweatpants. No bra, but I actually am wearing a black lace thong.” You laugh. “Very sexy, right?”

His voice comes out raspier this time. “It is, though. I much prefer the Sanji answer.”

“You’re sweet.” You say, and he can tell you mean it. “Now, what are you wearing?”

Sanji blushes and his erection strains against the fabric of his boxers. “Do you want the regular client answer, or the You answer?”

You laugh again. “How about both?”

“Well,” he continues. “The regular client answer is that I’m in black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone and my sleeves are rolled up to my forearms. I’m wearing black loafers and black socks. Now, the You answer isn’t nearly as glamorous. Do you still want to know?”

“Mhm.”

“I don’t have a shirt on and I am coincidentally wearing blue plaid sweatpants as well. Can you believe that?”

“No way. Really?”

“Yep.”

“Anything underneath?” Your voice is coy and his erection pulses.

“Yep. I have boxers on. Boring black ones.”

“And what’s going on underneath of those?”

He dryly chuckles and reaches down to rub his hard on for a second. “A lot.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” You practically purr and he runs his palm over his bulge in response.

He lets out a soft groan that make you feel some sort of way. “Oh yeah? Y’know, even though I don’t really know what you look like, I just know that you’re looking sexy in your pajama outfit right now.”

Your witty reply is stopped short. He’s the only one who is this real with you. Most of the men on the other line tend to be creepy, old, and just downright weird. This is a dying profession, after all. Sometimes the other clients are rude and dismissive, too. But Sanji… you know he really means what he says.

“You’re adorable, Sanji,” you say. “I’d venture a guess that you look pretty good right now, too.”

“Mmmm.” He hums, heartbeat rising as he continues to palm himself. “I wish I could see you right now.”

You can’t tell if this is part of the fantasy. You really did wish you could see him, though.

“What would you do to me…” your voice is smooth as silk. “If I peeled off my tanktop and shimmied out of my sweatpants?”

Sanji’s breath hitches. Something feels realer than usual about this—knowing what you’re wearing right now, what you’re really wearing, is turning him on beyond belief (assuming that you’re telling the truth, but he always chooses to believe that you are).

“If I was there, I’d kiss you, actually.”

His answer catches you off guard. You’re not sure he’s said something like this before.

There is silence for a second. You don’t know how to respond, really. You decide to just respond honestly, without appearances. Fuck it. He’d probably be off the market soon if his amazing date was anything to tell for it, so might as well.

“Wow, that’s really sweet. I’m not sure anyone has said something that nice to me in years.”

He tuts. “That’s my lowest bar of sweetness. I can go much sweeter than that, my love.”

He’s never called you that before, either. You’re starting to forget that this is a work call. It feels distinctly different than one.

“I’d like to see how sweet you can get, Sanji.”

His cock twitches again. Fuck. You really have a way with words. You get him more riled up than anyone he’s ever met before.

You continue. “After you kiss me, what would you do to me?”

“I would kiss every inch of you.”

Your heart melts. Fuck. Is this guy a saint? Where does he get off being so suave?

“Mmmm. That sounds nice. I’d like to return the favor.” Your tone, to Sanji, is effortlessly erotic. The thought of you kissing every inch of him—yes, even those inches—has him grinding the palm of his hand over his cock.

“Sounds even better. Then, if you let me, I’d go down on you.” The blonde is starting to get worked up. You can tell from his voice—when it gets all husky like this, you know he’s about to start touching himself, if he isn’t already.

Also, the fact that he said ‘if you let me’ really struck you. No one had ever said that before in your line of work. He has the tendency to say things you’ve never heard before, and he always surprises you.

“Of course I’d let you go down on me,” your voice gets softer. “What exactly would you do?” You wonder if he’d be any good. Maybe his answer will be elucidative.

“I’d start by kissing up your thighs, one at a time. Then I’d very slowly, very gently kiss your clit. Hopefully it would feel good. After a while, I think I’d be able to tell if you liked it. I’d run my tongue downwards and taste you. And tease you as much as you’re willing to put up with.”

“Mmmm. I think I could put up with a lot.” You let out a breathy sigh. You’re starting to warm up between the legs. With that voice, and those words, and that mental image… it sounds divine. You’re about to let yourself get carried away. It’s tempting.

“Is that so?” Sanji decides to keep going with the fantasy as long as you’d let him. Frequently, this happens the other way around. You usually describe to him, in great detail, what you would do to him. Apparently tonight it would be the other way around.

“In that case,” Sanji continues, “I’d take my time with you. I’d push my tongue inside of you delicately at first, then harder, and switch between that licking your clit.”

You can feel that you’re getting wet. It has only ever been with Sanji that you’ve actually gotten aroused while talking to a client. Usually, you’re as dry as the Sahara when talking to clients. But this man does things to you. Sinful things.

“What else?” You ask, biting your lip and sneaking your hand lower. You decide that, just this once, it’s okay to get carried away.

He can hear it in your voice. The synthetic, sugary (but still very much erotic) tone is dissipating and he’s hearing, for the first time, your voice bathed in genuine arousal. Your breaths are quicker than usual, your tone is less composed, and he can tell that you’re hanging onto his every word.

At the same time that his hand goes under the waistband of his boxers, yours goes under your underwear. He starts to stroke himself, relishing the first ripples of pleasure from his hand, and you do something similar. Each movement of your fingers is accompanied by his voice, by some filthy image he puts in your head.

“When you’re moaning loud enough, I’d press my middle finger into you slowly, to make sure you’re comfortable. After a moment, I’d move my finger and caress you inside a bit, and if it seemed like you liked it, I would press my ring finger into you.”

You start to mimic what Sanji is describing. It feels dangerously good. A barely audible sort of gasping sound falls out of your lips and Sanji hears it. His fist goes faster. He hasn’t ever heard you make that sort of noise before—he’s heard fake moans, sure, they were still hot (and he always told himself they were real). Anything you did was hot. But this sort of noise was the sort that could only be caused by one thing—pleasure.

Sanji’s fist goes a bit faster when he concludes that you may be touching yourself. The idea makes him feel like he’s on fire.

“I’d curl my fingers inside of you and find your g-spot… draw circles around it and press it while I place some kisses on your clit. Would you like that?”

His question catches you off guard—you’re getting lost in the act of fingering yourself.

“Mmmm. I would like that, Sanji.”

“How would I know that you liked it?”

“I’d, fuck,” another soft moan slips out of your lips and Sanji squeezes his cock tighter. “I’d run my fingers through your hair and pull you closer. Buck my hips into your tongue so you, ah, get deeper.”

“What would you say?” His voice is low now, and you can hear a faint sound in the background. He’s fisting his cock to your conversation, which is nothing new, but it brings you more of a rush than usual right now because you’re touching yourself too. “What would you say if you liked how I ate you out?”

“Don’t stop,” you shudder, and it sounds like it would if he was actually eating you out. The noise makes his heart flip. He can hear wet sounds from your end of the phone, too. He can hardly believe his ears, but sure enough, he can make out the noises of you bringing your fingers in and out of yourself.

“I wouldn’t,” Sanji says and then groans. The obscene noise goes straight to your aching core. You’re going to orgasm soon. “I wouldn’t stop until you came all over my face and I licked you clean.”

“Fuck,” you mewl. “That sounds, ah, sounds like it would feel good, Sanji.”

“Does it feel good?” He counters, twisting his hand over the head of his cock. His fist brings down the precum that has been beading at his tip, and the sensation makes his hips rock up inadvertently.

“Mmmmphhh, I—yes, it feels good, Sanji. Feels so good.”

You curl your fingers inside, searching for the spot that Sanji mentioned before. You press on it as you speak. You know he’s going to love the noise you make.

He grunts and throws his head back. He’s going to cum soon. He’s going to cum if you say his name some more. He wants it. “Say that again.”

“Fucckkk, Sanji. Feels so good.”

“I love hearing you say my name. I’m—hah—‘m gonna cum if you do it again.”

“Sanji. Sanji. Sanji, fuck, Saannnjjjiii.” On repeat, you moan his name through your orgasm, which you finally allow to wash over you. He can hear it in your voice, can hear you trying to force his name out of your mouth between keens.

Your voice has never sounded so good. He’s sure now, sure sure, that you’ve been touching yourself this whole time and that you just came. It’s a first for him. He’s suspected your arousal at other times, but this time, it’s a confirmed fact. In an instant, the fantasy fades and he can see the moment for what it is—you’ve thrown away the pretenses, acting skills, and flattery, and, for a handful of minutes, you’ve been 100% yourself with him, more so than ever before.

That’s what makes him cum. Your unreserved sincerity and desire. It’s the hardest he’s cum in a long time—and that’s a high bar, considering the fact that any time he broaches these activities with you he cums hard.

When you’re both panting in the euphoric aftershocks of your orgasms, Sanji whistles. “Damn.”

You hum in agreement. “Wow.”

He cracks a joke. “So, am I supposed to send you an invoice after this one?”

He’s hilarious in general, and this one makes you laugh. “I might allow it.” Your tone is uncharacteristically bashful. You’re about to say something you’ll later regret. “I think you’re the only person who has ever gotten me off over the phone.”

Sanji is taken aback for a second. “Really? I’m honored. And surprised.”

You almost instantly regret oversharing, chuckling awkwardly before you realize that this is a work call, and you should act accordingly. But it’s hard to pull yourself out of the intimacy of this moment and you don’t want to. So… against your better judgment, you don’t.

“I’m impressed, Sanji. Maybe we should do this more often,” you say, and Sanji’s heart thumps again. “You don’t have to only call me once a week, you know.”

“As long as you won’t get sick of me, I would love to. And we can do this again any time, gorgeous. It’s seriously my pleasure. You don’t know what you do to me, it’s only fair that I return the favor.”

While he’s saying the last part, Sanji realizes that this isn’t a favor, really. He tries to brush off that sad feeling for a moment but finds himself wondering what you really think of him.

It’s time for him to go to sleep, he concludes. He’s exhausted after a long shift and a hard orgasm.

“So, same time next week?” His voice is chipper.

“Mhm. I look forward to it, Sanji. See you later.” When the words leave your mouth, you wonder if he feels butterflies, too.

“See you later, sweetheart.”

Sanji hangs up the phone.

In your respective bedrooms, you’re both wondering what the fuck just happened. This call was full of lots of firsts and, little do you two know, the other feels elated.

But Sanji thinks about it more. He weighs his feelings for you against the practical understanding that he is, presumably, nothing more than a client to you. His heart aches at the thought.

And then he looks at his phone. The person who he went on a date with texted him while he was on the phone with you—she’s asking for another date. She says she looks forward to seeing him.

---

A week passes.

It’s Friday again.

11:30PM comes and goes. No call from Sanji.

In a span of over six months, this is the first time he hasn’t called you.

As you sit and wait for him, passing off other phone calls in case he decides he wants to speak to you tonight, your heart starts to sink.

Was last time a mistake?

Ten minutes go by.

Twenty minutes go by.

Many minutes go by. The time is now 12:30AM.

You’re left to conclude that last time was, indeed, a mistake.

You decide to take the night off. Your tears are making it hard to get any work done. You can’t put on that sultry voice and moan at old men in your current state.

There’s no denying it—his absence hurts you. Bad. Especially after last week. Especially after you admitted to him that you had never orgasmed over the phone before, and that you wanted to talk to him more often.

Why hadn’t he called you?

You wrack your brain for possibilities, but one major thing stands out. That date he went on. Maybe he went on another one and decided he liked them better.

Liked them better? You ask yourself after realizing what you just thought. He’s paying you to talk to him on the phone. Get over it. He isn’t going to keep calling you forever. What did you expect after last week? That he would just confess his love, offer to pay all of your bills, and that would be it?

You frown harder, hurting yourself deeper with your own rhetoric. The tears won’t stop.

It’s excruciating to realize that you like Sanji this much. You really like him. You know almost everything there is to know about him, too. And as much as you generally try to avoid giving out personal information, he knows a large chunk about you. Maybe that’s why it hurts so bad.

No, you tell yourself. Don’t kid yourself. You know it hurts this bad because you were hoping he liked you for real. You were hoping that this man, who you had never truly met before, who you had never seen, would, against all odds, decide that he wants you, even if he hadn’t seen you.

Fat chance, you tell yourself. Never do that with a client again, and this will never be a problem again.

---

Sanji does not call you back the next week.

Or the next week.

Or the week after that.

Or the month after that.

You are over it by the time the second month rolls around.

It’s pretty good timing, on your behalf. You think you’re really over this huge crush on a man you’ve never seen before. By the fifth month, you’re still telling yourself that you’re over this “crush”.

But that’s a delusion—any time you’re in public and there’s a blonde man, you find yourself scanning his face. Does he have a goatee? Could those eyebrows be considered curly? What color are those eyes?

When you see one that you think might be him, you always work up the courage to speak to them. But it never is Sanji. You would recognize that voice anywhere.

You wonder what you will say to him if he ever calls you again. Or if you see him in person. You decide that if he ever calls you again, you’ll either curse him out or break into tears.

In your most down-bad-hour, you contemplate showing up at the restaurant he is the chef at. You contemplate asking if you can see the kitchen. You just want a glance at him. A glance will keep your heart quiet.

But the joke’s on you—his restaurant is too expensive for you. Truly. You couldn’t afford a drink there if you tried. Okay, maybe just one. But you refuse to stoop to that level of desperation.

You’re a call away from him. He just has to dial your number.

You, on the other hand, have no way of calling or texting him. The service you work through scrambles client numbers before they’re patched through to you. The only way you know it’s Sanji is when he calls, at 11:30PM on the dot, on Friday nights. That’s Sanji time.

But it seems like Sanji time has come and gone.

You can’t shake the feeling that he did you dirty—but then you remember that he doesn’t owe you anything. This is your line of work. Phone sex. And that’s what you had. You just stepped over a boundary that you usually stay far away from. Whose fault is that?

No amount of logic can shake that feeling, though. You develop a little grudge against this man who you will never meet.

That’s what you tell yourself—that you’ll never meet him. But there’s a nugget of hope inside that, someday, he’ll call you. Someday he’ll kiss you. You try to obliterate that nugget though, as it is antithetical to the remedy to your lovesickness that you’re seeking.

Which will come first, him calling you, or you quitting this job that you’ve been meaning to quit for months at this point?

You hate to admit this to yourself, but he’s the only thing that was keeping the thoughts of quitting at bay. Maybe you really will quit this time around.

---

It is a Saturday night and you’re working again. It’s an unfortunately slow night, which sucks, because you really could use the money.

You’re scrolling on your phone, waiting for the next call to come in. It has been three hours with no calls. Guess all the creepy old men have plans tonight, which is such a shame because you need to pay rent soon. Sigh.

Time passes. You check the clock. It’s almost 11:30PM. The time doesn’t remind you of him anymore (well, much).

Maybe if you channel some of your good karma, ask the universe to cut a check of it right now, someone will call you for one long, lengthy conversation. You can help get them off as many times as they want. Five times in a row. You’ll break that record and go for six times if they just pay you. No questions asked.

Sure enough, a call comes through. You check the clock again. It’s been moving at a snail’s pace tonight. It’s 11:35PM. Hopefully whoever this is feels like talking.

“Hello?”

Your heart stops.

It sounds like Sanji for a second. But there’s no way. It’s been five fucking months.

“Hi.” You respond in your sugared up, sultry voice.

“It’s been a long time, gorgeous.”

It is Sanji.

Your heart flutters and your stomach flips. You’re speechless.

Don’t forget your game plans: curse him out or cry. But you can’t bring yourself to do either now that he’s waiting on the other line. You’re about to hang up the phone. You owe this man nothing and he owes you nothing—it’s that simple.

As you go to press the end call button, he speaks again.

“I’m sorry.”

The tears start now. The dam inside of you breaks. Hot tears pour out of your eyes and down your cheeks.

You didn’t think that hearing his voice would have this strong of an effect on you. But the heartbreak that you once thought faded away is now back in full force.

He’s waiting for a response before he hears shuddering breaths from you as you cry. Your tears are all the confirmation he needs—he knows that he was right months ago when he worked up the courage to confess to you. He should have done it. He knows that he was wrong to take the coward’s way out. And he knows he was wrong to tell himself that you didn’t care about him and wouldn’t care when he disappeared, because he was just a client to you. He was so terribly wrong. The sound of your sobs shatters him.

“I should have called you before. I’m so sorry. And maybe you hate me for waiting this long to call you again. I understand if you do. I just couldn’t keep it inside anymore, I—”

“Where the fuck were you?” You cut him off. Your anger is starting to seep through the tears. Maybe the first game plan can still happen. “I waited for you, Sanji.”

He doesn’t even try to think of a comeback or excuse. He tells you plainly what happened and, even though it breaks your heart some more, it makes sense.

“Well… I finally found someone. Last time, after I hung up, I had another date with that person I mentioned, and it went really well. So, we just kept going on dates. It didn’t feel right to keep calling you when things with her were progressing so quickly. We got together, and—”

“I understand, Sanji. That’s all I wanted to hear. Thanks.”

You slam your finger down on the hang up button. Your heart is broken enough as it is. He can keep all that yapping to himself. Good for nothing heartbreaker.

So what, he was with whoever that was. So what, they love each other and have been together almost half a year at this point. So what, he was just a client the whole time and you had gotten your hopes up for nothing and—your catastrophizing is stopped in its tracks when your phone starts to buzz again. You feel like it’s Sanji.

You pick up the phone. It is.

“Wait, wait, don’t hang up, please let me finish, please.”

“What, so you can tell me how much you love your girlfriend? I get it, Sanji. You paid me to talk to you for so long that of course you got sick of it and finally got what you had been after the whole time, a loving, very real partner. I understand that I’m just a service to be used and discarded later. That’s fine. Goodbye.”

“No. Listen to me.” Sanji’s voice is stern and harsh, a tone you’ve never heard from him before. “We got together and then she very quickly dumped me. Do you know what she kept saying to me? She said I was too absentminded. She thought I was thinking about someone else. Dumped me after two months because I couldn’t give her what she wanted. Absentminded.”

His words hang in the air for a few moments while you try to process why the fuck he’s explaining any of this to you and why it matters. He continues. His voice is emphatic, hurried, and nervous sounding.

“And if I’m being honest, I was absentminded. I couldn’t stop thinking about you. I know this sounds fucking ridiculous because we’ve never met, and I understand if you tell me to go fuck off because I’m sure this happens to you all the time, but… I can’t get you out of my head. I’ve tried to for months. Three months. I told myself that I was an idiot for falling for someone out of my league. And the crazy thing is, I don’t even have to see you to know you’re out of my league. The way you act is out of my league. YOU are out of my league. You’re thoughtful, and kind, and considerate, and you pause before you respond whenever you talk because I can tell you’re really thinking over your response. And you’re funny. And witty, and charming, and you never once made me feel weird or less than for calling and finding solace in you. I’ve been lonely for years. I make the first move all the time, but it never works out. And I know I fucked this one up, and I know I didn’t have a chance in hell with you to begin with, but I just, fuck, I had to get this off my chest. I love you. I fell for you the first conversation we had. Now please tell me to fuck off.”

You can tell that every word he is saying is sincere and earnest. You can hear the emotion in his voice. While you wipe your tears dry and mend your heart together, you take deep breaths. He can wait for your response. Like he just said, you’re intentional about your responses to people. Every word matters. Especially with Sanji.

“Do you know how bad it hurt after our last conversation to not hear from you again?” You start.

He winces. He knew that was coming.

“I’m so so sorry. I’m so sorry. It was disrespectful of me, and callous, and if you hang up and never want to speak to me again, I understand and I deserve it.”

“You do deserve it.” You say, regaining some composure. “You really do, Sanji.”

“I’m sorry.” You can hear his frown. It’s a cute one. Fuck. His cute words are playing back in your ears too. So, he loves you?

