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hivemuthur · 21 days ago

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Nothing's New - Ch.4.

viktorxfemale!reader explicit!

AU modern era, lovers to enemies to lovers, getting back together, a lot of angst, smut present

Ch.1. | Ch.2. | Ch.3. | Ch.5. | Ch.6.

word count: 6,2K

warnings: angst (in case you haven't expected it), unsafe sex, dacryphilia

tag: #nothings new

author's note: a note, instead of summary - things happen fast in this chapter, but the inclination is, everything is consented to, even though not specifically stated. Actions speaking louder than words and all that.

Cross-posted on AO3

—

“Viktor, where is Julia? I need her for a minute,” Jayce asks, absentmindedly lifting a notebook from the desk, as if Julia could somehow be hidden beneath it.

“Oh. I gave her a day off,” comes the reply in a flat, unamused tone. Viktor doesn’t even glance up from his workstation, ensuring Jayce won’t catch the frown etched across his face. He bites his lower lip, his focus drawn to the shuffling of papers behind him.

“What? Why— You can’t just… uh,” Jayce stammers, his frustration mounting. You can’t just give your girlfriend a day off whenever you feel like it seems too accusatory, even for this. He settles instead on, “You can’t just give her a—” before Viktor’s deadpan voice cuts through.

“We split up yesterday. I thought it was the least I could do.” Viktor’s tone is dry, as if he’s merely informing someone they’ve run out of milk. Bracing for questions, he exhales a long sigh and swivels in his chair to face Jayce. His friend’s expression is a painful mix of surprise and—annoyance?

“W-what? Why?” Jayce stutters, his voice rising in a whiny pitch that Viktor instantly equates with a child pleading to stay at the park a little longer.

The truth feels mortifying, so Viktor lies. “It just… didn’t work out,” he says with a shrug, his eyes darting to avoid Jayce’s gaze. The gesture feels incomplete, though—his shoulders remain bunched up by his ears when he finally meets Jayce’s blinking stare.

“I thought you guys… fit?” Jayce offers after a pause, clearly searching for a neutral word to soften the blow.

“I suppose.” Viktor’s shoulders drop with a resigned sigh. “But I wouldn’t call it a perfect fit.” He spreads his hands slightly, a silent apology for the imminent awkward atmosphere this is going to cause during the next few weeks.

“Viktor, I thought you… um, are you alright? Do you want to take a day off?” Jayce asks, though he already knows the answer.

Viktor chuckles quietly and swivels back to his desk, resuming his work. “I’m fine. You know me—I’d rather work than dwell. I’ll adjust our schedules to smooth things over in the next few days,” he mutters, as if simply avoiding Julia will somehow ease the tension.

“Huh, sure. Whatever you need,” Jayce mumbles, scratching the back of his neck, his attention already drifting elsewhere. His phone vibrates. A text from Mel.

Fresh gossip! Paul is no more. Don’t tell V. XoXo.

Jayce clears his throat and starts shuffling papers aimlessly. Viktor raises an eyebrow. “Everything alright there, Jayce?”

“Uh, yeah, it’s nothing. Just Mel,” Jayce replies hastily, already backing toward the door. He gives Viktor an uncharacteristic salute and bolts before Viktor can press further. “I gotta get back to class. See you later!”

Of course, Jayce doesn’t stay quiet. By the end of the day, when Viktor is rubbing his eyes in the dim lab light, Jayce leans in and whispers, as if they’re sharing state secrets. “Listen, I feel like I should tell you something. But promise you won’t say anything to Mel. Or to—” He pauses, scrunches his nose, and mouths your name silently, as if it’s forbidden to say aloud.

Viktor’s jaw tightens, his grip on the pencil firm. He sighs, masking his unease, and turns to Jayce. “Well, I suppose. What is it, then?” The promise is weak, but Jayce is so anxious he takes it.

Jayce tells him. Viktor almost snaps his pencil in two. He utters a soft curse in Czech and presses a hand to his mouth.

“Are you alright?” Jayce asks, for the second time that day. Immediately, he feels like he shouldn’t have said anything.

“Eh, why wouldn’t I be? It’s hardly something that should concern me, Jayce,” Viktor replies dismissively, rubbing his temple. But the truth gnaws at him. It does concern him—so much so that his fingers itch to press the unblock button on his phone, to send you a text, to call you and ask you to come over. He forces himself to resist, for about a week.

Until Saturday afternoon comes, and he finds himself lingering by the windowsill, phone in hand. So he presses that button. And he sends the text.

We should talk. Come over.

***

You wake up, dreams askew, thoughts apart. Your hand rubs the sleep from your eyes, and you peek through your fingers at your phone. 11:45, Saturday. A text from Mel.

When you told her about breaking up with Paul, she was very serious, urging you to take as much time as you needed. Until she wasn’t. Now, the letters glare at you from the screen:

Time’s up, bitch. I’m picking you up at 12. Coffee and breakfast. XoXo

The entirety of the week had been a blur. You worked like a madwoman, taking extra hours at the shop. Your nails were ruined from all the old books you’d catalogued. You even exchanged a few texts with Paul—entirely dictated by his courtesy to remain friends with his exes. You didn’t want to deepen the wound, so you replied to each one and even sent one of your own.

And now, you’ve even managed to smile at Mel’s text.

Make it 12:15, just woke up.

Hurriedly, you skip around the flat, pulling out all the necessary things, grab a very quick shower, and sigh when it’s 12:08, just as you hear the buzzer. Mel smiles at you sweetly, extending her hand with a coffee cup.

“Just to get you there,” she chirps, and you accept the peace offering.

The walk to the bistro is relatively civil. Mel has enough decency to give you some time to grind through all the tea she’s expecting you to spill, waiting until you’re seated and have ordered. She taps her nails on the table and gives you an expectant look.

“Well?”

You snort, despite yourself. “God, you are impossible. Well what? Well, I’m single. There it is.” You stuff your mouth with a breadstick before she gets the chance to sigh.

“Some details, as to why and why now, especially? You guys seemed really cozy at the dinner,” she drags out her vowels, waving a breadstick at you. You wince at the thought of that dinner. It had been horrific, and you’d felt far from cozy.

You give her a summary of last week’s events, excluding Viktor, of course. She nods, interjecting with quiet comments when you describe Paul’s expressions and behaviour. Then she throws her best look of fake pity when you mention you’ve already been texting. You know she knows something more—you can tell from the way her jaw clenches when you try to justify your decision with a complete lie. Your jaw clenches as well.

“Is that all?” Mel asks, her eyes piercing through you. “Are you… feeling alright?” Her voice is careful, and you fall into the delicate battle of wits, suddenly aware of your body language and the wrinkles on your forehead.

“That is all,” you shrug and take a sip of your soda. Mel hums, and you can practically hear the gears grinding against each other in her head as she wonders how to strike next. Then she decides.

“Alright. So you’re telling me there’s no connection between you breaking up with Paul and Viktor breaking up with Julia on the same day?” She watches you carefully as you pause mid-sip, trying not to choke on your drink. She twists the dagger further. “Like, for example, something happening between you and Viktor didn’t cause this… perfect alignment?”

“I—” you stutter, your mind swelling, your head about to explode. “They broke up?” You lean over the table, searching for a lie in her eyes, but there is none. You scold yourself for how hopeful you sound.

“Yes. On Sunday. Just like you and Paul.”

“W-why?” you ask dumbly, as if you don’t know. The truth is you probably don’t know, but the absolutely pathetic, self-centred part of you hopes, hopes, hopes it’s because of what happened. The rational part of you kicks the pathetic one. Why would you hope for something like that?

“Apparently, Viktor thinks they weren’t a good match. That’s all I’ve managed to drag out from Jayce,” she smiles slyly, making a show of admiring her nails. “I’ve shown you my cards. Spill.”

“Mel, I… I’m not sure you’ll be able to look me in the eye if I tell you.” You wince, squeezing your eyes shut, momentarily blinded by your own stupidity. Mel grabs your hands and holds them tight.

“I will,” she says with the reverence of someone more than just a good friend. A comrade. “Spill.”

You inhale sharply and let your mouth fall open and close a couple of times, desperately trying to figure out where to start, how to start, how to justify it. Instead of starting at the beginning, you say simply, “We kissed.”

Mel’s eyes are full of questions, and she squeezes your palms to encourage you. So, you take another gulp of air, order a glass of wine, and tell her everything—from your encounter at the furniture shop to picking up your stuff from his apartment. You stop at the crying part.

“Meltdown?” Mel asks carefully, trying to hide the pity painting itself on her face behind concern.

“A meltdown. A very ugly crying session. Come as it may,” you sigh, thanking the waiter for the wine in a way that embarrassingly gives away just how much you need it right now.

“I was so fucking sure, Mel, that he planted that note on purpose, just to rile me up. But when he came into the room, he was so concerned. He was so worried that something had happened to me. He crouched and everything. So I thought… he wouldn’t act like that if it was fake. He would be glad that I was a mess. But he wasn’t, and I just, oh—” You bury your face in your hands, allowing the shame to devour you completely.

“Honey, you are not stupid, and this is not silly,” Mel says softly, pulling your palms away and caressing them, this time honestly. “Frankly, I would think that too, if I were you. What happened after?”

“He kicked me out.” You don’t recognise your own voice.

“Oh.”

“Oh?” you say it back, and your mouth stays in the shape of a little o.

“Well, yes, I didn’t expect that.” Mel’s brows furrow, and she brings a finger adorned with three gold rings to her lower lip.

“Really?” You scoff. “I expect him to clap when I die.” But you certainly hope he wouldn’t. You hope he would cry like a baby if you died.

“Oh, darling, you have no idea what you’re talking about,” Mel says, almost laughing you out. She knows for sure that Viktor would cry like a baby if you died. “He would probably die with you, knowing the dramatics,” she snorts, taking a sip of her wine and immediately correcting herself when she sees your dumbfounded expression.

“Sorry about that. So… what are you going to do?”

“Me? Absolutely nothing. I have my things. I am single. This is fine,” you recite, straightening the tablecloth with your hands. Mel… well, she doesn’t believe you for a beat.

She smirks, sighs, and stretches—a symbolic way of telling you she’s giving the topic a rest until you figure yourself out. You gossip about Jayce a bit. Bicker when you tell her your boss has hired a new guy with gropy tendencies. You crack a bottle of wine between the two of you. It’s 4 P.M., and by the end of the meeting, you feel significantly lighter.

