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p1psqueaks · 11 days ago

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LOVE AND DEEPSPACE — MAKING HIM THINK HE FORGOT YOUR DATE

a/n: loved this request, i had so much writing it

ZAYNE

You’re not proud of it.

Okay, maybe a little.

Zayne’s always been so composed — calm, cool, collected. The picture of perfect, responsible, annoyingly unflappable maturity. Which is exactly why you’re determined to throw him off his rhythm… just a little.

So at 10:00 AM sharp, you send him a message:

“Don’t forget our reservation at 7 tonight! Dress nice!”

You don’t elaborate. You don’t respond to his inevitable follow-up message. You just wait.

At 12:13 PM, you get your first bite.

Zayne: I’m sorry — did we have plans this evening?

You leave him on read. Cold-blooded.

At 1:46 PM:

Zayne: You said 'reservation.' Did I make it or did you? What kind of place is it? Casual? Formal? Should I cancel my meeting with the TAVR team?

You smile wickedly to yourself and text back:

You’ll figure it out. You always do <3

By 3:30 PM, Zayne’s gone through the five stages of Date Panic:

Denial: “No way I forgot. I never forget.”

Anger: (mild and internal) “Why didn’t she remind me?!”

Bargaining: “Maybe I can move things around... Call the florist...”

Depression: “I probably forgot something important. She’s being so sweet about it. She must be crushed.”

Acceptance: In full formalwear, researching romantic restaurants near Akso.

At 6:45 PM, he shows up at your door.

He’s in a dark suit. Not too formal, not too casual. Sleek. Effortlessly handsome. He’s holding a single rose like he’s walked out of a movie. His tie is the exact color of your eyes.

You almost feel bad.

“Hey,” you say sweetly, leaning on the doorframe. “Right on time.”

“…So I did forget, then?” His brow furrows slightly, and his voice is calm, but there’s a faint crease of concern between his eyes. “I’ve been going through my calendar for the past three years.”

Your face almost breaks into a grin, but you hold it together. Barely.

“Well,” you say, folding your arms. “Do you remember making a reservation?”

“…No.”

“Do you remember discussing it?”

He pauses. “I remember talking about wanting to try that new place near the observatory... but I don’t think we picked a date.”

You finally burst out laughing. “Zayne. We don’t have a reservation. I was messing with you!”

He blinks. Slowly. “You pranked me.”

You nod gleefully. “And it was so easy. You spiraled.”

He lets out a long, slow exhale and then —smiles. That warm, slow-building, almost incredulous smile that makes your heart stutter.

“I canceled a meeting with the TAVR team,” he says mildly.

Your eyes widen. “You what?”

“And rescheduled a conference with the medical board.”

“…Okay, I might’ve gone too far.”

He just laughs, stepping past you and handing you the rose. “Well, I’m already dressed. And technically, I do have reservations. I made them an hour ago just in case.”

Your jaw drops. “Zayne.”

“I take potential dates seriously,” he says, smug now.

You’re too flustered to argue. “I was supposed to win this prank!”

“You did.” He brushes his fingers along your cheek. “You made me believe I’d let you down, and that was the worst part.”

“…Okay, now I feel really bad.”

“Don’t.” He takes your hand. “Just come with me. And next time, I’m the one planning the prank.”

You squint at him suspiciously.

“…You don’t do pranks.”

“I didn’t,” he says, eyes glinting. “Until today.”

Oh no.

You’ve awakened something dangerous.

And you kind of love it.

XAVIER

You don’t usually mess with Xavier.

Mostly because he’s the kind of guy who triple-confirms plans, color-codes mission schedules, and somehow has time to save the galaxy and make perfect pancakes. He’s thoughtful, dependable, borderline scary-efficient.

So naturally, that makes him the perfect target for your newest prank.

At exactly 9:42 AM, you send him a message:

Hey! Can’t wait for our date tonight! You didn’t forget, right?

And then, as the ancient texts of chaos command: you go silent.

10:03 AM

You get your first reply.

Xavier: …Our what now?

Xavier: Hold on.

Xavier: Did we plan something? Did I miss a message? An alert? I’ve checked all my logs.

You stare at your screen, already shaking with laughter.

11:12 AM

You receive a second message. This one is voice. You hesitate for dramatic effect, then hit play.

“Okay, so. Hypothetically,” Xavier begins, and you can hear the fluster in his voice, “if someone were to forget a date — which, to be clear, I don’t make a habit of — but if they did… would it be… better to confess immediately, or to just start planning and pretend they remembered all along?”

There’s a pause.

“I’m asking for a friend.”

By lunchtime, the panic has set in.

He messages you a photo of three outfits on his bed with the caption:

Which one did I say I’d wear? I’m leaning toward blue because it’s our ‘lucky color,’ apparently??

You text back only one thing:

You remembered the color!

Which you absolutely made up just now.

6:45 PM

You’re sitting on your couch in your pajamas, holding a bowl of popcorn, when there’s a knock at your door.

You open it to find Xavier — dressed sharply in a navy blazer, holding a bouquet of slightly chaotic-looking flowers (which are probably from the emergency med-bay garden), and blinking at you with wide, uncertain eyes.

“…So I did forget?” he says softly.

You burst out laughing.

“Oh my god, Xavier — there is no date! I was messing with you!”

His face does a full system reboot: blank stare, blinking, cheeks slowly turning pink, eyes squinting in realization.

“…You pranked me?”

“You should’ve seen your messages,” you snort, stepping aside to let him in. “I’ve never seen you so panicked over something non-explosive.”

He walks in, carefully sets the flowers on your table, and then flops dramatically onto your couch. “I had two monitors open, cross-checking every conversation we’ve ever had in the past two months.”

You flop down beside him, giggling uncontrollably. “Did you really go with the blue because you thought it was our ‘lucky color’?”

“I didn’t know,” he mutters, tugging at his collar.

You grin, scooting closer. “Well, you do look good in blue. Even if it’s not canonically our lucky color.”

He gives you a long-suffering look. “You know I’m going to have to get revenge, right?”

“You’re welcome to try,” you say sweetly. “But I’m not the one who thought he forgot a whole romantic evening.”

He groans into a throw pillow, muffling something like “I checked my planner twice.”

You hand him the popcorn. He takes it with a grumble.

You lean into his shoulder. “To be fair, you were really cute when you were freaking out.”

“…Don’t encourage me.”

“You’re adorable.”

“…Stop.”

You smirk, then whisper, “Lucky color.”

Xavier groans again. And you’re already plotting the next one.

RAFAYEL

It starts with a simple message.

Don’t be late tonight! I’ve been looking forward to this date all week!

You hit send and wait.

You can almost hear Rafayel gasping across the city.

Three minutes later, your comms light up.

Rafayel: My love, my symphony, my light… I have, of course, not forgotten. How could I ever forget something so sacred?

Oh, he’s panicking.

You lean back and sip your tea, smug as a cat.

Rafayel: ...Quick question: what precisely did we plan for this eve of destiny again? Simply so I can relive the joy of it all anew, of course.

Rafayel: Also is there a dress code? Will there be interpretive dancing? Fireworks? Both??

You type slowly:

You’ll figure it out. I trust you <3

And then, naturally, you ghost him.

One hour later —

You receive a string of increasingly unhinged updates.

Rafayel: I am in front of my closet. It’s judging me. I’ve changed outfits four times. Do we feel like an embroidered vest is too much? Or not enough?

Rafayel: I just tried to bribe a restaurant hostess for a reservation I didn’t make. She said no. She was very mean.

Rafayel: There are exactly seventeen establishments that fit our "vibe"—yes, I’ve ranked them. No, I’m not okay.

Rafayel: I’m currently speed-walking through the city with a bouquet, a bottle of sparkling nectar, and no clue where I’m supposed to be. Do I look desperate? Be honest.

You almost drop your drink laughing.

7:05 PM

Your doorbell rings.

You open it to find Rafayel standing there in a velvet jacket, clutching the aforementioned bouquet, a half-melted chocolate sculpture of a heart, and a very large grin that’s about 80% panic and 20% pure drama.

“My love,” he says breathlessly, “forgive me —I’ve scoured every date-worthy destination in the district. Have I passed your test? Or am I moments away from tragic romantic ruin?”

You blink. “You... sprinted across town?”

“I jogged romantically,” he says, offended.

You double over laughing. “Raf, there is no date. I was pranking you.”

His smile freezes. “What.”

You straighten up, wheezing. “There was never a reservation. You didn’t forget anything. I just wanted to see how far you’d go.”

