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yandere-writer-momo · 10 months

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Rent-A-Girlfriend

Part 2: Hanayama Kaoru

Yandere Baki Various x Afab Reader

Part 1

Part 3

…………………………………………..………………….

Kaoru was frustrated that his recent fling bailed on him for this important dinner with his peers. Kaoru could never keep a girlfriend for more than a month. Each one claimed he was too rough or too cold towards them.

Yet they all came to him for the same reason. For his money and to be in his bed. It’s not his fault none of them truly caught his interest. None of them were the type he would let stay by his side anyways. They were nothing more to him than bed warmers and limited eye candy.

But this dinner was important. He needed to keep up his status among the other yakuza and what better way to do that than to have a beautiful woman by his side?

Kaoru lit a cigar, inhaling the smoke deep into his lungs before exhaling. Women were too stressful.

“Maybe you should try a rental girlfriend for the night?” Kizaki piped up from the door way. Kaoru slowly turned his head around to glance at his right hand man. That wasn’t such a bad idea.

Kaoru pulled out his phone and uploaded the app. He made himself a simple account and didn’t even bother to add a profile picture. Kaoru was positive most women knew who he was. His fingers scrolling through each available ‘girlfriend.’ His fingers stopped once he came upon an exotic looking young woman. A foreigner? How delightful. She would surely impress his comrades.

Kaoru quickly requested a date with her, his eyes widening when he saw that he can send her instructions on how to behave at the date and there were options to send her clothes. A small smile on his face as he typed the requirements to be his company.

Kaoru was thrilled that a woman was finally down to comply to his demands…

Friday rolled around and (Your name) made her way to the post office first thing in the morning to get the dress her date had bought for her.

She loved that her job supplied her with a PO Box so her dates didn’t know her address. Plus they had a strict code of rules. The customers were not allowed to kiss or touch her inappropriately or they’d be banned. It was an incredibly progressive company.

(Your name) was impressed by the long black gift box her date supplied for her. It seems he was a man of money.

A white envelope caught her eye. She quickly opened it and read the neatly written note.

“𝑀𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝓂𝑒 𝑜𝓃 𝓍𝓍𝓍 𝓈𝓉𝓇𝑒𝑒𝓉 𝒶𝓉 𝟧𝓅𝓂. 𝒟𝑜 𝓃𝑜𝓉 𝒷𝑒 𝓁𝒶𝓉𝑒.”

What a lovely gentleman, she sarcastically thought. He seemed to be incredibly dominant and have high expectations.

(Your name) opened her phone and scrolled through the app. Kaoru didn’t want her to speak at all. She was strictly to be arm candy only and she was fine with that. She honestly preferred not speaking to a man like this.

She gathered her dress and made her way back home. (Your name) would be sure to follow all of his demands. Maybe she’d earn even more money if she played the part of a subservient woman to him?

(Your name) had to admit that Kaoru had amazing tastes in clothing. The dress hugged her figure and left her back completely exposed. The red silk made her feel like a neatly wrapped present.

She chose to do an elegant style of makeup and to make sure he hair fit the description of a high class woman. (Your name) needed to impress him and his peers. She would not disappoint him.

She arrived to the meeting spot at 4:50pm. Giving her a ten minute window before he was to arrive.

A black limousine pulled up beside her not even two minutes later. A tall muscular man in a black and red suit stepped out, his entire face covered in scars. His presence itself was incredibly intimidating, it didn’t take her long to figure he was someone who was dangerous.

“You’re even prettier in person.” Kaoru complimented her softly before holding out a hand for her to take so he could help her into the limousine. She gave him a small smile and a slight bow in thanks. She wasn’t sure if he had given her permission to speak.

(Your name) accepted his hand as she lifted up a bit of the skirt of her dress to get into the limousine. She could feel Kaoru’s eyes burning into her as she maintained an elegant composure around him. Was he waiting for her to slip up?

(Your name) sat in the limousine and adjusted her dress. She made sure not a single wrinkle could be seen.

Kaoru sat in front of her. He was impressed. (Your name) was certainly a high class lady with outstanding elegance. There wasn’t a wrinkle nor a single hair out of place on her. So far, she has exceeded his expectations of a date.

“So far you’ve exceeded my expectations.” Kaoru muttered as he held her small hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the soft skin on the back of her hand. She even had a charming French tip nail. Classic yet elegant. He really liked her.

The two of them arrive to the restaurant. Kaoru getting out of the limousine first to hold the door open for her. Kaoru extended his hand out for her to take to help her step out of the car. His dark eyes admiring her form. She was more than what he hoped for…

Kaoru basked in the attention of his peers who paused their conversations to admire the woman on his arm. Kaoru adored how the stares at him in envy… he’d book her again for sure just from this alone.

(Your name) didn’t utter a word. She held her head high and looked forward. Her arm wrapped around Kaoru’s forearm as he lead her to the head of the table. The scarred man pulling a chair out next to him for her to sit.

(Your name) obediently sat in the chair, her body facing his slightly as he sat down. Something about him screamed possessive so she’d be sure not to trigger that.

She stayed silent the entirety of the dinner, ignoring the glances of his peers. Kaoru smirked into his glass of sake. He adored her attention on him.

Kaoru held her hand to get the stares of his peers to stop. He needed to establish that she was his lady in front of the others and he wouldn’t stand for their ogling all night.

It felt like hours until the dinner ended. (Your name) didn’t speak to anyone nor did she acknowledge anyone other than Kaoru. Kaoru seemed thrilled about this fact.

The scarred man lead her back to his limousine and helped her back into the car in the same fashion as earlier. The door clicking shut behind him as he sat across from her. His dark eyes gazing into her very soul but she didn’t dare to speak.

“You did well tonight.” Kaoru complimented her before scooping her hand up in his to press a kiss to the back of it. “Better than I had thought… I may book you again.”

Kaoru chuckled when she smiled at him. His interest was piqued. She was asking him for permission to speak with just her eyes… what a marvelous woman. “You can speak. I haven’t heard your voice all night.”

“Thank you, sir.” Kaoru shivered a bit at the nickname, his hands tightly grasping the fabric of his pants when she bowed her head to him a bit. Perfect… she was perfect. “I just followed your orders, sir.”

Kaoru leaned forward and held her jaw in his hand, his obsidian eyes gazing deeply into hers.

“I will seek you out again.” Kaoru huskily whispered before releasing her. He leaned back in his seat and pulled out a cigar from his suit jacket. “Do you smoke?”

“I don’t, but thank you for the offer, sir.” (Your name) smiled politely at him, the scarred man humming in response.

“I appreciate your honesty.” Kaoru lit his cigar before blowing the smoke off to the side. “How much for a night with you?”

(Your name) paled a bit at the question before giving him a bow. “That is another thing I don’t do. It’s against my contract with my company, sir.”

This was the first time someone close to her in age asked for a night with her but she wasn’t interested in those sorts of activities. At least not with someone so dangerous looking. He was more than likely a gangster.

Kaoru sighed but he nodded in response. “Polite even when you decline me. I’ve never been rejected before. Do you even know who I am?”

(Your name) gave him another polite smile. “I hope you’re not offended that I do not know who you are, sir.”

Kaoru felt a surge of excitement course through him. This was the first woman he met that didn’t know who he was and wasn’t after his money nor his title… he decided there and now that was going to keep seeing her. She interested him.

“Not at all…” Kaoru almost told her how much it thrilled him but he didn’t want to scare her off. He never wanted to scare off a potential new play thing.