You hold hands until you reach a corner that’s usually your parting spot. Mel kisses your cheek and walks backwards a couple of steps before waving you off, exuding lead-character aura. You check your phone, and your heart falls out of your chest and stumbles onto the pavement.

We should talk. Come over.

You’ve been unblocked. Moreover, you’ve been invited. To talk. When, though? Come over, when? Come over now? It’s been sent half an hour ago. Before you can think, you text him back.

Be there in 10.

But you are there in five, because your legs keep on running when you tell them not to. You pace in front of the building entrance for around three minutes, weighing the options and wondering whether you should walk in or bolt. You ring the buzzer, and Viktor lets you in almost immediately, without checking who’s doing the buzzing. Walking in on wonky legs, you chew on your cheek and tongue and try to make yourself look presentable in the elevator mirror.

When you get to the door, it’s ajar. You make sure to slam it shut loudly so Viktor knows you’re there. You kick off your shoes by the entrance, and the creaks in his floor announce your movements. He sits on the couch in the middle of the living room, reading. When you fidget by the door a second too long, he lifts his head and says, “You made it.”

You lean in the entrance to the living room, gripping the strap of your bag like it’s the only thing keeping you steady. Viktor hasn’t moved from the couch, legs apart, his fingers tracing idly over the top of his cane resting between them. He looks exactly like you thought he was going to look—he is staging being unbothered nearly perfectly, but somehow you know he actually has just sat down and opened the book on a random page. Makes you smile, internally.

“Sit,” he says after a beat, but it sounds more like an order than an invitation. His hand extends toward the empty spot on the couch, and you consider, for another beat.

In the end you don’t. “I’m fine here,” you reply, your voice tight and you are grateful for the door frame supporting your hip.

He raises an eyebrow at that, his lips pressing into a thin line. “Suit yourself.” He leans back on the couch and stares at his knees. Either he thinks of what to say next or how to start, but the silence begins to gnaw at you.

“You said you wanted to talk,” you blurt out and your voice raises a pitch with the last word, making you cringe. Your hands slide down on the bag strap and uh, you feel your dignity seeping through your pores.

“I do,” Viktor says in an infuriatingly calm tone. His eyes wander, from your hands, the bag strap indentation slightly reddened on one of them, then to your bare feet and you feel the urge to hide them, so you keep stepping from one to the other. “But it seems you’re in a hurry to leave.”

“Maybe I am.”

His eyes flick back to you, sharp and assessing. “Then I’ll keep this brief.” He shifts, setting his cane aside, the motion deliberate, like he’s buying himself time. “I wanted to tell you—to your face—that I didn’t end things with Julia because of you.”

The words land with an echo, and you feel yourself exhaling, even though you should’ve seen them coming. You manage to keep your expression neutral, but something in your chest tightens and you watch him, furious about how composed he seems to be.

“I didn’t ask,” you say, though the tremor in your voice betrays you.

“No,” he agrees, his gaze narrowing slightly. “But I suspect you’ve been wondering.” He knows you've been wondering, he just doesn't know how little time you had to do it. He's been wondering for an entire week and what's infuriating here, is that if forced him to show his cards, because his patience has worn thin. Completely unlike him.

You force a laugh, shaky and brittle. “You really think I’m that self-absorbed?”

“Not at all.” He leans back, watching you with an agonizing calmness. “But I know Jayce has a loud mouth and a pair of ears close to him willing to listen. And that between this pair of ears is another, even louder mouth." His lips curve into something that’s almost a smirk.

Your throat tightens, and you look away, focusing on a scuff mark on the floor. “So, that’s it? You brought me here to clear up some imaginary misunderstanding?” You look at your feet and you are suddenly very aware of how much you were sweating, your soles leaving steamy footprints whenever you stepped from one foot to the other.

“I brought you here because I thought it was better to address this directly,” he says, his voice low, measured. “Before you started making assumptions.”

“Assumptions about what?” That does it. You step forward, hands balled up into fists. “That this is some sort of… opportunity?" You scoff so hard you almost spit on yourself. "Because trust me, Viktor, I don’t care what you do.”

His jaw twitches at that, a tell he can’t hide. “Good,” he says after a pause, though his tone is clipped. “Then we’re in agreement.” And silently, in his head, Viktor curses himself, because a tiny part of him thought exactly that, once he has learnt about the news of you and Paul. Opportunity. He has killed that part soon enough, of course, but its whiny little voice still lingers in his memory.

You stare at him, your breath coming quicker now. You want to scream, to demand why he’s lying to you—or maybe why he’s so good at making you doubt yourself. Instead, you say, “Why do you even care what I think?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes search your face, his usual calm slipping just enough for you to catch something—hesitation. But it's only another beat, after which Viktor settles on a lie.

"I don't. I do care about civility, that Jayce keeps asking us for." Yes, that one. A very good choice.

Your breath catches, and for a moment you want to just storm off. You feel pinned, while someone is pulling your skin off you. Viktor seems happy enough with the outcome. He exhales, leans back on the couch and sadly, opens his mouth again.

“If that’s all, you know the way out,” he says, gesturing toward the door without meeting your eyes.

You don’t move. Your legs feel like they’re stuck to the floor, and you hate how small his dismissal makes you feel. “That’s not all,” you say quietly, your voice breaking just enough to make him glance back at you. But that’s it, as your remark doesn't get to be dignified with a follow up question.

"Me and Paul split up. Not that it matters, but since you care about civility so much, there it is." You try to study him. But it's too hot, and you had half a bottle of wine with your breakfast and mind feels foggy. Until Viktor blinks one time too many.

"But of course… you already know that," you say quietly, you tone inflecting a question at the end. Jayce also has ears, it would seem. "Is that why I'm here? So you can clear the air and make sure I know that nothing I do matters to you?”

His gaze hardens, but he doesn’t bite. He’s silent for so long that you throw your hands up in exasperation.

“If that’s all, I’m going to go,” you say, already turning toward the door.

But his voice stops you cold. “It’s not.” And you hate, hate, hate the way it stops you immediately and gives your heart an extra pump. You turn back slowly, chest trembling, as you watch him push himself to his feet. He pulls something from his pocket, his movements wobbly, as he makes those few steps without the cane, and when he does, your breath catches.

He holds out his hand, and there it is. The star chunk.

“Take it,” he says quietly. Take it. Take it. Take it.

Something crumbles inside you. Anger flees. Sadness settles. Every last bit to be erased, everything to be cleaned until it squeaks. Your throat tightens, and all that crawls out of it is a whisper. "It was a gift. It's a bad luck to return them."

He frowns slightly, his hand still outstretched. “I can't keep it,” he mutters, reaching out for your palm, but you hide your wrist behind your back.

“Then throw it away,” you breathe out, barely. Viktor almost doesn't hear it, almost reads it from your lips. He moves closer, the box poking your arm now.

"I can't do that either." His voice shrinks to match yours. You can swear his hair is tickling your forehead.

You swallow something very bitter, tongue twisting. "Then it seems," an exhale and then, a shuddery inhale. "It's meant to stay with you."

"You were meant to stay with me," he breathes the accusation into your mouth. Hesitantly, like the last time, his lips meet yours. He kisses you gently, hand comes between your shoulder blades. "It reminds me, that you are gone," he speaks so softly, regret in his voice almost crushing you. His lips are warm against yours, each brush sending electric spark straight to your toes and you feel like you are drinking water on a hot summer day. Your brows furrow and mouth doesn't close, you are ready for his tongue.

"Viktor," you whisper against his skin and cup his face. He is breathing so heavily, as if there is a physical restraint stopping him from kissing you, from touching you. You can see his heart beating fast in the vein on his neck and you press your lips to it. He brushes your hair away, mouths touch again, eyes unseeing. His nails dig into your cheek, the grip stretches from his thumb hooked on your jaw to the index finger pulling down the skin under your eye, your face in full restraint.

His nose presses into you, breathing heavily, your own breath only as deep as he would grant you between the movements of his tongue, in and out of your mouth. The one, tremendous feeling flooding your veins, as you feel yourself belonging again, your mouth tongue-fucked by Viktor. There, where he drinks your breaths in his anger, in his yearning. There, where he bites your lips, growls straight into your stomach, pumps air into your lungs. There, where your thighs touch and you can feel how hard he is. Viktor's touch taking its righteous place back in the grooves on your brain, embedding itself in.

Your hands can't decide whether to fist his shirt of tangle into his hair, so they roam, making him look like a hot mess. You brace for this invitation being rescinded as well, but nothing comes. Viktor leans on you, kicks your feet to walk backwards toward the couch until the creases of your knees meet the edge. Your legs buck and you fall, pulling him on top of you. You wrap your legs around his hips, and he groans, fumbling with his fly for a moment, before he frees his cock and glues himself to your core, pulling your skirt up, underwear to the side. Kisses you all the way through. Everything is happening so fast. You breathe so heavily, each of your exhales gains a different sound and you are so, so, desperate, you almost cry when he enters you.

The initial stretch burns, as he covers your body with his. Hand snakes around your neck, another cups the back of your head in a firm grip. He thrusts and you moan, bracing your palms on his chest, closing your eyes but Viktor tsk-s at you.

"Look at me," he rasps into your mouth, noses touching as he hunches over you, and you can feel the friction of your clothes on top of each other making you unbearably hot. "Why did you break up with him?"

"He broke up with me," you strain, too many things happening at once.

"Why?"

"I told him we kissed," you confess, through breaths. Ah. So you did break up with him, Viktor thinks.

"And what else?" The feeling of his chest crushing yours, the press of his hips rutting into you, his hand squeezing the back of your neck tightly, crushing the tiny blood vessels under your skin, coaxing small bruises to the surface to remind you of this moment tomorrow, the day after tomorrow, and the day after. Another thrust, punching the answers out of you.

"He asked me if I want to get back together with you, ah," you pant underneath him, fixed in place with his hands, his weight and his eyes, studying you.

"And what did you say?" Another rough thrust.

"I said… no." It's the truth about what you've told Paul, but not the truth, which, of course, you are oblivious to.

"And what else?" He asks again, and you can see in his eyes how much he needs you to say something real. How scared he is. You can feel his heart thundering next to yours.

"He asked me if I still loved you," you mumble, tears pooling in the corners of your eyes. Viktor's mouth brushes against yours when he gives you the next roll of his hips.