He places a hand on his heart like you’ve mortally wounded him. “You cruel, beautiful creature. You tricked me.”

“I texted you.”

“And I took you seriously! I panicked!”

You dissolve into fresh laughter as he dramatically flops onto your couch.

“I demand recompense,” he says, pointing at you. “You will now go on an actual date with me. Immediately.”

“I’m in pajamas.”

“Perfect. I shall match you.” He begins unbuttoning his vest. “Velvet is overrated.”

“You brought snacks?”

“I brought romance and chaos and a slightly sweaty bouquet. And I will not be leaving without at least one cuddle.”

You raise an eyebrow, sitting beside him. “So you’re saying the prank... worked?”

He sighs, tossing a chocolate heart into your lap. “I was humiliated and flustered and had a mild identity crisis.”

Then he smiles.

“Best fake date of my life.”

SYLUS

Just a reminder for our date tonight! Can’t wait to see what you’ve planned.

You send it at 9:00 AM sharp and sit back like a mastermind watching the first domino fall.

9:02 AM

Sylus: …Oh?

Oh yes.

You say nothing. Silence is power.

9:06 AM

Sylus: Of course I haven’t forgotten. I just… want to make sure I don’t spoil the surprise by saying too much.

You bite your lip, already grinning. Oh, he's bluffing.

10:14 AM

Sylus: Hypothetically, what sort of vibes were you expecting? Classic and romantic, or… spontaneous and thrilling? Asking for planning reasons. Or curiosity. Or both.

You send:

You always get it right ;)

2:39 PM

A message arrives. It’s just a photo.

A table. Two place settings. Candles. Mood lighting. Chocolate-covered strawberries. Suspiciously fancy folded napkins.

Sylus: Trial run. Thoughts?

You nearly drop your phone.

He’s actually preparing.

6:00 PM

You hear the knock on your door right on time. You open it, and there’s Sylus — leaning casually against the frame, bouquet in one hand, that ever-present smirk on his face.

He’s wearing a crisp shirt, blazer unbuttoned, hair slightly tousled in a way that’s definitely on purpose.

“Ready for our mystery date?” he asks smoothly.

You cross your arms, grinning. “Sylus… there is no date. I made the whole thing up.”

He raises an eyebrow. “So you’re saying… you sent me a fake message to make me think I forgot something?”

You nod. “Exactly.”

He tilts his head, thoughtful. “Interesting.”

“…You’re not mad?”

He steps forward, offering the flowers. “I suspected something was up the moment you left me on read. You never leave me on read.”

You blink. “Wait. So you knew?”

“I suspected.” His smirk turns triumphant. “But just in case I was wrong, I still made a backup plan. Which, by the way, includes reservations at a rooftop cafe, your favorite dessert, and a playlist labeled ‘Emergency Romance.’”

“You made a playlist?”

“Of course. You think I’d risk being underprepared?”

You stare at him, half-impressed, half-offended. “You… confidence-bluffed your way through the whole thing.”

“Absolutely.” He loops your arm in his. “I may not have known what was going on, but I refused to lose.”

You laugh as he leads you out the door. “I can’t believe you turned my prank into a real date.”

CALEB

It starts with you lounging on the couch, watching Caleb scramble around the room like he’s ten minutes late to everything — which, to be fair, he probably is.

He’s halfway into his jacket, holding his datapad in one hand and wrestling with the other sleeve like it personally wronged him.

You sip your drink, totally casual. “Don’t forget about tonight.”

Caleb pauses, arm frozen mid-flail. “…Tonight?”

You raise an eyebrow, doing your best impression of offended-but-trying-to-be-cool. “You didn’t forget, did you?”

His eyes widen. “No! Of course not. I totally remembered. Our… uh… date.”

You watch the realization hit him like a space freighter.

“Oh shit, I forgot,” he mumbles under his breath — and then louder, in a tone you recognize as Caleb entering full-blown emergency charming mode—“I didn’t forget! Just confirming! Totally in control!”

He gives you a crooked smile. “You’re testing me, right? Classic relationship banter. I see you.”

You just smile sweetly. “Mmhm. Seven o’clock.”

He salutes — salutes! — and practically trips out the door.

You flop back on the couch, grinning.

This is going to be so good.

10:22 AM

Caleb: Just to be clear, we said formal-ish, right? Or was it cozy-casual with optional sparkle? No reason. Just dressing with INTENTION.

12:37 PM

Caleb: What kind of flowers say “I remembered the whole time” and not “I panicked in a gift shop and picked the first thing that smelled nice”?

3:02 PM

Caleb: I may have triple-booked us at three different places just to be safe. One has mood lighting. One has noodles. One might be a jazz club or a bowling alley.

By the time 6:59 rolls around, you’ve received:

A photo of Caleb in a slightly wrinkled button-up, holding a bouquet of flowers that seem to include a cactus.

A screenshot of a menu that features both fondue and combat karaoke.

A message that just says: “If I don’t survive this night, you have legal rights to all of my possessions.”

Then — knock knock.

You open the door to find Caleb looking like a man who tried everything and is now barely holding it together with pure optimism. His hair’s doing its own thing, there’s a flower tucked behind one ear (not matching the bouquet, by the way), and he’s got that dazzling, boyish smile of someone desperately hoping he passed the test.

“Happy… date night?” he says, holding out the cactus like it’s a precious gem.

You laugh. “You seriously believed me?”

He blinks. “Wait. Wait.”

“There’s no date, Caleb. I made it up.”

He stares at you, stunned. “You — you pranked me?!”

“Yep.”

“I almost took us to a planetarium-themed fondue disco. Do you know how many kinds of cheese they were offering?”

You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. “You looked very prepared.”

He squints at you, mock-serious. “This means war.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Gonna prank me back?”

He leans in, suddenly smug. “Oh no. I’m going to make you fall so hard for a date that doesn’t exist you’ll be the one showing up in heels to a pizza delivery.”

You laugh again. “Deal.”

He grins, offers you the cactus, and says, “Still brought you this, though. Just in case.”

Honestly? Best date night that wasn’t

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bnpd · 1 month ago

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❛❛ the bed's getting cold and you're not here ❜❜

now playing : the heart wants what it wants by selena gomez ♫⋆.˚

SYNOPSIS: your boyfriend left to travel the world for a press tour that'll last months. the distance between you causes a rift. however much it hurts, you love him and you'll choose what your heart wants above all else. will you soon regret your decision?

DRABBLE WORD COUNT: 1.2k tags: angst pairing: jungkook x reader

author's note: not proofread, I wrote this after I saw this jungkook edit. i miss jungkook so bad </3

It’s been weeks since he left for his press tour. And the ache in your heart remains.

Long periods of time where he’d leave you cold and wanting. Days gone without contacting one another.

Every other week you’d schedule a video or voice call, and those 30 to 60 minutes would feel amazing. Until he’d get pulled away for a meeting, or a responsibility in his heavily packed schedule.

He'd send you endless pictures and videos of his favorite sights, but it only stung more. Not being able to be there for him or experience these new sights with him. How could you? You had a life back home.

A life full of work and personal responsibilities. Maybe you could leave it behind for just a moment, but you had already gave up so much for him.

You had so much to lose while he had an inch. You lost so much in the process of it all.

Secrets about your relationship ruined your friendships. No one could know you were dating Jungkook, sneaking around created mistrust within your friendships.

You had to be cautious or else word would get around and suddenly everything would get blown out of proportion. The pinch of privacy would diminish in a heartbeat.

You began to put him above your friends. How could you not? The way he made you feel was electrifying. It was him or no one.

He didn’t treat you wrong, never disrespected you or made you feel less of who you were as a person. He completed you. But his work as an idol meant so much more to him. It consumed him and his time.

You understood. You met him as someone who was dedicated to his craft. Somebody who spent day and night proving himself in a dance studio or a record booth.

You sigh as you watch your call go to voicemail. Your throat tightens, and tears begin to blur your vision.

You swallow the lump in your throat before setting your phone face down on the table. Too much of a coward to antagonize yourself over a possible message from him.

He promised. And he broke it.

Lately, he’d been blowing you off. You knew how much this press tour meant to him. How much time and dedication he put into this. How content he would feel after finishing. How he needed this to feel more worthy of his role as a singer.

This time it felt a little different. He’d always make it to your scheduled calls. He’d never miss a date or a detail. You were beyond worried.

Some say it’s a weakness, staying, but it takes so much of you everyday. It’s a strength in itself, although some say it’s a weakness. Like today.