Kaoru’s driver dropped her off on the street he picked her up on. The man really wanted to take her to her house but she wouldn’t tell him her address… a shame. He’d spoil her if she told him.

As soon as (Your name) bowed to him and left the vehicle, Kaoru turned to the driver, Kizaki.

“I want all the information you can get on her.” Kaoru told Kizaki.

“Right away, sir.”

Kaoru put his thumb on his lip as he smirked to himself. He had to have her… he had to have the very best and he would have a night with (your full name)… one way or another.

(Your name) made her way into her house, her phone vibrating in her pocket. She opened up the light, pastel pink screen with a whistle.

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐊𝐚𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐠𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝟓𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐚 𝟏𝟎𝟎% 𝐭𝐢𝐩! 𝐖𝐚𝐲 𝐭𝐨 𝐠𝐨!

𝐇𝐚𝐧𝐚𝐲𝐚𝐦𝐚 𝐊𝐚𝐨𝐫𝐮 𝐰𝐨𝐮𝐥𝐝 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐅𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞!

𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭?

𝐘𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨?

“And he paid me twice the amount just for this night… I wonder who he is.” (Your name) thought for a minute before accepting the date. Her phone lighting up again with a new notification.

!! 𝐔𝐫𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭 !!

𝐎𝐫𝐨𝐜𝐡𝐢 𝐊𝐚𝐭𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐢 𝐢𝐬 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚 𝐟𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐲 𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐝𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 𝐚𝐟𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐧𝐨𝐨𝐧! 𝐏𝐚𝐲 𝐢𝐬 𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐩𝐥𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐫𝐞𝐠𝐮𝐥𝐚𝐫 𝐩𝐚𝐲 𝐫𝐚𝐭𝐞!

𝐃𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭?

𝐘𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐫 𝐧𝐨?

Oh! A family dinner? Someone must’ve lied about having a girlfriend…

(Your name) laughs before happily accepting the offer. She wasn’t going to let some other broad take her money opportunity. She skimmed over the details. Dang… this guy was in dire need for a girl to pretend to be his partner for an entire afternoon in front of his family.

“Your misfortune is my gain…” (your name) whispered as she started to slip out of the silk dress. It seems she’d have to play the part do being a sweet girl who absolutely adored her boyfriend…

Sometimes her job was a headache because she had to pretend to be so many different people. The pay was certainly worth it all though. She’d pretend to be anyone her clients wanted so long as they paid her for her valuable time.

(Your name) scrolled through Katsumi’s profile with a hum. He was a cutie. He seemed to be the typical ‘boy next door.’ He was active in the community so she was going to have to be careful in case anyone recognized her…

(Your name) took a glance at her reflection in the mirror. She was going to have to look soft and extremely feminine tomorrow… that seemed to be Katsumi’s type. The innocent doe character…

She sighed before going to her fridge and cracking open a beer. She just had a few more months of this contract with the company and then she could stop going on dates. It was exhausting pretending to be interested in all these men.

(Your name) took a sip of the beer with a smile. She wondered where she’d move next after all of this was over… maybe she’d go back to the States?

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jwirecs · 1 year

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RECOMMENDED MAFIA AU💣

hello, hello! here are my mafia au - atz, bts & nct recs! hopefully these beautiful stories get more recognition as well as the writers💝

requested by anon (these are the ones that i have read more than once and have a soft spot for! theres a whole lot since i enjoy reading mafia fics so for now, i will leave out the summaries just so that the post wont be tooooooo long!)

** anything in parentheses and bolded are my thoughts that can be disregarded if needed **

🔞smut || 💔angst || 💕fluff || ✅completed || 🔄ongoing || 💯favorite

[4:21PM] || @mingishoe 💕💔✅ (seonghwa x reader)

[11:45PM] || @thelargefrye💕✅ (hongjoong x reader)

At What Cost || @capaimagines💔✅ (ot8 x reader)

Backfired || @ateezreactionsandscenarios💔✅ (hongjoong x reader)

Colors || @daybreakx 💕💔✅ (hongjoong x reader)

False Accusation || @a-soft-hornytiny💔✅ (ot8 x reader)

Hurts Like Hell || @ja3hwa💔✅ (ot8 x reader)

Between The Bloodshed || @agustdakasuga💕💔✅ (ot7x reader) (sequel: Everything Between Us)

Drug Wars || @plumblackjeon 🔞💔✅ (jeongguk x reader)

Golden Cage || @personasintro💔✅ (jimin x reader)

Guilty || @xjoonchildx 🔞💕💔✅ (namjoon x reader)

Mess With One, Mess With All || @justcallmenikki7💔✅ (ot7 x reader)

Of Smoke Rings and Cigarettes || @mae-gi-writes💕💔✅ (yoongi x reader)

Petal || @jiminiesfavouritecolourisblue💕💔✅ (taehyung x reader)

The Deal || @untaemedqueen 🔞💕💔✅ (yoongi x reader)

The Serendipity of Things || @oh-so-scenarios🔞💕💔✅ (hoseok x reader)

[05:35AM] || @neo-culture-mafia💕✅ (jeno x reader)

[19:50PM] || @neo-culture-mafia💕✅ (jeno x reader)

[23:39PM] || @neo-culture-mafia💕✅ (mark x reader)

Boo! || @mafia-nct💕✅ (haechan x reader)

Darling || @johnsamericano💕✅ (taeyong x reader)

For ____ Or Worse || @mafia-nct💕💔✅ (taeyong x reader)

Kidnapped || @nctbloom💕💔✅ (jeno x reader)

New Beginning || @gohyuck💕💔✅ (mark x reader)

She’s Mine || @neo-culture-mafia💕✅ (taeyong x reader)

Talk To Me || @mafia-nct💕💔✅ (jeno x reader)

Tipsy || @lovestrucked-again💕✅ (taeyong x reader)

Triggered || @neo-culture-mafia💔✅ (yuta x reader)

[UNTITLED] || @crownily💕✅ (mark x reader)

Wait For Me || @mafia-nct💕💔✅ (renjun x reader)

Wake Up Call || @mafia-nct💕✅ (haechan x reader)

“Why Are You As Red As The Strawberry Y/n?” || @lovestrucked-again💕✅ (127 x reader)

** if there is any fics that you guys would like to recommend, please do! i am slowly running out of fics to read **

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daceydeath · 25 days

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Stray Kids Masterlist

All works are categorized by what they contain some works are not suitable for minors to interact with these are marked as 🔞. Please heed all warnings at the start of each piece and do not interact with any post you are not comfortable with.