"What did you say?" Patiently, he digs further, completely unready for the answer. When it comes his breath hitches.

"I said nothing." Barely a whisper pushes itself out of you, almost shameful, as you roll your eyes to avoid his gaze. But he fixes your neck back into place.

"Do you?" Viktor lets out his last breath and just keeps staring. You can feel him being close to cumming, his cock twitching inside you, stomach contorting. He keeps on giving you slow, deep thrusts.

You cup his neck and lick your lips, your tongue brushing against his. Your eyes fall close and open, as you give yourself back to him with a timid nod.

And Viktor breathes again, he kisses you again. He takes a shaky inhale, his brows knit together, and he can no longer hide the affection seeping from him. His kiss is so thankful when he whispers, "God, I love you," and picks up his pace. A couple of stuttering thrusts, his nails digging further in the skin of your neck, his belt buckle scratching your hip and he paints your insides with his seed, an audible moan escaping his lips. He drops on top of you, still inside you, breathing heavily. His entire body shakes, and his hands cling onto you, so you tangle your fingers into his damp hair and massage his temple. He sighs.

Minutes pass. Or eternity, you don't know. Thousands of blood cells die in your spleens in the moment when your eyes meet. With a grunt, he props himself up and places his chin on your sternum to look at you. Viktor looks at you the same way he used to look at you long ago, making your breath uneven. "Are you alright?" He asks you wearily, himself barely holding together.

"Yes," you mutter quietly. He slides up. Brushes your mouth with his.

"But you didn't come," he whispers, apology dripping from his tongue. "Would you like me to make you come?" He rubs his face on yours, fingers tangling into your hair. "Ask me."

You hesitate, feeling very exposed. Like you owe him your orgasm. You gather up your courage, lift your head to meet his lips and kiss him. "Please, make me come, please," you plead, giving him the rest of you. All of the clenched up, tensed up rest of you, as you feel his cock twitch again and him growing back hard.

"Ask me again," he hums, taking a deep breath, along with the smell of you, his hair tickles your face.

"Please," you say quietly, combing it back with your hands and fix your eyes on his. "Please, make me cum. Please, fuck me till I die." So very dramatic, so very fitting to this little moment of you giving up. Mel was kind of right, damn her.

Eyes roll back in Viktor’s skull. He disconnects from you with a growl, and you whine at the emptiness, despite the burn of previous roughness. He swings your legs off him and sits in the middle of the couch, tapping your legs, and urging, "Up, up."

Your thighs feel wobbly as you try to close them for a second, before straddling Viktor's lap. He slides you down and rubs his cock against you, causing you to shudder. He gives you his bedroom eyes before pulling you in for a kiss and you remember how crushingly beautiful he is when he's having sex. How absolutely stripped of all his usual practiced poise, how utterly naked despite still wearing clothes, how loving and open he gets when his face is flushed in pretty pink, when his lips glisten with your spit. And you think to yourself how this is different to anything else you've had.

Viktor's thumb brushes your clit, the most delicate, featherlight touch. You whimper against his mouth, and he wraps his free hand around your waist, grounding you. Your arms encircle his neck, face pressed into his as you lower yourself until your ass slaps against his legs. The rest of his hand is splayed flat on your navel, and he barely moves it so you can find your own rhythm.

It takes somewhere between a few seconds and another eternity before you roll on top of him. Before your mind registers what is happening, you take this time between few seconds and eternity to gasp at how your bodies slot in together. What he smells like and how quickly your scent becomes his and his becomes yours. And then you both move.

Your mouths fall open, faces squished against each other. You feel the painful stretch, the build-up of soreness as you rock your hips and Viktor's thumb begins to rub small circles around your clit and it hits you how he remembers where and how to touch you in an instant. His eyes give testament to his longing, half-lidded, gentle, glittery gold, when he looks at you and the dying sun of the day paints him in orange and pink.

Your rhythm stutters when he asks, "Will you leave me again?" You meet his eyes as his hand cups your face and all you can do is shake your head. It's not yet settled if you came back, but you know for sure you won't leave now.

He presses your pelvis forward, so you can rub against his pubic bone while rocking your hips. Arms cage around you, hands in a tight grip on your flesh, your waist and your neck, fingers digging into the crook of your shoulder. His face looks calm, almost encouraging. His palm massages your neck, almost lovingly. It’s all so good, almost as it always used to be. Almost better.

Yet somehow, you can’t come. You struggle on his lap, balancing on the edge of orgasm that refuses to come. You try to catch it, and it slips away. Your own gasps and moans distract you, so you can only breathe heavily. Viktor notices, untangles his hands from around you and cups your face. His mouth grazes your ear, his breath is hot and calm, when he tells you, “It’s okay.”

He inhales, slowly, then speaks again. “It’s not the same with other people, is it?” His hand caresses the back of your head. He gets the answer from your eyes.

It’s not. It’s completely different and he could be searching for something to never be found, because it was left with you. He allows himself to crack.

“Please, come for me,” Viktor pleads, and his voice is so soft in your ear you feel your walls crumbling. Clenching and squeezing him tight, painfully wrenching the pleasure out of you. And it takes over you for the longest time, verging on the border of too much. Your thighs tighten around him, back arches and you press your face into Viktor’s. Your vision blurs, as you babble complete nonsense about God, mixing it in with his name. His eyes remain open, gentle, mouth shaped like an o when he soothes you and whispers quiet praises.

And then you hear your whimper before you can feel it. Your body shakes with a heart seizing sob, as you feel all tensions leave you and only feelings remain. You need them all out, so you cling to Viktor, dampening his sweaty clothes further, sniffling and crying straight into his face, mumbling incoherent apologies. “I’m s-sorry, I’m so, so sorry.” An echo of a cramp still lingers in your lower belly.

Viktor collapses you both to the side, squeezes himself into the crease of the couch so you don’t fall off. “Shhh,” he soothes you. Your legs are tangled, his leg on yours, yours on his, then his on yours again. Your torsos are pressed together, your head rests in the crook of his shoulder as he cradles your face to his chest and whispers, “It’s okay, you are okay.” My beautiful girl, I’ve missed you so much, Viktor imagines himself saying. God, I love you, tries to slip out again, but he keeps it in, as innocuous as it would sound right now.

Nothing matters—you’re back. Viktor nudges you through your cries, asks about the bathroom, tries to detangle your legs and you answer by clinging to him further and wailing a “no”. A panicked, desperate sound, so he stops. Nothing matters, only this. And he’s shocked by how much you’ve been hiding from yourself. It all overspills now, pours into him, and his heart swells as he feels a strange pang, again, in his lower belly.

You cry, for a while. He kisses you and it’s so utterly gross. You lose control of your face, snot mixing with tears—it’s salt on Viktor’s tongue and you can taste it in your mouth. You wince, but Viktor doesn’t care. He kisses you like you are oxygen. Like you are the water he’s been denied. Like you are the answer he’s been searching for. He feels invincible with you fallen apart in his arms.

And because he feels like this, the words push through, and he doesn’t even bother to try and catch them as they leave. “My girl, I’ve missed you so much,” he hums placing a sweet kiss to your forehead. “Talk to me.”

“I’m so sorry, this is incredibly gross,” you snort an undignified chuckle, trying to wipe away the fluids with the back of your hand, but they only smear and leave a glistening slimy trail behind. Viktor looks at you with something that screams relief and pride and again, kisses your disgusting snotty mouth.

“I do not care about that,” he whispers softly and for once, the love and softness in someone’s voice doesn’t make you feel like vomiting. Completely transfixed with your tears, he smiles and coos at you, brushing damp hair away from your face, his hand between your shoulder blades steadying your thundering heartbeat. The feeling is indescribable to him. To hold something so fragile. To be given something like this.

Silence, for a while. Heavy breaths, that transform into lighter, calmer breathing. And when you finally sigh and move, Viktor rolls over on top of you to rest his head on your stomach. He holds you like a stuffed animal, while your fingers comb through his hair. A better type of silence falls between you. Kinder, calmer, safer.

He lifts your t-shirt with his nose and kisses your belly. You arch instantly under his hands splayed on your ribs and he chuckles. It’s different than with other people.

“I say we need to bathe you and feed you,” he mumbles against your skin, and you can feel long nasal exhales on you.

“Are you saying that I smell?”

“You smell of me. That I do not mind, but,” he cuts to push himself up to meet your face with his and then palms your core with his hand, knickers obscenely damp. “I fear that I’ve made you sore.”

“Yes. But that I do not mind,” you say with overwhelming sincerity. “I suppose you will want to talk, no?”

“Later.” A kiss that says Let’s keep this for a little while longer. “I would like to stay like this… with you, for a little while longer,” Viktor says and his eyes gloss over you, searching if you want the same thing.

Feeling the scrutiny burning through you, you reply, “Viktor, I am not going to leave. Not yet, at least. I mean—” you stumble over words and pause to take a breath. “Unless you tell me to. But you just said you want to stay like this, so I hope you won’t. Tell me to leave, that is.”

Viktor chuckles, you can almost hear him muttering, “peculiar.”

“What if I tell you to stay?” He cocks his head and resumes staring.

“Then… then I will stay,” you reply, searching for anything, the faintest sign of hesitation within him and you can’t find any. If anything, Viktor appears to be high on something, and you can’t pin point what that is. But it compliments your weird, comfortable low.

#viktor arcane #viktor x reader #viktor fanfic #viktor x reader smut #viktor x f!reader #arcane #viktor smut #arcane fanfic #my writing #ao3 #ao3 fanfic #viktor x oc #viktor nation #nothings new

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penvisions · 1 month ago

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services requested {chapter three}

Pairing: Older! Joel Miller x Sugar Momma! Reader

Summary: Secrets are the undoing of everything good. That much you know for damn sure.

Word Count: 6.9k

Warnings: no outbreak au, modern au, age gap (joel is mid 50's, reader is late 20's / early 30's), reader is more of an oc written in the x reader style, reader is described to have a scar and tattoos, mommy vibes, reader see's joel and knows she wants to provide for him, joel is older and tired, power dynamics, sexual undertones, instant connection, mutual pining, flirting, casual touches, mutual attraction, angst, family drama, strained family dynamics, mentions of past drug use, mentions of past trauma, mentions of physical attack (very brief), allusions to predatory behavior, allusions to power imbalances within the tattoo world, verbal threat, argumentative language, joel's sharp tongue, reader is depcited to have a manic anxiety attack, angst, we also get a nickname reveal in this one!