Should you tell him how you feel? How you’ve felt for a long time?

One part of you is screaming at you to get a grip. But the other part—all the other parts—are finally, finally hearing what you’ve been wanting to hear for around a year at this point. That he likes you for you. That he sees you as you, and not some dolled up object of affection that’s only there to get people off and talk dirty to them. It has never been like that between you.

“If I accept your apology, Sanji, what then?”

“I—I actually didn’t think I would make it this far. But if you accept my apology, my next step is to ask you out to dinner with me. And to ask for your phone number. Your real phone number.”

You let out a long, deep sigh. “Sanji. My love. You could have told me these things months ago. It would have saved both of us so much heartbreak. I was devastated. Do you know that?”

You know that he already profusely apologized but you feel like driving it home a bit more. He deserves it. But while you talk, his hopes start to rise. You’ve never called him ‘my love’ before. Maybe that bodes well?

“I’m so sorry. I really am.” He sounds like he means it. You trust him enough to know that he does. Well, fuck it.

“Don’t think I’ll just forget about this because I’m head over heels for you, okay?”

“You—what?” He’s caught off guard. “You are?”

“Sanji. Yes. And you could have found out ages ago. Now, when are we going to dinner? You can apologize to me again then, too. And even if you don’t like what you see, you have to pay for everything. I’m getting an appetizer, an entrée, a dessert, at least two drinks, and whatever else I want. Okay?”

He laughs in relief. “Yes, okay. Yes. Holy shit, I didn’t think you would say that. I wish I could kiss you.”

“Wait—one last thing. If you decide you don’t like me after our date, Sanji, you have to tell me there on the spot. You can’t leave me waiting for another five months. You just can’t.”

“I promise, I won’t leave you waiting. I promise.”

When you hang up the phone a few minutes later (after more twisting the knife), you’re so thrilled that you can hardly breathe.

You can’t believe this is real life. You also can’t believe how quickly you just forgot your dignity, but you’ll unpack that later.

Dinner is set for tomorrow night. 7:30PM on the dot. Sanji is calling out of work, and he’s taking you to the (second) nicest restaurant in town (his is the first, obviously, and he wants to save that for a night where he can really plan ahead and spoil you).

---

When you get to the restaurant, Sanji is already there, waiting outside with a large bouquet of flowers.

He’s more handsome than you could have imagined. Of course he is. You do have great intuition, and you knew from the start that he was sexy. But… goddamn, he is sexy.

It makes sense now what he meant by curly eyebrows. He’s dressed well, too. He’s wearing black slacks and a white button down. A few buttons are undone, and his sleeves are rolled up to his forearms. He has black loafers and black socks. And he smells good. And he smiles good.

He’s so nervous he could puke. He hopes that when he sees you the nerves will melt. But they get 20x worse because he’s enamored with you. You’re beyond his wildest dreams—no number of fantasies could have led him to guess that you look like this.

He’s so obsessed that he starts to stammer before you tell him to calm down, and that he’s making you nervous.

Over dinner, you catch up on everything you’ve missed in the past few months of silence. You fill him in on details in your life that you previously kept to yourself, and he sees a whole new side of you.

At the end of the date, he tells you that he still loves you, that he loves you even more now, and that he’s so so sorry. He says that he’s mesmerized by you, that you’re more than he could have ever dreamed of, and that you can count on him for anything.

You seal the night with a kiss. A long one. It’s so romantic that you feel a bit disturbed with how happy you are after.

And it turns out that yes, this is your big happy ending. You make a perfect pair.

Epilogue: The day that Sanji finally shows off the techniques he told you about long ago, you’re more than satisfied. In fact, it seems like he was actually underselling himself there. You always knew he was the modest type.

thanks for reading! this was inspired by a whole lot of laufey! i hope you liked it. i love sanji so much it hurts me ;(

here's my masterlist if you're interested!

divider courtesy of @cafekitsune tag list @eggrollforyou

[33vik]

Viktor x reader, Viktor comforts you from burnout? Can be spicy or not 😳

a/n: my first request, thank you so much! i hope the rust isn't too evident. feedback would be very appreciated!

word count: 825

genre: fluff! i can make a part 2 for smut if requested <3

pairing: viktor x gn!reader

“You are overworking yourself,” Viktor states. He leaves no room for argument, even as you look up from your desk with furrowed eyebrows, clearly upset your work flow was interrupted. “You will crumble soon if you do not give yourself time to rest.” He approaches your workspace. He’s all too aware of the fate you’re hurling toward. Having gone down that path many times himself, it brings him a different, stronger pain watching it happen to you.

“I’m not,” you reply briskly, brushing him aside as you flip toward a different page in your notes. He raises an eyebrow curiously and takes another step toward you, but you continue to speak before he can say anything. “I’m fine, Vik."

He knows you’re lying: your eyebrows haven’t relaxed once, every waking moment (which has been a considerable amount of time) is spent hunched over your desk, ink stains are all over your two-day old clothing, and the dark circles under your eyes are much more prominent than he’s ever seen; all telling signs.

He also knows you aren’t ready to listen to him. “Very well,” he says, walking off to sit at his own desk. For once, he’s more focused on something other than his work. He leans back in his seat, holding his cane half-heartedly as he watches you.

It takes approximately five minutes before you drop your pen and bury your face in your hands, tears pricking at your eyes in pure frustration. He begins to stand, but is stopped when a trembling hand is held out, palm in his direction. “Don’t.” It’s a shaky whisper.

He nods, knowing better than to go against your wishes in this state. He stays seated and continues to watch, pain stringing at his heart. You quietly wish him a good night and rise, leaving him alone in the dark lab.

Days pass by, and Viktor can’t stand by idly any longer. You’ve been a hollow shell of yourself ever since; you’ve rarely left your bed, and the days you have brought yourself to the lab, you sat numbly at your desk, twirling your pen and ignoring any questions and conversations.

Today, you sit in your chair and stare blankly at the notes in front of you. Viktor rises from his place of work and walks to you, his gentle, nimble fingers delicately resting on your shoulder. You don’t even look up. He grips your shoulder the tiniest bit tighter, his thumb rubbing soothing circles.

That’s all it takes.

You turn in your seat to face him, your arms wrapping around his waist as you bury your face against his stomach. His cane is long forgotten as both hands immediately wrap around you, holding you tightly against him as your body racks with quiet sobs.

He stands there for several minutes, staying silent and rubbing soothing circles on your back. Thankfully, you begin to calm down in his arms. You pull away enough to look up at him. The faintest frown tugs at his lips when he sees your tear stained face, your bottom lip quivering.

“Come,” he instructs, a hand on your desk while he leans down to grab his cane. He straightens and offers his hand, which you slowly take. He walks you all the way to your room, his hand never leaving yours.

He grabs the key you had given him and guides you inside, leading you straight to your bed. You sniffle and lie down on the bed. Big, teary eyes look up at him. Slowly, he lies down next to you, messy, dark strands of hair splaying across the pillow.

“I don’t know what happened,” you whisper, looking at him with anxiety swimming in your eyes. That same, faint frown tugs at his lips.

“You lost yourself to your work,” he says plainly. His pale arm reaches for you, wrapping around your trembling frame. “It happens to the best of us, dear.”

You lean into his touch, keeping your eyes on his face, trailing over his pretty moles. “I just—” you start, but stop when your voice shakes noticeably.

“Shh,” Viktor hushes, pressing his lips to the top of your head. He gently rubs his nose against you. “We can talk about it later. For now, just let yourself relax.”

You nod weakly and dig your face into his chest. For the most part, it’s a comforting silence between you, occasionally broken by a sweet nothing whispered in your ear, his accent like a sweet melody. You melt in his arms, breathing slowing considerably as you let yourself drift off.

“Sleep well, my love.” Viktor whispers against your head, keeping a tight hold on you. It’s unheard in your sleep, but you unconsciously nuzzle further into him.

He continues to rub your back for quite some time, both of your work forgotten in this moment.

Viktor would stop at nothing to ensure your happiness, and these past few days—this moment—solidifies it.

[little-miss-dilf-lover]

PLAYING FAVOURITES. [PART TWO]

tangerine x fem!reader

wc. 2628 summary. continuing on from FAVOURITISM (this can be read as a standalone, but would recommend reading part 1 first) you and your boss's work relationship deviates from professional, each of your repressed feelings beginning to get in the way. a wordless admission entails, the act confirming the liking each of you have. boss x secretary. warnings. slightly suggestive, idiots in love (kinda) disclaimer. the images at the bottom are just a reference of how I picture the reader's vibe and style. they are not a reflection of how I write or see yn (colour and body type) it’s merely a way to show you what I envisioned <3

SERIES MASTERLIST

⎯ ☆ ⎯

Late mornings, you’d often find yourself in the staff room, watching over the bubbling kettle as you wait for it to finish boiling. And now, like many other points during the day, you’re leaning against the counter — hip resting against the worktop, waiting for the flick of the kettle’s switch.

You reach for the appliance and slowly pour the water into your boss's favourite fine china set, making the tea to his very specific liking. Following the steps that he had ingrained into you over the several months you’ve worked for him. You slot two custard creams onto the saucer, setting the biscuits beside the cup before heading towards his office. 

You’re mindful as you walk across the office floor, eyes fixed in a heavy focus on the fragile crockery in your hands. Being ever so careful with something so dear to him. The tea sloshes slightly with each slow and calculated step, the click of your heels accompanying every delayed movement. You reach your boss’s door and give it a light couple taps, being aware how the motion may affect the stability of your hold.

“Yeah?” he calls out, voice preoccupied, like he was busy.

Entering his room quietly so as not to disturb him, you spot him at his desk, phone wedged between cheek and shoulder, hand on the mouse with his attention on the computer screen. His focus differs when he notices you in his door frame, a soft, courteous smile being sent your way.

Though the grin is short lived. A frustrated voice on the receiving end of his phone growing louder, more frustrated. The tone of the caller dissecting that small slither of calm you just gave him. Tangerine sighs, soothing over his moustache as he slumps back in his chair, humming along with the conversation as if to keep the call short with your company present.

“Mhm-hm, catch you in a bit,” he grumbles and places his phone down, irritation evident with the force. “Sorry, darl,” he apologies, turning his attention to you still in his door frame. “You can come in,” he gently reminds you with a chuckle, gesturing you inside.

“Call sounded important— didn’t want to get in the way,” you smile and shake your head. “Anyway, thought you could do with a tea break,” you look at the clock on his wall, speaking like he was an infant with regular feedings.

“You know me too well,” he nods you along, clearing a space between his papers. 

He watches over you, noticing your obvious caution with something so fragile — your precious hold being careful with something he loves.

“Perhaps,” you smile to yourself, gaze focused on your footing, unaware of his looks. You reach his desk and set it in front of him, stepping aside to leave him be. 

“I uhh— I don't suppose you have a few minutes,” he starts, twisting in his chair to keep you in his sight. “Computer’s playing up. Been a right nightmare,” he says, bringing the cup to his mouth to take a sip. “Top notch tea, that.”

You twist on your heels and nod with a smile, heading back to his desk. Standing at his side, your thigh presses into his arm, the contact of your touch noticeable to you both, obvious to you both, though neither one of you wants to shy away from it. You reach past him and for the mouse where his hand sits beside, brushing past him ever so slightly. 

Though he doesn’t flinch or retract his hand, instead he keeps it there, letting it be an obstacle that you have no choice but to graze. Your gaze lowers to his hand, eyes diverting from his screen to look at the closeness of your hands, how they’re almost touching. His thumb fidgets subtly, as if he’s hesitant — eager to reach for your pinky finger.

His eyes, too, fall on the display of your hands in front, the difference in size filling his mind with things no boss should ever think about one of his employees. And as if he’s suddenly remembered his position of power, he regrettably slides his hand away, reaching for the tea so you should feel no such rejection for the act. 

You’d admit that it stung, but that would mean admitting you had feelings for your boss, and you were far too smart to allow yourself for that to happen. So to dust yourself off and refocus, you have a look around on his computer, trying to locate the same issue he’s been having all week. Though today, it seems the issue is different to the prior ones.

You start to bend, initiating a new seated position on your knees, but he stops you, placing down his tea as he goes to stand.

“Have my seat,” he instructs, standing behind his chair as he slides it to you — offering it up.

“Am I allowed?” 

“Course you are,” he dismisses your weary, polite question with a laugh. “Doing me a favour here, can’t have you sitting on the floor.”

“Imagine how bad that’ll look to the higher ups, huh?” you joke. “Letting your secretaries get on their knees while you just sit there.”

Tangerine picks up on the accidental innuendo almost instantly, a diversion of his eyes and a tinge of warmth in his cheeks making that all the more evident. It takes you a second to realise what you’ve said and your eyes widen at the connection, mouth opening slightly like you’re embarrassed. 

“For helping with work,” you add hurriedly, shaking your head as you sit in the chair. “The computer, I mean.”

With your back now to him, you take a moment to collect yourself, head dropping slightly from the sheer humiliation you were feeling. You exhale quickly and turn back to look at him, sending him an apologetic look. 

“I really didn’t mean that— I didn’t even realise what I was saying,” you continue with your apologies, fearing you’ve made the situation all the more uncomfortable.

Though it’s anything but. Instead he quite liked seeing you open up to him, joke and chat with him — the worry-wall of scrutiny slowly dissipating around you. And when he sees you sitting in front, eyes peering over your shoulder and up at him, he knew he was far deeper in the shit than he realised. 

He clears his throat, trying to rid himself from the impure, lewd thoughts running rampant in his mind. He shakes his head singularly at you, hand hesitantly reaching for your shoulder, but instead, he backs out at the last second, finding himself pointing at the computer.

“Let’s get that sorted out, yeah?” he prompts, adjusting your focus to an actual issue. The direction like a distraction, wanting to shake the embarrassment from you without making a deal about it. 

You nod and twist to look at the screen again, pushing your focus to the task assigned to you. But as you get to work, flicking through his computer, you notice the fix is not as simple as the others from this week — the complications advancing from the usual randomly —purposefully—misplaced and deleted files to something far more complex.

Your eyes narrow at the screen, and your back straightens in a slight lean forward, trying to understand it all. 

“I have no idea what you’ve done,” you mutter in pure concentration, chin resting on knuckles with your other hand on the mouse. “This is such a mess,” you briefly look at him still behind you. “Like, such a mess. It’s gonna take a while.”

“I got time,” he tightens his features, stiffening his expression. Trying not to seem so joyous about an ordeal he should be irritated by. “Not a problem for you, is it?” 

“Not at all.”

He picks up the biscuits from the small plate and casually offers you one, hand held out towards you. You skim his skin as you take it, thumb brushing his for a short, quick moment.

“Can I get you anything else?” he asks, eager to keep you comfortable in his space.

“No, I’m good thanks,” you pause and take a bite of the treat changing your mind upon further thought. “Actually, yes please,” you start, speaking through a mouthful. “My glasses? Under my desk I have two bags. In the smaller one— I think it's on the right. Anyway, in there I have a pouch and the case is tucked in one of the pockets. And then my glasses are inside.”

He nods, a subtle smile finding itself spreading on his face. 

“Shall I get you the world’s nuke codes while I’m at it?” he jokes, heading for the door.

You follow his movements, watching him over the top of the computer. “Nah, I don’t need them right now, but I could do with a drink though,” you laugh, making him halt for a brief moment. “My bottle is in the other bag— a big metal thing with charms. You’ll see it right away.”

He’s quick to return and you’re sure he’s forgotten the directions, the quick pace making you doubt him. But instead, he pulls out your bags from behind his back, features forced in a plain, casual expression.

“Thought it’d be easier to bring all your things,” he offers, making his way to your side, tucking your belongings next to you. “Get you set up in here for the day while you fix that mess,” he gestures to the computer and resumes his original position behind you. 

With him unable to see your face, you smile. You smile wide. The thought of him seeming to enjoy and want your company makes those butterflies flutter a little wilder inside. That pit of want slowly growing deeper. The edges of it starting to crumble inwards.

Again, with the reminder of status and power, you dismiss the thoughts and twist in the chair,  leaning over to search through your bag on the floor so you could resume work.

Completely unbeknownst to you, Tangerine’s height advantage gave him exactly that — an advantage. His depraved eyes trail down your back from behind, lowering to the slither of skin between flowy blouse and trousers, the tights he bought for you all those weeks ago visible over the top of the waistband. The hosiery a secret to you and you only, a way of maintaining your flamboyance without getting in trouble for it. 

He squeezes his eyes shut, gaze unable to leave the sight without a forceful action. His hands drop from the crossed position over his chest to his front, hands acting as a shield between his legs. 

He wasn’t sure what exactly got him so bothered about the sight, and he found himself struggling to find the reasoning why. Perhaps it was something about the contact, how something he touched so tightly is now, too, tightly touching you. Maybe it was the position or the unintentional, suggestive eyes you’d give him throughout all hours of the day. Either way, whatever it was, he was struggling. 

And through his drifting mind, he’s unaware of you now facing him, hand waving sweetly to capture his attention. 

“Sorry,” he clears his throat in his fist, lending you his focus.

“You good?” you ask, utterly oblivious to the effect you play on him. “I can do this some other time if you’d like?”

“No,” he shakes his head, the motion stern like it was reaffirming his decline. “I was just thinking about lunch,” he lies, checking the time on his watch. “Getting hungry,” a partial lie — only his hunger cannot be satiated with food. “I can get something for you too?”

“I brought something with me from home, but thank you,” you notice a hint of defeated rejection in his eyes, the dismissal of his offer seeming to please you more than it should. “But maybe I can sit in here while I eat?”

“That’ll be nice,” he nods, trying his best to remain neutral. “How’s it looking?” he questions and points to the screen, changing the subject built on a lie.

“Uhm, it’s coming along I think,” you too, lie, pretending the errors were still an issue, when in fact they were not. The problem fixed and sorted a couple minutes ago. “Might be another hour at least, maybe two. Just doing some tests,” you continue with your ruse, lying to keep yourself in his company. 

“That’s alright,” he hums, watching you swirl back around in his chair, getting back to work.

It was as if you were truly unaware of your power: big brains, a heart so pure and eyes that could trick him to do anything. He would find someone with those qualities intimidating, but instead he found himself finding it endearing, exciting even.

And like he’s suddenly had enough of talking himself from his wants, he decides to indulge in them, just this once. He rests his hands either side of you from above, palms flat to the desk to tower over you from behind. Inners of his biceps skimming at your shoulders.

The position close, like a confinement you much rather enjoyed. You swallow thick, struggling to even your breathing.

“Maybe I do play favourites,” he admits, his voice a whisper behind your ear. “Little bit of partiality in the workplace.”

He moves a hand from its placement on the table and places it on the back of the chair, pushing it to make you swivel to face him. 

It’s close, far closer than you’ve ever been to him before — the tips of your noses almost touching.

“I know you’ve thought about this too,” he prompts, tone gentle as he practically speaks against your lips.

All you can do is nod slowly, seeming to be frozen in place with no ability to speak. Quite like you were in a haze, stumped it had finally got to this point.

“How long you been thinking about it?” he teases, itching forward to graze your lips, only to pull away — wanting to hear your answer first.

You inhale raggedly. “Since I started,” you admit, getting closer to make up for the distance he made.

“So have I.”

The hand that was on the back of your chair reaches towards you, palm grazing the base of your throat until it's sitting on the side of it, lightly holding your neck. With him regaining control, he guides you inwards, pressing his lips to yours.

At first it’s precautionary, gentle even, the kiss soft and light as if to check measures.  But when you each pull away, eyes flickering over the other quickly, it’s fast to be rekindled. The intensity growing as if all of the stolen glances and forbidden thoughts and accidental touches have finally caught up to you both. Upping the antics.