Genres: Fluff: 🧁 Angst: 🥀 Suggestive: 🍑 Smut:💦 Comedy: 🎪 Romance: ❤️ Supernatural: 🌙 Mafia: 💣 Strictly 18+: 🔞

Reactions:

When you are on your period 🧁🎪 Picnic Dates 🧁❤️ Helping you when your sad 🥀🧁❤️ When you go into labor 🧁🎪 When you fall and hurt yourself dancing 🧁🥀❤️ Hyung Line, Maknae Line

Individual Members

Bang Chan Gentle Saviour 🧁 🥀 🍑 6:02am 🔞❤️💦 I Didn't Know you Were Filming 🧁❤️🎪 12:02am - Payback 🔞❤️💦 3:45am - Comfort 🧁 🥀❤️💦🔞 Why 🥀

Lee Know 7:15am 🥀 8:55pm 🧁❤️ 💦🔞 Minho 🔞💦❤️ While you are Sleeping 🔞💦❤️ (Ft Han) 11:26pm - Silk Ties🔞💦❤️ 2:21pm - Shopping Trips 🔞💦❤️

Seo Changbin 4:46pm - Personal Trainer ❤️💦🔞 9:57pm - My Treat 🔞💦❤️ (Ft Hyunjin) 5:35pm - Caught Out 🔞💦❤️ Claims 🔞💦❤️

Hwang Hyunjin 12:54pm 🧁🥀 10:50pm - The Award Show🔞💦❤️ 9:57pm - My Treat 🔞💦❤️ (Ft Changbin) Poor Decisions 🔞💦❤️

Han Jisung 4:45am 🔞💦❤️ While you are Sleeping 🔞 💦 ❤️ (Ft Lee Know) Alcohol and Alleyways 🔞 ❤️ 💦 Lazy Mornings 🧁❤️

Lee Felix Cuddle Bug 🧁 11:38pm 🔞❤️💦 One Time Only ❤️🔞💦 (Ft Jeongin) Felix 🔞❤️💦 Coffee & Cookies 🧁❤️ (M reader)

Kim Seungmin 3:25pm 🧁🥀 9:02pm 🧁 The Next Step 🧁❤️🔞💦 11:42am ❤️🔞💦 That Fine Line Between 🥀❤️🔞💦 Morning Photographs 🧁❤️🔞💦 Oblivious 🧁 ❤️ 🍑

Yang Jeongin 1:15am🧁 ❤️ What Happens Backstage 🧁❤️🔞💦 One Time Only ❤️🔞💦 (Ft Felix) 7:45pm - Picnics in the Park 🧁 ❤️

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thesapphireprincess · 11 months

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Hypergamy Beginnings: The best times to go out and meet new men ✨✨

The early bird catches the worm meaning that it is better to show up somewhere soon than later.

From 11:50am-1:30pm business men go to lunch with their colleagues or go get coffee if they’re skipping lunch. It doesn’t matter where you go as long as it is on the nice/wealthy side of town you will see them come in flocks. I’ve witnessed this on multiple occasions, honestly go test this yourself to see and then come back to this post. Go to Starbucks, Chipotle or a nice restaurant.

From 2:50pm-6:30pm is when happy hour starts or is about to start at nice restaurants. They usually start around 3 or sometimes 4 just check google to make sure. If it starts at 3 get there at 2:50pm and if it starts at 4 get there at 3:50pm. Get there 10-15 minutes early so that you are able to observe. Also when they walk In you’ll already be sitting there. If you get there late then sit next to a man sitting alone. If the bar is full then idk what to tell you maybe sit in the lounge or at a table until a seat is available. As long as you get there within this time span then you’ll be fine.

💌: How to know if a man is interested in you vs if he’s not: When a man is interested in you he will look at you for at least 3 seconds preferably multiple times if you’re in his vicinity but if he’s not then he’ll most likely pretend that you don’t exist and not look at you twice. I swear this is how you know that they’re interested in you. I work with 95% of men so I have tested this out. The ones who are interested in you are looking for a signal that you’re interested in them too. The way to let him know that you’re interested is to make eye contact for at least 3 seconds and smile. Just do a little grin not a smile with teeth. I have tested the eye contact thing out with men at work and they usually will speak to me and smile vs if I ignore their presence and walk past them and they won’t say a word. My friend tested this out at a coffee shop and she said it works and she was approached. Some men are super bold and will talk to you regardless of if you looked at them or not, especially if they find you attractive.

Example: I was on a date and our table wasn’t ready so we were going to go sit at the bar and wait but I went a little ahead of him because he was still speaking with the hostess about our table. I sat next to this older gentleman and he spoke to me right away but my date was right behind me shortly after so it didn’t last long. Try it out and let me know what happens. I’m going free-styling tomorrow so I will update y’all.

🤍: I wanted to let you all know that these men want us to enter their world. They want us to show up in their spaces so that they can find us. Be someone they’ve never experienced. You’re placing yourself in another timeline by doing this and opening your world to new experiences. Imagine him wondering when he’ll meet his dream girl and the boom you show up.🤍

#hypergamy #black girl luxury #black women in leisure #upscale dating

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bbcghostsupdates · 2 years

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Series 4 official Trailer is here!!

the ghosts series 4 trailer has arrived! It’s on the BBC Website if anyone wants to view for themselves!

So much to unpack here!

Just a reminder Ghosts comes out Friday 23rd September at 8:50PM UK Time 🤍

#bbc ghosts #sixidiots #ben willbond #mathew baynton #larry rickard #jim howick #martha howe douglas #simon farnaby #charlotte ritchie #katy wix #kiell smith bynoe #lolly adefope #them there

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shou-jpeg · 7 months

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-Back on the Beat-

Part 4. 06

One year later

November 19th, 9:50pm

Kim hits a high note and the crowd goes wild.

He’s sweaty and high on adrenaline, approaching the end of his largest show yet.

It’s only a few hundred people, but it’s also a sold out show, and Kim still feels a little overwhelmed with that knowledge.

Porchay is in the crowd.

He had walked into their apartment five weeks ago and announced to Kim that he was going to celebrate the end of his first year of university by devoting himself wholly to being WiK’s #1 fan; a job he then applied himself to with as much, if not more gusto than he applied himself to studying medicine.

He looks ridiculous right now, dressed head to toe in unofficial, homemade WiK merch. He’s also holding a handmade sign above his head and Kim has to stop himself from smiling like an idiot every time he looks over at him so his fans don’t start rumours.

They'd agreed to keep their relationship on the down-low, for now. Only while Kim builds his audience, since being single sells.

He holds Chay’s gaze throughout the entirety of the song they wrote together and the people around Chay are definitely noticing. Kim isn’t doing a very good job at being subtle, he thinks.

Oh well.

He’s exhausted, but he raises his arms over his head and makes a heart with his fingers to thank his audience as he closes the set. The crowd goes wild once more and Chay is giggling into his hand over something.

He’s so cute.