Fic Notes: please, if you have any qualms about the setting of this fic, do not reblog or comment with hate. my dms are open for discussion if you feel like you need to say anything. let's be respectful going into a new year, there are ample warnings and you are in charge of the content you consume

A/N: hi, i'm back with chapter three for y'all! ♡ feel free to (kindly) holler at me once you're done ♡

ao3 link || series masterlist || navigation || ko-fi

You’re in the middle of recanting of a funny story from one of the last camping trips you took, giggling at the memory of over a dozen wild turkeys running through your campsite and taking the unfastened rainfly with them when you hear the bell ding over the front door.

The deep rumble of Joel’s voice says your name and the two assistants at the front desk snap out of whatever they’re doing to greet him and tell him that you’re in the middle of a session. He assures them that he knows you, knows he’s coming to visit and then you hear the soft footsteps of your personal assistant as they approach through the curtains that hide the workstations from the entryway.

“Grey, there’s a really handsome man asking after you. Says he knows you.”

A gooey smile overtakes your lips as you picture Joel in the other room, standing tall and displaying confidence you now know is a front when he’s in new environments. He is confident in his own settings, in his own element and there’s something endearing about the way he’s trying his best to maintain that as you expose him to new things and introduce him to a different facet of the world.

“That’s my friend, he can come on back. If you’re cool with that?” You pause in the shading you’re stippling through the finished outline of a fox skull, muted pastel colors to highlight it beside you on the table set up. At her quick nod you smile at the younger girl, she’s focused on her book while you work on her thigh, a large piece she had been excited to knock on all-in-one sitting.

“Mr. Miller, you can come on through!” You raise your voice enough for it to carry, you’re pretty sure he’s partially deaf in his right ear. There’s a deep scar there that lines his temple, probably from some work accident, but you haven’t asked about it in case it’s a sensitive spot. You know all about scars carrying heavy stories. Maybe he’ll share it one day, maybe you’ll share you own story about the one you know he glimpsed that first day you met him.

As soon as he walked through the curtain you could tell something is wrong. But you try to maintain your professional mask and push forward. If something is truly wrong, he’ll tell you. You trust him to be honest with you, to be real with you.

He’s not smiling and he looks entirely uncomfortable. Not even trying to be collected beyond his polite words. But he shouldn’t be, if the glimpse of his bullseye tattoo on his hand has anything to say about the setting. He gingerly sets the to-go cup on the non-plastic wrap part of your desk. Right by where your phone is propped up on a framed photo beside the tablet you’re using as a reference.

“Hi, hope the drive wasn’t too much? I know this is pretty deep downtown.” You watch him take in the room where he stands with his hands in his pockets. The gallery style frames that are everywhere, mixed with posters and paper artwork, the little figurines- it’s a mess really. Something you don’t particularly like about the scene, how overcrowded and decorated personal spaces are. But it is what it is, you wonder what he’s thinking as you rinse off the mixture of white and black you had been using. The hum of the tattoo gun is quiet, one of your charged ones in favor of the traditional one you love. It’s still in the box from moving, though now it’s nestled in your own garage instead of your parents.

“Was okay.” He barely get out, voice low and deep. Like he’s holding back what he really wants to say and it triggers alarm bells to ring in your head.

“…everything…good?” You can see the same tension in his body from when you had taken him to the salon, but this…this was so much heavier on him now. His brother- it probably hadn’t gone well with his brother, but you weren’t about to ask him in front of people who he didn’t know and didn’t know him.

“Good.” Is his short reply and you feel dread settle like little pebbles in your stomach. That tone. It’s a lie, it’s forced. And your instincts fire up to the point where you’re turning the machinery off and tapping the girl on your table.

“Hey, gonna take a quick smoke break, let you get up and stretch your muscles. It’s been a good two hours to start.” She nods, putting her book down finally and watching as you spray a solution onto her skin and gently wipe it away with one of the many stacked paper towels you set up.

He’s stiff when you stand and stretch out the muscles of your back from hunching over. The cracks that sound in the air feel good as they release tension, but you don’t pay them any mind as you walk him back out to the entrance. There’s a filing cabinet for each artist here, four in total. And you can feel his eyes on your back as you dig around for the copies of the permits you made and their corresponding paperwork.

“The block I purchased is a few streets down. Closer to the south side, where the buildings begin to thin out. Didn’t want it to be too crowded for construction but also wanted to stay in the loop of downtown events. We can check it out when you have some downtime this week around your job, but there’s no pressure. I’ve got the deed and land survey here for you as well to go over.” Turning, you see his eyes flash to your hands, how they curl around the manilla folder so like the one you had handed him a few days ago.

“I’ll look it over, the permits are already submitted?”

“Yes, for building two shop fronts. One is classified as a prospective rental space while the other is classified as a business operation. My license was accepted by the state as a temporary transfer, but I won’t be able to operate a personal business until the application for an official one is approved. Didn’t really plan on moving until construction was completed anyway, need the cash flow to fund some of it and prove the validity of the business.”

“Got it, I’ll be in touch once I check on these. Drive by the lot too, check it out.”

“Oh, okay.” You feel a little dismissed as he takes the folder from you carefully, like he’s avoiding your hands brushing against each other. He’s avoiding your gaze too, now that you’re thinking about it.

“Probably be in touch before we leave for Philadelphia. But you have my number and work email if not.”

He’s turning away, just like that. And you let him. But not without reminding him he can use the card you gave him for any travel expenses he might need help with.

“Don’t worry, the trip is already budgeted for. But thanks.” His word sting, landing hard on your tense shoulders but all you can do is watch him walk out the door, voice caught in your throat.

It’s been more than a few days since you’ve heard from Joel. He never emailed or texted anything about the paperwork he came to get from the shop. He was there for a handful of minutes, when you thought he would at least stick around for a little tour and walkthrough of what kind of work you did.

Pushing the hurt away, you suspect it has something to do with how things went with his brother. At least, that’s all you had to go on and it was only a hunch. You know there’s strain there, an underlying strain to their connection. He offhandedly mentioned a nephew during one of your quiet conversations, but you don’t recall if it was a recent development or not.

Setting down the book you’re trying to read through, the last in a series of four romance novels by your favorite author, you pull out your laptop from the bedside table. The only thing on your mind as every description of a flawed but perfect man on the pages roves beneath your eyes is Joel.

Philadelphia.

That’s where Sarah lives, is attending graduate school and working an internship in her chosen field. He is so proud of her, so happy he could help give her the chance at an opportunity to do what she loves, even if the intricacies of social work are lost on you. You did a small guest spot at a shop there a few years ago, back before you had established yourself, back when you were still honing your skills. But you remember a lovely little spa that you had gone to with a friend, and you look them up now.

With the purchase of a package treatment for four, you attach the corresponding verification and specifications to a new email. The swoosh of it sending successfully helps to ease some of the anxiety built up inside you.

On the other side of town, Joel’s phone dings in his pocket. The new one that had arrived at his house that morning still in the box it showed up in. Already set with a tough case to withstand the elements of his job and a thin glass screen protector. His heart flutters even now as he recalls the beautiful looping scrawl of your cursive on a note saying he deserved a nice phone he didn’t have to worry about cutting his hand on. That you counted on those hands to create good things for you, and you wanted to ensure their safety moving forward.

A kind gesture and joke that both landed badly.

His phone was still an older version of the most popular brand, cracked screen but still worked. Your face when he used it in front of you for the first time had made him bark out a laugh. A comment about not being glued to his phone like you were meant he didn’t really care what it looked like as long as it worked.

Squinting through the dated prescription of his sunglasses, he sees your personal email address at the top of his notification list. With a grunt, he swipes open his mail app and opens up the message.

‘Mr. Miller,

I know you said you would be in contact and I don’t want to intrude on your business hours so this will be quick. Attached is a receipt and verification for a spa I loved in Philly. For you and your girls to enjoy during your visit, as well as Sarah’s boyfriend. There is also a reservation made at a restaurant that one of my friends is the sous chef at as well, a nice steak house. A birthday present and meal for you. I’m unsure of the date but wanted to make sure you received something from me.

Hope the day is good to you,

Grey’

With a scoff that burns through his throat, Joel stuffs the phone back into his pocket. He was still stewing on the fact that you’re married.

Sighing deeply, Joel sinks into the cushions of his worn leather couch. Ellie is in the kitchen putting some dinner together, planning it just right based on the response to when he anticipated being home- reasonably for once. He can hear her easy-going laughter and soft conversation with the girl she’s begun to bring around more.

It’s good for her, she deserves to be happy. Been dealt so much heartache that it’s about time she finds the joy in living and taking things into her own hands. He’s proud of her.

He’s bone tired, entire body taut with working all day in the summer sun. The deck is nearly complete, something he’s thrown himself into working on while admittedly giving you a wide berth. He’s not sure how to proceed. He’s already signed the contract and despite the… complication, he still really wants to fulfill it. You obviously need the help from someone who you trust to do the work, offering to hire him either way because you admire the way he went about renovating your parents’ house across the street.

He feels like a dick for the way he interacted with you last, when he visited the shop downtown. You were so excited for him to see where you worked and earn your name in a world he didn’t know much about. To show him around and talk about that part of your life. He recalls the way your glittering eyes dulled when he barely managed to get out short responses to your concerned questions. He had been too caught up in being blindsided by the new information about your personal life.

The demeanor he adopted was short, his eyes watching your every move to read more about you that he may not have originally caught on to. There was no ring on your finger, at least not one that could be mistaken for a wedding band. Perhaps it was by omission? A way to avoid the conversation.

He had acted like he didn’t know you, like you weren’t friends or at least on friendly terms. A business partner, that’s what he had acted like. Has been acting like.

His email in response to your kind one didn’t acknowledge the original content, instead he had forged ahead with a brief synopsis of how your permits all looked good and should be approved by the end of the month. He tried not to picture the crestfallen expression on your face as you opened the email to see his clipped words.

He’s furious. Two weeks later and he knows it’s because he’s hurt.

The photos of your wedding are the last post on your account. Marked a year and a half ago. He knows you moved here six months ago. He can see the fact that you’re online based on the little green dot beside your icon. You obviously still use the account, that much is clear even if you haven’t posted anything recently. You’re smiling in the photos, absolutely glowing in the arms of someone who looks exactly like the type you’d be into.