Today, it feels like your heart pounds against your chest at the thought of him, yearning for him.

Sometimes you weaken—sometimes days feel never ending and you find yourself wondering what the future holds. It’s during days like these where the ache feels too uncertain, and the unknown renders you helpless.

It pains you to watch him all over your social media, smiling and content. While you curl up on his side of the shared bed on most nights, watching him from the other side of the world, waiting to even hear from him directly.

You met him 7 years ago. You were working as a tattoo artist–still are–and he came in with his friend, looking for a sentimental tattoo—something that would stick with him.

So, you drafted up some pieces for him based on what he shared with you. Shockingly, he only wanted a four letter word on his knuckles. You happily obliged.

Then, he kept coming for more tattoos. And more, and more.

As a tattoo artist, sometimes you get close to a client. Especially when said client appreciates art, and an outside perspective on his thoughts through another artist's point of view.

Then two years down, he asked you out.

You should have known better than to involve yourself with a lifestyle like Jungkook’s. You had dealt with quite a few semi-popular clients throughout your years of working. But Jungkook? He was by far, the most special one.

The media had begun to speculate about your relationship, but Jungkook never made a comment on it and soon they forgot about it. Or they buried it under the rest of the endless theories.

Soon though, things began to get a little hectic. With how fast BTS was rising to fame his time for you began to dwindle.

You wish you were strong enough to leave and find better. But you don’t want to. Your heart is content in being where it is. With him. Where it belongs.

Even as he takes it with him far away.

You smile pitifully before blowing out your birthday candles. A pain in your chest explodes and it begins to invade your insides, suffocating you. It leaves you breathless and winded. It wounds you so strongly that you rub your chest in a futile attempt to ease the pain.

It hurts more when you recall the last conversation you two had. Was he still upset?

“Baby…come on, don’t be like that.”

“Don’t be like what?” You frown, knowing he won’t see it, but the yearning in your chest makes you ache all over.

“Like that.” You can hear the slight frustration in his tone and it almost makes you burst out in tears. You try your best to keep your composure. For his sake and yours.

“I’m not trying to be like anything,” you murmur, “I just miss you. It’s been several days where I haven't heard from you.”

He sighs on the other end of the phone before speaking, “I miss you too, and I know. I’m sorry for that. But hearing you like this isn’t making it any easier for me.”

You feel incredibly annoying. It hurts to miss him everyday.

Maybe expressing your feelings about it may not have helped.

But in the end, you're just as hurt and sometimes the emotions bottled up come out unwarranted. “And you think it’s any easier for me?”

Now you’re just peeved at his reaction. When you told him about the ache in your chest from his absence you didn’t mean to offend him. You simply wanted to find safety in his reassurance.

So, you continue to push a little more, “Is it so wrong to miss my boyfriend? I’m sorry if my tone doesn’t sound like the happiest person in the world. I just miss you.”

“Well, I’m trying to have a conversation with you and you’re just bringing my mood down with all this shit.”

His rough tone laced in annoyance stuns you to silence.

“Okay. Then, I’ll just take it somewhere else.”

“Wait–” You hang up the phone before the tears begin to fall freely.

Truthfully you felt guilty after your conversation with Jungkook. After you cried out, you reflected and realized that his words held some truth. Would you have felt good if your partner called you and they sounded a bit dejected? Of course.

So you texted him an apology, acknowledging his feelings and your mistakes.

Unfortunately for you, he never replied.

The next phone call never acknowledged the incident. But you did—countless times in your cage of a mind.

Jungkook was, by no means, awful to you. Before he left on his press tour, he was the most amazing boyfriend. Which is why you give him some leeway.

He’s a busy man, an honest and loyal one. You trust him with your life. He’s worth the ache, you convince yourself. He’s worth the sleepless nights full of sadness and endless insecurities. A man like Jungkook is rare to come by.

So, you’ll hold onto him until you can’t—until your arms ache and they physically can no longer withstand the strain.

You’ll wait for him, for as long as you must. You just hope you’re still worth coming home to when he returns. Then, you hope tomorrow goes easier on your hopelessly devoted heart.

NOTES: ngl might make a part 2 of jungkooks pov, using a JB song that fits this exact scenario. and I AM CURRENTLY ACTIVELY WORKING ON GOJO FIC, ITS LONG ASF !

feel more than welcome to submit a request <3 ᥫ᭡ join my tag list : join my girlypop disc: link ‹𝟹

#bnpd tumblr #angst #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #x reader #reader insert #jungkook fanfic #jungkook angst #jungkook and reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook imagine #bts x reader #bts x you #bts x y/n #bts x fem!reader

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velvetvisionsaurora · 9 days ago

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Alpha ATEEZ x Assistant Omega Reader

Warnings: omega reader, alpha ateez, scenting, heats, ruts, slow burn, eventual smut, forced command, more to come!

When Y/n accepts a position as assistant to alpha K-pop group ATEEZ, she's prepared with professional skills and scent blockers to hide her omega status. What she's not prepared for is the immediate, inexplicable connection she feels with all eight members—a resonance that defies her careful boundaries.

As Y/n becomes eerily attuned to their needs, her suppressed omega nature begins to emerge: purring for the first time in years, responding to alpha growls, feeling safe in ways she never has before. When a protective incident reveals the depth of the members' attachment to her, Y/n must confront the possibility that what binds them together is something ancient and profound.

<<Previous Next>>

Masterlist Ko-Fi☕️

Chapter 4: Finding Your Place

Your alarm chirped gently at 6:00 AM, pulling you from a dream you couldn't quite remember but that left you with a lingering sense of warmth. For a disorienting moment, you stared at the unfamiliar ceiling before remembering where you were: the ATEEZ guesthouse, your new home.

"First day," you murmured to yourself, reaching up to check your scent blocker patch—still securely in place. The action had become so habitual you often did it without thinking, especially when anticipating stressful situations.

You slipped out of bed and padded to the window, pulling back the curtains to reveal the soft light of dawn spreading across the garden. The main house was still dark, its occupants likely still asleep. According to the preliminary schedule Minwoo had sent, most of the members wouldn't need to be up until 7:30 for a 9:00 AM meeting at the company.

After a quick shower, you dressed carefully in professional but comfortable attire—black slacks, a crisp button-up shirt, and low heels that would allow you to move quickly if needed. As you applied a light layer of makeup, you ran through the day's schedule in your mind, mentally preparing for your first official day as ATEEZ's assistant.

Seonghwa's thoughtful basket of essentials meant you could enjoy a simple breakfast in your kitchen rather than having to venture out. As you sipped your coffee, you reviewed the notes you'd made from the materials Minwoo had sent over, committing key details to memory.

At precisely 6:45 AM, you left the guesthouse and made your way to the main house, the morning air crisp against your skin. You'd been given a key card to access the house, but hesitated briefly before using it. It felt strange to enter someone else's home while they might still be sleeping.

Just as you were debating whether to knock or use the card, the door opened, revealing Hongjoong, already dressed and looking surprisingly alert for the early hour.

"Good morning," he greeted you with a warm smile that sent a flutter through your stomach. "I thought I saw someone approaching from my window."

"I hope I'm not too early," you replied, suddenly second-guessing your timing. "Manager Minwoo suggested I arrive by 7:00 to prepare for the day."

Hongjoong stepped aside to let you enter. "Not at all. I'm usually the first one up, but Seonghwa shouldn't be far behind. The others..." He chuckled softly. "Let's just say waking them is an art form you'll need to master quickly."

Hongjoong led you through the quiet house to the kitchen, where the rich aroma of brewing coffee filled the air. Despite having already had a cup at the guesthouse, you found yourself accepting his offer of another. There was something intimate about sharing this early morning moment before the chaos of the day began.

"Did you sleep well?" he asked, leaning against the counter as he handed you a steaming mug.

"Surprisingly, yes," you admitted. "I usually have trouble sleeping in new places, but I was so exhausted from moving that I fell asleep almost immediately."

Hongjoong's smile was tinged with something like satisfaction. "I'm glad. The first day is always the hardest—getting oriented, meeting everyone. Today should be a bit more structured."

You were about to respond when Seonghwa entered the kitchen, his hair slightly damp from a recent shower but otherwise immaculately put together. His eyes brightened upon seeing you.

"Y/n, good morning," he greeted, his voice warm. "You're an early riser too, I see."

"I wanted to get a head start," you explained. "There's a lot to learn."

Seonghwa nodded approvingly. "A good approach. I'm about to start breakfast for everyone—would you like something? I noticed you've already got coffee."