He’s probably laughing at Kim though, Kim thinks warily.

~~~

A few days later, Chay announces that a photo of Kim from his concert is going viral on twitter and is doing wonders to boost his popularity both nationally and internationally. Something about people thinking he’s cute?

Kim considers how much he can press and the wary way the bodyguards back at the compound look at him when he walks past.

He’s definitely not cute.

Porchay won’t let him see his phone though, and he can't be bothered to check himself.

Whatever. So long as it’s getting him good reviews.

May 23rd, 6:05pm - a few months earlier

“I think Jimbo likes you more than me now.”

Porchay scoffs. “That’s just because I’m the one who feeds him most of the time. You’re always out these days, being all popular and in demand. What will we do when you become proper famous?”

“You don’t like having a popular boyfriend?” Kim pouts, turning to look at Porchay from where he lies on the bed, watching him play with their cat. Porchay only moved in last week, yet he’s taken on being a cat parent like nothing else. Kim has barely even cleaned the litter this past week. It’s been a weird disruption to his daily routine, but it has given him a lot less to worry about with his increasingly erratic schedule.

He released the song they wrote together last month and it hit the national top 10. He’s had three different studios reach out, wanting to sign him.

Kim tries not to think about it too much; it’s too overwhelming, how good he feels about it. The bars he usually performs in are starting to become too small for the crowd that he draws.

He should probably hire a manager.

Porchay looks up at him. “P’Kim as your biggest fan, I could not be more thrilled to be dating my idol. It’s like I’m living inside of a fanfiction.”

Kim hums, hesitant.

“Does that mean we get to live happily ever after?”

It’s way too soon, they’ve only been together six months. Kim was ready to spend his life with Chay from the moment Chay unblocked him, but he’s pretty sure there are rules around these things.

Kim isn’t good at this. Porchay told him so himself… though he was smiling at him fondly when he did.

He’s smiling that same smile at him again now.

“Yeah,” Chay says, soft. “We get to live happily ever after, p’Kim.”

February 10th, 9:28am

“I want to study medicine.”

Porsche looks at him with almost comical surprise, and Porchay tries not to laugh at his expression.

They’re out at their new weekly brunch date together, and Chay has been waiting for the right moment to bring this topic up. He’s spent a lot of time over the past few months, both on his own and with Kim’s help, figuring out what he wants to do with his future. He’s feeling pretty confident in his choice, but he hasn’t even begun looking at universities yet and enrollments are coming up soon.

“I’m not sure what field I want to specialise in yet, but I’ve thought a lot about it and medicine feels like the right direction for me. I should have at least a year of classes before I have to choose my field - I want to feel it out a little and see what feels right for me. I was hoping you could help me look at university courses?”

Porsche puts his fork down and settles back, serious but obviously trying to hold back his glee. “Of course, Chay. We can get you into any university you want.”

“No!” Chay interrupts him, “I want to get in on my own merit. I only want help finding a good course… please…”

Porsche smiles at him, big and wide and happy. “You can do it! Come around here, let’s start now!”

Chay gets up and moves around to join Porsche on his side of the table, bringing his phone with him.

“Okay, so I’ve already been looking at a couple courses. Tell me what you think, hia…”

February 6th, 11:39pm

“What about some sort of doctor?”

Porchay looks up at Kim.

They’ve been going through lists upon lists of career ideas and quizzes and self help guides. It’s been nearly four hours and Porchay really shouldn’t have been as surprised as he was with the seriousness and intensity at which Kim approached the task.

Kim loves solving cases and sorting through things. It’s something Porchay discovered recently, and even though the topics themselves sometimes aren’t so cute, the way Kim gets when he has something to solve in front of him definitely is.

He reaches over to smooth the little furrow between Kim's brows. “What kind of doctor?”

“I don’t know. You said before that you wanted to do something to help people, but didn’t put your own self at risk.” He's right, but it’s also a little left field. All the results from Porchay’s quizzes have pointed him in the direction of something creative, and they haven’t done much research outside of creative careers yet.

Doctor.

Porchay thinks about Porsche and his new, scary job. He thinks about Kim and his tendency to push himself too hard.

He thinks about Khun, and Kinn and all the bodyguards.

Doctor.

Yeah. Something about that feels right.

January 26th, 10:45am

It’s their two month anniversary and Porchay is nearly jumping on his heels as he waits in the lobby of Kim's building. Kim approaches slowly, trying to look cool and not at all as nervous as he feels inside.

Chay has been secretive about today, only telling Kim to keep his schedule completely clear. He's been distracted every time they've seen each other over the past couple of weeks abd Kim has had to put a surprising amount of effort into not trying to suss out what Chay has been planning for them.

An effort that proved even more challenging when Khun's crytic texts began rolling in even couple of days.

Of course it turns out Khun was on the money with everything. As usual.

“You never use it, so I stole it back the other week and made you this.”

November 28th, 10:35am

“I’m a little nervous.” Chay is sitting across from him, boba tea in hand and a light flush to his cheeks.

They’re at their usual boba tea spot, but it’s also their first date.

Kim is feeling the same.

“Mmmm.”

Chay laughs at him lightly. “P’Kim! Are you nervous too? You’ve hardly said anything since we got here.”

Kim takes a moment to consider, looking up from his tea at Chay’s slowly growing smile.

“...mmmm.” Chay laughs loudly enough that a few people around them turn in their direction. Kim smiles.

Success.

THE END

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#kimchay #kinnporsche #kim theerapanyakul #porchay pachara #porchay kittisawasd #i want you bach au #i want you bach au part 4 #this epilogue/end thing has been giving me such a hard time #mostly because im sad it's over ):#thank you for reading!#I hope you enjoyed it!#very likely: more to come (but not story. just pieces)

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valaruakars · 1 year

Text

Let's Get Physical (Part 7)

Viktor/F!Reader || 6.3k || Modern!AU + Gym!AU || SFW

Bitches hate you for your overzealous approach to supporting your friends and deeply anxious behavior. Viktor is not bitches.

A/N: Omg. We're here. We're back on our bullshit. Thank you to everyone who beta'd and/or provided me free therapy about this for that past um... seven months. Oops. Thank you to everyone who reached out over the (unintentional) hiatus with encouraging comments and asks. I hope you'll understand why I took so long to handle this with care and unpack some of my own issues. Very cathartic. Would recommend.

Part 1 → Part 2 → Part 3 → Part 4 → Part 5 → Part 5.2 (nsfw) → Part 6 → Part 7 (Ao3 Link)

Before you know it, two weeks and a day have passed. They make no palpable difference.

Except maybe in your quadriceps.

The same weights you’ve been using feel almost effortless, too easy. You don’t fatigue as quickly into heavy breathing and the urge to cheat yourself a rep or two—not lunging with the dumbbell gripped at one of its wide ends, not squatting while it’s clutched close to your chest. It’s suddenly not enough.

Nobody’s around to see it, but progress is progress. Turns out, you’ve finally graduated to heavier weights on this lonely leg day you’ve committed to.

That’s a bit of a misnomer, though. The day is mostly past you now. It’s evening—crisp and wispy, sky like striated fire outside the garage—and as the sun sets, you’re reminded of the late start you’re up against. All because you forgot something.

A good attitude is optional. A scrunchie you can live without. But your shoes? Leave them forgettably kicked off in two different directions on your bedroom floor and you’re fucked. It’s a small miracle you’re here, dragging around weight plates, setting up a barbell. There was a very real danger of tripping and falling into bed—totally by accident, never to get up again—when you drove home and stomped upstairs to grab them.