A knock at the door breaks the moment far shorter than either one of you would like, the hasty pace of the tapping indicating something urgent. 

You pull away and he sighs, the exhale frustrated. Tangerine stands straight and adjusts himself, making his way to the door.

“What?” he says, voice stern, one of your colleagues stood in front of his door — an uncomfortable look on his face.

“Been a problem with dispatch, sir.”

“Right,” he nods and shuts the door in the face of his employee.

Tangerine heads towards you to collect his things, picking up his briefcase and coat from its placement. Your eyes never seem to break from their lusty fix on him, an indecent, fervent fixation as they follow him around the room.

“I won’t be long,” he assures, walking towards you. He leans over slightly, thumb and forefinger cupping your chin, angling your face to meet him. “Don’t you go anywhere, okay?” he instructs, punctuating his soft command with a rough response. 

⎯ ☆ ⎯

[ PART THREE ]

[atskiruma]

his attempts at courting you

expl: he finds himself thinking about you more often, wanting to seek you out consistently, and giving you numerous gifts every day to see you smile

a/n: it has come to my attention that the last ff i wrote, (snow day) was not very well depicted for all readers to enjoy, i want to apologize for that and promise that i will get better at trying to make sure everyone is able to read it and enjoy it, my writings are targeted for all | unfortunately, i can not edit it right now seeing as there's a poll going on, but once that poll is finished i will change my wording in the ff

ask me anything masterlist

second person writing no pronouns used

Zhongli often felt himself thinking about you more often while he was working around the parlor. Even seeking out your name in conversations and listening more attentively when someone was speaking about you. It didn't confuse him though, he was aware of his interest in you.

You opened up the warmth in his heart and welcomed him kindly every time you two saw each other. It made him happy to see you happy, and this was evident when flowers were delivered directly to your door one sunny afternoon.

"These are for you," The mail lady said before turning around and walking away to do more deliveries. You didn't even get to ask who they were from before she was gone. Staring down at the bouquet of tiger lilies in front of you, you could only assume that the bright orange and black colors could depict a certain someone's hair color.

It was a nice piece on your kitchen counter and went well with the other decorations spiraling around your house. That was, until the next morning, you were greeted again with another gift. A bright orange vase to compliment the tiger lilies you received the other day. It was funny, why was he going out of his way to send you such nice gifts?

You finally managed to confront him when you saw Childe and Zhongli sitting together on the seats of an outside cafe. Walking over and waving to the both of them. They greeted you back, and small talk was given for only a couple minutes.

"I actually came over here to thank Zhongli," This caught his attention, and he turned to look up at you, "I really loved the flowers you sent and the vase goes really well with them too!" You said while smiling.

He nodded back at you, seemingly collecting himself extremely quickly at the fact you figured out so quick who it was. "I'm glad you liked them," He said.

"I came to give you this in return," You said," "I know it's probably not as extravagant as the ones you gave me, but I like it." Handing over the small gift box, he opened it and smiled softly at the item. It was a small keychain, nothing special, and it was decorated with a lovely orange seem.

That same keychain would be hung up right next to his bedframe, along with variant letters you sent him on the table accompanying it.

Diluc was someone who took courting another person seriously. He found it tradition since his father had spoken so much of it when Diluc was younger. He always wanted to treat the one he loved with respect and be as much of a gentleman as possible.

This was why you were taking a stroll with him through his grapevines on a sunny afternoon. He offered for you to come down to the Winery a couple days ago and you had just gotten around to accepting his offer. His hand rested on your back as he took you through multiple different paths and explained everything. As you strolled, he talked about things concerning the vine, his profits, the seasons they needed to be planted, etc.

You smiled at him, knowing it was something he took dear to his heart, and listened very attentively to what he was saying. In reality, Diluc was really hoping that all he was talking about didn't bore you in any way.

Then, the next couple of hours were spent sitting in his large dining room, eating food made by the cooks in his home. It was nice, and you were very happy that he wanted to spend this much time with you. Diluc even found himself watching you eat here and there, asking you if the food was good or if you needed anything else in the time being.

After everything was over, and the night sky shined over the two of you as you stood outside his doors, he leaned down and pressed a small kiss to your hand. Telling you how much of a pleasure it was to have you here, and how he wished you could stay longer.

Diluc even offered to walk you home, tediously not taking no for an answer, he reached down to take your hand and hold it the whole walk home.

Alhaitham was very closed off when he first met you, he was closed off with anyone in general. He found it strange that you always seemed to be there when he was thinking about you, and when his eyes would try and search a room in the akademiya for you.

He realized that something had to be done about this, so, he did what any other raging nerd would do, and researched about it.

You also found it odd when you'd see him looking at you from across the library, or holding the door open for you whenever you'd walking behind him. Alhaitham always seemed like the guy who only cared about his own, yet he was so evident in helping you out here and there.

Helping you when you'd be confused about a book, rewording your essays to make them better. Alhaitham seemed to want to assist you with almost everything. This was no different than today.

You found yourself back at the library looking down at a long-written parchment on the forest rangers' activities. Trying to figure out how you could make this work in the essay you were conducting on Sumeru's forest.

This was when you heard the chair scrap right next to you, and looked up from where you had originally been focused. Alhaitham took his seat next to you, slightly taking up more space than necessary with his manspreading.

"Do you need help with that? It looks like a longer report than usual for you."

"Longer than usual?" You shot back, "Are you saying that I'm not capable of reading this?" His eyes widened a bit and he instantly tried to retort his original statement. "No, no, I thought- Well- You know you usually read shorter reports in order to get more details. I didn't think you'd take something this large to account."

His confession made you smile, and you leaned in closer, "How'd you know how I like my reports?" At the response with your cheeky grin, a blush formed on his cheeks before he looked away.

"Scholars are supposed to be attentive, it's natural to know a few things you prefer in order to work best with you."

The response he sent back your way caused you to roll your eyes and turn back to what you were originally doing. "To answer your question, no, I do not need help, but thank you for offering."

That didn't seem to make him budge, because he kept sitting there watching you copy down and write words from the book.

"You misspelled climate."

The sound of a book colliding with his head echoed throughout the library.

Ayato enjoyed your company, a lot, so much that he seeks you out anytime he and his sister go down to festivals or strolls through the city. He always wanted to start up a conversation with you, and if anyone else walked by anytime he'd be down there, Ayato would be right next to you listening with a smile at whatever you said.

Ayaka loved you too and found it amusing that her brother was so interested in you. She often found herself trying to spark up conversations with you, asking if her older brother proposed yet in a joking manner.

You laughed it off, Ayato was nice but you were sure he had other rich and important people to concern his love life with. He was just a very nice man to talk with here and there, and you didn't seem to notice that you were one of the few he'd actually seek out.

That was, until, every time he saw you, he came with some form of jewelry or expensive item to give you. Asking you how your day was, what you were doing, and if you wanted to come to spend some time up at the estate with him.

"What about Ayaka?" You said with a tilt of your head in confusion. He smiled back and said, "I'm sure she'd rather stay down here and explore more of the shops.

Ayaka would have loved to come along, but before she could even turn around, the two of you were already heading back up to the estate.

He catered to you, made sure you were comfortable, and even asked if you'd like anything from his personal chefs. It was a bit much to handle, seeing as you weren't used to living so luxurious, but he was very nice about it all and understood.

The catering didn't stop after that day either, more and more people began to wonder why the Kamisato siblings were spending so much more time outside their palace. Ayaka once mentioned that you loved a certain color, and the next day Ayato was handing you a box with that color, and a necklace with the pearl containing that color too.

He even found himself marching over to you when he saw someone speaking to you in a more flirtatious matter. Moving next to you and asking if everything was alright while his hand wrapped around your own.

[ms-demeanor]

I appreciate you starting a conversation about the harms of homeopathy, and I just want to mention that homeopathy/alternative medicine is also largely BS when it comes to treating our pets. A lot of essential oils and herbal remedies are toxic to cats and dogs even in small quantities, but people still try using them as flea and tick prevention because they don’t want to use “toxic” medicine that actually works. CBD isn’t FDA approved for dogs because it’s not been proven to be effective and safe, but a lot of folks have pushed me to try it for my dog because he’s on medication for extreme anxiety. Some folks will seek out animal chiropractors to “treat” their dog’s IVDD or hip dysplasia instead of pursuing pain management or surgical treatment. People think that vets look at their pets and see dollar signs instead of an animal needing treatment and turn to snake oil salesmen instead. It’s maddening.

Yeah that makes me fucking crazy.

@drferox and @why-animals-do-the-thing are great resources on tumblr who have spent a ton of time discussing animal woo in the past; both have slowed down on posting because life is hard and tumblr is tumblr, but both have done a lot of excellent writing about things like animal training, raw pet food, vaccination, and how to be a good human to your pets. If you've got questions about animals, search their archives and you're probably going to find a ton of useful information.

Folks, I swear veterinarians aren't coming for your wallets and they are generally criminally under-compensated for the work that they do. They're brilliant professionals who are driven by passion and fucked by the market.

Sorry i went to go find some studies on dogs and cbd and i ended up finding a reprint of a small study from the american holistic veterinary medical association and I found this on the pdf and i'm going to murder somebody

for those who are not aware young living is an essential oil mlm largely targeting mormon housewives that was started by a man whose child died being drowned at birth in an at-home-water-birthing incident and who himself likely died of cancer he tried to treat with essential oils.

This is one of those things that's like a big flashing neon sign that the study/journal you're looking at is a hot pile of bullshit.

Anyway. Yeah. Research supporting the safety and effectiveness of CBD on dogs is pretty thin on the ground. Your pets depend on you. The choices you make determine their health and wellbeing.

Listening to woo-peddlers who tell you not to vaccinate, or who hype up untested "healthy grain free diets," or who promote and sell cbd in absence of evidence of its effectiveness is putting your pets hands in the health of someone who doesn't care about your pet, they just care about profit.

Also, while I'm here: don't feed your dog grain free foods unless they have a diagnosed allergy, grain free foods can lead to liver and kidney problems, dogs are more omnivorous, not obligate carnivores like cats and grain is not bad for their diet nor unnatural for them to eat, and there are very few brands that have done decades of feeding tests on dogs (Royal Canin, Hills Science Diet, Pedigree, Eukanuba, and Iams) and none of them are Blue Buffalo.

Appeals to nature are extremely common in online woo discussions of pet food and vet care. Your dog is not a wolf and does not need to eat like a wolf. Your cat is not a lion and does not need to claim territory like a lion.

Vaccinate your pets, don't let them wander, feed them tested diets, and listen to your vet's advice on their care.

[ephemeralinstance]

Lavellan in Veilguard

The scenes with the Solas-romancing Lavellan in Veilguard are, for me, one of the writing highlights of the game. Of course there are limitations with her being an NPC, but I think that subject to the constraints of the structure of the game, the writer did a really great job of a very difficult piece of writing - creating a depiction of the character that fits with thousands of different versions of Lavellan.

First of all, Lavellan's dialogue is elegant and lyrical, matching the cadence in which Solas speaks and thus showing how in-tune they are even after all these years. One thing I loved about Inquisition was that the language was often really beautiful, so I enjoyed seeing that kind of poetic language return here, and I think the writer understood and captured the heart of what a lot of people loved about the Solas romance - the poetry and beauty of it.

In addition, we get a range of different emotions. Lavellan expresses sadness ('He meant that much'), passion ('You've felt the power of that mind'), anger ('He left me to clean up his mess'), self-doubt ('Am I the prideful one?'). Whatever reaction you personally envision your character as having, you can find it represented in what she says here. I know some people wished Lavellan could have more of an angry confrontation with Solas, but that probably wouldn't have been possible without just allowing us to directly control Lavellan; I think the writer achieved a good compromise by showing us her anger and hurt in this conversation. 

At the same time, she's shown to be mature, self-aware, and reflective. We see her questioning herself, asking 'Am I the prideful one, imagining his broken heart so I'd never have to face my folly?' Lavellan isn't deluded; she's not romanticizing what happened. If she chooses to go with him, it's clear that she isn't naive or being manipulated. She's making this choice in a fully aware, thoughtful manner. And although Lavellan loves Solas deeply, he isn't her first priority. It's important that when Rook asks her if she'd be willing to leave with Solas, she states, 'No. We have to save the world first.' We're shown very clearly that she has a life outside of Solas, and she prioritizes her duty to the people of Thedas: only once her task is done is she able to put herself first, and finally choose her own desires over her duty for once. It's also impressive how clearly she understands Solas, as evident in her speculation that he's left clues because part of him wants to be stopped. I particularly liked the fact that she's shown to have a deeper understanding of him than Rook, as seen in their exchange about 'lies of the heart.' Rook just sees one superficial version of Solas as 'god of lies,' whereas Lavellan understands that although Solas did lie to her, at a deeper level he isn't good at concealing what he really feels. Lavellan absolutely knows and understand Solas' flaws and the 'bad' side of him that Rook has seen, but she also knows a different side of him that no one else has seen. If Lavellan chooses to go with him, it's because she understands him completely: she sees all the good and all the bad in him, and she chooses him anyway.

Finally, sometimes I see people critiquing Lavellan for being passive or not having much going on apart from her connection with Solas. Now first off, this clearly isn't true, since she spends the whole game mustering the armies of the south and sending detailed missives about her military operations - no one in Thedas has more going on than this woman! 

But also, it's important to keep in mind that Lavellan isn't supposed to be a fully-fleshed out character: she's specifically left vague enough so that you can fill in the details with your own Lavellan. For example, we're not told much about what she's been up to in the last ten years, but of course that's not because she's done nothing but pine for Solas: it's simply left unspecified so it can be compatible with different headcanons. Lavellan is specifically written to allow us to fill in the details, and the measure of success is not whether she comes off as a fully-developed character to people who don't have their own Solas-romancing Lavellan (honestly, those people shouldn't even be commenting, this writing isn't for them); the measure of success is whether she works as a stand-in for all of our individual versions of Lavellan. And although of course it's never going to be possible to please everyone, I think the writer did a great job within the limitations of what was possible in the plot.

[takumiraine]

Once Upon A Time Chapter 2

<prev> <next>

So Danny? 100% has PTSD. I do have a vague plan for this. And most of the next chap written. The Fentons may or may not be terrible parents. You’ll have to wait and see. I do have plans to break everyone’s hearts at least once. Anyways. This is considered my like…. Audience test before Ao3. Things may change. As a reminder all I know about dc is from fandom and wiki and everything I remember about dp is prob poorly remembered.

—

Once upon a time, there had been a young boy who was happy. Once upon a time, there was a young boy who had dreams and a future. Once upon a time, there was a boy who had been alive in every sense of the word. Once upon a time, everything shattered. Once upon a time, there was a man who was filled with anger. Once upon a time, there was a man just as alive as he was dead. Once upon a time, there was a man who was haunted and hunted.

As the stabbed kid shuffled off, leaving Jason baffled, he grabbed the guy who he had slammed into the wall. His head was bleeding but his breathing was steady and Jason huffed. He knew he definitely cracked the guy’s skull, but he had survived worse.

“O, what do we know on this guy?” He asked the woman in his ear. Oracle’s answer would determine whether he took the guy in to the ER or let him roll the dice of fate.

“Rap sheet about a mile long. Pretty basic stuff. Armed robbery, possession with intent, B&Es, assault and battery, the usual.”

Jason shrugged then and dropped the guy against the wall. Rolling the dice it was. He turned away, looking towards where the kid disappeared around the corner “and what about the guy he was mugging?”

“That’s where it gets weird.” Oracle’s typing was coming through loud and clear. “It’s hard to get a clear picture of him. He has some sort of distortion on the feed. Everything else comes out clear but…. He’s a mess of pixels. Voice too. Scrambled. It’ll take time.”

“Think he’s a meta?”

“Wouldn’t surprise me, considering he got knifed and just…. Walked off with it. Wonder what his issue with B is though.”

“Couldn’t tell you. Think it might be time to update my armor if I’m being lumped in with people B and the bird brains have pissed off.” Jason took an evidence kit out of his pocket and swiped at the blood on his chest. Old habits and all. “Got a sample of the kid’s blood though.”

“Good thinking. Wonder if he’s in any databases. I’ve got a cleaned up picture now. Enough that it’s pinging in GU’s database. Dan Nightingale, Mechanical engineering major. It says he’s 19, it’s his freshman year and he’s in like every remedial class he can take, high school transcripts are mediocre at best. No other information about him really. Rogue in the making that one.” Oracle reported. Jason groaned, grapneling up to the rooftops to follow where the kid went off to.

“Someone should keep an eye on him. Ugh. This’ll be a conversation for B and the birds won’t it? Kid won’t like having a bunch of birds following him.” Jason flicked through the different visual modes on his visor, finding…. Cold moving through one of the apartment buildings. It was human shaped, but where he expected to find heat…. “Weird…. You seeing this?”

“Very weird,” Barbara agreed, tapping into his visor’s feed. “And hey, you could just…. Not tell him. You wanted a Lit degree right? Go to class, befriend him. Do some recon.” Jason knew Babs always walked the fine line between what Bruce needed to know about the rest of them and what she had to keep secret to keep helping them. He didn’t envy her position. Jason still wanted Bruce to hurt sometimes. Not as much as he used to, something about the sins of the father and all that. He just wanted Bruce to be aware that everything he had ever hoped for his boy to be was… out of both of their reaches forever.

“That sounds annoying.” He was 23. He didn’t have any interest in taking on a degree on top of his full time crime fighting and criminal empire running jobs.

“Yeah, but what other choice do you have? It’s go back to school, tell B, or wait for him to become a rogue.”

“I hate you sometimes.” He muttered, unsure of what made him suddenly so interested in that angry guy.

“Feeling’s mutual Hood,” She replied with what was definitely a fond tone. He grimaced.

—-

In the apartment, Danny was less than thrilled. That was his favorite shirt! Now not only was it covered in blood, it had a huge hole in it. His core still thrummed with the urge to fight, but he tamped it down. Slowly, as he pulled the knife out, he sealed the wound with a layer of ice, pulling his shirt off and throwing it into the bathroom sink. The knife was dropped into the kitchen sink. His keys and phone in his bedroom on the battered nightstand next to the bed.

He returned to the bathroom and turned the water on cold. He let it spray full blast before working on scrubbing the blood from his shirt. He looked up to eye himself critically in the mirror before noticing the waistband of his jeans were saturated with blood too. Damn it. He kicked off his shoes and pulled his pants off, throwing them into the now overfilled sink. The bathtub would probably be a better choice. Turning off the sink and turning on the tub Danny picked up the sopping clothes and dropped them with a wet thump into the basin of the tub. Carefully he lowered himself onto the floor, wincing at the way pain clawed through him.

He would need to actually eat food to heal from this at any reasonable speed. He thought of the two dollars he had, then the emergency stash of….he racked his brain to remember how much of the emergency cash he was left with once he got to Gotham…right. Twenty bucks…. That was all he had in the wall.

He missed the days when Sam would just throw money at him whenever his parents forgot to do things like pay rent or put food in the fridge.

As if agreeing his stomach rumbled loudly, demanding actual food to sate the expense of energy healing his injury would take. He thought about calling Sam. Seeing if she could arrange a prepaid card for him. He knew she would in a heartbeat.

Even cut off from family money she seemed to be doing better than he was. Wracking his brain, Danny thought she was working in Bludhaven as some sort of personal assistant. He wasn’t sure if it was the exhaustion that came from sustaining a human body on nothing but ecto or if he had been too distracted in the moment to pay proper attention, but he couldn’t remember if that was right. Getting the blood out of his clothes he wiped at the remaining blood on his body, getting most of it off. He grabbed the clothes and turned off the water.

Slowly, Danny pushed himself to his feet. He had survived worse, multiple times. But pain never seemed to stop being painful. It lanced through his side and he almost fell back to his knees with the way it stole his breath and doubled him over. He wished he could go back to the Zone and just… wait it out. But in order to do that without drawing attention he’d need a portal. The only ones he knew of were either destroyed or…. Compromised.