"Oh, thank you, but I ate at the guesthouse," you replied, touched by the offer. "Those groceries you brought over yesterday were perfect."

A pleased expression crossed Seonghwa's face. "I'm glad they were useful. Now, about waking the others..." He glanced at the clock on the wall. "They should be up in thirty minutes if we want to avoid a last-minute rush."

Hongjoong sighed dramatically. "And here's your first real challenge as our assistant, Y/n. Getting six sleepy alphas out of bed and ready on time is no small feat."

Your first lesson in ATEEZ's morning routine was both enlightening and amusing. Seonghwa, you quickly learned, had developed a systematic approach to waking each member based on their individual habits.

"Yunho is usually easy—just knock and call his name," Seonghwa explained as you followed him down the hallway. "Jongho too, though he might need a second reminder. Wooyoung and San are the real challenges."

"They sleep deeply?" you asked, mentally taking notes for future reference.

"More like they actively resist waking up," Hongjoong interjected from behind you, amusement evident in his voice. "Wooyoung once pretended to be sleepwalking to avoid a morning schedule."

True to Seonghwa's prediction, Yunho responded to a simple knock and call, his deep voice answering with a cheerful, "I'm up, I'm up!" Jongho, in the next room, took a second knock but then emerged almost immediately, already dressed in workout clothes.

"Morning run?" Seonghwa asked as Jongho greeted you with a polite bow.

"Just some quick exercises," Jongho replied. "Good morning, Y/n-noona. Ready for your first day?"

The honorific caught you by surprise—you had forgotten you were only a little older than him. "As ready as I'll ever be," you replied with a smile.

Yeosang proved to be a moderate challenge—requiring multiple knocks and some gentle coaxing, but eventually responding with a quiet acknowledgment.

When you reached Mingi's door, Seonghwa knocked firmly several times before calling his name. Just as he was about to knock again, the door swung open—revealing a sleepy-eyed Mingi wearing only low-hanging sweatpants, his broad chest and defined abs completely exposed.

Your eyes widened involuntarily, heat rushing to your cheeks as you found yourself momentarily frozen. The morning light from the hallway window highlighted the contours of his muscular torso, you could feel your omega stir before you quickly averted your gaze, focusing intently on the notepad in your hands.

"Hyung, I'm up, I'm—" Mingi's sleepy voice cut off abruptly as he registered your presence. "Oh! Y/n!"

You risked a glance up to see his eyes now fully alert, a deep flush spreading across his face as he hastily retreated into his room. He emerged seconds later wearing a hastily donned t-shirt, his expression a mixture of embarrassment and apology.

"I didn't realize you were... I mean, I thought it was just Seonghwa-hyung," he explained, running a hand through his impressively tousled hair. His sleepy smile was oddly endearing despite the awkward moment. "Sorry about that."

"No problem," you managed to say professionally, though you could still feel warmth in your cheeks. "We're just doing morning wake-up calls."

Hongjoong, who had witnessed the entire exchange from further down the hallway, cleared his throat softly, a hint of amusement in his eyes.

"Our new angel of organization," Mingi greeted you with exaggerated formality, clearly trying to move past the moment. His attempt at dignity was undermined by both his lingering blush and a massive yawn. "Please have mercy on us this morning."

You couldn't help but laugh, the tension dissolving. "I'll consider it, since it's my first day."

San and Wooyoung, however, lived up to their reputation. Seonghwa knocked repeatedly on San's door with no response, finally opening it to reveal a room plunged in darkness by blackout curtains and a San-shaped lump buried under blankets.

"San-ah," Seonghwa called firmly. "Meeting at 9:00. You need to get up now."

A muffled groan emerged from the pile of bedding. "Five more minutes, hyung."

Seonghwa glanced at you with a look that clearly said, *See what I mean?* before approaching the bed. With practiced efficiency, he pulled back the curtains, allowing morning light to flood the room.

The reaction was immediate—San retreated further under the covers with a dramatic whine. "It burns!"

"It's just sunshine," Seonghwa replied drily. "Y/n is here to help with the morning routine. Don't make her first impression of you be this pitiful sight."

At the mention of your name, San's head emerged from the blankets, his hair sticking up at impossible angles but his eyes suddenly alert. "Y/n? Oh!" He sat up quickly, making a futile attempt to smooth his hair. "Good morning. I didn't realize... I'll be ready in ten minutes."

Hongjoong, who had been watching from the doorway, caught your eye with a knowing smirk. "Amazing how that works, isn't it?"

Wooyoung proved to be the final boss of the morning wake-up challenge. Not only did he fail to respond to knocks, calls, and light, but when Seonghwa finally managed to rouse him, he immediately tried to go back to sleep the moment Seonghwa turned his back.

"I've tried everything," Seonghwa confessed to you as Wooyoung's soft snores resumed behind him. "Short of dumping water on him, which I've been tempted to do more than once."

"Maybe I have an idea," you said, a sudden inspiration striking you. You stepped into the hallway and pulled out your phone, searching for something specific. When you found it, you returned to Wooyoung's doorway and pressed play.

The opening notes of ATEEZ's most recent title track filled the room at full volume. Almost immediately, Wooyoung's eyes flew open and he sat up.

"That's my part coming up!" he exclaimed, suddenly fully awake. When his brain caught up with reality and he realized what was happening, he stared at you in astonishment. "That was sneaky."

You shrugged, trying not to smile too broadly at your success. "But effective."

Seonghwa looked impressed. "Well, that's a new technique to add to our arsenal."

Wooyoung flopped back dramatically but kept his eyes open. "I feel betrayed by our new assistant already," he lamented, though his lips were twitching with suppressed laughter. "But I respect the strategy."

---

By 8:15 AM, all eight members were gathered in the kitchen, in various states of wakefulness but all dressed and fed thanks to Seonghwa's efficient breakfast preparation. You sat at the counter, reviewing the day's schedule with Hongjoong while the others ate.

"After the 9:00 AM meeting, you all have dance practice until noon," you recited, checking your notes. "Jongho has vocal training for an hour after that, a light lunch then the photoshoot for that clothing brand at 3:00 PM, dinner break, then the variety show filming begins at 8:00 PM."

Hongjoong nodded, looking impressed by your thorough grasp of their complex schedule. "That's right. And where will you be throughout all this?"

"Manager Minwoo suggested I shadow different members throughout the day to get a feel for the activities," you explained. "Starting with him at the morning meeting."

"Good plan," Hongjoong approved. "Just don't let Wooyoung convince you to skip anything to get bubble tea instead."

From across the kitchen, Wooyoung protested through a mouthful of eggs. "I would never!"

"You tried four times last month alone," Seonghwa corrected, setting down a plate of additional toast in the center of the table.

The easy banter continued as breakfast wrapped up. You observed the dynamics carefully, noting who needed reminders to eat (Yeosang, who seemed easily distracted), who might need extra time to get ready (Wooyoung, obviously), and who could be counted on to help maintain order (Seonghwa and Jongho).

By 8:30, everyone was loading into the two company vans that had arrived to transport you all to KQ Entertainment. You found yourself in the second van with Yunho, San, Wooyoung, and Jongho, while Hongjoong, Seonghwa, Yeosang, and Mingi took the first.

"So, Y/n," Yunho began conversationally as the van pulled away from the house, "Are you ready for today? Nervous at all?”

You considered Yunho's question thoughtfully. "I’m excited. I like environments where things are always changing," you replied. "And I enjoy supporting creative people—helping build the structure that allows their talents to shine."

San, who had claimed the seat beside you, nodded appreciatively. "That's a good way of looking at it. Our last assistant was good, but he always seemed stressed by the unpredictability."

"That's because Wooyoung kept changing plans without telling him," Jongho pointed out from the front passenger seat.

Wooyoung clutched his chest in mock offense. "Why am I being attacked this morning? I'm an absolute delight to work with."

The driver, who had clearly been with them for some time, coughed in a way that sounded suspiciously like a suppressed laugh.

"You'll see," Yunho told you with a grin. "Working with us is never boring, that's for sure."

"I look forward to the challenge," you replied with a smile, genuinely meaning it. Despite the complexity of the schedule and the unique personalities you'd be managing, there was something exciting about the prospect.

San studied your face with curious intensity. "You really aren't intimidated, are you? Most people would be nervous about suddenly being responsible for eight alphas' schedules."

You shrugged, careful to keep your expression neutral. "I've worked with artist management before. The key is treating everyone as individuals first, rather than focusing on status."