Younger, longer hair, slim waste and paired with lean muscles. Thick brows and suave sense of self, palpable even through the screen. How could he have been so stupid?

The betrayal of his own circumstance rears up, making him feel the whole ordeal again in bright, striking memories. Sarah couldn’t have been two years old, crying her little heart out in the living room as she had been set in her rocking cradle. The sounds of deep moans and slapping skin raining down the stairs like some sort of fucked up scene. Home from work and exhausted like he is now, but younger by more than two decades. He hadn’t even bothered to disturb them, the woman he called his wife and whoever she had deemed more important than her own daughter.

He had waited in the living room, soothing his little girl as best she could. Getting her to calm down while his heart raced and his mind moved a mile a minute wasn’t an easy thing, but he had managed to get her to sleep. That’s when they had both come down the stairs, her in her robe and him fastening his pants back up like he owned the damn place. Jokes and laughter bubbling up until they spotted him sitting on the couch cradling a relaxed Sarah.

It had been a mess, they were both high as kites. Something Joel had never expected from the woman he had married, had dated his entire senior year in high school and then into his first year of college. But when she realized she was pregnant, he dropped out and started working construction to bring in the money they would need. Allowing her the freedom to keep her own light schedule of classes to appease her parents and work part time at their grocery store.

He feels the sting of her words now, as he gazes down at photos of you smiling with another man. That he hadn’t been enough, that he didn’t give them enough of his time and attention. He wonders if your husband knows the offer you made him, maybe have made to others before. The words you said to him echo in his head alongside hers.

Other men have embellished their skill sets in order to receive the same offer.

He has to admit, he didn’t think you were the type of person to be so causal about an affair. But then again, he didn’t think his now ex-wife would’ve turned to illegal drugs to handle her postpartum manic depression and bring her drug dealer into their house to fuck him while their baby cried her head off.

It’s hard to reconcile the person he’s gotten to know over the last month with the shifting image of you now knowing the things that he does. The kind and spunky daughter of his best friend across the street. The one who he’s heard nothing but good things and gentle praise about for years since he moved into this neighborhood. Always saying that he’s raising two strong girls just like their own, and maybe when you visited, they could be friends.

Your soft smiles and harmless taunts make his chest hurt, he can’t tell if they were real or all some ploy to get him to soften up around you. He doesn’t feel like they had been fake, not the quiet words you both shared over cups of coffee and while he had you watch over the detailing of specific tasks to ensure it was what you wanted. The way you always made sure him and the crew had coffee and food, wanting them to not feel pressured about the deadline and still be able to focus fully on the tasks at hand.

It can’t have been fake, he saw your veneer of polite professionalism come down. He comforted you when he saw tears spring up in your eyes and you kept grabbing at the spot on your lower back where he knows there’s a scar.

You’re friends. You and him. At least…you were friends. He doesn’t feel like it at the moment, he feels like he’s caught his ex-wife cheating all over again. The feeling of your soft, gentle hands running through his hair surprise him, the way you had soothed him while he sat in a salon chair for the first time in a long time. The setting was new to him, a nice place with rich and colorful decoration, beautiful people with luscious hair and fantastic artwork painting their exposed arms. Long lashes, immaculate make-up, expensive looking clothes. He was out of place, same with the tattoo shop he had stopped in later on in the day.

It made him nervous in a way he didn’t anticipate. Like you would see him, really see that he was just some blue-collar man who did harsh labor day in an day out. Someone who could provide for himself until his last breath, but then again- that’s exactly what you saw. The contract offered, read over, and signed proves that. He just can’t fathom the why, now that he knows you’re married.

As soon as Ellie and Dina are ascending the stairs after a decent meal, one in which he tried to be as present during as possible even with his mind a blur of conflicting thought, Joel is taking the keys from the bowl beside the door and heading out the door.

He needs to get to the bottom of this now.

“Hey, Joel, is everything okay?” Your mind is working overtime as you swing the door open to find the man standing there on the stoop. It’s small, just enough space for your giant potted elephants ear plant, a little table, and one patio chair. The railing is gone, something you had taken down before you moved in, the furniture in easier and something you wanted to replace anyway.

You worry for a second that something is wrong, the radio silence wasn’t quite so profound, the understanding that he was working his last job before going out of town and then you being busy with a few clients who had big pieces to complete. But the emails you had exchanged were…strained? Something’s off, has been ever since that first day he handed over the signed contract and then came to the shop to visit. Despite that conversation going over relatively well, perfect even.

He's not moving to come into the house, though you open the door to offer him room to pass by and enter. Joel’s jaw is clenched tightly, you can see it twitching with the force he’s grinding his teeth together with.

You know you look a mess, face washed for the night, baggy clothes and knotted hair pulled up off you the back of your neck. You didn’t have anything scheduled tonight so you’ve just been mindlessly scrolling through the streaming services, not really focusing on finding something to watch. It was always the same routine until you settled on something you’ve watched over a million times already. It’s a comfort thing, that’s what your therapist says. To avoid being exposed to something you aren’t expecting in new media.

“Dunno, why don’t you ask your husband if everything is okay. Considering you just hired me as a personal contractor with an intimacy clause in his goddamn contract!” You flinch at the volume of his voice, the echo of it as it bounces off of closed garage doors and back through your open door. Your nails dig into the worn wood of the front door, catching Joel’s eyes as they do so.

“I don’t have a husband.” Your jaw clenches as your mouth snaps shut. Phantom pains break out all over your skin, pebbling the skin in goosebumps as the sting of a blade lances in your back. “Please just- come inside where we can have a little more privacy.”

“No? Sure seems like your client from the other day is convinced you’ve got one.” Joel towers over you, standing right in front of you settled against the back of the couch once he follows you inside. “Checked your account, saw the damn photos myself and here I was defending you against my shithead brother that you had no ill intentions.”

When you don’t say anything, too taken aback by the vehemence in his words, he continues on- overrun by the emotions he’s being bombarded with from every angle. The ones he had thought he dispelled after talking with you, after mulling over the stipulations of the contract a few times. But day one is here and he’s not sure how he feels anymore- other than betrayed and lied to. Played like a goddamn fool. That much is obvious, but the not one, but two mentions of the reason for your sudden move across the country is triggering and it’s hard to catch your breath let alone speak the soothing words you want to.

“I thought this whole thing was too good to be true, young thing like yourself offering me the chance of a lifetime. Turns out you’re married and have a husband who probably just doesn’t give you enough attention so you go looking for it with people you can keep around with the promise of money. Thought this would be a way to spend more time doing what I wanna do and focus on my girls, but no. Played like the fool I am once again. It was all a sham, this whole thing-“

“It is not a mistake!” Rage takes over your entire body, flames of it striking hot and consuming you.

“Yeah, sweetheart, it really does look like it is. Well, where is he? Off on some business trip or does he like to be in the house when you’ve got your men over? I sure as hell didn’t, but I don’t presume to know anything about you anymore.” And the self-depreciating smile he gives you sends you hurling over the edge of caution. Giving you the fuel to let the flames consume you and speak the words you haven’t to anyone but your lawyer.

“You wanna talk about my ex-husband so bad, Mr. Miller?” You push off the back of the couch and punch a sharp nail into his chest. You know he could feel the point of it through his clothing if the pinched expression he makes is any indication.

“You want to know about the man who was soliciting his apprentices right underneath my nose and then attacked me when I approached him about it, when I threatened to report him? You want to know about the man who probably did the same fucking thing to me, set his sights on me when I first started in this career and making a name for myself? You want to know about the man who he hired after our shitshow of a divorce to solicit me and give the community more reason to doubt my skills and hard-earned establishment? The guy I thought was such a breath of fresh air in the wake of something so fucking horrible only to find out the whole thing was a set up? He set his focus on fueling the rumors that I used my body to get where I am, that I slept my way into success. And I’ll tell you one more thing, Mr. Miller- you will not accuse me of being the shady motherfucker in this equation because I’m nothing like the man you assume is still in any part of my life.”

Chest heaving and body humming, you stare directly into his eyes. Seeing the weight of the words that rushed out of you settle in him, around the room, making it far more tense than it already had been. But it’s a different type of tension, one born of unease and spoken trauma. You left out the harder to swallow details, but the timeline you depicted is vile all the same.

His brown eyes flash with something like regret as his face slackens at your heated words. But it closes right back up into something unreadable. He doesn’t open his mouth to respond, it’s too busy frowning into a hard line. His plush lips almost white with the pressure of it. He’s poked and prodded at the one thing you have no patience for, insinuation of bad deeds and shady dealings. You realize that some conflict was bound to happen, either because of you or because of him- that’s just how human interactions and relationships went. But this?

This was something you never saw coming from the sweet, determined man who you had first met a month ago. His words had been vicious, biting and stinging where they land. Surely, he read something in the preconceived notion of your intentions, fueled by the dated knowledge of someone who you so thoroughly rinsed your hands of that they were serving time in prison with a restraining order against should he ever be free again. But right now you didn’t have it in you to ask after him, to make sure he was okay and if it was linked to something in his own past. Right now you were livid. The accusations he was slinging striking harder than the mistake of him taking you for a practiced sex worker who collected men.

“Jealously doesn’t look good on you, Mr. Miller. I suggest you get a hold of yourself and think about the next words to come out of your mouth very carefully. Otherwise you’ll be proven right that this whole thing is one big mistake.”

He’s just staring and your body thrums as you glare back at him. With nothing else to say in defense, you dismiss him as professionally as you can, even if right now you feel like absolute trash. You didn’t rage and ruin, you didn’t hurl fists or hurtful words. That isn’t who you are, even at your most angry and betrayed. Not anymore. He didn’t deserve it, deep down in your very soul you know he doesn’t deserve that despite the manner in which he approached you. He’s a hurt man, his pride and emotions blindsided by something you were working up to telling him about.

“Blueprints for the original foundation of the house are on the island, should you deem me a good enough person to keep working for.” You turn your back on him, instincts urging you to retreat before you say something you’ll regret. Anger and hurt colliding in you among the flames of rage and old situations filling you up so full that it’s hard to put one foot in front of the other without stomping. “I trust you can see yourself out.”

You wait on the landing upstairs, the plush rug you had put down over the hardwood giving you the opportunity to stand there in silence. You don’t move forward until you hear the swoosh of thick papers being picked up and the click of the door behind Joel as he leaves the house. But you don’t let go of the breath held in your lungs until you hear the roar of his truck engine, and the shifting of gears signal his leave of the property completely.