But whether or not he knows it, likely the latter, Viktor keeps you accountable when no one else can. It’s because the only running you truly love is the risk of seeing him, which still requires proper footwear. And for you to leave the house.

Though by the time you whipped into the driveway and thrust the gear shift into park, it’s empty. He’d left already; you didn’t get to see him off on his reluctant shuffle through the garage. But lucky you—he tends to come straight home after physical therapy. Call it friendly concern that you’re paying attention.

It’s probably an odd way to think about a friend. You need to work on that.

Your phone vibrates dully on the padded bench beside you. Nearly knocking your water over in the process, you grab it to find a text from Jayce—the usual culprit. You slide it open, accidentally brushing the top of the screen with shaky fingers. It catapults you to the beginning of your most recent messages before you can read the new one.

Mon, Oct 10

[Jayce Talis, 5:56am]: Did you leave the back door unlocked last night? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: And the pool lights on? [Jayce Talis, 5:57am]: Was Viktor in the pool?

[7:32am]: Holy shit. Good morning. [7:33am]: No, no, and why do you think I know these things??

[Jayce Talis, 7:45am]: Sorry, it’s all good. He’s alive.

[7:46am]: ???????

[Jayce Talis, 7:49am]: You guys didn’t hang out after I left?

[7:57am]: Idk if you would consider it that. [8:02am]: But has anyone invited him to cards on Saturday??

[Jayce Talis, 8:17am]: He already said no. [Jayce Talis, 8:18am]: Although… [Jayce Talis, 8:19am]: You could try telling him it’s strip poker. Haha :)

[8:20am]: Blocked. Reported. Banned. NOT DOING THAT.

[Jayce Talis, 8:21am]: No wait! I was kidding. He’s not a creep :(

Tue, Oct 11

[Jayce Talis, 3:38pm]: Wait did you actually block me?

[3:50pm]: Yes.

Sun, Oct 16

[Tayce Jalis, 8:00am]: Can I have my t-shirt back today?

[8:31am]: Oh the really old anime one? I left it with some stuff to be washed, ask Viktor. [8:32am]: Maybe the dryer did you a favor and ate it.

[Tayce Jalis, 8:34am]: Hey! Naruto is timeless.

Today

Tayce Jalis unsent a message

Not fast enough to scroll back down, caught revisiting those unremarkable little messages, and now you’ll never know what Jayce’s butt managed to text you this time. Oh well. Keep your secrets.

You toss your phone down behind you with a leathery slap. Back to working on the whole stop pining after Viktor thing.

Right, and your legs.

The barbell bites into your hips as you roll it into your lap and adjust it, the bench presses into your shoulder blades. It’s heavier and harder to manage, but you do, driving down into your heels to get your ass off the ground, hefting yourself into a nice, solid bridge. From there it’s as easy as dipping your hips, which isn’t quite easy at all. No, it’s brutal.

It burns from your core down to your thighs; has you clenching your jaw, gritting your teeth with the strain. Even your biceps are active, lifting some of the steel-hard pressure off your hip bones.

You’re so zoned in—no thoughts, head empty except for the number six over and over until it’s seven—that you only hear the hiss of your breath in and out, the hammering rush of blood behind your ears. You don’t hear Viktor come home.

Not until he’s standing above you.

He had the heinous metal on metal sound in his old beige car fixed—that grinding, grating death knell in its engine. One of several potentially life threatening reasons the check engine light was always on—maybe still is. And though you much prefer him living, it’s harder to hear him coming over the steady music without paying attention.

Bad timing for Miss Carly Rae Jepsen on your Upbeat Workout Jams playlist, considering you do really, really, really like him. Him and how he stands at the end of the bench, staring down; how he fixes you with that sliver thin smile, a manila folder tucked under the arm of his long cardigan.

You seize with embarrassment, frozen on the upswing of your hips. “Hi,” whispers out on the end of an exhale, caught ragged in your throat.

You can’t do pelvic thrusts in front of him.

You just can’t.

It’s bad enough that you’re sweaty in every skin to skin crevice and certainly flushed, t-shirt sticky and legs trembling as they hold your awkward position, but then there’s him.

He wears that same look much better. On him, it’s healthy color across the cut lines of his cheeks; it’s still-damp curls at the nape of his neck and the jump of his lean throat when he swallows, dry when he must’ve forgotten a water bottle again. It’s suggestive. It’s hot.

And it’s the endorphins that make you feel that way, surely, more than any affinity for men in gray sweatpants that are far more revealing than they must realize.

You clear your throat, finding your own parched voice. “Watch your feet,” you warn, on the side of caution, dropping butt and barbell to the ground with a metallic thud. You let your head drop back against the bench pad, staring up at him with the dazed satisfaction of calling it quits. Only for the moment, of course, as you blindly feel around for your phone to turn the music down.

And good fucking god is what you see unholy. Viktor shifts his weight before you can look away, and the ache in your core redoubles—different, deeper than any lactic acid buildup. Did his pants shrink in the wash or is it really that m—?

Nope! Absolutely not!

You can tread no further with that thought because, really, there’s no such thing as having a platonic appreciation for your friend’s dick. Not when the friend is Viktor.

“You’re not finished yet?” he asks. Innocent. Oblivious to your mental struggle out of the gutter.

Typically you would be by now. Equipment racked, the citrus scent of disinfectant on your hands, picking at innocuous conversation while you walk inside together. How was your day? Did you hear they’re demolishing the old physics building? There’s a guest lecture next month that might interest you.

“About another thirty minutes,” you breathe, “and then I’ll be done. I’m running behind.”

“Ah, interesting. That looks to me more like sitting,” he says, which is terrible enough to earn an eye roll, and snarky enough that your lips wobble and break into an insurmountable smile.

“It’s called resting, thanks. This would go faster if you stopped distracting me,” you huff, muscles loose, lips looser.

The little spark of mirth in his eyes, so bright and awake, makes your stomach clench vice tight. “Mm. There’s no rush,” he shrugs, “but… Rio might enjoy a visit.”

Your smile is skeptical as he pulls the file folder from beneath his arm. “Oh really?” It widens as he starts to fan you from above—chilly in the garage, but you’re still sweating buckets. It’s futile, although he’s sweet to try and help.

He nods, gravely serious, “She told me herself.”

You crane your neck unconsciously to let it cool the sweat that lingers there, sighing as little wisps of loose hair billow feather light and tickle your feverish skin.

He isn’t holding it right, though. His grip is too loose on the edge.

At once, a flurry of white comes raining down on you. It’s instinct that your eyes clamp shut against the onslaught.

“No, no, no,” he hisses as if begging could stop gravity.

It doesn’t, of course.

His papers flutter and scrape across the floor. An unlucky one sticks to the sweat on your scrunched up cheek. He’s quick to dip forward and snatch it back first, the easiest to reach.

You blink off the surprise and snicker, “Oh, how the tables have turned. Who’s the clumsy one now?” Rolling the barbell away over your outstretched legs, there’s nothing in its path to be crumpled beneath the weight.

But Viktor doesn’t answer with a crooked smile or a quiet laugh, no dry wit to be found. His dark, heavy brows furrow and he insists, “No, just—just let me,” while he crouches to the ground, distributing his weight between his cane and the end of the bench.

“It’s okay,” you insist, reaching to gather what’s scattered between you, “I’ve got it. No big deal.”

“To you,” he mutters, snatching two away before you can turn them over. Makes him lose balance. He narrowly catches himself before he can veer face first into your spandex lap,, blunt, bony fingers digging into your thigh at the hem of those skin tight biker shorts. It crushes the papers all the same.

“Top secret nuclear codes?” you tease, drowning his muttered apologies. It sounds stupid and obvious that you’re trying to distract from the fumbling tension when his hand stays put for moments too long. Yours, too, on his shoulder to brace him.