"Smart," Jongho commented approvingly. "Though I should warn you, during comeback preparations, all of us can get a bit... intense."

"Especially Hongjoong-hyung," Wooyoung added. "He barely sleeps during production periods."

You filed this information away for future reference. "I'll keep that in mind. Any other warnings I should know about?"

What followed was an enthusiastic rundown of member quirks that you suspected was equal parts helpful and exaggerated. According to Wooyoung, San became "clingy like a koala" when tired, Yunho stress-ate chocolate cookies before performances, and Yeosang sometimes disappeared for hours when he needed alone time.

“And Mingi?” You asked hesitantly, not wanting to seem too eager. Your omega seemed surprisingly interested in the alpha.

Yunho’s eyes lit up with amusement. “Ah, Mingi-ah. He’s actually the most affectionate of all of us, believe it or not. Super tactile—loves hugs and casual touches, especially when he’s comfortable with someone.” He leaned forward slightly, dropping his voice. “But he’s also really conscious of his alpha energy, so he tries to tone it down around new people.“

“He composes in the middle of the night,” San added. “You might hear him pacing sometimes—when he gets a melody stuck in his head, he can’t sleep until he works it out.”

“And he’s weirdly sensitive about his cooking,” Wooyoung chimed in with a grin. “He tries so hard but somehow always manages to burn something. Never criticize his food unless you want to see a six-foot-tall alpha pout for days.”

“Don’t believe everything they tell you,” Jongho advised from the front seat, though he was smiling. “They exaggerate.”

By the time you arrived at the company building, you were laughing and mentally cataloging all these insights, already feeling more equipped to navigate your new role.

---

The morning meeting at KQ Entertainment was your first glimpse into the professional side of ATEEZ's world. The conference room held not only the eight members but also Manager Minwoo, several production staff, the company's PR director, and two choreographers. You sat beside Minwoo, taking detailed notes as various topics were discussed—the upcoming comeback timeline, concept direction, individual schedules, and potential international appearances.

You noticed how the dynamics shifted in this professional setting. Hongjoong took the lead in most discussions, his leader role clearly established, while Seonghwa offered thoughtful input on logistics. The others contributed when their areas of expertise were relevant—Yunho on dance elements, Mingi and Hongjoong on production aspects, Jongho on vocal arrangements.

"And we've added Y/n L/n to our team as the new group assistant," Minwoo announced toward the end of the meeting, gesturing to you. "She'll be handling coordination between departments and managing the members' schedules going forward."

All eyes turned to you, and you straightened slightly, offering a professional smile. "I look forward to working with everyone to support ATEEZ's activities," you said, your voice clear and confident despite the sudden attention.

The PR director, a sharp-eyed woman named Director Kang, assessed you with interest. "Good timing. With the comeback and world tour planning underway, we needed someone to keep these eight in line." Her tone was strict but her eyes held a hint of warmth.

"I'm up for the challenge," you assured her, earning approving nods from several staff members.

As the meeting concluded, people began filtering out of the room. Minwoo hung back with you, providing additional context for some of the discussions.

"You'll be joining them at dance practice," he explained, consulting his tablet. "Then the photoshoot. I've arranged for you to mainly observe the activities today to get a comprehensive view of their schedules."

You nodded, gathering your notes. "That sounds perfect. I appreciate the thorough onboarding."

"You seem to be adjusting well already," Minwoo observed. "Usually new staff are overwhelmed by day one."

"I'm sure I'll have my moments," you admitted with a small smile. "But I work best when jumping right in."

Minwoo appeared satisfied with your response. "Good attitude. That's why Hongjoong was so confident about hiring you." He glanced at his watch. "The dance studio is on the third floor. The others should be heading there now."

---

The dance studio was a large space with mirrored walls and polished floors, already filled with alpha energy as they all warmed up under the choreographer's guidance. You slipped inside quietly, taking a seat against the wall where you could observe without being in the way.

Wooyoung spotted you immediately, waving enthusiastically mid-stretch. "Y/n! Come to witness greatness?"

The choreographer, who introduced himself as Hyunwoo, nodded acknowledgment in your direction. "You're the new assistant? Good. Maybe you can help keep them focused. Especially that one." He pointed at Wooyoung, who grinned unrepentantly.

"I'll do my best," you promised, settling in to watch.

What followed was a revelation. The playful, sometimes chaotic energy you'd witnessed at the house transformed into laser-focused precision as soon as the music started. Yunho's tall frame moved with surprising grace and power, while San's performance exuded an intensity that seemed at odds with his usually gentle demeanor. Even Wooyoung, for all his morning resistance, executed complex movements with sharp accuracy.

You found yourself captivated by their dedication, the way they repeated sequences without complaint, fine-tuning details most people would never notice. When they paused for water after forty-five minutes of continuous practice, all three were breathing hard but immediately discussing improvements.

"The transition after the bridge needs to be tighter," Yunho was saying, demonstrating a subtle adjustment to his movement.

San nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. "And I think we're slightly off-beat during the chorus formation change."

"How are you finding it?" Wooyoung asked, suddenly appearing beside you with a water bottle in hand. "Boring? Amazing? Both?"

"Impressive," you replied honestly. "The difference between your practice mode and casual mode is striking."

Wooyoung beamed at the compliment. "We're professionals. Don't let the breakfast chaos fool you."

"I'm starting to see that," you acknowledged with a smile.

The choreographer called them back, and Wooyoung rejoined the others. You continued watching, occasionally making notes about potential schedule considerations—the physical intensity meant they would need adequate recovery time, proper meals, and possibly physiotherapy sessions during heavy practice periods.

By the time practice ended at, you had a new appreciation for the physical demands of their work. As they gathered their things, you approached with towels you'd noticed stacked by the door, offering one to each.

t's the small things, you reminded yourself.

"Thanks," Hongjoong said, accepting the towel gratefully. His eyes held appreciation that seemed to extend beyond the simple gesture. "How are you finding everything so far?"

"Informative," you replied. "And impressive. You all work incredibly hard."

Something like pride flashed across his face. "We try. This is just a regular practice day—comeback preparation gets much more intense."

"I'll be prepared," you assured him, already mentally adjusting your expectations of what "intense" might look like in their world.

---

The afternoon brought a change of pace with the photoshoot for a clothing brand. While the morning had been relatively structured with the meeting and practice, the photoshoot at an industrial warehouse-turned-studio was more chaotic, with multiple staff buzzing around, stylists fussing over outfits, and makeup artists working on touch-ups between shots.

You found your place quickly, liaising between the photography director and the members, keeping track of shot lists, and ensuring everyone stayed on schedule. It was the kind of organized chaos you excelled in navigating—anticipating needs before they arose and solving small problems before they became larger ones.

"Water?" you offered to Yeosang after he finished his individual shots, noting how he'd been under the hot lights for nearly forty minutes.

He accepted with a small but genuine smile. "Thank you. You're very observant."

"Part of the job," you replied, though his quiet acknowledgment was satisfying.

When the photography director suggested the set rotation order be changed, you smoothly coordinated with the styling team to ensure outfits were ready in the new sequence, preventing what could have been a thirty-minute delay.

"I'm impressed," Manager Minwoo commented, appearing beside you as you updated the schedule notation on your tablet. "You've found your rhythm quickly."

"It helps that they're professionals," you said, gesturing toward the members who were all focused on their tasks despite the long day.

"Don't sell yourself short," Minwoo countered. "Not everyone can keep track of eight different personalities and all these moving parts on day one."

You smiled, accepting the compliment with a nod. "Thank you. I'm enjoying the challenge."

As the group shots began, you found yourself watching the dynamics with growing familiarity. Seonghwa quietly adjusted Wooyoung's collar when the stylist was busy elsewhere. Hongjoong subtly directed the others with small gestures, ensuring everyone was positioned optimally. Jongho maintained his serious expression until San whispered something that made him break into a reluctant smile, immediately lightening the mood for everyone.

When the photographer called for a brief set change, Mingi approached where you were reviewing notes beside the monitor.

"How's your first day going?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck in a gesture you were beginning to recognize as a habit when he felt slightly uncertain.

"It's going well," you replied with a smile. "Just trying to absorb all the information."

"You seem like you've been doing this for years already," he said, and there was genuine admiration in his voice. "Usually new staff look overwhelmed by now, but you're just... handling everything."

You felt a small flush of pleasure at his observation. "That's kind of you to say. I'm sure I'll make plenty of mistakes as I learn the ropes."