Only then do your knees give out and you land heavy on your palms right on the floor. The rug is soft beneath you, but it does nothing to calm the shaking of your entire body as the adrenaline leaks out of you alongside it.

He’s numb and stunned the entire drive back across town. On autopilot as he maneuvers his truck down the late-night streets. He had no idea what time it was, but the sky twinkled with the few stars that shone brighter than the city lights.

He’s torn. Between the emotions that assaulted him all week as he lamented over who he thought you were and what you were capable paired now with the way he had approached you with no doubts in his mind of how you manipulated him. Only to find out that you were nothing like he had begun to think.

You were you. The same young woman who asked after his company to fix up your parents house the longer it sat and aged, sent them on a long vacation in order to do it. The same young woman who soothed him as his anxiety spiked. The same one who he soothed himself when you experienced a similar episode. Because you were a victim of the things he accused you of.

And it fucks him up to picture you happily married only to discover that your partner was cheating on you, betraying your trust in such a devastating way. He knows what it feels like, he’s lived it and his confrontation most likely has you living through it all over again.

As Joel slows down to turn into his driveway, a waving figure catches his eye.

Your parents are seated on their porch across the street and with a guilt settled in his stomach like lead, he gets out of the truck and heads over. You mother is beaming at him, your father already pouring amber liquid into a third cup and holding it out to him as he ascends the few steps.

“Joel Miller! How could you keep such a big secret from us?”

Joel’s heart thunders in his chest, the tight coil of muscles around it almost choking as he reinforces his stance in preparation for everything to come crashing down around him. They know, his mind betrays him. They know about the hurtful words and dirty thoughts he’s been having about you, how he just lost any semblance of who he thinks he is and shouted at you like a child who needed to be chastised for grave mistakes. But he’s the childish one now, ready to face the consequences of his rash actions brought on by past experiences and moments lived. He’s transported back into that younger body of his, that younger mindset that everything is his fault. That he’s the bad guy and he fears he always will be.

Just as he breaths in, the controlled expression on your parents’ faces fall away into wide grins and giddy energy.

“Yeah, man, can’t believe you and my daughter conspired behind our backs to do the house over!” Joel is slow to take the offered drink, not sure if it’s the best idea to start now. But he downs it after clinking it against the two your parents hold up. Setting the thick glass down, he signals no more for himself, though they pour another generous helping into their glasses to sip at.

“We can’t thank you enough for all the attention to detail, it’s a dream come true. We feel so spoiled, you two are gonna be trouble moving forward, aren’t you?”

The porch light gives Joel the perfect view of your fathers humor, mirth dancing in his eyes as he jests that his close friend and daughter are cut from the same cloth. And even now, with how things are between you two- Joel feels pride at being compared to someone as good as you. He’s heard nothing but praise about you from your parents, from the two women who were at the tattoo shop, from the crew after they finished the renovation. You were good and he was a goddamn fool.

“Was just doin’ my job, Lydia. Treated it a little more carefully than other projects, but a job nonetheless.”

“Nonsense! You truly outdid yourself here, it’s just amazing. You have such a good eye, all we did was offhandedly mentioned things we might want to get done some day- eventually. But you and Grey have surprised the hell out of us.” Relief washes over him, giving him a reprieve from the torment he’s been wallowing in for most of the day. Hell, for the past week as he’s been subjecting himself to.

“That girl never rests, not even after the hard year she’s had. She gives so much of herself to everyone around her just like you and this is beyond anything we expected.” Lydia is near tears, no doubt due to a combination of being an overly emotional person and the alcohol she’s consumed in the late hour.

“She just moved back too, barely has had any time to get her own house fixed up but she goes and drops all the money to get ours redone after sending us on an unreal holiday for our anniversary? Bless her, she’s one of the best things I’ve ever had the pleasure in taking a part in making.” Her voice is strong even as she dabs at her eyes with a tissue.

“Grey is my crowning achievement. She’s stronger than I’ll ever be, that’s for damn sure. Not to get into it too much, but the day she showed up here with a black eye and told me she needed to move in, all I could see was red. I could’ve killed for her, but she said she had already taken care of it.” Your father’s words settle heavy in his stomach, making him nauseous as the reality of what he did hits him.

The stab of regret for his words, for your forced admission of your own trauma at his demand is sharp in his chest. Prickling over his entire body as he realizes the depth of his mistake in confronting you the way he did. Bidding them goodnight, Joel somberly crosses the street and retreats back into his own home.

“Hey, Joel! Did you know that the neighbor’s daughter, the one who you’ve been working on the renovation with, is one of the best tattoo artists in the Midwest? Her page is insane, I think I’m gonna need to ask you to use your connections to get me a consultation, I want her to design something for me, finally cover up this scar. But she’s booked up for months, her assistant said there’s something like a year long waiting period to get an appointment. That’s so freaking cool, just today she posted some designs and they are so awesome! She goes by Grey, cause of the way her shading is next level.”

To make matters worse, Ellie fires off quick words at him the second he’s back through the door. She’s in her version of sleep clothes as she sits at the kitchen table with a glass of milk and an open bag of cookies. Voice carrying to him through the house.

“Uh, yeah, baby girl, I’ll ask next time I see her.” He shucks off his boots, still dressed in his work clothes from when he had gotten home earlier. He must be staring off into space, face betraying how off kilter he feels because Ellie is quickly getting up from her spot and crossing into the living room.

“Hey….everything okay? You look a little more grumpy than usual. Which is saying something because you’ve been more relaxed lately. Did something happen?”

And for the life of him, Joel couldn’t hold back the tears he feels well up hot behind his eyes. His lungs lurch and a sob escapes through his lips when he opens them up to reassure her everything is okay.

“Woah, okay. Let’s sit, yeah?” She’s up in his personal space in a heartbeat, ushering him back into the living room and onto the couch with small hands and gentle movements.

“Just missin’ you and Sarah, is all. I feel like I haven’t given y’all enough of my time these past few years.”

“What are you talking about, you’re working to provide for us. College isn’t cheap and you’re only one man. A really good one, selfless and loving. I-I don’t know where I would be without you, dad.” When she reaches for his hand and tangles her fingers with his, he looks up to the ceiling to try and reign in the tears that are rapidly falling. He can taste them on his tongue as they drip into his mouth, nose and throat burning as they consume him. As everything hits him like a freight train.

And then it all comes tumbling out of him is quiet words, between heaving breaths and gasping exhales.

All of it, how he feels so conflicted being attracted to you with the difference in ages, the way he knows you through one of his close friends, because he started working for you. And then the contract you offered him for work, an opportunity to slow down and be with her more. How he feels like he’s failed as a father and brother. The argument he had with Tommy, the check he shoved at him as a way of showing him he still loved the man even if he couldn’t say it. How he feels left behind in favor of something better, a new life with new people he had no part of. All of it leaves him, deflates him as the words are given actual life as they pass through his lips. No longer plaguing his mind on a loop, unshared and unraveled.

To her immense credit, Ellie listens to it all with a closed lipped expression. Her bright eyes watching the way he tangles his hands together, how he runs them through his shortened hair and trimmed scruff. All of it is displayed so clearly in him, no longer hidden away for him to shoulder alone.

“You know, I was home from classes one day, and I saw you two unloading the truck. The way you two moved together, like magnets drawn to each other. That same goofy smile on your face as when I tell you a bad pun but aimed at her when she’s done nothing but simply breath. The smiles she gives you when you aren’t looking, it was- well, honestly, it was a little gross to witness. But it was also good, dad. I don’t think I’ve ever seen you so carefree and just yourself. The laughter and sounds of you two working together came out the open window of the house and it just…it sounded right, you know?”

When he doesn’t respond, Ellie continues on in a confident voice.

“Sounds like you’ve got a really important first job then, huh?”

previous chapter || next chapter

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interiorergonomics · 1 month ago

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Latest Inspiring Modern Office Design Trends

Modern office design trends are increasingly focused on creating adaptable and people-centric workspaces. Flexibility is a key driver, with modular furniture and open layouts allowing for seamless reconfiguration to suit various needs, from focused work to collaborative meetings. Hybrid work models have led to the incorporation of private pods, communal zones, and touchdown spaces for remote workers, fostering inclusivity.

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bedoballoons · 1 year ago

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Genshin Men headcanon? With a cute Obedient Wive/Girlfriend.

I don't want to put it in too details so I'll just keep it short and simple, basically it's a family thing where the wife have to be obedient with their spouse, but they can break following the spouse order if the spouse request is unreasonable, dangerous and etc. :)

Also can you add Cyno? Thanks

Awe housewife vibes! Also thank you for making it simple for me! Sometimes I find it difficult to understand longer requests so I really appreciate it, I hope you enjoy <3

─⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿𝔾𝕖𝕟𝕤𝕙𝕚𝕟 ℍ𝕖𝕒𝕕𝕔𝕒𝕟𝕠𝕟𝕤⊰⁠⊹ฺ✿─

{༻~Obedient wife~༺}

CW: Just fluff!, established relationships and reader uses she/her pronouns! (Pet names: Lyney: Mon chérie and my love, Kazuha: Dearest, Neuvillette: Mon amour, Cyno: Beautiful)

(Includes: Lyney, Kazuha, Wanderer, Neuvillette, and Cyno!)

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

𑁍༄Lyney:

Lyney walked up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and hiding his face in the crook of your neck, his eyes lingering on the table set with your delicious cooking, "Thank you my love for preparing this for everyone...it all looks perfect." He placed a gentle kiss against your skin, making your face blush that perfect shade of pink he adored so much...he always knew how to get you flustered, "Anything for you dearest, speaking of which, do you need your clothes ironed? How about your hat, have you organised the tricks in it recently?" You awaited his response eagerly, wanting to do the best for your wonderful husband.

He chuckled softly, placing another sweet kiss on your cheek, "Mon chérie, you've done everything I could ask for, right now the only thing left is to spend time with me while we wait for my siblings...if you'd like to of course." You turned to face him, kissing his lips as if the answer were so obvious...cause it was, "There's nothing else Id rather do."

𑁍༄Kazuha:

"Dearest, could you bring me my sword? Make sure to be careful, even a sheath cannot always contain the blade...I don't want you getting hurt." Kazuha glanced at you from his workstation, flashing that soft sweet smile that always made you swoon and gesturing to his sword not far from you. Even though you didn't know much about weapons, you liked helping him, following his instructions and being the most perfect wife you could be.