Just until he’s able to sit himself solidly on the ground beside you.

He purses his lips, “My work is with reactor cores, not weapons.”

It’s only been a week since you got an impromptu lecture about nuclear fusion in the kitchen. It’s not like you’d forget so quickly. “I know—”

Impatient, Viktor reaches over your lap, too close for comfort. Whatever you were about to say is struck from your train of thought.

His cardigan drags soft and pilled with wear across your beat up knees. Beneath it, his sweat smells sharp and strangely appealing. It’s fascinating, that draw to something so base and human. It’s unsettling, the way your heart responds like it beats between your legs.

You follow his hand, unabashedly curious, and watch him pick up another overturned paper. Below it, the next sheet is stuck face up to the floor with what you cringe to assume is a drop of your sweat, bleeding the ink of a diagram. Multiple diagrams, actually.

Of stretches.

The familiarity sparks excitement.

By the time he peels up the corner of the page with his fingernail, you’re sure of what you’re looking at. It’s common ground, of a sort; the excuse to end all excuses.

“These are from the physical therapist?”

He sighs, sitting back in an awkward fold of spindly legs. Looks wearier, now, with his shoulders collapsed like the exhaustion of going has finally caught up. “Yes,” he admits, because you’re smart and he’s smart, and any other answer would be an obvious lie.

You’re doing it again—digging your fingers into a soft spot that feels as ripe as it does intrusive. We do not talk about it much, he once said, but it’s hard to stop once you’ve started. You just have to know: “Do you do them?”

His eyes cut down to the papers in his hands. “When time permits.”

“How often does it permit?”

“Occasionally,” says Viktor, which might mean somewhere between rarely and never.

Early mornings, late nights; classes to teach, lab hours to log, projects, papers, and a dissertation that looks done to you, but he laughs bitterly when you suggest it. Still has to find time to eat and shower and sleep, but his eyes are always restless purple and there are wrappers from meal replacement bars scattered around the house, too high calorie for Jayce to be the culprit.

You wonder what will happen when it all catches up with him. Worse, you worry.

Beseechingly, you reach out. Your grip is gentle as you take hold of the printouts at their edge. “Can I see?” you ask, not grabbing or pulling or taking, just there and ready.

His lips form a tight, considering line. “If that is the last of your questions,” he slowly replies. Prickly, but relenting, he lets go before you can ever agree.

So you don’t.

His eyes are on you as you flip through the stack—you can feel it as a strange, shy tension like bated breath, watching and waiting.

Page by page, it’s nothing you haven’t seen before. Some you’ve even done yourself, but with simple modifications. Hell, bridges are just hip thrusts performed flat on the floor, without the weight. Nothing he’d need help with, which is ideal when you’re not qualified to do anything but make space for him; to emphasize that he’s welcome and wanted, maybe offer up a sweaty-palmed high five if you’re feeling spunky.

You peel your legs off the floor and resituate, tucking them as your turn to face him, direct in every sense. “You could come do these with us on Sunday mornings after we run, before you get started on work. It would make Jayce happy, and Vi has a really funny way of being encouraging—”

He pulls a face—a nose scrunched up, barely concealed, abso-fucking-loutely not sort of scowl.

“Or…” you’re quick to try, “Just with me, when I’m here. It’ll take, what—fifteen? Twenty minutes?”

“It’s a poor use of time,” he says. It’s as avoidant as it is clumsy, with a dismissive edge still dull enough to bruise.

And that’s because: “You stop and talk to me for longer than that sometimes,” you remind him flatly.

He sighs sharply, toying absently with the cane laid across his lap. “That is different.” He says it like it’s obvious; like it’s frustrating that you don’t know how obvious it is.

“Well, what if we could do both at the same time?” you propose. After all, he’s got such a hard-on for efficiency, if that’s what’s stopping him. “I know you’re a good multitasker…”

His jaw works, trapping his thoughts behind imperfect teeth.

“And we probably keep this floor cleaner than the carpet…” you prod, because the silence of a man who can and has talked your ear off is disquieting; because you don’t always know when to stop; because this feels like a negotiation.

“My bedroom suits my purposes just fine,” he says, eventually.

But you never said which carpet. The thought of him sequestered in there, even for this, is fucking depressing. Arguably disgusting when you’ve walked across that rug and felt the grit of dirt, crumbs, and debris that the pattern hides through your socks. And worse: It’s a choice, so why is he making it?

Abruptly, the rubber tipped end of his cane meets like against the rubber tiled floor. He pulls himself up on it with difficulty you can’t ignore, but shakes his head when you move to help. The only thing you do is hand him up the battered stack of papers, tucked back into the folder from which they came, when he stands up fully. You won’t hold them hostage, even if part of you wants to. It wouldn’t keep him from leaving, his back to you such a familiar sight.

You just want to understand, though, if nothing else. To crack him like a cipher.

Softer, you try: “I wouldn’t judge you.” It’s the last, desperate little thing you can think of. They’re like magic words to you.

But the problem is: They don’t work on everyone.

To his credit, his tone isn’t harsh. It’s indifferent, like stating a sterile fact. “This has nothing to do with you,” he says. “I haven’t skipped an appointment recently, and that should be enough.”

Indigence might suit you in those moments you grow a seedling backbone, but it doesn’t suit this. You can’t help it though. His frustration has bled into you, caught like kindling. “Is it?”

“You and I do not share the same sense of priorities,” he replies, but it’s not an answer. Not really.

The urge to turn him upside down and shake him until something definitive comes out is overwhelming—so straightforward until he just… isn’t. “If you’re not going to say yes or no, can’t you just lie and say you’ll think about it?”

He looks you over inscrutably, sitting there in his shadow. “Why would you assume it’s a lie?”

“Oh, I don’t know…” you huff. But you do. Experience and a certain friend who actually bothers to text you back have given you the answer. “Jayce says you’re stubborn and I’m starting to think he’s right.”

Viktor nods conclusively, but doesn’t care to share what’s going through his head. As evasive as ever when he cares to be, just murmurs,“You should finish this.”

And then, for a reason that is simply beyond you, says: “I will see you later.”

But for once, you’re not sure if you want to.

—

You rap your knuckles against his open door.

Seriously—who were you kidding, thinking for even a second that you wouldn’t be here, doing this?

Yes, it’s well after eight now and you’re pitifully hungry, but it wouldn’t feel right to leave without saying anything. In writing a note or sending a text, you’d simply be spelling out, ‘I’m a coward!’ in far more words. It’s best, you decide, to be polite and mature and just say goodnight despite the awkward taste in your mouth that is very reminiscent of your own foot.

And you get to say it to his back, which should be easy.

But then there’s Rio on his desk like a pissed off paperweight, swimming the foggy side of her holding tank—sorry, prison—without any hope of escape. They’re the angriest, most pathetic wiggles you’ve ever seen. Habitual, given how tongue-smudged and abraded the plastic has become.

“You see?” he says, gesturing to the sound of her scrabbling in his bright rubber kitchen gloves. “It’s just as I said.”

“I think it’s more about you ignoring her.” Rio pauses, slipping down the side. Her little face conveys it perfectly: “Father is cruel? Father is… unyielding? Father hates Rio?”

“No, no… Although, eh, yes, I suppose she does sound like that…” he muses, nodding. “I think she must wonder those things about you, actually.”

Your shoulder hits the door frame, shrugging against it where you lean. “I probably don’t matter much to her.”

There’s a heavy pause, enough for him to breathe in and hold it. Breathe out, softly: “You do.”

And suddenly, you can’t find it in you to leave. Did you ever truly have the will?