"We all do," Mingi shrugged, then lowered his voice conspirationally. "Sorry again about this morning, by the way. Not exactly the most professional second impression."

You couldn't help the slight color that rose to your cheeks at the memory of him shirtless in the doorway. "It's fine. Occupational hazard of living and working in the same space, I suppose."

Mingi's smile widened, a hint of unexpected confidence breaking through his earlier uncertainty. "Next time I'll try to be more properly dressed. Or not. Depends on whether you enjoyed the view."

The teasing comment caught you off guard, and you felt your blush deepen. Before you could formulate a response that maintained professional boundaries while acknowledging the light flirtation, the photography director called Mingi back for the next shot.

Mingi winked at you before turning away, leaving you slightly flustered but with a small smile tugging at your lips despite your efforts to remain composed. The brief interaction had sparked something warm in your chest that you quickly tried to suppress. He was your colleague, one of your eight alpha employers. Lines needed to be clear.

Yet as you watched him return to the set, moving with easy confidence into the next pose, you couldn't quite ignore the subtle pull you felt toward him—similar to, yet somehow distinct from, what you'd experienced with each of the other members.

---

"Dinner in twenty minutes!" The production assistant announced as the photoshoot finally wrapped up. "Please be ready to move to the variety show filming after you eat."

You checked your watch—nearly 7:00 PM. The photoshoot had run almost an hour over schedule, cutting into the dinner break before the variety show filming. Anticipating potential issues, you approached the catering table where staff were setting up food.

"Excuse me," you said politely to the head caterer. "Is it possible to have some food boxed separately? The members might need to eat while getting ready for the next schedule since we're running behind."

The caterer nodded, appreciating your foresight. "No problem. We can prepare eight boxes."

"Thank you," you said gratefully, then turned to find Manager Minwoo, who was conferring with the production team. "Minwoo-ssi, I've arranged for boxed meals in case we need to eat during transport or makeup."

He looked up from his tablet with an approving nod. "Good thinking. The variety show PD just called—they're ready for us whenever we arrive, but they can't delay the start time past 8:15."

"I'll let the members know we're on a tight schedule," you offered, already moving toward where most of them were gathered, removing microphones and thanking the photography staff.

Seonghwa noticed your approach and the slight furrow in your brow. "Schedule adjustment?"

"We're running a bit tight for the variety show," you confirmed. "I've arranged boxed meals in case we need to eat on the go."

Hongjoong, who had overheard, nodded gratefully. "Smart move. Let's gather everyone and head out as soon as possible."

Within fifteen minutes, you had all eight members, their necessary belongings, and the boxed meals loaded into the vans. As you settled into your seat, Yunho passed you one of the food boxes.

"You need to eat too," he said kindly. "First days are exhausting."

You accepted with a grateful smile, suddenly realizing how hungry you were. The day had been so busy you'd barely registered your own needs.

"Thank you," you said, opening the box to find a appetizing meal inside. "I hadn't even thought about it."

"We noticed," San said from beside you. "You've been making sure everyone else is taken care of all day."

"That's literally my job," you pointed out with a small laugh.

"Still," Wooyoung interjected from the seat ahead, turning around to face you. "The good assistants remember their own needs too. Can't help us if you collapse from hunger."

The concern, though delivered with Wooyoung's characteristic dramatics, was genuine. You felt a strange warmth at the realization that they had been watching out for you even as you tried to take care of them.

"I'll keep that in mind," you promised, taking a bite of the food.

---

As the van slowed in traffic, you finished your meal and carefully packed away the empty container. The day's events were catching up with you—not exhaustion exactly, but a pleasant fatigue that came from a day well spent. You shifted slightly in your seat, trying to find a more comfortable position, when you became aware of Hongjoong's proximity beside you.

He had claimed the seat next to you when they'd rearranged for the evening trip, and now in the dim interior lighting of the van, you were acutely conscious of the subtle warmth radiating from his body. His arm rested along the back of the seat, not quite touching you but close enough that you could feel his presence like a magnetic pull. Even without being able to detect his scent through your blocker, something about his proximity made your omega instincts hum with an inexplicable sense of comfort and rightness.

"How are you holding up?" Hongjoong asked quietly, his voice pitched low enough that it wouldn't disturb the others. Wooyoung had dozed off in the seat ahead, and San was absorbed in his phone beside him.

"Better than I expected," you admitted, turning slightly to face him. The movement brought you closer, and you found yourself studying his profile in the passing streetlights. "It's been a good day."

"I'm glad," he said, and something in his tone made you look at him more carefully. His dark eyes held an intensity that seemed at odds with the casual conversation. "You've impressed everyone today. Manager Minwoo, the staff, the members..."

"And you?" The question slipped out before you could stop it, more personal than you'd intended.

Hongjoong's gaze met yours directly, and for a moment the space between you seemed charged with something unspoken. "Especially me," he said softly.

The van hit a pothole, jostling everyone slightly. Instinctively, Hongjoong's hand moved to steady you, his palm landing gently on your arm just above your elbow. The touch was brief, professional even, but neither of you moved away immediately.

"Sorry," he murmured, though his hand remained where it was, his thumb unconsciously brushing against the fabric of your shirt. "These streets are terrible."

"It's fine," you managed, hyper-aware of the warmth of his palm against your arm. The simple contact sent an unexpected flutter through your chest, and you found yourself fighting the urge to lean into the touch.

You should pull away, maintain professional boundaries. But something about the quiet intimacy of the moment—the dim lighting, the gentle rumble of the van, the way Hongjoong was looking at you like you were something precious and unexpected—made you hesitate.

"Y/n," he said quietly, and your name on his lips sounded different somehow. More personal. His hand slid down slightly, fingers curling around your wrist in a gesture that could have been casual but felt anything but. "I know today was a lot. New job, new living situation, eight new personalities to manage..."

His thumb found your pulse point, whether intentionally or not, and you wondered if he could feel how your heart rate had picked up at his touch.

"I want you to know that if you ever feel overwhelmed, or if any of us make you uncomfortable in any way, you can talk to me," he continued, his voice carrying the weight of his alpha authority but also something softer. "Your well-being matters to me. To all of us."

The sincerity in his words, combined with the gentle pressure of his fingers against your wrist, made your breath catch slightly. "Thank you," you said, your voice barely above a whisper. "That... that means a lot."

For a long moment, you simply looked at each other. The space between you seemed to shrink, and you became aware of every detail—the way his dark hair fell across his forehead, the subtle flecks of gold in his brown eyes, the way his lips parted slightly as if he wanted to say something more.

The van began to slow, and the bright lights of the variety show studio came into view through the windows. The moment of privacy was ending, and you both seemed to realize it simultaneously.

Hongjoong's hand reluctantly released your wrist, his fingers trailing across your skin for just a heartbeat longer than necessary. "We're here," he said unnecessarily, his voice slightly rougher than before.

"Right," you agreed, though you made no immediate move to gather your things.

As the van came to a complete stop and the others began stirring, preparing for the next part of their schedule, Hongjoong leaned slightly closer to you one more time.

"Welcome to the team, Y/n," he said quietly, his breath warm against your ear. "I have a feeling you're going to fit in perfectly."

The words sent a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the evening air, and as you finally moved to collect your belongings, you found yourself wondering if the "team" he was referring to meant something more than just professional colleagues.

The van doors opened, letting in the cool night air and the excited chatter of waiting fans, effectively breaking the spell. But as you stepped out into the bright lights of the studio entrance, you could still feel the ghost of Hongjoong's touch on your wrist, and the memory of his words echoed in your mind.

Whatever this job would bring, you were beginning to suspect it would be far more complicated—and far more interesting—than you had ever imagined.

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corameiwrites · 4 months ago

Text

𖦹 searching for love 𖦹

pair: jason todd x gn!reader

plot: your shift at a small bookstore is about to end when a handsome stranger walks in five minutes before closing

wc: 2k

pt. 2

A far off chime sounded from the old grandfather clock, signaling the passing of another half hour. That meant it was 8:30, and more officially, 30 minutes past closing time. Normally, you would have been packed up and locking the door by 7:58, eager to get home to your grouchy cat, messy room, and half-written research paper. There was nothing normal, however, about the six-foot something man with biceps the size of your head, meticulously browsing the shelves of your bookstore.

Well, not yours, but the number of shifts you picked up having to pay the bills for your not-so-cheap Gotham apartment had basically made this place your second home.

So when the very fit and handsome stranger walked in a mere five minutes to closing, you lingered a little. Behind the counter at the front of the store, of course. It was far too scary to go and ask him if he needed help—you would run the risk of embarrassing yourself further.