You carefully retrieved his sword, watching him with admiration as he sharpened the edges and repaired the handle, by the time he was finished it looked like new again and you were in awe. "You look amazed..., I promise this isn't as impressive as how I handle the blade. " He gently moved your hair away from your face and kissed your forehead, hoping to impress you even more later on.

𑁍༄Wanderer:

You loved Wanderer with all your heart, you enjoyed pleasing him with home cooked meals, a clean house, but most of all you enjoyed his little requests he'd make. Most of them when the two of you were alone, he'd ask you to sit in his lap and talk with him about his day, or he'd ask for many kisses because he was truthfully addicted to them at this point.

Only issue was, every now and again when the two of you were in public and he was feeling particularly jealous he'd request...more forward things, not that consent was a issue, the two of you were married after all, but with so many people around...you had a hard time giving him what he wanted.

"Come on...just one extra deep kiss, I want to make sure everyone knows you're my wife, especially that annoying server who kept eyeing you." Your face was more than a little blushed, the server and most of the customers watching the two of you like you were modern day entertainment...but there wasn't anything wrong with what wanderer wanted...so you couldn't just say no...

"Very well...one more kiss..."

𑁍༄Neuvillette:

You set a stack of documents on Neuvillettes desk, straightening out any other loose papers for him and taking his crystal clear cup so you refill it with some more water, "Neuvillette, can I get you anything else?" He looked up from his work, his eyes instantly filling with warmth when they met yours...sometimes he got so wrapped up in his cases he forgot how gorgeous and sweet you were, "Mon amour...I apologize for not saying thank you earlier...I was to focused on my work. You've done more than enough for me, I appreciate it immensely...in fact I'm not sure what I would do without you."

You blushed at his kind words and leaned in to give him a kiss, his hand intertwining with yours while the other touched your cheek, "I love you Neuvillette."

"I love you too."

𑁍༄Cyno:

Cyno held your hand softly, walking with you around the many shops in Sumeru city, keeping a eye out for any wrong doers while you picked out fresh food for dinner. This time you held up a water melon for him, wondering if he'd like it for dessert... "Hmm what about this for desert honey?" He looked at the fruit for a moment, smiling in a way you knew meant he had a joke he wanted to tell you, "I'd have to arrest you for a melony if you don't make that for desert...get it? Melony, felony?"

You giggled happily and reached over to grab some more vegetables, holding up a carrot with a mischievous smile, "I get it...but I'm afraid I do not carrot all for your joke." You winked at him and he had to stand there for a minute to recuperate, he was actually dazed from falling for you so hard...all over again, "I...I love you so much. Never leave me..."

"Your wish is my command my love."

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

ଘ(੭*ˊᵕˋ)੭* ੈ♡‧₊˚Have a nice day*⁠.⁠✧

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officemaster-ae · 2 years ago

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How to Choose Computer Desk Furniture

People having home offices need to carefully plan the office layout and the furniture that is required. Not only will choosing the right furniture save you time and effort but money as well. Furniture that is old and uncomfortable not only spoils the ambiance and aesthetic of the home office but can also result in loss of productivity as uncomfortable furniture can de-motivate employees and hinder their abilities to give their hundred percent. And since for a home office, you are the boss and you generate your own income, thus whenever you do not give your optimal productivity, you are negatively affecting your revenue stream. Thus it is imperative that you give importance and attention when choosing office furniture as it affects your performance level.

Research states that approximately 75% of home business owners do not have the appropriate furniture for their home office. New computer desks that are spacious can transform any room into an expedient home office. The foremost important thing that you will need for your office consists of a computer desk, a computer chair and other things that are necessary for storage and shelving. In all of this, the computer desk is the bedrock for lending the distinguished look you so desire for your home office.

The appropriate computer desk can do wonder not only for the ambiance of your home office rather for your business as well. Not only does it give you ample surface to work on and use the computer, the convenience results in higher levels of motivation and eventually better performance. One can use the computer desk to segregate the area for computer usage and other files and jobs. The choice of the computer desk depends on the nature and requirements of the work. If you depend on paper work then you would need a desk that has a more flat surface. On the other hand, there are corner desks that are more suitable for small home offices and they can be simply lodged in a den or in a living or dining room.

And if you have to keep books, heavy binders, or manuals, then you may choose a computer desk with shelving or closed overhead cabinet space so that you can conveniently attain printed material without really losing any precious flat surface. Another major concern is what rooms to choose when situating a home office. Now this again is relative to the nature and requirements of your business. If your work is such that it requires daily phone calls then it is better to situate that in the living or dining room as they tend to be quiet in the daytime. However, if your work requires space and room then it is best to shift it to a basement so that it can accommodate all your files and work-related document etc. If you work part-time in the evenings, then a computer desk can be kept in your bedroom so that you can work while relaxing in your room.

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mohitjoshi041 · 2 months ago

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"Height-Adjustable Desk for Enhanced Comfort and Productivity"

"Discover the ultimate in workspace flexibility with Jin's Height-Adjustable Desk. Designed for comfort and efficiency, this desk allows you to easily switch between sitting and standing positions, improving posture and boosting productivity. Ideal for home offices and professional settings, our desks are built with high-quality materials to ensure durability and smooth height transitions. Elevate your workspace and work smarter with Jin’s ergonomic solutions."

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beskars · 19 days ago

Text

ichthyological studies; chapter two

pairing: silco x reader, modern au rating: mature word count: 3.7k warnings: swearing, detailed description of silco's hands [ao3] [dividers: @saradika] [beta: @avarkriss]

“Well, if everything is in order, I won’t take up anymore of your time for today,” he said, tucking his pen back into his overcoat. “Thank you for your assistance—”

He stopped abruptly, and you realized you hadn't ever given him your name. Offering it in response, you extended your free hand. His palm met yours - cool and dry, his grip precise like everything else about him. You found yourself noting how his hands possessed a particular grace that would be challenging to capture on paper - the elegant architecture of bone and tendon, the way each movement seemed carefully choreographed. The kind of hands that would require dozens of studies to get right, and even then you might not quite capture the eloquence of their controlled motion.

chapter two: the elegant architecture of bone and tendon Undeterred by your failure as a handyman, you wrapped up your work for the day and began setting up your classroom, greeting students as they began to trickle in and took places behind their respective easels. You were just about to begin a brief lecture on the techniques you would be focusing on for that evening’s assignment when the studio door opened, admitting a sharp-featured girl with two waist length blue braids. She clutched a sticker-adorned sketchbook to her chest almost protectively, chewing nervously on her lower lip as all eyes turned toward her.

“Hi,” you said brightly, taking a small step toward her. “Are you here for class?”

She nodded, and you gestured to the unclaimed easel closest to her.

“You can set up right here,” you told her, relieved to see the tension in her shoulders dissipate slightly as the rest of the class fell into conversation while she settled in.

After making sure she had all the supplies she needed, you introduced yourself, urging her to let you know if she had any questions.

“I’m glad to have you here—” you broke off uncertainly, realizing you hadn’t caught her name.

Her mouth quirked up in a fleeting smile so similar to her father’s that you were entirely unsurprised when she told you,

“It’s Jinx.”

Well, you could hardly hold the fact that her dad was one of the most pompous and insufferable men you had ever had the misfortune of dealing with against her, so you managed an echo of her expression in response, hoping it didn’t look too forced.

“Great to meet you, Jinx,” you said, before returning to the front of the classroom, wondering all the while if you were going to have to see him again before the day was over.

The scratch of graphite on paper echoed in the quiet studio as you demonstrated the techniques utilized in that evening’s greyscale exercise, the familiar smell of pencil shavings and that particular dusty warmth that space heaters always produced filling the air. Once the class was immersed in their work, you slumped into your desk chair, pulling up your dreaded to-do list to see what was left. Resigning yourself to another late night of working on commissions to supplement the meager salary you took from the center, now made later by the addition of Valeria Stormweaver, you contemplated sleeping in your office to avoid wasting time on the commute back to your apartment. As long as you were up early enough to make a trip back home to shower and change before Ava showed up, you would be able to spare yourself from being lectured on the dangers of overworking yourself. And, as a bonus, you wouldn’t have to worry about running into Creepy Craig in the hallway, where he seemed to habitually linger in hopes of trapping you in stilted conversation. Mind made up, you tucked your phone back into your pocket and started to weave through the easels, pausing to offer feedback and encouragement to each student on their progress so far. You paused behind Jinx's workstation, impressed by how she'd approached the value study. The piece was strikingly monochromatic, showing a careful attention to light and shadow in the suggested form of the vase, transformed into something far more complex with intricate textural details. She turned to look at you apprehensively, awaiting your assessment, and you offered her a reassuring smile before inspecting the drawing closer.

“I love this,” you told her softly. “The sense of depth in the material of the vase is really well done, especially the highlights here.”

“Really?” she replied, perking up slightly. “I don’t usually do stuff like—” she broke off, waving her hands in the general direction of the easel, “this.”

“What, greyscale?” you asked, and she shrugged.

“Greyscale, still life stuff,” she said, returning her pencil to the drawing pad. “Actually, most of my work is kinda the opposite of this. But I want to get better at some of the more traditional techniques.”

You watched as she added a few decisive strokes to the piece, her eyebrows furrowed in concentration.

“Well, you’re off to a great start, even if this isn’t your usual style,” you responded earnestly, “which I would love to see, too.”

“I could show you some of my sketchbook after class,” Jinx nodded enthusiastically, “if that’s okay? I mean, if you have time?”

“I’d love that,” you replied, meaning it, and she offered you a small smile in return.

“Cool,” she said, and you smiled back.

“I’ll let you get back to it. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” you told her, and she gave you a thumbs up before her brows drew together in concentration, her full focus returning to her work.

You made another quick circuit of the room before returning to your desk, trusting that your students were comfortable enough to ask for your help if they needed it, and let them continue to progress on their studies as you pulled up Procreate to start on one of the commissions in your queue. The rough sketch was nearly complete by the time you glanced at your phone again, startled to see class was nearly over, and you stood, grimacing at how stiff your upper back muscles felt after spending so much of the day hunched over screens. As students began to pack up their work, returning the materials they had used in the shelves along the wall, you thanked each of them for coming and reminded them of the following evening’s open studio hours for anyone that wanted to work on projects outside of class. Jinx lingered by the storage area as you finished up, inspecting the supplies with mild interest, waiting until you had paused beside your desk to approach.