Maybe he should call Vlad. Danny shook that thought away almost immediately as he realized how silly it was. Vlad spent most of his teen years antagonizing him. Besides the GIW had probably gotten to Vlad too. If he wasn’t captured he would likely be compromised. Memories of Amity Park flooded in before Danny could stop them. Of asking for help. Over and over. Of the GIW storming in and locking everything down. Of Danny frantically telling his parents, only for their eyes to dart to the kitchen before they could stop it. Of the sound of energy. The smell of his flesh burning. Of pain.

Danny forced himself to take a breath. He focused on the wet clothes in his hands. On the tiles beneath his feet. Of the too harsh fluorescents in the bathroom that buzzed. The sounds of the people above him arguing over bills and needing better jobs.

Slowly he banished the memories back where they belonged. He’d… figure it out. He had to. Somehow. For now, sleep. Danny hung up the wet clothes over the shower bar, made sure there was a towel on the floor and shuffled into the bedroom. Double checking that his alarm was set, even though his class wasn’t until early afternoon, he didn’t want to miss it, he slid into his bed and pulled the pile of blankets up over him.

Almost instantly, he was out.

—-

“B,” Jason said in lieu of a proper greeting as he stepped into the Batcave, hood tucked under his arm.

“Jason,” Bruce looked up and turned the surprised expression into something more fond. “To what do I owe the visit?”

Jason leaned against the rock. Foot braced against the wall. “I know semester’s already started, but something came up. How hard would it be to start at GU?”

Bruce stared at him for a long moment and Jason knew it was his way of trying to figure out what buttons to press. Then he tilted his head and turned back to the computer screen. “Not too hard. It is early yet. Anything I should know?”

“Babs was lonely.” It was an out and out lie, but it seemed to soften things in Bruce further, reminding him of the two children that failed him within months of each other.

“Hm.” Bruce was silent at his computer for a long moment. Convinced that was the end of the conversation, Jason tightened his grip on the helmet he had tucked under his arm. “Either way. It is a good choice. Literature?”

The comment and question rankled Jason, the thing from the pit scratching at his carefully contained emotions. Pushing for any crack. Bruce was trying he reminded himself. Too little too late, but trying.

“Yeah. Going in in the morning.”

“Should I call ahead?”

“No. I can handle it. If not I have no business being there.”

“You will do fine.” The ‘you are a Wayne’ was left unspoken.

Jason snorted. “Right. Good talk.”

“Are you staying the night?” An olive branch. Jason wanted to burn it. He tempered the impulse to a spark.

“I have my own place.”

“Your room is still yours when you want it.”

“Yeah. The room of the worst Robin in history. Pass.” Jason turned and walked stiffly back up the steps. Hearing the soft growl of Batman behind him. The start of an argument.

He considered it a victory that he didn’t run into any of his siblings or Alfred on the way out.

[hxmocrastic]

𝐘𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫𝐞!𝐋𝐚𝐢𝐨𝐬 𝐱 𝐆𝐍!𝐑𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 | HCS

Pairing {📺} ; Yandere!Laios Touden x GN!Reader

Warnings ; Delusion, Obsession, Exhaustion, Brief metaphors of Cannibalism 👀👀

A/N ; He might be a tad bit ooc because I haven't kept up with the manga, but enjoy dungeon meshers !!!! There will be more dungeon meshi content after this 🤍🍲

Before anything takes place, I feel Laios would have to take an interest in you, Whether small or enormous. You'll have to do something that catches his attention, and evidently as short as it is it'll have to be something as large that snags his eyes away from his fixations or something as small as greeting him.

Laios continuous hyperfixation with monsters is an obstacle from granting you his concentration, But it can be done. Laios' obsession would stem from his insecurities and misgivings, Due to his inclination to monsters and beasts many people around him found his person to be eery and strange which lead to the isolation of his peers with the exception of his dear sister, Falin.

The constant sneers and scrutinization from his community of tall men and others have never weakened his resolve, And his love of monsters but the result of it still stings.

Once he takes an interest in you is one for the history books, Only the winged lion knows when or IF he looks away. Once you've caught his interest there is no undoing what shortly ensues.

Laios could hardly remember the people he had met even when they'd be as assertive as they could. Laios could barely remember Kabru's name not his party, So to think he'd finally grant you a portion of the attention he gives to monsters is downright impressive.

I see Laios taking the observational route before he deliberately approaches you, But I can see him greeting you fairly often. Laios would attempt to strike a conversation with you, Whether that'd be related to monsters or a simple warm greeting as he introduces himself. He would try to maintain his gentle demeanor ensuring that he doesn't frighten you away like the rest of his fellow comrades, But oh boy would he fail at doing so. You could just smell the excitement coming off of him.

Laios would begin to befriend you, Sharing the meals Senshi prepares with you, Inviting you to associate with his party, and most of all sharing all of his interests and passions with you.

Think of the way he behaved with Shuro but 10x more augmented with you. He'd talk your ear off day and night about all the different species of monsters as if he wouldn't wake the next day, He'd rant about the various types of basilisks, the eggs of chimera's, and strangely the taste of a female minotaur's milk?

But due to his connection with his party, I think he would be a lot tamer had he been if you had met on the island. Laios would predominantly share all his meals with you, And you'd better put on your best smile and chewing impression if you weren't hungry because your cheeks would be endlessly assaulted by a spoon full of food.

Laios would constantly make sure you'd have enough to eat and enough sleep, So much so you could to start calling him mom habitually at this point. Although you'd see this as nothing but an affectionate gesture, In a way he'd see it as courting.

To me Laios secretes a very delusional vibe, I can definitely visualize him justifying all of his latent clingyness towards you as normal and sweet despite your annoyance. Though the severity of his infatuation depends on when and where'd you meet him. I'd say with his party, He'd be much more gentle with his affections and try to be as sensitive as he could with his eccentricities.

Laios would still often make the mistake of being overly blunt with his observations and compliments, And it could sometimes even insult you. But spending time with this goofball would more likely than not make you aware of his intentions with his words and spare him the scrutiny he receives from Chilchuck, And the others.

Due to this, His infatuation with you will worsen and he'll start equating you with Falin. His sister was the only person who understood the true meaning behind his words and once you, the object of his obsession start showing him he same compassion He'd simply have no other choice but to entertain his delusion.

This is where it begins to take an odd turn in his behavior. The way he'd start to greet you would become jittery, Like a dog greeting it's owner. His excitement would increase tenfold whenever he'd be within a distance of you, like your presence fuels his eagerness. At times it feels as if he's trying to impress you.

Laios undoubtedly try to hog your attention, Try to keep your eyes on him. He'd begin fishing for praise in whatever way whether that be from formulating an elaborate strategy or simply fetching ingredients for the next meal Senshi would cook. He'd begin to grow possessive in a way, trying to pin all of your attentiveness on him, the way he does to you.

Poor boy wouldn't realize what's wrong with it until he starts to see why you always seem so exhausted whenever he's in view, or how he's slowly taking so much of your time and energy you barely give the effort to do something for the party because he's already done it.

He'd still see nothing wrong with it of course, you're still eating, still getting enough sleep but he wonders why you begin to avoid him now. You of course say nothing, trying not to hurt his feelings knowing what he has gone through, See you want to be there for him when his father wasn't, You want him to be happy even with the absence of Falin.

And you prioritizing his happiness is what links you to the party. Laios is without a doubt beyond obsessed with you at this point in time, Your wellbeing far exceeds any voice of reason. Your health and happiness is at the far most importance, Even exceeding his.

You're his everything, And most importantly wants him to be yours. He wants you to dedicate yourself to him, To throw yourself at him like a rabbit to a wolf. To gift him your flesh to consume for HIS wellbeing, To gift yourself his flesh for YOUR wellbeing, The ultimate exchange of love.

Of course Laios himself would never ask you of this, But at times he desires YOU would come to him with such devotion. The same devotion he gives to you day and night, sunset and sunrise, to repay him the same way he has worshipped you ever since he's gained a glimpse of your eyes, and a glimpse of your heart.

A heart he'd consume with his own, Becoming singular with the person he has loved the most, For is that so much to ask??

Laios wouldn't kidnap you, But oh would he have you stay. I mean isn't that what he's been doing all along?? Draining your sense of independence, Training you like a bunny to a owner to rely solely upon him, For it is he who possesses everything you need.

And that's all that matters.

[kimmie2me]

A Taste of Care

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𓂅⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Pro Hero!Bakugou x AFAB!Pro Hero!Reader

.....

The invitation to the annual Pro Hero Gala lands with a quiet thud on your desk, and you nearly ignore it, honestly – it’s one of those events everyone expects top heroes to attend, but no one actually enjoys. You wonder how the organizers can still think it’s a good idea. You glance over at Bakugou, who rolls his eyes the second he catches you even looking at it. “Not a chance,” he grumbles, turning back to whatever report he’s pretending to focus on. “Hell’ll freeze over before I show up there.”

“Yeah, but…they invited us both.” You can’t help it—the thought of skipping nags at you, guilt bubbling up. You turn the envelope in your hands, debating. “I mean, if we don’t go, they’ll probably think we don’t care or something…”

“Good,” he mutters, "Because I do not care."

You make the decision then, mostly because you can’t imagine telling someone who went through the trouble of inviting you that you just… didn’t feel like going. “Fine,” you say, sighing. “I’ll go, then. You don’t have to worry about it.”

A heavy pause lingers, and then Bakugou’s gaze snaps up. “You what?”

“I’ll go. On your behalf. It’s fine,” you insist, smiling a little to soften it. But there’s something in his eyes, and you think he feels that tug of guilt too, though he’d never say it. Finally, he just sighs and mutters, “Fine, fine. I’m going. Don’t start whining about this later.”

And that’s how you end up at the Gala, arm in arm with one very reluctant Bakugou.

.....

You’ve barely been here for an hour, and though Bakugou’s already made three attempts to pull you towards the exit, you’re still here, being polite and nodding along as people pass by, each one taking a little energy from you with their relentless questions.

At some point, a waiter passes by with a tray of drinks, and you reach out, half-relieved for a distraction. The waiter places a delicate, glass thimble of juice in your hand, barely bigger than your thumb. You eye it, perplexed.

“One sip,” you murmur, taking a cautious taste. It’s sweet and refreshing—too good, actually, like someone figured out the perfect formula for juice. The flavor surprises you, so you hold it in your hands like you’re savoring a precious heirloom, taking tiny sips to make it last.

“Hey,” Bakugou says, turning back from where he’s been roped into some pointless conversation with another hero. His eyes narrow when he sees the minuscule cup in your hands. “You tryna torture yourself or somethin’? Why’re you drinkin’ it if you don’t even like it?”

You blink, mildly surprised by his assumption. “No, I do like it! It’s just... y’know... small. And I didn’t want to—um, ask for more.” You hesitate, aware of the ridiculousness of it all. “They might think I’m being greedy, you know?”

Bakugou makes a face, folding his arms across his chest. “You’re kiddin’ me.” He sounds genuinely irritated now, and it’s impossible not to feel embarrassed, though you give a nervous smile.

“No, no! It’s fine, 'Suki, really.” You tug at his sleeve to keep him from storming over to whoever poured this pathetic excuse for a drink, though he stares at you, unamused, for a moment.

“Fine,” he relents, still looking unconvinced. But when you try to wave him off a second time, and a third, his patience visibly thins. “Alright, that’s it.” He grabs your now empty cup with a sense of purpose, muttering under his breath as he maneuvers through the crowd. You reach out, embarrassed to death that he’d take the trouble to do this.

“Katsuki, you don’t have to—please, it’s okay! Really, it’s fine!”

He gives you a brief, sideways glance, his expression somewhere between exasperation and begrudging affection. “For god’s sake, Cupcake, I’m doin’ it ‘cause I want to.”

The bartender hardly has time to react before Bakugou is right in front of him, holding up the empty cup like it’s some sort of evidence. “Listen up. This microscopic cup you handed out, where the hell d’ya even find one that small?” he demands, raising an eyebrow at the bartender, who looks both puzzled and terrified by Bakugou’s intensity.

The bartender stammers something about portion sizes, but Bakugou cuts him off, pointing to the counter like he’s about to place an order in a war zone. “Whatever you put in here, put it in a real glass this time, yeah? And don’t skimp. What is it, anyway?”

“Uh—it’s, um, a mix of, uh, passion fruit, lemon, and a hint of, uh… elderflower…”

“Good. That’s exactly what I wanted to know.” He watches as they pour the drink, nodding in satisfaction once they fill a glass you can actually hold with more than two fingers. When he finally returns, he looks triumphant, almost like he just completed some crucial, life-or-death mission.

“Here,” he says, handing you the glass with that rare softness in his eyes that he only gets around you.

And as you take the first sip, savoring the full taste this time, you glance up at him, fighting a smile.

“Y’know,” he mutters, clearly aware of his over-the-top reaction, “I ain’t lettin’ you get ripped off on my watch. ‘Specially if it’s somethin’ you like.”

You savor every last drop of the drink, finally taking fuller sips now that it’s in an actual glass. The elderflower and passion fruit mix is refreshing, and it brings a soft smile to your lips every time you taste it. And when you finish the last drop, you look up at Bakugou, feeling a bit embarrassed but grateful.

He’s watching you intently, arms crossed with a proud little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “All done?” he asks, clearly pleased with himself.

You nod, setting the glass down. “Yeah. Thanks, 'Suki,” you murmur, hoping the slight blush on your cheeks isn’t too obvious. “We can go now.”

Bakugou’s face lights up in an almost imperceptible way. He clears his throat, looking around as if anyone might overhear, but the relief is clear in his expression. “’Bout damn time.”

A couple of weeks pass, and life returns to the usual pro hero routine—patrols, training, the occasional event, and repeat. After a long, grueling day of patrol, you return home exhausted and immediately head to the shower, letting the hot water wash away the day’s aches and strains. The warmth is a balm for your sore muscles, and by the time you get out, you feel somewhat revived, if not a little sleepy.

You toss on a cozy set of clothes, ready to finally relax and start prepping dinner. You make your way to the kitchen, but as you open the fridge, you notice something unusual: a piece of paper stuck to one of the shelves. Curious, you pull it out and immediately recognize Bakugou’s handwriting, all sharp lines and bold strokes.

In the middle of the note is a hastily-drawn little doodle of himself, smirking with a thumbs-up, along with the words: “Surprise. You better not ration this either.”

You stare at the note, momentarily confused. What’s he talking about?

Then you glance down, and your eyes widen.

Sitting on the shelf, right next to the vegetables and leftovers, is a large glass pitcher filled to the brim with the juice from the gala—your favorite mix of passion fruit, lemon, and elderflower.

A laugh bubbles up from your throat, and you can’t help but shake your head in wonder. Of course he’d go through the trouble of making an entire pitcher for you. And not only that, but he left a note, reminding you not to hold back or ration it like some precious artifact.

You pour yourself a full glass, taking a long sip, and the familiar taste brings a warm, giddy feeling to your chest. For a moment, you just stand there in your quiet kitchen, holding your glass and staring at Bakugou’s note with a grin that won’t leave your face.

It’s just so… him. Thoughtful in the most roundabout way possible.

You take another sip, glancing at the time. He’ll still be on patrol for a bit, but you already can’t wait to tell him just how much his little surprise means to you.

[shsl-hubris-guy]

got a totally random rush of Emotions about Chihiro's gender so hi let's talk about how the entire account of Chihiro 'totally being a cis dude guys' is told by Monokuma, the guy that later goes on to fake a suicide note and falsify an entire class trial just to be pissy. Ah yes top 10 most reliable narrators ever of all time, yes, yes, very convincing

Not to mention in the exact same fucking motive he's very obviously purposefully warping the truth and lying to the cast's faces?? Within the 'embarrassing memories' motive Mondo's is a warped version of the truth. "Mondo killed his own brother" but he didn't, and just about everyone is able to grasp that one. He indirectly led to the accident, but Daiya made his own choices. So wouldn't the same logic apply to Chihiro's motive? "He dresses like a girl but actually is a boy" sounds like you're actively warping her own life experience to send her into Despair.... which is Monokuma's primary character motive.... crazy how that works........

And now, a compilation of every line Chihiro delivers in her own backstory, without the narrative padding from Monokuma explaining to you why this is totally her hating being a woman and wanting to be a man

"Now nobody will be able to say anything about 'even though you're a boy'..."

"I'm... weak... Weak, weak, weak, weak, weak, weak, weak, weak...!"

"Now's my chance..."

"I'm going to get stronger... and accept who I am..."

"Strong enough so that when someone says 'even though you're a boy' it'll be okay. I'll get better!"

"Maybe talking to Mondo about it will help give me some courage..."

So yeah, once you pull out the unreliable narrator. You get like, 6 lines total. 1/3 of which specify that she IS AFRAID of people saying "even though you're a boy". Now, call me crazy, but if we're genuinely arguing that Chihiro is a cisgendered man, why the hell would she say the equivalent of "I need to accept being a boy. Gee, I sure hope no one calls me a boy while I do so!" That's. That's inherently contradictory. More than anything, looking at Chihiro's lines as the most reliable source of Chihiro's thoughts about herself, it starts to look less and less like a man who wants to rise above being gnc and be a true manly man, and more like someone who's about to get fucking outed and mocked by Monokuma and trying to do damage control, steeling herself to be called a man and strengthening her mind and body to prepare for said outing.

Earlier in chapter 2, Chihiro is already thinking of starting to try working out, but is too afraid to enter the lockers because she's well-aware she can only enter the boys' locker rooms. The inference that Makoto comes to is that Chihiro is an individual trapped in a killing game that couldn't defend herself verbally in the library the morning prior, and is visibly the physically weakest in the class. Ergo, perhaps she wants to be able to defend herself better? Well, neither of those facts that lead to said inference magically change after the discovery of her dick, so perchance, the reason she wanted to get stronger was still so she could defend herself both verbally and physically?? The ONLY reason you'd have to come to the conclusion she wants to reconnect with her assigned sex is because she is being actively threatened into it by Monokuma's motive, or if you take Monokuma's story at his word, that he'd speak respectfully of the dead. Just like he did with every other character in that game, right?

Also, it's worth noting that in the actual conversation-turned-spiral between Chihiro and Mondo before Chihiro's death, neither Chihiro nor Mondo actually talk about Chihiro's gender, only her strength and desire to destroy her weakness. Yes, Mondo is using he/him in the voiceover, but the entire class is atp, and again. Using that as genuine evidence falls flat because we see in that very same scene that Mondo WAS NOT completely present for that conversation. He saw Chihiro's willpower and spiraled, conflating Chihiro with his brother and lashing out in a ptsd-induced blackout.

Also also, if you're gonna argue Chihiro has no reason to need to get physically stronger unless it's to be more masculine, A) Sakura exists in the same game, and B) please god look up any statistics on the amount of violence trans teens receive. That alone is a perfectly reasonable justification for a trans woman to want to be able to defend herself, especially when locked in a place where you cannot escape your potential aggressors.

TLDR Chihiro is legitimately more believable as a trans woman, and every intervention attempting to explain otherwise comes from a character defined by his love of twisting the truth for the sake of causing suffering. Hi hello does anyone hear me

[silverynight]

Omega state

"Alpha!"

Katsuki is having that dream again; it's amazing, and it helps him wake up in a good mood. However, this time is slightly different. Usually, whenever he dreams about Izuku being his mate and calling him alpha they're older, they have a whole apartment for themselves and sometimes, when the dream is extra indulgent, Katsuki can see Izuku's baby bump the moment he walks in.

This time, the dream is in the present; Izuku is in the common room, sitting on the couch, making grabby hands at him and calling him alpha a couple of times.