Earlier, when he had entered, you made the mistake of welcoming him with a rushed “Good Morning” despite the full moon visible through the store windows. He had glanced in your direction, nodded, and walked further into the store, going to start his long search of whatever it was he came here to look for.

Which, by the looks of it, he found.

He set the books down near you, looking at an assortment of random trinkets and bookmarks displayed on the counter.

You smile, recognizing the titles. “Are you a fan of Austen?”

His head sprung up as though he hadn’t been expecting you to speak to him. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.”

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” Looking up the titles on the rather out-dated computer, you ring them up on the register.

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.” The corners of his mouth twitch up in a semi-smile as his hands retreat into his leather pockets. An odd choice to zip a leather jacket all the way to his chin, but who are you to judge? It's only now you're looking that you notice the scars littered across his face, as well as the few wisps of stark white hair across his forehead. You look down into his eyes, and though it was only a fleeting moment of prolonged eye-contact, it made you feel far too vulnerable.

Looking away and vaguely remembering some staff meeting about professionalism, you read the total amount due to him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” His face blanks, and he blinks twice before digging through his pockets. His brows furrow. “Sorry, I…” his hands pat down his cargo pants before his shoulders slump. His face turns to one of slight annoyance. “I lost my wallet.”

“Oh.” Frankly, you don’t know what to do in this situation, and by the looks of it, neither does he. It's a little awkward—do you suggest he trace his steps? Call the bank to pause all his cards? But he’s paying in cash. Oh god, a thought crosses your mind. Is he a criminal? Fortunately, your mouth speaks before you even process what's coming out of it. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?”

He runs a hand through his hair, and it's embarrassing the way your eyes track the movement. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.”

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. “I work tomorrow and Wednesday until closing if you want to come in around this same time, but I could tell my other coworkers of the situation if you come in a different day or time.”

Silently, he stares at the poster. You recline back to your standing position, mentally slapping yourself for sharing your work schedule with a complete stranger who could very well be a criminal. A hot criminal.

“...You close at eight?”

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” Thank you for finally showing up, customer service voice. He frowns, lifting his arm and pushing the sleeve of his leather jacket up before looking at you in shock.

“You're closed right now?” he asked, though it sounded more like a state of a fact.

You start to fidget with your clothes. “Technically speaking, yes.”

His hand flies to his face, semi-face palming. “Shit,” he starts to back away slowly towards the door. “I am so sorry, I didn’t know.”

You smile at his panic, feeling a little amused despite yourself. “It’s okay, don’t worry about it.”

“No, it's horrible, I’m horrible.” You can’t help but let out a small chuckle at his apologetic demeanor. By now he's halfway out the door, but turns back at your laugh.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up Pride & Prejudice, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!”

To that he nods, leaving and walking down the sidewalk in a rush. You stand for a minute, replaying the strange yet exciting interaction, hoping that the man would come again to claim his books.

You were absolutely going to text your best friend about this when you got home.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ ♥ ✩˚｡⋆𖦹｡°⋆✮

Jason Todd had lost track of time. Maybe it was the warm lighting that made the strain on his eyes decrease, or the soft music soothing his aching head, or the various earth-tone decorations that made him stay longer than he intended. He had only meant to hide for a couple minutes, enough to get Condiment King off his trail and onto Tims. That was until he spotted Pride & Prejudice on a shelf with the exact cover of the one he read in Bruce's library when he was younger. Blaming it on nostalgia, he picked it up, and before long the quaint bookstore became less of a hideout and more of an actual store.

In all honesty, he could have spent the rest of his patrol in the place if not for an angry text from Tim cursing him out; something about going MIA and getting the mustard and ketchup smell out of his suit. Snapped back into reality, he found himself with a rather large amount of books he definitely couldn’t fit into his motorcycle bag.

Through little internal debate, he lowered the amount to three books, Pride & Prejudice, 1984, and This Is It, chastising himself as he made his way to the front. It was reckless spending so long hiding when he was supposed to be out on patrol. Hell, his helmet and guns were thrown behind a dumpster in an alleyway down the street! For all he knew, they could be stolen and pawned by some homeless person.

But there was just something about this store and its ability to make him lose track of time.

He hurried to the register, glancing at the super-hero themed erasers. He spotted some of his family's personas, grimacing inwardly. Ever since coming back to Gotham, they had been pestering him to join them at the manor outside of vigilante duties. Personally, he would rather be shot ten times before–

“Are you a fan of Austen?”

He looked up, a little spooked. Did he totally forget that there was another person here, working? Maybe. Scrambling his head for a response proved a daunting task, and that smile you were giving him wasn’t helping. “Uh, yeah. Used to read some of her stuff when I was younger. Thought I’d pick them up again.”

“Ah, I see. Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites.” You looked through the books, ringing them up on your computer. You seemed almost pleased with his choice in literature.

“Then I’ll be sure to read it first.” That knowledge, for some reason, makes him happy. From what he remembers, he also enjoyed the tale of Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy when he was younger.

He put his hands in his jacket pockets, slouching a little more than usual as he studied your clothing and your face. You were young, probably around his age and good looking, working at a bookstore; definitely not anyone dangerous. He knew his height and build tended to intimidate people, and despite its uses when he wore the mask, off-duty he rather disliked it. He didn’t look kind or soft the way you did. Conscious of his build and the darkness outside, he did what he could to hopefully put you at ease.

You turn back to the register, clicking a few buttons. “That’ll be $14.33.” you look back up at him. “Cash or card?”

“Uh–cash.” Legally, he couldn’t use cards since he was supposed to be six-feet under. He moved his hands around in their pockets, trying to find his wallet. “Sorry, I…” Patting down his pants, he inwardly groans, remembering leaving his wallet in his safehouse of the week before going out for patrol. “I lost my wallet.”

“Oh.” Yeah, he's a dumbass. “I could…put these on hold for you, if you want?” Your voice is hesitant and he swears on everything he will always check if he has money in his pockets before entering another establishment ever again.

Running a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he picked up on, he waves you off. “I wouldn’t want to be a bother. It's my fault, anyways.”

“It’s not a bother, it happens to the best of us,” leaning over the counter, you point to a small poster with store hours. You're still talking to him, but he looks at your face, noticing small details he hadn’t before, like the unique slope of your nose, the shade of your lips and how delicately your lashes fall over your eyes. When you stop talking, he averts his gaze at what you pointed to.

“Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M., Sat.---Sun. 12 P.M. to 5 P.M.” He reads it again, trying to remember the day. Damian wasn’t on patrol, so it was a weekday. “Open Mon.---Fri. 10 A.M. to 8 P.M.” He rereads it once more in confusion. Given the darkness outside, there's no way it wasn’t past eight already.

“...You close at eight?” he hesitantly asks.

“Yes sir, every day except for Sundays.” If you were closer, he probably would have teased you about the customer service voice. He checks his watch. His whole body freezes as he reads the time.

8:34

His head whips to you in confusion. “You're closed right now?”

“Technically speaking, yes.” You seem almost bashful as you answer.

Instant mortification fills his body, and he could hit himself for what he’s done. Not only did he unintentionally skimp out on patrol with Tim in a bookstore, potentially scaring the innocent and hot worker, but he wasted that workers time by wandering around for thirty fucking minutes past closing. He starts to leave, apologizing to you, and despite your assurances, he can’t bring himself to face you knowing he’s kept you working later than you should. He's halfway out the door when he hears you laugh, and he momentarily pauses, turning halfway to face you.

You’re smiling.

“Trust me, it’s completely fine. I’ll keep these,” you lift up a book, waving it at him, “behind the counter. Good luck finding your wallet!”

His throat seems to close up, and whether it's from embarrassment or that smile, he can’t tell. Nodding, he quickly leaves the store, walking in long strides back to his gear. Guilt, shame, and confusion all pile up inside him as he puts on his thigh straps, holstering the guns he put a little more care into hiding. Zipping down his leather jacket, he puts his helmet on, which immediately reconnects to his line with Red Robin. He's met with instant accusations and threats.

“Wait for me down Fourth and Main, I’ll be there at nine.” He murmurs quickly, grappling to the top of the nearest building before disconnecting from the line. He perches over the edge, watching the lights in the bookstore shut off before you run out, closing and locking the door.

He takes extra care to keep himself hidden from your sight, ducking behind various rooftop structures and grappling to different buildings, silently protecting your late walk home. It’s only when you’ve entered your building and he sees a corner apartment window light up that he leaves.