“I love the stickers,” you said as she set her sketchbook down, giving you a quick smile before opening it and indicating that you were free to look.

Each page was densely packed, most of them centered around a realistically rendered focal point before exploding into wild interpretations, each piece a riot of colors—neons bleeding into jewel tones in ways that shouldn't work but somehow did. She had been right that the exercise that evening was the antithesis of her signature style, but you could see the technical proficiency she had displayed in the rendering of the vase evident in the rest of her work as well. You were about to tell her as much when there was a single, sharp knock on the doorframe, causing the words to stick in your throat when you saw who was standing in the hall.

“I’m almost done,” Jinx told her father, who nodded once in response to her and once in acknowledgment when he glanced at you.

Her earlier apprehension returning, Jinx watched you closely for a reaction, teeth worrying at her lower lip again.

“Jinx, these are amazing,” you said enthusiastically, turning a page and taking in the next piece for a moment. “They kind of remind me of Marina Velcroft’s work, the way you combine these more structured pieces with all of these graffiti-style elements. Your color choices are even more unconventional though, which I love.”

She gave you a shy but pleased smile, gathering up her sketchbook as you came to a blank page.

“Thanks,” she replied softly. “I don’t think I’ve heard of her.”

“I think you’d really like her work,” you told her, “I have one of her books here if you want to borrow it.”

She nodded. “That would be awesome.”

“Great,” you smiled, doing your best to ignore the man leaning against the doorframe as you made your way to the storage shelves, running your finger over the spines of the book collection until you found what you were looking for. “Here,” you said, offering it to Jinx.

“An unauthorized collection of street art & sundry works, compiled & commented upon by the artist,” she read aloud from the cover, flipping it open to a random page and scrutinizing it for a moment before hugging it to her chest with her sketchbook. “This looks really cool. Thank you.”

“Of course,” you responded. “We have open studio tomorrow night if you want to come work on anything. There aren’t any assignments like in class but I’m always happy to help come up with projects if you don’t have something in mind.”

She nodded excitedly before seeming to realize something and turning to look at her father, whose angular features softened slightly as he returned her gaze.

“Can I?” she asked, and he inclined his head fractionally.

“Of course,” he told her, sounding almost indulgent, and she beamed.

“Great!” you exclaimed, grabbing a copy of the center schedule from your desk and handing it to her. “All of our other classes are listed there, too. And some upcoming field trips we have planned.”

She scanned the sheet of paper eagerly before proferring it to her father, who gave it a cursory look and murmured his thanks in your general direction, not bothering to make eye contact.

“Thanks!” Jinx echoed, much more enthusiastically. “See you tomorrow!”

“See you then,” you replied before adding, “great work tonight.”

She smiled at you once more and slipped past her father into the hallway, seemingly oblivious to the way he lingered on the threshold.

“I’ll be right there,” he called toward her retreating back, though she gave no indication that she had heard him.

He turned back to you, traces of fond exasperation quickly giving way to an impassivity as he met your gaze.

“So,” you said, growing uncomfortable as his silence stretched on. “I suppose we should be flattered that you chose us over the Piltover Academy for the Fine Arts.”

The words came out sounding more irritable than you intended, exhaustion fraying your patience.

“Jinx chose you,” he corrected coolly, “and I will respect her decision regardless of whether it’s the same one I would have made.”

“How charitable of you,” you commented dryly, crossing your arms over your chest. “So was there something I could do for you or did you just want to make sure I knew we weren’t your first choice?”

The corner of his mouth curved up slightly, though there was no warmth in it.

“I know you’re quite… lax in how things are structured here,” he replied smoothly, pausing just long enough to give you time to take affront, “but I assumed there would be some sort of paperwork for me to fill out in order for Jinx to be formally enrolled.”

"There is," you told him, moving to your desk to retrieve a single sheet of paper, "though we’ve intentionally kept it pretty simple. Or lax , as you put it. Basic contact information, emergency numbers, any allergies or medical conditions we should know about. That's it."

You held out the form but didn't release it when he took it, making him meet your eyes. "We don't require guardian signatures or proof of residence or financial documents. The center is meant to be accessible to everyone, regardless of their situation."

The implications hung in the air - that some students might not have guardians to sign, or stable addresses to list, or the means to provide financial records.

"I see," he said after a moment, sounding remarkably less haughty than he had moments before. "That's...unconventional." "Yeah, well," you shrugged as you let go of the form, returning to lean against your desk. "Our attorney probably wanted to strangle me by the end of the process. I kept pushing back on every requirement, asking what was actually legally necessary versus what was just... traditional bureaucracy."

He considered you, a flicker of interest in his expression. "You deliberately sought out the minimum legal requirements."

"The absolute minimum," you confirmed. "I'm sure it's not up to Piltover's exacting standards of documentation."

His mouth curved slightly again, and this time there might have been a hint of genuine amusement in it. "No, I suppose not. Though perhaps that's not entirely a criticism."

You found yourself caught off guard by what almost seemed like approval in his tone.

"Well," you said after a beat, falling back on professional courtesy, "just return that whenever is convenient. Jinx is welcome to start attending classes immediately."

He studied the form for a moment before reaching into his jacket and withdrawing a pen. To your surprise, he moved to your desk and began filling it out right there.

"Silco," he told you as he wrote, and you blinked at him.

"What?"

"My name," he clarified, not looking up from the form. "Since we'll likely be seeing more of each other, given Jinx's...enthusiasm about your program."

“Right,” you replied stupidly, floundering for a moment. “Well, I’m really looking forward to having her here. She’s incredibly talented.”

“She is,” he murmured as he handed the form back to you.

His tone was devoid of the sort of proud arrogance you would have expected from him in response to such a remark, and you found yourself grudgingly appreciative that he didn’t seem to take any credit for her abilities, as so many parents were wont to do. It would have seemed like a neutral observation were it not for the affection contained within those two simple words. Glancing down at the sheet of paper, you confirmed that everything was filled out, unsurprised to see that his understated elegance extended itself to his efficient yet graceful penmanship.

“Well, if everything is in order, I won’t take up anymore of your time for today,” he said, tucking his pen back into his overcoat. “Thank you for your assistance—”

After a single, firm shake, he turned and disappeared into the hallway, leaving behind only the fading echo of his footsteps against the worn floorboards. You fought the urge to follow him, commending yourself for having enough self-restraint to not check whether he was thwarted by the front doors again, then turned to the task of tidying up the classroom. Once you had done a cursory inspection of the rest of the center, you rummaged through the kitchenette for something filling enough to qualify as dinner, settling on some stale crackers and a granola bar alongside a cup of mint tea.

Grabbing your emergency pillow and blanket from your office closet, you made yourself comfortable on the sofa and set to finishing the first of your commissions for the evening. Your retinas were burning by the time the piece was completed, and you set your iPad down to give yourself a tiny break, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes until phosphenes appeared. Slumping backwards, you heaved a sigh, staring up at the cracks in the ceiling for a moment before opening your to-do list and resignedly shifted the remaining work to the next day’s tasks, too exhausted to berate yourself over it. There was a nagging thought in the back of your mind that you had something else you needed to complete before passing out, but sleep overtook you before you could figure out what it was.

You woke to the sound of Ava's sharp intake of breath, followed by a very loud, very pointed sigh. Right. That nagging feeling you had ignored last night had been trying to tell you to set an early alarm to avoid this very situation. Fuck.

"Please tell me you did not sleep here again."

You peeled your face off the sofa, wincing at the stiffness in your neck. "I didn't sleep here again?"

"You're a terrible liar." She thrust a coffee cup at you with more force than necessary. "This is getting ridiculous."

“Actually, I got more sleep than I would have if I had gone home because this way I didn’t have to deal with the bus delays and getting trapped by Creepy Craig in the hallway, so…” you tried, taking a sip of coffee to avoid her withering gaze.

“This isn’t sustainable,” she said, entirely unconvinced by your attempts to mollify her. “And I don’t just mean you avoiding your apartment so you don’t have to see that asshole, although that’s gotta stop, too. You need to dial it back before you burn yourself out completely.”

“I’m fine,” you insisted, grabbing your phone and suppressing a groan at the number of emails already waiting for you. “It’s not forever, it’s just the end of year craziness. I’ll dial it back once the fundraiser’s over, okay? Promise.”

She narrowed her eyes, giving a skeptical hum.

“Fine. But I’m not above blackmailing you into taking some time off,” she told you eventually, and you rolled your eyes.

“Yeah, I know,” you mumbled, taking another long sip of coffee before forcing yourself off of the sofa and setting the mug down so that you could put away your makeshift bed.

“Go home,” Ava commanded, her tone leaving no room for argument. “Take a shower, eat an actual meal, and come back when you’re at least semi-human again. I’ve got everything covered here.”

“But—” you protested weakly before she cut you off with a sharp look.

“Wasn’t a question,” she said, all but shoving you toward the office door. “See you in a few hours.”

You relented, quickly gathering your things. “Thanks. And thank you for the coffee.”

She nodded, following you out into the hall, waiting until you were nearly at the door before calling after you, “Oh, and if Creepy Craig tries to talk to you, just tell him you have explosive diarrhea and have to go!”

“Fucking hell,” you muttered, turning back to yell, “not going to be doing that.”

“Why not? It would definitely get him to leave you the fuck alone,” she replied, laughing at the revulsion in your expression.

“Sure, but at what cost?” you asked, and she shrugged.

“Fine, but don’t come whining to me when you get trapped in an hour-long conversation about Soulforge,” she told you, ducking back into the office before catching the glare you sent her way.

Wrenching the door open, you shivered, bracing yourself against the wind chill as you made your way to the bus stop. By some stroke of luck, your route was running on time today and you made it back to your apartment without incident. Sure, you had to tiptoe past your neighbor’s door in order to ensure he didn’t hear your arrival home, but that seemed a much smaller price to pay than pretending you were suffering from extreme gastrointestinal distress. Choosing to ignore that issue for the time being, you instead took a long shower and ate a bowl of instant oatmeal, after which you almost felt like a functional human being again.

Almost.

#silco #silco/reader #silco x reader #silco arcane #arcane x reader #beskarsfics #character: silco #show: arcane #arcane smut

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