The omega looks absolutely adorable, so Katsuki can't actually complain.

"What is it, baby?" The blond alpha smirks because he won't let an opportunity like that one slip through his fingers, even if it's just a dream.

However, when he sits next to Izuku and pulls him into his lap, like he usually does in his dreams, he notices that the omega's eyes are completely white.

His instincts have taken control of him.

"I'm glad you're playing along, Bakugo," Round Face says then. If he's being completely honest, he hadn't noticed her at all. Ponytail and the class president are there too.

"What happened?" He asks them, trying not to get distracted by Izuku pleased purr or the way he's nuzzling against Katsuki's chest.

It's almost impossible not to nuzzle him back, but he has already figured out this is not actually a dream (he should've guessed it earlier, the pain on his back is still there from yesterday's training) and Izuku probably needs his help.

"Recovery girl said it was triggered by stress and negative emotions," Round Face says, sighing. "You know how Deku-kun is; he's probably keeping all those negative thoughts about himself for a while. He has refused to have a serious conversation about how he feels after the war."

That sounds like the Izuku he knows.

"What should I do now?"

"Recovery girl said he'll go back to normal on his own, but it'll be good if we just played along with whatever he says," she continues. "I'm glad you did that. I know you two are good friends now, but I wasn't sure how you were going to react."

She has no idea. This is literally a dream come true for Katsuki; of course, it's not actually real even though he knows he's not dreaming and it'll probably break him a little as soon as Izuku goes back to himself, but Katsuki will do anything to have this even if it's just for a while.

The omega nuzzles against his chin again and Katsuki can't stop his inner alpha from letting out a very loud, pleased purr.

Izuku purrs right back.

"Alpha, you smell really good!" The green haired omega beams. "I like your scent."

"I love your scent, baby," Katsuki whispers back, pressing his lips against Izuku's soft curls. "It's the best thing in the world."

The sincerity in his voice is so evident to him that he hopes none of his classmates notice.

"Alpha..."

Izuku keeps repeating that word a lot, and even though Katsuki loves to be Izuku's alpha, even if it's just for a little while, he wonders if the fact that he hasn't called him Kacchan, not even once since he saw him this morning, means that the omega doesn't actually know who he is and just acts like that around him because of his strong scent.

Katsuki knows he's a prime alpha, and he's aware that his scent is more powerful than any other of his alpha classmates.

Well... not all of them.

"What is going on?"

He senses Half and half a few seconds before he walks into the common room and Katsuki immediately tenses and pulls Izuku closer to himself.

He's aware that the best thing for the omega right now is to go along with whatever he wants, but Katsuki honestly doesn't think he can stand the thought of Izuku pulling away from him and going towards Half and half instead.

If he starts calling him alpha too, Katsuki is going to lose it.

He shakes his head. No, he should do whatever is best for Izuku, it does matter if it hurts him like a deep cut.

"Why is alpha upset?" Izuku looks at Katsuki, nuzzling against his cheek like a good omega would. "Please, don't be upset!"

The blond does his best to relax; his scent must smell sour to Izuku's cute little nose at the moment; it won't help the omega at all.

"I'm... feeling better, don't worry," he assures him and it's true, mostly because the omega hasn't looked once at Icyhot since he got there.

Said alpha narrows his eyes a bit.

"Deku-kun is in omega state at the moment," Round Face takes care of the explanation, and Katsuki is glad for it. "And he thinks Bakugo is his alpha. Recovery girl said we should play along."

After a tense moment, Half and half nods, but sits on the opposite couch to theirs, which Katsuki doesn't appreciate.

"I want to help," Icyhot says.

"I'm hungry," the omega says then and Katsuki has the need to make the best meal he has ever tasted.

"I can bring him something," the alpha with mismatched hair blurts out.

"I'm his alpha. I can do it," Katsuki tries not to growl, but he really wants to. His inner alpha is not happy with Half and half at all.

"You're not actually his–"

"Maybe you could use some help, Bakugo," Ponytail cuts Icyhot off and stands in the middle of the common room. She looks like she's trying her best to avoid conflict of any kind. "Midoriya won't like to be away from you at the moment."

She has a point. Just to make sure, Katsuki tries to move the omega off his lap carefully. Izuku pouts.

"I need to go to the kitchen to make you breakfast, Izuku."

"Don't leave me! Alpha, please!"

"Maybe we can all make something for him while you stay here!"

Katsuki is truly grateful for the Class president, but he truly wants to be the one to take care of Izuku.

Even if it's just while this thing lasts, he is Izuku's alpha.

Good thing he has gone to the gym and trained extra hours for this exact purpose. It's one of his dreams too.

"Alright, nerd," he smirks. "Hop on my back."

Once the omega is with his arms and legs all wrapped around him, Katsuki walks towards the kitchen like he's not carrying a happy omega on his back at all.

He makes breakfast while his Izuku nuzzles against the back of his neck and his cheek as he purrs.

It's honestly the best day of his life. He gets to take care of Izuku, make meals for him, cuddle with him and give him one of his hoodies because the omega wants to wear something with Katsuki's scent on it.

Too bad it lasts only a day. Izuku goes back to himself at night, just as Katsuki is planning to take a couple of his sheets and pillows to the common room so they could sleep together.

"Kacchan, what happened?" Izuku blinks a couple of times, looking so tiny in that hoodie it makes the alpha purr. "Why am I wearing your clothes?"

It's painful to go back to reality after living on of his most beloved dreams for a whole day, almost a day...

Katsuki sighs and sits next to him before calmly explaining everything that happened to the omega.

Izuku's cheeks turn completely red and he eventually hides behind his own arms in embarrassment.

"I'm sorry, Kacchan."

"Don't apologize," he says and he means it because it sounds like it was something bad. Like his Izuku was wrong for believing Katsuki was his alpha.

Katsuki wants to be his alpha.

"Thanks for playing along," the omega mumbles, looking away from him.

It hurts Katsuki.

"It was my pleasure." For the first time, the blond hopes Izuku can hear the truth in every single one of those words.

It doesn't look like he does, judging by the snort that comes out of his beautiful lips.

"Sure!" He chuckles, but there's no light in his green eyes and Katsuki hates it. "I just hope it wasn't too annoying for you."

"It wasn't annoying," he insists, taking a step closer. "I enjoyed it."

"Kacchan, I know you're trying to be a good friend, but please don't lie–"

"I have never lied to you," he hisses, getting slightly irritated. If Izuku was looking at him instead of the floor, he would see how much Katsuki means every single word. "Izuku... do you think if... I was a better alpha you'd want me? For real?"

He shouldn't have said that; he's not ready to tell Izuku he loves him.

He's not ready to ruin their friendship and he's certainly not ready to lose him.

"What do you mean better?" This time Izuku is the one who looks irritated. He's finally staring into Katsuki's eyes. "You're perfect, Kacchan!"

The blond rolls his eyes.

"I'm the farthest from–"

"You're not actually listening!" The omega growls and even though they're having a discussion, Katsuki likes when Izuku gets all passionate about something, it doesn't matter if he's mad at him. "You don't understand! You're perfect to me!"

But that, that makes him freeze and look into Izuku's green eyes; he's tearing up.

"Izuku..."

"I want you to be my alpha!"

Then he stops too; he blinks as he realizes what he just said.

"But only if you want to, Kacchan..."

"You have no idea how many times I have dreamed of you saying something like that," the alpha is tearing up too, but he doesn't care because Izuku wants him, he actually does.

Izuku is still wearing his hoodie, he still smells like Katsuki and the alpha can't take it anymore.

He pulls the omega into his arms and kisses him on the lips. They're both so inexperienced the kiss is so messy, but Katsuki doesn't care. To him, this is perfect.

"I'll be your alpha, Izuku."

The omega nods, absolutely happy.

Maybe Katsuki's dreams aren't only that, after all.

Perhaps they're a glimpse into the future. One in which they're both mated, married, have their own apartment and Izuku is pregnant with their pups.

Katsuki would like that more than anything, but for now, he'll take Izuku on as many dates as he wants.

***

Patreon

[treacheryinblue]

「 ON DISPLAY 」 noah sebastian ⨯ f!reader

▷ chapter two

noah is your neighbor and your new favorite view thanks to his lack of curtains. you're pretty sure he prefers it this way. but the man you've created in your imagination is nothing like reality and you soon find yourself falling prey to a past lifestyle you had been desperately on the run from. trigger warnings : language, eventual smut, violence, mention/flashbacks of abuse, alcohol and drug use, sexual harassment/assault (nongraphic). word count : 7.1k a / n : we're really setting the scene and the vibes with this one. more noah time will come in the next chapter, both in person and through the infamous window. do not fret.

masterlist

FLASHBACK - READER

“Why are you looking at her? Huh? You look at me.” 

The guttural tone of Vane’s voice that only reared its ugly head when he was angry made your skin crawl. It didn't matter that you were tucked away in his SUV because the response it coaxed from your body was nothing short of fearful. You had been on the receiving end of it many times before but not this time. No, this time it was one of his business friends, colleagues, whatever they were to be called. The man in question had been eying you from the open trunk of his own vehicle while showing the new merchandise to Vane. He obviously hadn’t been very subtle about it. This didn't stop your heart from racing nor did it prevent your palms from clamming up. You were still very much aware of what sort of hell Vane would rain down when pushed. 

“Why did you bring her along, Vane?” The man spoke through clenched teeth as if you were a threat. Between everyone currently present at this business exchange, you were the last one to worry about. You had no weapons. No phone. No way of tattling on any of these unsavory men even if you wanted to. Who would you tell anyway? The only person who had the means to protect you was your father and he was already in the know of your whereabouts. He and Vane had probably discussed it over a nice glass of bourbon earlier in the day. 

“Don't fucking question what I do. You got a problem? Just say so and we can handle it right here.” 

You heavily sighed at Vane’s overly dramatic show of dominance while leaning further back in the passenger seat. He was such a joke when he put in hours - always so over the top and a show off - and the one time you confessed this to him had landed you on the floor with a busted lip. Vodka made you mouthy and gave you a hefty set of balls apparently. That wasn't a mistake you made again. 

Vane may have been a son of a bitch but he was willing to act, typically before thinking. He didn't hesitate to reach for the gun tucked in the back of his pants, though he didn't pull it out. The shift of his arm was enough to set the man straight and return the conversation to what was important: Vane’s merchandise. 

“Pack this shit up,” he commanded after a few beats, his annoyance towards the man evident. The seller stammered over his words but Vane was quick to cut him off. “Stop your goddamn blabbering, Diego. I'm taking it but that look you stole of my girl is gonna cost you two grand off the price.” 

And there it was. The real reason why he dragged you along to these deals. Honestly, Vane wasn't very smart most of the time but he knew who he could shove around and who he needed to back down from. Diego was not the latter. Shit, you probably could've gone out there and gotten him to knock even more off the price just by flashing him a smile. You had no desire to get in the middle of Vane’s dealings, though, and he was also far too possessive to allow anyone beneath him to live if he caught them staring your way. He was a menace in a knock off suit. 

“Load it all up.” Vane further demanded while he was tossing his cigarette out and stomping his way back to the SUV you occupied. You forced a smile onto your face because you knew better than to let him see your true feelings towards all of this. Drugs. Weapons. All of it was a one way ticket to jail or possibly even the grave. Neither outcome was one you had any interest in living out. He made you an accomplice simply by having you witness the deals. Just another way to keep you under his thumb. 

As he slammed the car door, he immediately reached across the center console to roughly grab the back of your neck. Although the dig of his fingers was painful, you kept your expression neutral. His mouth was soon on yours, one hand squeezing your nape as the other firmly grasped your chin to keep you in his hold. Vane tasted like smoke and shitty beer – both of which you hated. Unfortunately, that didn't stop you from kissing him back. Not like you had any other choice. You really put on the performance of your life when you were with him. 

“I've got a good thing going here for you, baby,” he muttered against your swollen lips. “Don't fuck it up by getting that annoying self righteous look in your eyes.” 

Okay, maybe you weren't ready for your Oscar win just yet. 

PRESENT - NOAH

There was the lingering threat of cutting himself every time he fidgeted with his knife, the swift back and forth motion of opening and closing the blade making those around him nervous. That's what he enjoyed about it though – keeping people on edge. Noah couldn't even remember the last time he accidentally drew his own blood and the pain would be fleeting even if he did happen to nick himself. 

That wasn't stopping Jolly from shifting uncomfortably in his seat. It took a lot to make the boss squirm, but Noah sure was a pro at it. He attributed this to his years of practice in the field. 

“Everything is on time?” Jolly cleared his throat, his eyes shifting back and forth between the glint of the freshly sharpened blade and Noah’s relaxed face. 

“Aye, sir,” Noah mocked just as the knife clicked shut for a final time. “Truck hit the last checkpoint around midnight, so the shipment should be arriving within the hour.” 

No one knew that Jolly had recently taken over for his father. The older Karlsson made a point for the shift of power to be kept hush with only the inner circle being made aware. Everyone knew that a transitioning empire would have a moment of turmoil before everything went calm again, but they weren't currently in an area of peace where their empire in particular could handle the shakeup. If it wasn't for Jolly’s father being a little worse for wear, then they would've still had at least a decade to prepare for this. It was a good thing that Noah could remain calm amongst chaos. 

Jolly released a sound of irritation while shuffling the mouse of his computer to wake the screen. “Don't fucking call me ‘sir’,” he grumbled. His face was then illuminated in a wash of blue from the multiple feeds of their security cameras before a few additional clicks threw the images to the large television screen mounted on the wall. They both watched in a momentary silence, Jolly’s eyes shifting between each feed while Noah focused in on one specifically. 

You were balancing a tray of drinks, hips swaying in a natural motion before bending at the knees to pass a table of business men their order. Noah could tell that you were trying your best to smile but he had been watching you enough to know when it was genuine versus forced. He felt a pull to swoop down and rescue you from the hustle and bustle of the long Nocturnal nights but he had a job to do and being your knight in shining armor was not one of them. 

“Are the girls getting along better?” 

“In the Garden or in main?” 

“You know they're too preoccupied in the Garden to give a shit about petty drama.”

Noah did know this because there was rarely an issue with the dancers. The servers on the other hand…they were as catty as could be. He shrugged, his tattooed hands intertwining to tuck behind his head. “It's improving by the day.” 

“Are you sure about that?” 

Another click of the mouse and the squares of different security footage became only one – the feed that was directed at you. There was no audio but Noah didn't need sound to know that you were having a heated exchange with another waitress that he knew as Charlotte. Your jaw was clenched, grip tight on the edges of your serving tray that the bartender was currently filling with an order. Noah had to give you props for fulfilling your duties in a timely manner once the final drink was passed along with the bleach blonde still shrieking. 

Nevertheless, whatever the argument was about, it needed to end. Nocturnal was not going to become one of those clubs, not on his watch. He had helped build this place to what it was today and he would rather die than see its crumbled remains. 

Before Noah could get a word out, the scene that unfurled next played out in slow motion. You were unloading your tray when Charlotte walked by, her hip pointedly jutting into your backside to send not only your tray, but also the remaining drinks crashing down to the table. You fumbled from the impact in an attempt to right yourself but it was too late. You didn't stand a chance against the sneak attack. 

“Goddammit.” Noah groaned, Jolly exhaling one of his own in tandem. 

“Go fucking handle it! Bring them both up!” He hollered.

Noah wanted to argue that this immature nonsense was way beneath his pay grade but he wasn't going to pass up the chance of seeing you up close again. He was still trying to get the color of your eyes just right in his memory. 

READER 

Everything was soaked in a mixture of different alcohols. You, the table, the highly irritated men now hurling a combination of insults and complaints at you. You were frantically trying to clean things up by reaching for toppled over glasses and promising a drink on the house – if you could even do that – but nothing was helping with lessening their anger. 

“Fucking amateur.”

“Can't even serve a drink.”

“Shitty fucking help.”

There was a part of you that was plopped right back down to a year ago when everything you did was heavily critiqued by your ex boyfriend. He always had something to say about the way you held yourself, the foods you liked, your choice of makeup style. Nothing was ever to his standards unless he was the one to choose it. You fucking hated feeling like that helpless girl again, and by a group of strangers no less. 

“I'm so sorry, gentlemen!” you repeated again and again. “I must've slipped.”

You hadn't slipped. You had felt the way Charlotte shoved into you and if you didn't need this job then you would've been whacking her across the head with your now empty tray right this very second. The men continued to rant and you continued to ignore them for all of your sakes. 

Squatting down in the most ladylike way you could, you carried on with cleaning the area. Your hands were shaking, your nerves beginning to get the best of you. Anxiety had only recently become a problem for you and being the center of attention in this regard worsened the effects. You kept telling yourself to suck it up, that these guys weren't Vane, but your brain refused to follow through with the order. There was never a moment that you weren't expecting to look up and see his face staring back at you. 

A hand lightly touching your shoulder caused you to jump and nearly fall over to the now sticky floor. Thankfully you caught yourself at the last second. Your head whipped around, breath catching, just to see hot neighbor towering over you. Fuck. Your fight or flight had just almost kicked in. That really would've been embarrassing.  

“Boss would like a word.” He retracted his hand when he noticed the bewildered look in your eyes, a curious yet concerned gleam flashing within his own at the sight. 

“But, I - uh…I'm cleaning up –” 

“It'll be taken care of. Head for the back stairs and Shauna will show you to his office.” 

Slowly you stood back to your full height, nodding at his instructions. Your hands smoothed down over your skirt to straighten it out, followed by a slight tug at the hem as if that would help further cover the view of your legs from the angry men now narrowed in on you. 

“She looked better on her knees,” one of the men murmured to his pal at his side, both of them erupting into laughter. It was like you were up in VIP again with Marcus taunting you. Why were all men such assholes? 

You bit your tongue to prevent yourself from saying something you may regret. Choosing between your livelihood and your pride was difficult but you knew you would be no good to anyone, not even yourself, if you landed back on hard times. Taking in a deep breath, your eyes cut over to hot neighbor who now appeared to be rather…angry? The lights of Nocturnal encompassed him in red, but something told you that his skin would still be the same shade even under horrid fluorescent bulbs. 

“Now.” He demanded in a deep voice, his head nodding in the direction you were meant to go. The tone he used was frightening, this being more than enough to light the fire beneath your ass that had you quickly scampering across the club to the opposite side where the stairs sat. Just as he had said, Shauna was waiting at the base to guide you up. 

“What did you do to get King all in a tizzy?” Shauna laughed during your journey up the narrow staircase that would've been otherwise hidden had your new tour guide not been waiting. 

“I didn't do anything,” you shrugged. “Who is he, by the way? King?” 

A glance was taken back at you, the same amused expression you were used to seeing whenever you asked a question present across Shauna’s darkly painted lips. “He's the head of security…technically.”

“Technically?”

“He wears a lot of hats around here,” she sighed. “Security, second in command, amongst many other things, and now apparently a waitress wrangler.” 

The small jab made at your expense wasn't lost on you, but it was just one more thing you preferred to stay silent on. You were already stirring the pot a bit too much to have only been employed at Nocturnal for a week and you didn't need to further add to it. This must've been a new record since Shauna had mentioned in passing once that the turn over rate wasn't high. The workers loved it here, yet of course you were the only one having issues. 

Shauna’s pace slowed the further she led you down a dimly lit hallway. You had come to the conclusion that they didn't like light around here. Abruptly stopping in front of a door at the very end of the hallway, she turned to look at you, her eyes immediately sinking into yours. It appeared as if there was something she wanted to say by the way her lips faintly twitched, but she decidedly covered it with another smile. 

An arm extended off to the side to plant three firm knocks on the door, the sound of the lock electronically unlatching following seconds later. “Don't ask too many questions,” Shauna lowly added before she was sidestepping you and strutting back down the endless hallway, but only after she had twisted the doorknob and pushed the thick barrier open a couple of inches. 