The truth is there on your feet—those perpetually mismatched socks. You’d hoped for this, secretly, else you wouldn’t have left your shoes off at the door.

It’s warm when you walk in. A space heater that’s been running too long glows electric orange on the floor near his desk. Makes the smell of churned earth and vinegar cleaner that much stronger. And while the clutter is clearly endemic, it seems the fuzzy, stagnant mugs are not. They’re all gone from his desk and the bedside table, replaced by sticky notes, pill bottles, and an avalanche of papers.

You come up and give Rio’s tiny, clawed foot a high-five through the plastic. “Has she been doing this all night?” you ask, looking over.

Knee on the desk chair for leverage, he’s elbows deep in her tank, rooting those waxen, fake plants back into the substrate with unnatural posture. It’s that stiffness you’ve always noticed—ramrod straight from the mid-spine up. It’s easier to see in profile, in a thin shirt that clings to his back, that there’s nothing visibly forcing it.

“On and off. She tires quickly now,” he says, arranging a broad-leafed plant near her favorite rocky shelter—scrubbed clean, still damp. “When she was younger, it would go on much longer while I did this.”

“How old is she exactly?”

His sigh is almost lost beneath the hum of the space heater. He answers, “Fifteen,” in the soft, subdued way of someone who hates to be reminded.

There’s many things you’re too afraid to ask him. Such hits as: Why did you dig yourself a hole this deep, does Jayce text everyone about you, and would I even stand a chance if things were different? But right now, most of all, it’s how long do geckos live?

You don’t think you’re going to like the answer.

Viktor clears his throat. “She’s very, eh… spritely for her age,” he adds, fondly this time.

You hum a soft sound in agreement, too shaky through the legs to squat down to eye level with her. When you bend your knees to try, you realize you’ll probably never get up again.

He glances over as you straighten up. “You can sit,” he offers without really saying where. It’s obvious, though. The only option—his rumpled bed, never made, with all its mismatched pillows. One has definitely been stolen from the couch, three are yellowed and missing pillowcases which is… ew.

But you’re not going to refuse. You’d like to hold Rio, after all.

You swallow hesitation and tuck yourself onto the end of his mattress, balancing on the firm edge. At least the intrusive thoughts are fleeting. Only briefly do you wonder what he thinks about at night. What he does. What he wants for.

Not you. That’s for sure.

Your elbows lock out where you grip the ridged edge of the bed. The weight of things gone unsaid, of things left unresolved bears down; it prickles warm at the back of your neck and you can’t stand the waiting silence.

“So…” you drawl, letting your voice fill the void.

“Hm?”

“Are you going to hand her to me now, or…?”

“Ah, no, I’m finished,” he says over his shoulder. “She needs to go back in the tank.”

“Then why am I sitting here?”

“Because I have something to ask you.”

Straightforward. Right. You forgot just how terrifying that can be.

“That sounds just as bad as saying we need to talk,” you mutter, heart twisting into a suffocating, arterial knot.

“We do, though,” he says, too literal, too preoccupied with placing Rio back in her clean terrarium to notice your soul leave your body—preemptively abandoning ship.

But he’s merciful, at least. He doesn’t keep you in suspense.

“I just want to understand at what point you developed such a vested interest in, eh… fixing me, I suppose,” he asks, like wondering what the weather will be tomorrow or what the dining hall might serve for lunch. Conversationally. “Did Jayce put you up to this?”

Your eyes narrow in thought. “No…?” you reply. It comes out too shifty as you toy with the serged edge of his blanket. Jayce put you up to something alright, though that hardly matters anymore. But, in a way, does this count? Would Viktor think that this counts?

“A sure answer, please.”

Fuck.

“It’s just that I would lump that in as part of being friends with you—except I’d call it, y’know, caring?” You draw your leg up onto the bed, closer, tucking your foot beneath your thigh. “That’s all I’m trying to do.”

Viktor flips the grate down with a finality that lights your nerves like a beacon to flee. “So he asked you to do what, exactly?”

“Nothing,” you squirm.

He pivots, solidly on two feet. Doesn’t sit down in the desk chair quite yet. “It wouldn’t be the first time for this behavior, and, with you, I’m sure it was not the last. Do you know that he once provided Caitlyn with a written list of topics not to bring up to me?”

You shrug, “He’s a good friend...”

Now you’re staring down the barrel of being just the opposite—of throwing Jayce under the bus.

“What did he ask?” Viktor presses.

And you break. Made brittle by your desire to put him first, of course you do.

“All he wanted was for me to give you a chance, which was pretty reasonable after you called me annoying—” that word comes out with a bite to it you didn’t intend; sensitive, sore, “—but I never told him about that. He’s just… worried about you in his own way, I guess.”

Viktor quietly raises an eyebrow, and that’s all it takes to snap you into fours next. It practically falls out of your mouth: “He keeps texting me to make sure you’re still alive. Sometimes I think he’s joking, but then one time he told me he had a nightmare that you drowned in the pool, so part of me actually thinks he’s being serious.”

“He is.”

“Wait, really—?”

“Is that why you come so often now?”

Wednesday. Friday. Sunday. Monday too, sometimes, if the day before hasn’t left you sufficiently sore enough. The pain means progress. It must.

“Well, no,” you blink, “that’s mainly because I have a lot to work on.”

“Do you?”

You gesture to yourself. All of you. The way your stomach folds and rolls and fucking exists unappealingly beneath your sweatshirt when you slouch—it could be better. The way your thighs pancake out, smushed against the bed—not getting better, but discipline and toning might shape them into something near desirable. “Yeah, obviously.”

He treads lightly. “I… would not say it’s obvious.” But his eyes are cast down as he carefully removes his rubber gloves and discards them in a bucket of cleaning supplies. He’s not rude enough to agree, but you worry, in all those moments you can feel him looking at you, that he’s thinking it. After all, he’s willowy, sharp and elegant in a way you’ll never be. Soft and fleshy. Never quite right.

“And that’s because you’re, what, zero percent body fat?” you sigh, gesturing to him incredulously. “I’m not implying that’s healthy or ideal—honestly, I’d share some if I could—but…” Your hands curl to your chest, clasped tightly in one another when there is no one else to hold them through the indignity of admitting, “I’m the one that needs fixing. Not you.”

He was right, though, when he said it earlier. This isn’t about you. “Where did you come up with that, anyways?” you ask.

The lines on his face, those deep, concerned creases between his brows, spell out what the fuck. You don’t understand what’s so hard about that question—what he can’t figure out, why the confusion lingers in his eyes. “This… This is the second time you’ve offered to help me.”

“I was trying to be supportive. Encouraging, even—that’s also a good word for it.”

“It all feels the same,” he tells you, taking his turn to sigh. “Which is to say patronizing, sometimes.”

And that was not what you intended. “I’m sorry, I’m not trying to be a saint or anything. That’s not entirely it.” You fight the turtle-like urge to retract into your sweatshirt, which would arguably be more stupidly embarrassing than admitting: “I was just looking for… common ground, I guess. Ways to hang out without dragging you out with us.”

“Are we not doing that right now?”

“Sure, but I feel bad about it.” There’s the silvery peek of his computer, buried on the desk. “I’m keeping you from more important things.”

“You’re not,” he says—no, placates, but the disbelieving press of your lips makes him reconsider. “Well, eh, perhaps, but I can manage. I’ve dealt with Heimerdinger’s high expectations and, mm, sadistic deadlines for years. The weekends work well to make up for lost time, and there is all night after this too.”

“You should sleep.”

“I can’t. Not well.”

You give a creaky little bounce—not much of one, no spring to it—to demonstrate: “Maybe because your mattress feels about as hard as sleeping on the ground.”

“One problem of many, yes.”