X X X

You felt small standing in front of the boss. He was finely dressed in a black suit, a cross earring dangling from his ear, and his long hair secured back into a bun that sat low on his neck, while you were…well, you currently resembled a wet dog after having an entire tray of drinks find their way onto you. 

His face was emotionless as he stared at you, silently sizing you up, but you refused to be intimidated. So, you held his gaze despite the way your trembling fingers were anxiously fidgeting with each other. He must've noticed because he only chuckled and shook his head before releasing a deep breath you hadn't realized he had been holding. 

Well, fuck. Had that been some sort of test? 

“Genevieve…” he slowly spoke, sounding out each syllable to himself. 

“That's not my name. I mean, not really, that's just what I chose to go –”

A hand was lifted to motion for you to stop and his head turned in a single shake. “I know that's not your real name. Everyone here has a chosen alias. Some for fun and others for safety precautions. Doesn't matter to me what you choose to call yourself.”

There was an accent attached to his words, though it was one you couldn't quite place. 

“What does matter to me is how you choose to conduct yourself in my club. And what I saw tonight doesn't reflect too well on my business.” 

There wasn't yet a chance for you to defend yourself and tell your side of the story because the door opened and your conversation was immediately overtaken by Charlotte’s nails-on-a-chalkboard voice. You didn't miss the way the boss let a cringe briefly overtake his otherwise stoic demeanor. 

“I didn't even do anything! She was standing too far out and I accidentally ran into her! It's not my fault she likes to stick her ass out like some feral cat in heat!” 

King was right behind her, the same annoyed expression plastered across his own face. He didn't say a word as he crossed the office to take his place beside where the boss sat at his desk, leaving both you and Charlotte standing on trial before them. 

Your arms crossed over your chest to hug yourself, a chill setting in from all the different beverages soaking into your clothes. Maybe if you let Charlotte keep talking then she would dig her own grave deeper and deeper until there was no way for her to get out. She was already doing a pretty bang up job of it. At least that meant you could get out of there faster. 

Charlotte stepped up beside you with her hands on her hips, one leg extended out a bit further. As if on instinct you shifted a bit to your left, purposely placing a little more space between you and the loud blonde. When you looked up, hot neighbor was watching you, the same curious gleam in his eyes as it had been moments prior. It seemed as if he was always watching you, even when you weren't fully aware of it. You would never forget the way it felt to have his eyes raking across your skin whether it be from a security camera, in person, or from your open window. 

“What happened?” Boss asked, his fingertips lightly planting against the top of his desk. Charlotte immediately raced to recite a scenario you were sure wouldn't be the actual truth, but she was stopped within the first word by the boss holding his hand up to her. “Genevieve.” 

You looked back and forth between the two men watching you. You were expecting to feel uncomfortable beneath their gazes but the only thing bringing you discomfort in that moment was your wet bra. Maybe your naive brain wasn’t scared of them, your intuition telling you that they were not your enemy, or maybe you just hadn't yet clocked them as a source of fear. 

“I was serving my table and she purposely ran into me which caused me to drop my entire tray.” Simple. What more was there to be said on the matter? 

“What prompted the argument you two were seen having beforehand?” 

You could sense Charlotte tensing beside you, the toe of her shoe beginning to lightly tap against the floor in quick succession. She knew this was where she was going to go down for what happened because she couldn't explain it away as an “accident”. That is, if they believed you. Charlotte was a seasoned veteran at Nocturnal, whereas you had only just started. They were already more likely to take her side based on that alone. 

“She…um…she was accusing me of flirting with someone she was interested in.” Your eyes did a quick glance to King since he was the someone in question. “I wasn't, of course, because I've only had one conversation with the guy and she just…assumed.” 

Charlotte witnessed the little run in you had with hot neighbor on your first shift after he had escorted you down from VIP. She found joy in riling you up about it ever since during every one of your shifts, and typically you ignored her, but tonight you had been fed up and finally started trying to defend yourself head on. People, Charlotte specifically, thought you were weak merely because you were quiet. You wanted them to know that it was best not to underestimate you. You just knew how to pick your battles. 

“You made her drop her drinks because of a guy?” The boss was now looking at Charlotte. His tone read as calm but you could tell by the widening of his eyes and the way his hand flattened on the desk that he was growing more and more irritated by the second. “This isn't high school, Charlotte, so why are you acting like an immature child?” 

Charlotte opened her mouth to speak but King’s heavy sigh of boredom put a halt to her attempt. “We don't have time for this,” he exclaimed after taking a glance at his watch. Boss looked his way and hot neighbor raised his brows, both of them partaking in some sort of private silent conversation that you weren't privy to. 

“Your tips are paying for those lost drinks.” The boss concluded after a few beats. “As well as their replacement ones.” 

“What?! Nothing happens to her?!” Charlotte scoffed, her voice again piercing your ears and making you lean back a bit. 

“It's not up for debate! Now out! Get back to work!”  

You were quick to head for the door behind Charlotte, who was grumbling angrily to herself, despite having an eerie feeling that the blonde was going to make the rest of your shift a living hell. Maybe even all of your shifts for the foreseeable future. You had one foot out the door when a hand secured around your bicep, firmly stopping your motions forward. “Not you,” his low voice sounded in your ear, a chill immediately radiating down your spine. 

King was gentle as he pulled you back a step and used his free hand to close the door. He was so close that you could feel his breath fanning your hair and making it tickle your neck. The slightest tilt backwards and you knew his chest would connect with your back, and honestly, you were very tempted to do just that. You had been imagining the way his body would feel against yours for over a month at this point, never once thinking it would actually come to fruition, but now here you were. The only reason why you resisted was because you weren't alone in the room and you didn't need your boss witnessing you becoming a complete puddle for his right hand man. 

“Jolly just wants a few more minutes of your time.”

X X X 

King. Jolly. You felt like you were in some dark fucked up version of Candyland with those names, but instead of the Lollipop Woods and princesses, it was nothing but tattooed men and their load of secrets. Not nearly as tasty as the candy would've been. Well, at least not until you'd become knowledgeable of these secrets. 

You strolled into your apartment a little after 2am, your new boss - Jolly - allowing you to leave early since the entirety of the last bit of your visit with him had consisted of you sitting in front of his desk and shivering. King passed you a Nocturnal t-shirt at some point in an attempt to help warm you but it didn't do nearly as much as either of you were hoping. You swore you saw him briefly contemplating giving you the jacket he wore, though he did a quick glance at Jolly before ultimately deciding against it. You couldn't say you blamed him. 

The quiet of your apartment was welcoming, this finally giving you a chance to hear your own thoughts and actually process the night. Jolly merely wanted to chat with you, your new hire file laid out in front of him, since he hadn't been given the chance to formally introduce himself as he usually would when new employees began. He explained that his father had been the original owner of Nocturnal but he now did the majority of all the work that went along with the club since his dad had his hand in other things. You politely smiled and nodded, unsure as to why he was choosing to tell you this. All in all, he was nice. There was a kindness to him that wasn’t overtly obvious but you could sense it. 

Hot neighbor only spoke up a few times, instead opting to remain seated back in the dark corner with his feet propped up versus at Jolly’s side. This probably meant that you weren't deemed as a threat. He held the same knife from VIP the entire time, and you knew this because the blade would occasionally catch the light and shine on you. Each time it would and you'd glance his way, he would greet you with a barely-there sideways smirk. Fifteen minutes later, he was looking at his phone and then springing to his feet with a reminder to Jolly that they had a shipment to receive. And that was that. End of meeting. 

It was all so normal, the interaction, but you couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. What? You had no idea. 

After your entirely too long and too hot shower, you took solace in front of your open window. His was open as well, as it always was, but there were no signs of movement. This wasn't unusual since you knew he had business to tend to when you left, though you were still curious as to how late he was usually at the club. Was that where he always was when he wasn't home? That's what you were going to tell yourself was true. 

You remained awake for an hour longer, occasionally glancing at his window, but everything remained still. 

X X X 

“Come out with us! Pleaseeeee! Please please!” Mel begged via FaceTime, a dramatic pout pulling at her lips. You could see the usual crowd behind her as she walked down the street, the group headed towards their normal haunt for a few drinks before eventually finding a club. It was the same weekend routine every time. Normally you would attend but you weren't feeling it that night. It was your first day off, as well as night, in awhile, so you were going to take some much needed alone time. 

Your nose scrunched and you shook your head at the phone camera. “I'm really just not feeling up to it,” you explained in a playful whiny voice of your own. “The club has been kicking my ass and I have to be at Red’s bright and early tomorrow.”

“Ugh! Just tell me you're actually having a steamy affair with hot neighbor! Tell me you're going to his place to let him absolutely ravish you!” 

“Yeah, that's totally what's happening,” you joked. “He's getting the whips and ropes ready for me right now.” 

This was even funnier to you because you hadn't yet revealed to Mel that you worked with hot neighbor now. There was no real reason for keeping it from her. Just that it tended to slip your mind when the two of you were around each other. 

“That sounds so sexy! The fuck!” Your best friend squealed, the loud noise causing you to pull the phone back a bit. 

“Okay, you go enjoy yourself! I promise I'll come next time.” 

“Fineee! Love you!” 

The FaceTime call ended with Melinda then laughing at something someone around her said before it all went dark. You sighed softly to yourself, your gaze remaining on the blank screen for a long moment. You were tempted to say ‘fuck it’ and go out but the exhaustion was really starting to hit. You would be no fun. 

As the silence set in, that's when you found yourself wondering about King. All day you had managed to avoid looking at his window because you weren't going to let this random guy be a defining moment in your life. Plus, he was your boss. Kind of. Second in command definitely made him your boss in a way, right? But now that the sun was setting and your loneliness was creeping in, you couldn't stop yourself from glancing over. 

A big part of you was hoping he wouldn't be there. After all, it was the weekend. Okay, it was Sunday, but you knew that was still a busy day for clubs when it came to the city. Nevertheless, you couldn't get involved with him. It wasn't smart for so many reasons and you were really working on trying to be smarter these days. Why did that have to be so hard? 

Taking in a breath, your eyes danced along the other windows of different apartments before ultimately landing on his. No curtains still - go figure - but the space wasn't empty as it had been the night before. There he sat, drink in hand, his focus on the large screen television mounted on his wall. You could barely make out the images but you did know it was some sort of cartoon. Your chin propped comfortably in your hand the further you sat up until you were on your knees leaning over the back. Very similar to how you were positioned the first time you saw him. 

The only difference was that now you didn't care if you got caught watching him. 

When he didn't look your way within the first few seconds, you shifted your focus to the darkening sky. Deep pinks and oranges swirled around, fading into the blue that would soon fully overtake the sky. You couldn't see too much because of the position of the apartment building, but it would have to do for now. You could remember staring at the sky for hours on end in your previous life. It was all you could do when Vane was working and you had no choice but to tag along. You weren't allowed to have a phone to keep you entertained back then. Not even just to play Candy Crush or some nonsense like that. Look at you now, still staring at the same sky, thinking the same wonder-filled thoughts. Old habits truly did die hard. 

It was the slight motion in the corner of your eye that brought you back down to the present. King was looking at you, his hand waving to help draw your attention. When he noticed you looking he offered a friendly smile, one you returned without hesitation. The fact that he seemed much nicer outside of the club confused you, but you were going to continue to believe that he was wearing a mask at Nocturnal. You at least hoped that was the mask and this version of him wasn't. Not that you cared…since you were being smarter and all that…

King raised his hand to his head, his fingers shifting so that his thumb was at his ear and his pinky at his mouth. The universal symbol for ‘phone’. Was he asking for your number? Your brows furrowed slightly, your thoughts running rampant. This was not something you had seen coming. At least he was asking instead of simply taking it from your file, though. 

Nodding, you brushed your hair away from your shoulder to ready yourself for the task of using your hands to communicate your phone number. You slowly tossed up each number, hot neighbor looking from you to his phone every time until he had all the information he needed. Seconds later, your phone vibrated, a message from an unknown number popping up. You immediately saved it under ‘hot neighbor', naturally. 

HOT NEIGHBOR: Hello, neighbor. 

You arched an eyebrow at the simple greeting, your eyes briefly glancing back up to where he still stood across the walkway. He was looking at you, phone in hand, patiently waiting for your response. 

YOU: Caught you staring. 

HOT NEIGHBOR: I decided to take a play from your book. 

HOT NEIGHBOR: Seems like it worked. 

You couldn't fight the smile that spread across your lips. Your teeth sunk down into the lower tier while you simultaneously shifted so you were sitting down on your couch again. Your back to the window to keep the view of your face hidden. The last thing you needed was hot neighbor seeing you smile as you made the mistake of getting closer to him. 

YOU: Are you watching cartoons? 

HOT NEIGHBOR: I'm an adult, Genevieve. It's anime. 

The use of your work name made your lips twist in distaste. You were already pretending to be a different person in your day to day life. You didn't need to mix things up even more with the addition of your Nocturnal alias. Something about it just didn't sit right with you. 

YOU: You can call me by my actual name when we're not at work. 

Funny, since even that also wasn't your actual name.

HOT NEIGHBOR: I guess that means I should extend the same courtesy to you. 

YOU: Is King not your name? 

HOT NEIGHBOR: It's a nickname from when Jolly and I were younger. 

The gray typing bubbles continued to pop up and disappear, as if he was unsure of what to say. You watched them do the same dance a few times, your curiosity rising by the second. What could he possibly be typing? 

HOT NEIGHBOR: My name is Noah. 

X X X

Three hours. That's how long you spent texting with Noah the previous night and you were definitely feeling it. Two Red Bulls, a cup of black coffee, and a couple of pieces of some weird energy gum Mel had told you about wasn't even enough to keep you from yawning every few minutes. Yes, you were exhausted, but you didn't regret a minute of it. Maybe you would one day when you were forced to remember why getting close to people was a bad idea, but you were going to live in ignorant bliss until then. 

“I told you not to run yourself into the ground.” Red wagged his finger at you like a stereotypical grandfather would. “It was going to come back and bite you in the ass.” 

You laughed, shaking your head at him. You continued to go through the motions of folding his linens as he hobbled into the room with the help of his solid wooden cane. Red was a kind man, at least from what you could tell. He enjoyed reciting stories to you from his heyday and introducing you to new foods that his personal chef would whip up. You disliked a lot of them because of how picky you were but Red got a kick out of listening to your outlandish comparisons. 

“I know, I know,” you heavily sighed. “I was off from the club yesterday, but I still stayed up too late.” 

Red released a breath as he lowered himself down into his favorite sitting chair. His eyes remained on you, a knowing smile occupying his lived-in face. “You're too young to get caught up in the headache of boys. Or girls. Or whoever you're interested in. You need to live a little first.”

You both laughed as you set the neatly folded sheets aside and began working on the basket of towels. If only Red knew that you had ‘lived’ enough for multiple lifetimes. None of which you had any desire to relive. So why were you going down the same path with Noah? Of course you didn't want to believe that's what was happening because it felt so good in the beginning stages like this, but you knew better than anyone how it could abruptly turn and crash. You had the scars to prove it. 

“I'm not getting caught up. I promise. I'm just…making friends.”

“Friends,” Red snorted. “That's how I ended up with five kids, by making friends.” 

“Red!” You lightly smacked his arm with the towel in your grasp, your lighthearted laughter continuing. It felt good to be able to have a relaxing conversation like this, even if it was with an older man pushing eighty. In your opinion this only meant he was better at giving advice than anyone else in your life. 

Still grinning, he reached for the remote on the side table by his chair and turned the TV on. Before you knew it, a CSI rerun was on and Red was leaned back, lightly snoring. 

X X X 

HOT NEIGHBOR: What are you doing? 

You used one hand to retrieve your phone from your back pocket as the other placed a small pile of washcloths in the hall linen closet. Your heart began to race when you saw who the message was from, cheeks instantly reddening. Well…fuck. That wasn't a good sign for your mental well being. 

YOU: Folding an old man’s laundry at my day job. Yes, it's just as exciting as it sounds. 

HOT NEIGHBOR: Drop a pin and I'll bring you coffee. 

You had to give it to him, he surely was straight to the point. You did as he said because what harm could come from a quick coffee visit? Plus, you desperately needed more caffeine. You would take an IV of it straight into the vein if it was offered to you. 

Half an hour later you received a message from Noah saying that he was outside. You took a glance at Red’s still sleeping form as you tip toed out of the house, carefully maneuvering your way down the narrow stone path that led to a small black wrought iron gate. It was only waist high, but it was a nice little touch in front of his city mansion. Typically flowers would be lining the path as well, but the frigid air kept them at bay for now. 

Arms crossed over your chest, your eyes zeroed in on Noah who was standing on the sidewalk. He was once again wearing his usual black on black attire, black gloves, and a black coat to finish off the look. How was he so effortlessly attractive? You could assume he was heading for the club based on his outfit alone. Not only that, but he appeared perplexed. His brows were furrowed, his eyes constantly looking up and down the sidewalk like he was on the search for someone. 

“Hey,” you breathed out into the cold as you stepped closer after latching the small gate behind you. Noah extended the second coffee to you which you graciously took and immediately sipped from. You didn't even want to know how he knew your coffee order. Sure, it was simple, but how did he get it so perfect? 

“This is where you work?” He motioned to the large brick building behind you. You glanced back at the house along with him, nodding. 

“Yeah, it's pretty easy. I'm basically a glorified errand runner slash housekeeper.” 

Noah slowly nodded, though his puzzled look refused to break. You weren't at the point yet where you could call him out for it, at least not in the way you would've wanted by just being straight forward. 

“Everything okay?” You eventually asked, to which Noah relaxed his shoulders and smiled at you. 

“Sorry, yeah. I was just remembering something I needed to do at the club.” 

“Oh, okay. Well, how much do I owe you for the coffee?” 

“What? No, you don't owe me anything.” He was now peering at you as if you had two heads. “Consider it an apology for keeping you up so late.” 

“No apology needed.” You wanted to tell Noah that you actually enjoyed talking to him. He made you feel comfortable, as odd as that may have sounded since he was still practically a stranger. But you didn't. You skirted the topic completely. “Did you want to come inside? I didn't mean to leave you standing out here in the cold.” 

“I've really got to get to the club. I just wanted to see you for a minute”. 

“Well…you've seen me.” You laughed, your hip dipping a bit and your free hand motioning towards yourself. Fuck, that was so lame. Hopefully it wasn't too obvious to him that you were completely out of your comfort zone. You weren't good at this sort of thing. You couldn't even remember the last time you had tried genuinely flirting with someone. 

Noah's dark eyes focused on yours, his look intense. You felt bared beneath his gaze, vulnerable, but something about it kept you hanging on. 

“That I have.” 

NOAH

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. 

He tried not to seem too flustered as he said his goodbyes to you and headed down the street. The further he walked from your eyesight, the faster his steps became. Noah hated leaving you like that because he could sense your confusion but it was for the best. There was no telling who within that house was watching you with him and he didn't want to put your well being in danger anymore than he probably already had. 

As he turned the corner, he quickly pulled his phone from his pocket and dialed Jolly. It only took two rings for him to pick up because Jolly knew better than anyone that he didn't call people. He actually despised talking on the phone. He would only do it for Jolly and now maybe you too, if that's what you wanted. 

“We have a problem,” he breathed out the moment the call connected. Dark eyes continued to dart about, every nerve in his body on edge. 

“What kind of problem?” 

“Our lovely little Genevieve is working for the enemy.” 

There was a long moment of silence and then Jolly sighed. “Which enemy?” 

“The worst one.” Noah didn't need to give any further explanation. His best friend knew how hard it was for him to think about the past, let alone talk about it. After all, it wasn't everyday he was plunged back into the memories of the night his parents were killed. 

CHAPTER THREE

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[antis-delete-your-blogs-pls-thx]

Yeah, this is seriously concerning. I think you guys should block and be aware of someone with this amount of Tumblr reach saying this shit.

This b0gl33ch guy fully intends (and has done already, as you can see) to falsely slander queer abuse survivors (a particularly vulnerable demographic, especially to this type of accusation in the current climate) as pedophiles because of coping/vent fic. He's wished death on us multiple times and stood by it, only to deny it when pushed. Multiple times. Despite the evidence otherwise being right there. He's refusing to listen and moving the goalposts back and forth. When he himself has shared "underage NSFW art" for shits and gigs. Hey, bud, if it's harmful, you "joking" about it doesn't lessen that harm.

Again, he denies his behaviour, despite proof being right there.

I also had someone tell me in private that one of the people collaborating on a project with him has sexually harassed others multiple times in the past, so I worry that he's so convinced the predators must be here that he's oblivious to the ones right next to him.

Every time we point out to him our being queer survivors is relevant to a conversation about a) art censorship and b) coping mechanisms, he just rants that we're saying that to escape being pedophiles. To the point where he's actively erased our identities. So I'm very concerned about how this pedojacketing behaviour is likely not going to stop, even with the demographic he's aiming it at in mind.

Oh, and here:

Same guy who's just SO concerned with the harmful effects of minors potentially seeing "problematic NSFW content" online, to the point he wants to censor survivors (and supported getting one blacklisted from an entire industry, btw. That survivor is now destitute and dying from a medical condition they cannot afford to treat). Apparently he was totally fine with NSFW Velma (from Scooby Doo) art, too, and she's canonically a minor.

[fictoculus]

Dunno if you've done this before, but characters with tall reader!

This is mostly me being sick and having OC obsession brain rot, but the majority of my OCs are 5'9–6'0+ for reference by what I mean for "tall".

Love your writing, by the way! Keep yourself safe and make sure to treat yourself for all the joy you bring your viewers with your writing<3. Also, this is my first request:D

(Thinking about characters like: Venti, Diluc, Zhongli, Traveller, and whoever else you want to write/if you don't write for some of these characters, that's fine!)

౨ৎ them w a tall partner...

send a request!┊masterlist┊taglist applications

FEAT... aether, venti, itto, alhaitham, diluc

A/N... hiiii anon tysm for the request!! i loveee this idea it's so cute so i'm more than happy to write it ^^ unfortunatelyyy i wasn't able to write anything for zhongli as i js couldn't think of anything, i hope that's ok!!! also thank youuuu! i'm so glad you like my stuff, nd please make sure you take care of yourself too!! hope to see you again soon, enjoy ♡ alsooo i tried out some new colouring!! i hope you guys like ittt i think it's prettyy :3 oh and disclaimer these heights may not be accurate!!! i got them from this website but it seems pretty reliable to meee

✧ aether. - 5'4"

the traveller, the honorary knight, the swordfish II captain, the first sage of buer: just a few of the multitude of titles aether has earned from the many battles he's fought for teyvat. he's always fighting for people, protecting people, blindly jumping head-first into danger; he needs someone to protect him for a change, and that someone is you.

he always feels safe with you, and the way you stand behind him when he's chatting with friends or purchasing items from vendors makes him feel untouchable; evident by the way he practically melts under your touch.

one of the first things people tend to notice about you is your height, and although it doesn't really bother you, aether thinks it's ignorant and unfair. don't get him wrong, he loves your height, but there's so much more to you than that. he wishes people would notice your style, or your personality, maybe even your smile, anything. as long as nobody tries to steal you from him, he doesn't mind.

he'll often find himself being the little spoon while cuddling, and honestly, it's the thing he most looks forward to after a long day of completing commissions and collecting resources.

he loves how tall you are, how gentle you are, how loving you are; he loves all of you, and he hopes you love all of him too...

✧ venti. - 5'5"

venti loves the way you tower over him, and finds your subsequent protectiveness rather endearing.

your height sometimes intimidates people, and discourages them from wanting to strike up conversation with you. venti, however, was never bothered by it, and had no problem shamelessly flirting with you the very second you entered angel's share that fateful day.

the bard struggles to understand how people could possibly be afraid of you. of course, he knows how strong you are, and is aware of the lengths you'd go to in order to protect him, but nothing about your personality was something to be scared of.

the more he got to know you, the quicker he came to the realisation that you're really just a big softie - a gentle giant, if you will.

your impressive stature also means that you can carry him around. venti loves nothing more than being in your arms, face nuzzled into your chest as you take him to bed after a long day, or resting his head on your shoulder and forcing you to lift him up when he 'falls asleep''.

all in all, your boyfriend views your height is anything but negative. he loves you the way you are, and, as cliché as it sounds, wouldn't change anything about you for the world...

✧ itto. - 6'1"

no matter how tall you are, itto will give you piggyback rides. and you will enjoy them. to put it quite frankly, you don't have a choice.

even though you're taller than him, he still loves to have you in his arms, whether that means cuddling, carrying you around, or simply just hugging you from behind. something about having you in his hold makes him feel stronger and more confident than he ever has before.

the members of the arataki gang were shocked when they first met you, genta mistaking you for itto when he caught sight of your silhouette. nonetheless, they have all grown to be quite fond of you, and often leave small gifts on your doorstep which never fail to bring a smile to your face.

your height was something you sometimes felt ashamed of, however, itto always makes sure you feel happy within yourself, and will do everything in his power to wash the insecurities away; showering you in kisses and telling you just how perfect you are...

✧ alhaitham. - 5'10"

at first, alhaitham was slightly embarrassed that you were taller than him, not because of your appearance, but because of how he'd been relentlessly teasing his roommate for his height while having a partner who stands at an impressive 6'5"...

nevertheless, the scribe truly admires everything about you, and will often just stare. even though he wants nothing more than to have you in his arms, he's more than happy to admire you from afar, to watch you go about your day or make idle chit-chat with the local vendors so that he can just take you in; "archons, they're beautiful".

even though he stands shorter than you, he is extremely protective over you; intertwining his fingers with yours whenever he has the chance, and staring down anyone who 'looks at you wrong'. you often tease him for this, poking fun at his pout before kissing it away with a smile, only for it to return as you pinch his rosy cheeks.

the love alhaitham has for you is immeasurable, and the (not so) little things like your height only make him fall harder for you. his heart skips a beat when he feels your arms snake around his waist from behind, being pulled into your chest as you rest your head on his shoulder. yes, you could still do this even if you were shorter, but for him, nothing compares to being able to sink into you; he rather enjoys feeling smaller when he's with you...

✧ diluc. - 6'1"

you and your husband, diluc, stand at a similar height, him just slightly taller than you at 6'1". people often stare when you walk into a room hand-in-hand, but the darknight hero couldn't be more proud.

he never misses the chance to show you off, introducing you to everyone he knows while making sure to subtly flash the wedding ring he oh so gently slides onto your finger every morning. however, as soon as someone dares to make a rude remark about you, your husband has no problem stepping in front of you and handling the situation himself. yes, you're capable of looking out for yourself, but the redhead always feels the need to protect the ones he loves most.

the two of you are a package deal, and are rarely seen apart from each other unless absolutely necessary. diluc can't stand being away from you, and often finds his mind flooded with thoughts of you when he should be focused on the financial papers spread out on the desk before him.

being the taller ragnvindr, diluc often takes it upon himself to hand you items from higher up shelves, knowing full well you can reach them just fine by yourself. "given my stature, wouldn't it be rude not to hand my partner the things they couldn't possibly reach?", he always asks, pressing a loving kiss on your forehead and handing you whatever you were reaching for. such a tease...

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you’d like me to write next!

TAGLIST... @maopll . @nyxmainex apply here

© FICTOCULUS 2024; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

[riboism]

man who can’t be moved

》 pairing: j.yh x f!reader

》 genre: angst, smut, some fluff

》 content: college student!reader, college student! yunho, no strings attached, hookups, reader is kind of a player, some mentions of reader’s ex (it didn’t end well),  lots of denial, lots of emotions, big dick yunho, creampie, clit play, angry sex, am i missing anything?

》 wc: 6.4k

》 a/n: thank you to the person who requested this! this got me out of my writers block. I hope you like it :)

♫ playlist: flook- hector gachan, evergreen- omar apollo, frío- omar apollo, broken love- gemini, man who can’t be moved- the script

Yunho stood outside your apartment door, holding onto a box that contained your possessions. He could smell the rosy scent of the shampoo that you left in his shower. He had spent all morning collecting your belongings into this box, proud that he finally made an effort to be rid of you once and for all. But that rosy smell, that same scent that he’d wake up to after you spent the night was making him second guess himself. No, stop it, he said to himself. Just stick to the plan Yunho. 

The plan was simple. Yunho would go to your apartment after work and knock on your door, fully aware that you probably weren’t home. You were most likely at San’s or Yeosang’s place right now, getting shit-faced drunk and having sweaty sex on their beat-up couches, head too fuzzy in bliss to even spare a single thought about him. But he thought he would knock anyway, just as a courtesy. He’d wait for ten seconds, and when you don’t answer, he’d shrug in a “welp, I tried” kind of way before placing the box on your doorstep. He’ll take a deep breath while looking at your door that he knew all too well one last time and then head towards the stairwell exit, with his head held high, showing no intention of turning back.

Yunho was partly to blame for the way things ended, and he knew that. You made yourself very clear in the beginning. “Listen Yunho, you’re really sweet,” You said after he confessed to you all those months ago at the campus library where you two first met, “But I’m not looking for anything serious. I don’t really do relationships. You get what I mean?”

He knew exactly what you meant. ‘Dating’ was an ancient term. Nobody ‘dated’ anymore. What replaced this archaic social practice were one-night stands, situation-ships, friends with benefits, hookups, etc. No one wanted a ‘serious’ relationship anymore because that meant having to give your mind, body, and soul to someone, and why bother with all that when you can just give them one of the three? 

Even though most of his peers shared the same sentiment as you when it came to relationships, Yunho didn’t agree with it at all. Maybe he was old-fashioned for wanting something more than a quick fuck. Looking back on it now, he regretted not taking the hint. It was evident that you wanted a guy you could fool around with when you were bored, someone who’s emotionally unavailable so you don’t have to worry about attachments and sudden ‘L’ bombs when you’re just trying to get your fix. But Yunho, who was so pathetically infatuated with you at the time, so much so that it blocked away all rational thinking, decided that he’ll be whatever kind of guy you wanted him to be if it meant that he could be with you. The foolish romantic was now part of a no strings attached relationship. 

He felt incredibly stupid for getting involved with you. What did he expect? That after all the mindless sex, you’d fall as hard for him as he did for you, and finally agree to be his girlfriend? He had so much to learn. No strings attached meant no strings attached. That meant less conversation and more action. Less getting to know each other and more getting to know about what was in between your legs. It meant no longing stares, although he was guilty of watching you sleep in his arms from time to time. It also meant being okay with the fact that he was not the only guy you were seeing. And that’s when the fights would ensue.

“Who was that guy?” Yunho demanded, making sure to use his quiet-yelling voice out of respect for the other patrons of the library. He was referring to the pale, blonde-haired guy from the dining hall earlier. He didn’t like how close he was standing next to you. He especially didn’t like it when he leaned in to whisper in your ear, or how you giggled when he placed his hands over your waist and how you rubbed your hands over his flexed muscles. You chewed on your gum, tracing your fingers over the etched golden text on the book spines on the historical fiction shelf. You almost didn’t hear him at first, too preoccupied with finding your next bedtime read. 

“Hmm? Oh, that guy? Just someone I’ve been seeing. Why, you jealous?” 

It was a joke. There was no such thing as ‘jealousy’ in a no strings attached relationship. You smiled up at him, expecting to see him roll his eyes from your playful jab, but instead, he looked away from you. Even with his side profile facing you, you could read the tinge of irritation on his face. You frowned.

“Oh come on Pookie,” You pouted, squeezing his cheeks and turning his head to face you. You chuckled after seeing his lips puckered up like a fish. “Don’t be like that. Come on, I can’t be the only girl you’re seeing, right?” 

He placed his hand on your wrist and pulled you off him. “Whatever.” He moped. He watched as your eyes widened in sudden realization. 

“No…” You gasped dramatically, bringing your hand up to cover your mouth. “I’m the only one you’ve been seeing?” 

He stayed quiet, not understanding why you worded it that way. Was it really a bad thing that you were the only girl on his mind? 

“Oh god, you’re so cute!” You tittered. “I thought with a dick like yours, you’d be very popular. It’s a shame you’re not sharing it. I know a lot of girls who would love to take you out for a spin.” 

“Keep your voice down.” Yunho hissed, looking around to see if anyone heard your distasteful choice of words. Luckily, no one was around at your corner of the library. “And stop talking like that. I don’t like it when you talk about me like that.” 

“It was a compliment!” You defended yourself. Yunho refused to meet your eyes, busying himself with pulling out random books and reading the blurbs on the backside, although he was too upset to even acknowledge what he was reading. You sighed again, feeling a little bad for making him so upset. You’d often forget that Yunho was more sensitive than your other partners and that he needed extra kindness and assurance. You wrapped your arms around his big body and rested your cheek against his back. 

“Okay, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to tease you so much.” He stayed quiet, putting back the book and pulling out another. “Please don’t be mad.” You begged. 

“I’m not mad,” He murmured. “I just thought…I don’t know, I thought I was the only guy you were seeing.” 

“Does it bother you that you’re not?” You questioned, letting go of him. Yunho looked back at you, his chest tightening at your furrowed brows. He worried that he said the wrong thing again. He was new to the no strings attached community, and would often let his possessiveness and sensitivity peek through. 

“No,” He lied. “I just…Forget it.” 

You mulled over his response, trying hard to understand why he was so upset, to begin with. Your silence made Yunho nervous. Everything about you made him nervous. 

Then, your eyes sparked when you finally understood. “Ohh…I get it.” You nodded. 

His shoulders tensed up. “You do?” 

“Yes, and you have nothing to worry about. Out of everyone, you’re my favorite.” You stood on your tippy toes and gave him a quick peck on the cheek, satisfied that you solved the puzzle and were able to calm his nerves. 

Yunho gave you a shy smile. He didn’t want to smile, but he figured it was best to do so, so that you could believe that he was lashing out over the fear of being replaced, and not because he didn’t wish to share you with other guys. 

You continued on. “You worried me for a second. I thought you were one of those guys that don’t like it when a girl has a mind of her own.”

“No,” he chuckled nervously, “No, I don’t mind that at all.” 

“Good,” you chirped, going back to your search. “You wouldn’t believe some of the guys I’ve been with. They get so clingy, and it gets annoying after a while. I’m glad you’re not like that. Other guys…they don’t get it.  We’re young. It’s better we have fun while we can, or else we’ll live to regret it when we’re old and wrinkly and can’t get any.” 

Yunho hummed in agreement, although he didn’t agree with you at all. He thought about his grandparents. They lived in a small apartment just outside of the city. His parents would complain about how small their living space was, and offered to help them move into a more spacious apartment, but his grandparents always refused. “If we move into a bigger apartment, we won’t be able to see each other. This size is perfect,” His grandmother would say, “I turn around and he’s right behind me. It’s how it should be. Anything farther, and we’d miss each other too much.”

It always warmed his heart just how inseparable those two were, even in their old age. He wanted that for himself one day. How wonderful would it be to grow old with the person you love most? 

Later that night, while you were showering, he remained in your bed, thinking about what you said earlier. Was he really your favorite? Did you really like him more than the other guys you were seeing? Or was his dick just bigger than theirs? He tried not to think about that too much and focused on going to sleep.

-

And when it wasn’t him being upset with you, it was you getting annoyed with him. 

“Do you really have to go?” Yunho whined. He was sitting up on his bed, watching you as you shuffled around his room, bending down to pick up the discarded pieces of clothing. 

“I already told San I’d meet up with him later.” You huffed as you shimmied into your jeans. Yunho didn’t like how quickly you were getting dressed. It was as if you were eager to get away from him. 

“San?” He scoffed. “You mean that bartender that kept eye fucking you right in front of me?” 

Yunho remembered San. A lot of the girls from your University frequented that bar on the corner of Main Street, hoping to get served by the handsome devil in all black. He’s seen a lot of the girls write their phone numbers on the twenty-dollar bills they tipped him with. It was ridiculous. Everything about him was ridiculous, from the cheap hair gel he used to slick back his hair, to his sleazy smile, along with his overly tight t-shirts and shiny black leather pants. But he didn’t mind him too much, not until that night when you two went in for a drink, and the so-called ‘handsome devil in all black’ ruthlessly flirted with you when he was clearly sitting right next to you with his hand on your thigh to mark that you were taken. Yunho didn’t know what angered him more. San’s shit-eating grin or the fact that you let him flirt with you in the first place. 

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, that guy.” You really didn’t like it when he got emotional, and Yunho could sense your discomfort. He immediately regretted what he said and grabbed you by your arm before you could leave, pleading to you with his eyes. 

“I’m sorry, okay? I didn’t mean to upset you. But can’t you just stay a little longer? It’s already so late. I thought you could spend the night. We could rent a movie?” He offered. 

You picked up your jacket and purse, not even bothering to put them on before you left. “Look, I’ll call you okay?” You pressed a quick kiss to his lips and then went out the door before he could protest again. Yunho slumped back against the headboard, the sound of the door slamming behind you echoing in his head. How do you keep letting this happen, Yunho? She comes and goes, that’s what she does. She’s not here to hold hands and watch a fucking movie. She wants to fuck and then move on to the next guy. Seriously, do you have any respect for yourself?

And that’s how the cycle would begin. Yunho would get tired of you and your bullshit, tired of being discarded right after helping you cum, tired of driving himself mad over who you were seeing and what you were doing with him, just tired of being an option. It wasn’t him. He wanted you and your full devotion, and when he finally realized that there was no way you would give that to him, he’d call it off. 

The first few weeks of being free from you would go well. He’d be at peace like he got rid of a bad cold and could finally breathe again. But that small period of relief wouldn’t last very long. Truth was, Yunho wasn’t good at being alone. And soon, he’d miss your touch, your smell, and hearing your laugh. He’d miss the moments he spent with you in the library, like when you two would play footsies under the table during your late-night midterm study sessions, or the times you two would fight for the aux cord in his car, eager to show each other new songs you were obsessing over at the moment. He’d find himself listening to the songs you showed him, but they didn’t sound the same anymore. 

He’d miss hearing you talk about your day or your thoughts about rent control and the current economic crisis. And then he’d miss the nights he spent with you, how your body reacted to his fingertips, the way you’d press your eyes shut when he entered you, and the pretty sounds you let out when you were close to your peak. And then he’d think about that one night you showed up at his apartment, unannounced. You were upset, it was telling from your reddened lips and tear-stained cheeks. You wouldn’t say why you were upset, and after asking a couple of times, Yunho decided to just let leave you be. He then invited you in and let you lead the way to his bed. It started the way any other night started, with you two hungrily ripping each other’s clothing off, but before he could spread your legs, you suddenly pressed your hand to his chest and asked him to stop. “No, not like this…Can we-” You looked away from his piercing gaze, a rush of frustration and confusion coursing through your stomach until you finally spit the words out. “Can we just lay here?”

Yunho looked down at you with sincerity in his eyes, and he wanted to ask you one more time what was wrong. But seeing you so hurt, so tired, so in need of someone to just hold you while you cried, he decided to hold his tongue. He pulled you into his arms without question, letting you wet his chest with your spilled tears. And when he felt goosebumps prickle up on your skin, he covered both your naked bodies with a blanket and held you tighter. You finally fell asleep, your worries being absorbed by Yunho and his warm embrace, and Yunho couldn’t help but feel a little enraptured watching you sleep so peacefully in his arms. He’s had you in every way, in every position, seen every crevice of your beautiful body, but this. This is what he wanted most in the world. This is how he wanted you. And he hoped that by the next morning, that’s how you’d want him too. But when morning came, Yunho woke up alone, with nothing but the faint smell of roses on his pillowcase. When he asked you about it later that day on campus, you suddenly went cold and demanded he never bring it up again.