You count yourself among them, in one way or another. You’ve been leaking these awful insecurities all night.

Is it any wonder that another slips?

“It’s just—the last thing I want is to bother you. Everyone, really, but especially you.”

“Is that because of me?” he asks quietly. “Because of what I said?”

Oh, you’ve carried this around since day one. Let it color his tone and his words and his actions. Let it haunt you trying to reach for others, the freshest nick in a line of scars that was never stitched properly. That’s what you get for letting all those little anxieties run wild with knives in their hands. That’s what you get for forgiving him before he ever asked for it, as if that would make things easier. For you. For him. For everyone.

It hasn’t.

Viktor crosses the three steps between you on bare, nobby feet. His weight dips the bed beside you ever slightly, like he’s hardly there. But he is, by the way his leg bumps your knee, and you scoot over to give him space.

He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, grasping at some distant thread. They’re as awkward as he is in saying, “I can’t recall what I meant at the time, but it… it wasn’t that. It would’ve been fine if you thought less of me for it, but not of yourself.”

You shake your head. “It’s—don’t worry, it’s not all you,” you say, softening his guilt, perhaps at your own expense. “I have a lot of anxiety, and that’s a long running thing, okay? It’s mostly… me.”

“That’s… good to know. About you, I mean. Not that it’s—it’s good. Just, eh, helpful to know.”

“I guess that’s generally the benefit of being upfront about things,” you shrug as if it comes easy.

“I would prefer that, I think.”

It doesn’t, but the light, fizzy feeling of relief makes you want to try, if only to have more of it. Maybe more of his shy little smiles too. This time with more intention, and less leaky word vomit.

“Okay…” You shift to face him fully, mirroring his posture in leaning back on your hand for support. “Then in no uncertain terms, I want you to know that I’m not trying to fix you.” Been there, done that, got the shitty dunce hat. People don’t change unless they want to. You know that. “I just wish you were kinder to yourself, but that’s on you. So if you ever decide you want better, whatever that means, I’ll be there. Only if you want me to and only on your own terms—no physical activity required.”

“I might want to consider it, you know…” His voice lowers, softer and softer with hesitation, to the point that you find yourself leaning in. Noticing, as he seems to have noticed, that your hands are a hair’s breadth apart. “As a future prospect, if anything. But you have to understand, I don’t enjoy being watched.”

“I get that.”

“Mm, no, I imagine people stare at you for very different reasons,” he mutters. “Not pity. Envy, perhaps.”

“I promise, most people don’t want these thunder thighs,” you huff, resisting the urge to slap them like a used car salesman. These babies can fit so much soul-crushing insecurity, which is a terrible pitch, really. The occasional bouts of self-loathing are not your strongest selling point.

He lets out the strangest bark of a laugh, so dry it’s almost ugly, as if he can read your mind.

But you didn’t mean to derail. “Sorry, continue.”

“Right…” Viktor draws in a long breath, quiet for a moment before he figures out how to word it. “It’s as simple as that I would rather go unseen. It’s very, ah, personal. And painful, sometimes.”

You think of the age old adage: If it hurts, don’t do it. “Um, not a doctor, but I don’t think it’s supposed to be?”

“So they say,” he nods pensively, eyes ticking over some distant thought, maybe a memory. “It wasn’t like this before. The discomfort wasn’t… serious. That’s how I was able to ignore it for so long.”

“Ignore what?”

Not the brutal slam of the garage door across the house, for one thing. The pictures on the wall must be hanging crooked now.

Viktor sits straighter—if that’s even possible—and calls out: “Jayce?”

Footsteps—softer, distant.

His eyes snap back to yours. “It’s been a week since he’s come home,” he tells you in a quick whisper. “Mm, well, in the evening. He’s here in the morning—”

“To work out at the ass crack of dawn? I know.”

“You were invited?”

“He knows better than to think I’ll get up that early. I saw on his Instagram.”

Footsteps—louder now.

Viktor nods sagely. “Ah, yes, the stories. By my count, he has written, eh, ‘rise and grind’ forty three times since the first of the year.”

“That’s…” Your math isn’t great but, “More than once a week,” you whisper back, on the cusp of giggles as Viktor nods. And then, it hits you. “Wait—”

But the footsteps have stopped.

And instead, there’s Jayce’s stoop-shouldered figure braced in the doorway. He sniffles loudly.

He’s still dressed in the khakis and blue button down he wears to work—rumpled, sleeve cuffs smeared darker. His eyes have that red, raw, burning swell of someone who's tried very hard not to cry, and failed spectacularly.

Viktor finds the words you’re looking for with immediate precision. “Has something happened?” he asks, voice tight, hand tighter on your shoulder as he leans around you to look his roommate over. “Jayce?”

They spend a lot of time apart. Sometimes it’s easy to forget that they’re best friends too.

He swipes at his nose as it runs into the raw little divot above his lip. Beyond sadness, there’s a guilty cast to his dark, hazel eyes, turned down to the floorboards, but you can’t find your voice to tell him that this isn’t what it looks like.

“Are you… injured?” Viktor tries again.

Jayce shakes his head. No.

“Is your mother alright?”

“She’s fine,” he rasps. “Um… Can I just—?” he asks, gesturing weakly to the two of you.

Which you think must translate to: “You want to come sit?”

“Yeah.”

Viktor’s of course comes without apprehension, without judgment. Only with the apparent surprise that he even needed to ask.

But Jayce, in several long legged strides, doesn’t come sit. No, he collapses face first onto the bed behind you, all broad, shaking shoulders and quiet sniffles seeping out from behind his arms. They hide his face and nothing else. Hands curling, clenching into his shirtsleeve, there’s the thick band of a tan line striped across his middle finger.

You turn yourself around, scooching closer, folding up cross-legged to face him.

You’ve never seen him like this—laid so low. A sweat stain blooms dark at the small of his back, up between his shoulder blades, but sweat is sweat and Jayce is Jayce. You reach out to rub his back despite it. “It’s alright…” you whisper. Feels like putting band-aids on a bleeding heart, but it’s all you have.

Soft cotton weave catches the peeling skin of old blisters as you soothe your hand in circles. His shirt leaches the vetiver smell of cologne, but somewhere beneath it, there’s an elegant, cloying perfume still lingers. It’s no secret where he spends most of his time these days.

You meet Viktor’s searching eyes and mouth: Mel.

He nods gravely as if to say he drew the same conclusion.

Say something—that’s your next silent suggestion, canting your head toward Jayce.

But instead, Jayce takes a deep, wet, shuddering breath and asks, muffled into the mattress, “Can… Can we go to Taco Bell?”

“Sure…” you murmur. He could’ve asked you to drive him two states over to bury a body and you would’ve agreed just as thoughtlessly. Anything he needs. “We’ll take you.”

He doesn’t move. Just sniffles at a prompting little scritch to the nape of his neck, where his hair fades out to shadowy, peach-flesh fuzz.

So you ask, “Do you want to go change, and then I can drive us?”

“Can I just have a minute? Please?”

“Why?” demands a perplexed Viktor, still soft spoken. Desperate for an answer that isn’t made of cobbled assumptions; blunt in its pursuit.

And worried. You can tell that he’s worried.

As if you’d been the one to ask, the personification of wet, doleful misery lifts his head and looks up at you. His face is a ruin of dark, clumpy lashes and tear-tracked skin. His lip wobbles, the pressure of withholding little sobs building, building, building. But speaking it aloud makes it real. Speaking it aloud breaks the levee.

“I think we just broke up,” he finally whispers.

And cries face-down for another hour after that.

#arcane #viktor #viktor arcane #viktor x reader #reader insert #arcane x reader #my writing #literally beating tumblr with a stick i've been formatting this for fOURTY FUCKING MINUTES #GOD.#negl crying like a little bitch from the relief of finally posting this #pour one out for heraldeez who has to listen to me #just like jayce fr fr

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