He thought about that night, your body, those Omar Apollo songs you showed him, the library study sessions, just every single moment that he’s ever spent with you, driving himself mad to the point where the desire for you would be overwhelming and too strong to ignore and he’d ultimately give in and crawl back into bed with you, allowing you to use him as you wanted, feeling again like a dog on your leash. It would feel good for a bit, until those same old feelings resurfaced and he’d call it off once again, repeating the never-ending cycle of your no strings attached relationship.

But this time, things were going to be different. He wasn’t going to continue this cycle. You weren’t good for him, and it was time he let go and move on. That’s why he packed all your stuff and came to drop them off. It was official. There was no going back from this. All he had to do now was stick to the plan. 

Yunho shifted the box to his side and used his free hand to knock on the door. He took a deep breath and counted in his head. 

One. 

Two.

Three.

Four.

Five-

The door swung open, interrupting his counting. You stood at the door frame in nothing but your bathrobe, your wet hair dripping puddles around your feet. Yunho was at a loss for words. This wasn’t part of the plan. He didn’t know what to do. He didn’t prepare for this. He didn’t, sorry, couldn’t see you, because it would just make things harder. It was like flaunting a cigarette in front of someone who just quit smoking. He wasn’t strong enough to resist you. He was addicted to you and he worried that he would relapse again. 

“Oh, Yunho.” You acknowledged, crossing your arms over your chest. He held onto the box tighter, feeling himself twitch from the sound of you calling his name. You peered into the box, recognizing the articles of clothing and personal hygiene products. “Is that my stuff?” 

Yunho struggled at first, forgetting for a moment how to speak coherently. “Uh- yes, it is. I came to drop them off. Here.” He blubbered, pushing the box towards you. You took it from his hands, not expecting it to be so heavy. You didn’t realize you left so many things at his place. 

“Oh. Thanks.” 

A silence weighed in between you, both of you looking at each other awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. Right, Yunho thought to himself, there’s nothing left to say. You did your part, now walk right out. 

“Well, I should head back. Goodnight, Y/N.” 

Yunho turned on his heel and made his way out of the long corridor. Part of him didn’t want to reach the end of the hall, but he pushed himself anyway, reminding himself over and over to not look back. As painful as it was, it needed to happen. It was for the best. 

“Wait,” You called after him. 

And just like that, Yunho immediately stopped in his tracks, not hesitating this time to turn around. It almost brought him some relief, like he had been holding his breath for too long, and now you finally gave him permission to exhale. “Yes?” He beamed.

You stepped out from the door frame and into the hall so you were right across from where Yunho stood. “Do you want to come in?”

“What?” He asked, dumbfounded, almost believing that he must have heard you wrong. 

“I mean, your stuff,” You clarified, “I still have some of your stuff in my apartment if you wanted to come in and grab them.” It was kind of pathetic, the way you tripped over your words, but you couldn’t bare saying goodbye just yet. No, you’re not catching feelings, you assured yourself. You just wanted him around you for a little bit longer. Maybe it was selfish of you to keep pulling on his leash like this, but for the moment, you didn’t care. 

“Oh, right. That would be great, actually.” 

-

Yunho knew he would hate himself for letting this happen. All that progress getting chucked out the window on account of his lack of self-control. But how could you blame him? With the way your damp strands curled around your flushed cheeks, the smell of your rosy shampoo that had been seared into his nostrils by now, and the fact that all he had to do was undue your robe to see your beautiful glistening body that was so ready for him to take. It was all so easy. You handed him the apple and all he had to do was take a bite. 

“Fuck, Yunho!” You cried out, grasping his bare back for dear life as he frantically thrust into you. He was angry, angry at himself that he let this happen again, and angry at you for making him so weak. He only put just the tip in, but you could’ve sworn you were seeing stars from the stretch alone. 

“Unbelievable,” He grunted. “Even after the hundred times we fucked, your little pussy still can’t take my cock?”

You’d never seen this side of Yunho. Usually, he was nice and gentle with you, always studying the arch of your brows to see if he was taking things too far or not. It was sweet at first, but sometimes you’d wish he’d just take you and fuck you like an animal. It seemed your wish was finally granted. “P-Please! All of it, I want all of it Yunho, please!” Was all you could muster out. 

He pulled out of you in an instant, and before you could whine, he forcibly flipped you over and pulled you back by your hips until your ass smacked into his pelvis. Yunho kept you down with his hand pressed against the space between your shoulder blades as he lined himself up with your aching center. 

Yunho rubbed himself against your slick folds, occasionally slapping his tip over your swollen clit, making your hips jolt with anticipation. “You want it all? ‘Guess those other guys don’t fill you up as much as you want, huh? Poor thing.” He continued dragging his cock over your folds, your soft whimpers only feeding into his ego. 

Just when he thought you had enough, he guided his cock into your hole, the stretch forcing you to tear up once again. You grasped at your bed sheets and pressed your eyes shut, preparing yourself for the rest of him as your lips coated in salty tears. 

He pushed the rest of him into you with a struggle, his hips stagnant as he waited for you to adjust to his size. “Fuck!” You gasped, your voice cracking as he started up again. Each thrust was deep, calculated, and they didn’t fail to rip a moan out of you. 

His fingers, now coated with your essence, tweaked and twisted at your clit. It was all too much for you, really, the sheer length of him plowing into your walls, the brutal pace he set on account of his anger, along with the way he toyed at your clit. Yunho could sense you were close, having known your body long enough to know when you were about to be sent over the edge. He stopped teasing your bud and instead slipped his fingers past your lips and you readily let him in, swirling your tongue around his digits to clean yourself off him. He grinned to himself, pleased to see that you knew exactly what to do without any instruction. 

Suddenly, he pulled his fingers out from you and cupped your jaw with his large hand, pulling you back until your head was against his chest, keeping your face there so you were forced to look up at him. He peered down at you with his full attention, completely engrossed by just how pretty and sinful you looked in this position. “Stay like that,” He breathed “‘wanna see you when you cum all over my cock.” 

He came first, your orgasm approaching soon after. You babbled incoherently as his cum flooded your walls, forcing your eyes to roll to the back of your head. Yunho was completely enamored with you like this, your parted and swollen lips and your half-lidded eyelids almost making him shoot a second load into you. He disconnected from you and you fell forward onto the bed, catching your breath as you came down from your high. You felt dizzy and sweaty, and your head was so cloudy that you were unable to form a thought that wasn’t already so scrambled. As you relaxed, you felt Yunho’s breath over your hip right before he planted soft kisses on your lower back all the way up to your shoulder. His kisses were sweet and careful, almost like he was making up for being so rough with you. Soon enough, he retired from your shoulder and moved on to the side of your face, brushing his pillowy lips on your temple, to your wet eyes, to your cheek, until you craned your neck back and allowed him to meet your lips. 

It was almost foreign to you, to have someone care this deeply for you even after the act. None of your other partners behaved this way, and you were lucky if they even remembered to toss you a towel. But Yunho, he was different. He treated you as something more, and maybe it made you feel bad that you didn’t do the same for him. It was overwhelming, his soft kisses, his careful touches, the way he’d beg you to stay over, and the way he almost looked hurt when you say you can’t. Poor Yunho. He was in love with you, and you knew it. You hated yourself for toying with a man with good intentions. But what was the alternative? You couldn’t be his, and he couldn’t be yours. You made a promise to yourself years ago that you’d never be foolish enough to fall in love ever again. This had to stop, you should’ve stopped it months ago, but you were selfish. And lonely. The guilt you’ve been bottling up inside of you was too much to handle, and you knew you had to do something before you exploded.

Feeling disgusted with yourself, you pulled away from his lips. Yunho raised a brow at the sudden gesture. “What’s wrong?” He asked, his slightly concerned tone making your heart shatter into pieces. 

“You should get going. It’s late.” You got up, forcing Yunho to pull off of you. He watched you as you went over to your dresser to pull out a fresh pair of pajamas, completely dumbfounded by your sudden coldness. 

“Are you fucking serious?” He scoffed.

You shook your head, picking up his t-shirt that lay on the floor and tossing it over to him. His eyes flickered in anger and he threw his shirt back on the ground. “I don’t understand, why do you always do this!?” 

You stayed quiet, quickly covering yourself before turning around to face him, keeping your eyes low, feeling too ashamed to meet his. “I’m sorry, but I need you to go.” 

Yunho clenched his jaw. How could you be so cold? How could you invite him in, only to toss him out so abruptly? He thought about how you melted right into his embrace, how you kissed him back with the same amount of passion that he kissed you with. Was any of it real? Or was he too infatuated to notice that you were playing him, again? 

“Why? Is Yeosang coming over? Do you really think that guy cares about you?”

You balled your fists up at the mention of Yeosang. “Stop.” You warned.

“And San? He’d fuck anything with two legs and a heartbeat. Is that what you want?”

“Yes, Yunho, that’s exactly what I want!” You snapped. A silence weighed in before Yunho’s lips curled up in an unexpected smile. 

“What?” You teethed. 

He shook his head in disbelief. “You don’t know what you want. That’s why you keep coming back to me.” 

“Me?” You pointed to yourself, a crooked smile now spread across your lips. “No, it’s you that keeps coming back to me.” You jeered. 

“And you let me! Why do you let me!? Time after time, you take me back without question, why?”

You crossed your arms and looked away from his direction. You felt hot, like the blood in your veins was boiling. You didn’t want to deal with this. You felt stupid for letting him in. Yunho always had questions, so many questions, and you couldn’t give him any answers. Fed up with your silence, Yunho got up and walked towards you, almost closing the gap between you two. You still didn’t look at him. 

“And that night. Why did you come to me? Why didn’t you go to your other boyfriends? You were so different. Why did you act like it never happened the next day?” 

Your breath hitched in your throat. Your expression softened remembering that night. It was so cold and rainy that night, and Yunho felt so warm. He made you feel so loved, so cared for, and for once you felt like you deserved someone like him. But the morning sun gave you some clarity, and you were reminded once again of what happens when you fully give your heart to someone. Yunho didn’t see it now, but he’ll understand it one day. Love is a wasted emotion. It gives and gives, until one day it takes everything back from you, and more. 

“I don’t know.” You sighed. 

That wasn’t good enough for him. He took another step forward, the tips of your noses now just centimeters away from each other. “I’ll tell you why,” He said, his voice softer than earlier. “It’s because you like me. It’s because I’m the only one who really understands you, the only one who sees more to you than just your body. That’s why you keep taking me back. It’s why you came to me that night. You knew you could be vulnerable with me, and that I wouldn’t turn you away, because-” He paused for a moment to lick his lips. “Because I like you too, y/n.” 

Tears welled up in your eyes, and you tried to ignore the sting so that you wouldn’t blink and force them to run down your cheeks. Your chest felt like it was engulfed in flames, making your breathing unsteady. You were too caught up in your emotions to realize that Yunho closed the gap and pressed his lips onto yours, his hands firmly placed at your waist. 

He always kissed you like he wasn’t going to see you for a while. Maybe it was a force of habit considering all the times Yunho had ended things between you two. Or maybe, as he said, he liked you, and he wanted you to know from his touch if his words didn’t suffice. It felt right kissing him, real. Not like all the other times with your boy toys, who only kissed you because that’s just what came naturally when you're both rolling around naked in bed. Yunho never only kissed you on the lips, but everywhere else as well, your eyes, cheeks, forehead, and just every feature of you that made his heart swell and anywhere he could put his lips on if you let him. 

It was so easy. All you had to do was wrap your arms around his neck and kiss him back, leave this no strings attached bullshit behind, and let him lead the way. But you were reminded, reminded of him again, the one who took your heart and snapped it into two, the one who lead you to keep people at a distance and hurt them before they hurt you. That’s what you needed to do now, you told yourself. You had to hurt him. It made your heart ache even thinking of hurting Yunho, but you would be doing him a favor, even if he didn’t realize it now. You were damaged goods, not fit for sale. He’d be better off.

You pushed your hands on his chest to get him off you. Yunho, looking at you with such hope and hurt in his eyes, holding onto your hands that you used to keep him at a distance. He didn’t say anything, instead waiting for you to explain. 

Your eyes were down at your feet, too afraid to look him in the eye and say your next words. “I’m sorry Yunho, but I just don’t feel the same.” 

Yunho didn’t speak for a while. You wanted to look up at him, but you knew that seeing his reaction would crush you. You told yourself not to look. It was easier this way. 

“You don’t mean that.” Yunho kept his voice steady, even though he could feel a slight lump forming in his throat. “I know you feel the same, y/n.” 

You shook your head and a few droplets of tears splashed onto the carpet and onto your toes. “I’m sorry, but I don’t.” 

His hands let go of yours and he immediately brushed his fingers under your chin, forcing you to tilt your head up. “You really don’t feel what I feel? Then why don’t you look at me and say it?” 

He gazed down at you, waiting for your eyes to meet his, getting impatient with you when they didn’t. “Look at me and say you don’t want me.”

Overwhelmed, you moved your head around and pushed him off of you, too consumed in your rage to realize that for once that night, you were finally meeting his eyes. 

“I don’t want you. I never cared for you. You were just a distraction. Whatever you think was going on, it’s not true. You don’t know me, you don’t know what’s going on in my head, so don’t act as you do! For the love of god Yunho, just get the fuck out!” 

You panted after letting your frustrations out, the room now silent again. Nothing could have prepared you for the look on Yunho’s face right now. His sweet face was painted in constraint, his once cheery and sparkling brown eyes now glossy and downcast. You could feel your heart being ripped out of your chest, and for a moment you wanted to rush over to him and tell him you didn’t mean it, that you’ll do whatever he wants, be whatever he wants, as long as he stops making that face, but your legs stayed immobile and the words tangled up in your throat.

Yunho looked at you for a while, waiting to see if you would take those words back, but you never did. Swallowing the painful lump in his throat, he picked up his shirt from the floor and got dressed. You leaned back on your dresser, watching him as he put on his coat and slipped on his shoes. There was so much time to say something, anything, but neither of you uttered a word, and Yunho understood now that he said all that he needed to say, and that he couldn’t change your mind, even if he tried. 

He was now at your entry door, and you followed behind him, staying back a couple of feet as you prepared to watch him leave your life once and for all. As he held onto the knob, he turned his head slightly, as if he wanted to say something, but decided against it, and went on with turning the knob, his tall frame disappearing behind the closing door. 

You wanted to crawl into a ball and cry right there on the floor, but you stayed strong. You’re not crying over a guy again, you promised yourself. Even if it hurts…It’s for the best.

-

Finals were almost over, and the Library was seeing a reduction in visitors. The staff was partly relieved, enjoying the empty space and not having to be bothered to tell students to be quiet, confiscate their Cheeto bags (even though there’s a bold NO EATING sign at almost every table), and wake up tired students from their naps to tell them the library was closing. But there was one visitor who came almost daily and sat at the same exact spot in the same exact section. The Historical Fiction section.

The librarians didn’t know what his deal was. He’d come in with absolutely nothing, no backpack, no laptop, no textbook. They even doubted he brought his phone. Sometimes, he’d take a book off the historical fiction shelf and crack it open, although, unbeknownst to the library staff, he wasn’t actually reading anything. He tried to, but then his head would get fuzzy and he’d get lost in thought, his eyes darting around every time he heard the Library door open or footsteps approach his section, only for it to be another student or a staff member, and when he’d sigh and look back down at his book, he’d forget where he left off and start from the beginning again.

They didn’t know he was waiting on a girl. If they did, they would probably feel bad for him, and maybe even find his efforts to be a little pathetic. But to Yunho, it didn’t matter to him what they thought. Being the tortured romantic that he was, he still had hope that you two would be together again. He wasn’t going to crawl back to you like all the other times. Instead, he was going to wait. He believed the day would come where you’d grow sick from your passing relationships and realize your true feelings for him. And when you realize that, you’ll come running to the Library where you two first met, and you would find him there, sitting at your table in your special little corner of the Library. He’d greet you with a friendly smile, and pull out a chair for you, and you two would just pick up where you left off as if nothing else ever happened. Maybe then he’d take you out on a real date, maybe to a fancy restaurant which neither of you could pronounce the name of, and afterward, you’d crash at his place and you’d lay in his arms just as you did that night, and he’d whisper corny jokes into your hair, both of you laughing softly until you finally fell asleep. Maybe, after a while of sleeping over, you’d take a liking to his idea of moving into a small and cramped apartment on the outskirts of the city, where there’s no one around to bother you except each other. Maybe. Who knows.

They didn’t know he was waiting on a girl. If they did, they would probably feel bad for him, and maybe even find his efforts to be a little pathetic. But to Yunho, it didn’t matter what they thought. Being the tortured romantic that he was, he still had hope that you two would be together again. He wasn’t going to crawl back to you like all the other times. Instead, he was going to wait. He believed the day would come where you’d grow sick from your passing relationships and realize your true feelings for him. And when you realize that, you’ll come running to the place where you two first met, and you would find him there, sitting at your table in your special little corner of the Library. He’d greet you with a friendly smile, and pull out a chair for you, and you two would just pick up where you left off as if nothing else ever happened. Maybe then he’d take you out on a real date, maybe to a fancy restaurant which neither of you could pronounce the name of, and afterward, you’d crash at his place and you’d lay in his arms just as you did that night, and he’d whisper corny jokes into your hair, both of you laughing softly until you finally fell asleep. Maybe, after a while of sleeping over, you’d take a liking to his idea of moving into a small and cramped apartment on the outskirts of the city, where there’s no one around to bother you except each other. Maybe. Who knows.

-

Finals were almost over, and the Library was seeing a reduction in visitors. The staff was partly relieved, enjoying the empty space and not having to be bothered to tell students to be quiet, confiscate their Cheeto bags (even though there’s a bold NO EATING sign at almost every table), and wake up tired students from their naps to tell them they were closing. But there was one visitor who came almost daily and sat at the same exact spot in the same exact section like clockwork. The Historical Fiction section. 

The librarians didn’t know what his deal was. He’d come in with absolutely nothing, no backpack, no laptop, and no textbook to indicate if he was taking a summer class at least. Sometimes, he’d take a book off the historical fiction shelf and crack it open, although, unbeknownst to the library staff, he wasn’t actually reading anything. He tried to, but then his head would get fuzzy and he’d get lost in thought, his eyes darting around every time he heard the Library door open or footsteps approach his section, only for it to be another student or a staff member, and when he’d sigh and look back down at his book, he’d forget where he left off and start from the beginning again. 

They didn’t know he was waiting on a girl. If they did, they would probably feel bad for him, and maybe even find his efforts to be a little pathetic. But to Yunho, it didn’t matter what they thought. Being the tortured romantic that he was, he still had hope that you two would be together again. He wasn’t going to crawl back to you like all the other times. Instead, he was going to wait. He believed the day would come where you’d grow sick from your passing relationships and realize your true feelings for him. And when you realize that, you’ll come running to the Library where you two first met, and you would find him there, sitting at your table in your special little corner of the Library. He’d greet you with a friendly smile, and pull out a chair for you, and you two would pick up where you left off as if nothing else ever happened. Maybe then he’d take you out on a real date, maybe to a fancy restaurant which neither of you could pronounce the name of, and afterward, you’d crash at his place and lay in his arms just as you did that night, and he’d whisper corny jokes into your hair, both of you laughing softly until you finally fell asleep. Maybe, after a while of sleeping over, you’d take a liking to his idea of moving into a small and cramped apartment on the outskirts of the city, where there’s no one around to bother you except each other. Maybe. Who knows.