He’ll return to that bookstore tomorrow.

#jason todd #jason todd x reader #jason todd x you #jason todd x y/n #batfamily #batfam #red hood #fanfiction #x reader #red robin #tim drake #corameiwrites

861 notes · View notes

f14fun · 11 months ago

Text

my own pastry (!baker x op81)

synopsis: in which case y/n meets the infamous racecar driver oscar piastri as she works in her family-owned pastry shop, and she pretends not to know him. little does he know, she's idolized him for the longest time.

smau + prose (2.9K words) ✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩ profile | masterlist ⋆.˚✮🎧✮˚.⋆

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yourusername

liked by yourbff1, yourbff2 and 58 others

yourusername: the feminine urge to own a bakery

view comments:

yourbff1: alright no need to brag, you were blessed with an amazing family business and i'm here stuck with a desk job

yourusername: you laugh at me everytime i come home with flour stuck on my face.

yourbff1: well...😁😁

user1: wait this is so aesthetic

user2: drop the location of the bakery now! i wanna visit 🫶🏽

yourusername: 5512 streetname, monte carlo monaco!

user2: thx babes you will be seeing me in the next week

yourbff2: so we are not going to talk about the mystery guest that showed up at the bakery today...

yourusername: HE COULD BE LURKING. STAY ALERT. DO NOT MENTION HIM.

yourbff1: you mean osc*r p**str*?? 😝😝🥳

yourusername: ASKJAKJEJAE HE'S GOING TO FIND ME NOOO

yourusername: pls delete your comment i BEG.

yourbff2: @/oscarpiastri @/oscarpiastri @/oscarpiastri

yourbff1: @/oscarpiastri @/oscarpiastri @/oscarpiastri

user3: oh my, bless her poor soul 😭

yourusername: DELETE YOURSELF OH GOD

yourusername: I FEEL A SINISTER PRESENCE COMING

oscarpiastri: my presence was called upon?

yourbff1: LMFAO POINT AND LAUGH 🫵🏻🫵🏻🫵🏻

yourusername: hey-y-y oscar... 🥹

oscarpiastri: did you just stutter over a comment 💀

yourusername: i can explain!! 😁

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To be frank, it's honestly quite difficult to explain the series of events that happened about twelve hours earlier.

6:58 AM ~ l'orchidée bakery shop

It was right before opening. Maman had entrusted me with opening shop and making sure it was running smoothly, and knowing that the fate of our family bakery was in my hands today was especially important to me.

It was 6:58 AM, and since business was typically slow in the first half hour of shop opening, employees showed up half an hour after opening. So there it was me all by myself, until 7:30 AM.

I showed up at the bakery much earlier than normal, at around 3 AM, prepping for the day. The first task was to turn on the ovens, letting them reach the perfect baking temperature.

While the ovens heated up, I took out the baguette and croissant doughs that had been proofing overnight. The doughs were soft and slightly cool to the touch, with a subtle yeasty aroma that promised delicious results. I placed the doughs on the floured countertop, feeling their smooth texture as I gave them one last gentle knead, coaxing out any remaining air bubbles.

Shaping the doughs into their final forms was almost meditative. The baguette dough stretched and folded under my hands, forming into long, slender loaves with tapered ends. The croissant dough was rolled and folded into layers, ready to be cut and shaped into crescents. With each turn and fold, I could feel the anticipation of the final baked product growing.

Next, I mixed batters for cakes, muffins, and other pastries, carefully measuring each ingredient to ensure consistency and quality. The rhythmic motions of stirring and mixing were comforting, grounding me in the early morning quiet of the bakery.

With the ovens now hot, I slid in the first trays of bread and pastries. The smell of baking bread began to fill the bakery, a comforting scent that promised a successful day.

On and on I went prepping, while simultaneously listening to music. One thing about L'Orchidée Bakery, is that our surround sound system that covers every square foot of the little coffee shop, works its magic everyday. It is very difficult to hear many outside noises at that.

So imagine my suprise when I'm singing "Slut!" by Taylor Swift on full volume and I turn around, to only find myself face to face (well, behind a sheet of glass) with none other than Oscar Piastri.

"But if I'm all dressed up, they might as well be looking at us, and if they call me a SLU AHH!-"

I screamed slut, as I spun around and ended up making obnoxiously close eye contact with a boy in a black hoodie and unruly brown hair.

The broom in my hand that I was using to sweep the floor crashed to the floor, a one, big, sweeping motion. Scaring myself, and the boy, we both aggressively lurched back.

This is when I got to take a closer look, and I had just realized that Oscar Piastri had just scared the shit out of both of us.

And I was even more embarrassed to see that poor little Oscar was just trying to look at the bakery's menu, only to get a terrible birds eye view of my horrid singing and dancing.

He started to chuckle, his hand brushing against the faint stubble of hair that was growing across his chin. Sheepishly knocking on one side of the glass that separated us, I gestured for him to come in.

A customer is a customer! (even if he does happen to be the Formula 1 driver I absolutely idolize, and on any given normal day, I would be too shy to even make eye contact with him)

Running to the front entrance of the shop, I reach in my pocket to pull out the plethora of keys that dangle from my measly keychain. Fumbling with a golden key with the letters LB engraved on the key's front, I unlock the door.

"Hi, hello! Welcome to L'orchidée Bakery, so sorry for the little jumpscare you got there," I timidly trailed off.

"You mean the singing, dancing, or both," he joked back. Immediately, my discomfort shifted, as the environment had turned playful. Smiling, I responded.

"Hahaha, you think your funny," I rolled my eyes, as we made our way to the register.

"What can I say, I might just be a stand-up-comedian in disguise," he joked, arms crossed, and his eyes crinkled into a vibrant eye smile.

"Well, are you?" I asked, pretending to genuinely not know his occupation.

"Are what?" He nervously chuckled.

"Are you actually a stand-up-comedian?" I asked.

"Wait, are you serious?" His eyes bulged out, not able to hide his surprise, he fumbled with his phone.

"A hundred percent," I replied, playing the game. Trying to make it believable, I put up a mask of utter confusion. "What's your job?"

"Oh, um, I drive?" He lowly said, he voice trailing off, confused.

"You think you drive of you know you drive?" I barked out a laugh, finding it funny that he ended the sentence in a questioning tone.

"Oh yes, I definitely drive," He nodded his head vigorously.

"So like, Uber, Lift, valet services?" I asked.

"Oh yeah, something like that, yup," Oscar replied. It took everything in me to not burst out laughing from his god-awful acting. This boy couldn't lie for shit, his eyebrows and eyes immediately betrayed him.

Pretending to believe him, I continued our conversation.

"So...do you liked driving around everywhere?" I asked. If this boy kept on lying, I just knew the conversation would get so funny.

"Yeah, it's pretty fun, you know? Getting to meet different people, seeing new places," he said, trying to keep up the charade.

"Interesting! Must be quite an adventure. Any memorable rides?" I prodded, enjoying the playful banter.

"Oh, definitely. Had a guy once who insisted on singing Taylor Swift songs at the top of his lungs," he quipped, a mischievous glint in his eyes. Holding a laugh in, I'm not sure whether he was referring to me, Lando, or Daniel.

"Really? What a coincidence," I said, smirking. "Sounds like my kind of passenger."

We both laughed, the initial awkwardness completely dissolved. It was surreal, chatting casually with Oscar Piastri, as if he were just another customer and not the famous Formula 1 driver I admired.

"So, what can I get for you today?" I asked, ready to actually do my job.

"Surprise me," he said, leaning on the counter. "I'm in the mood for something new."

"Coming right up," I said, turning to grab a fresh-baked strawberry-chocolate croissant and a steaming cup of coffee. As I handed it to him, I couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph. Today was already shaping up to be unforgettable.

Looking around, there didn't seem to be anyone approaching the bakery, so as he sat down at the breakfast bar and asked whether I wanted to sit next to him, I immediately took his offer. (I mean seriously, who would not take the offer?)

"So, what brings you to this little bakery?" I asked, curious.

"Well, I heard a lot of good things about this place. Plus, I'm always on the lookout for a good pastry," he replied. "Figured I'd check it out myself."

"Glad you did," I said warmly. "We do our best to keep the reputation up. And hey, if you ever need more Taylor Swift serenades, you know where to find me."

"Good to know," he said with a laugh. "I'll definitely keep that in mind."

The playful banter made me forget, if only for a moment, that I was talking to a celebrity. It was just a normal conversation, easy and light-hearted.

"So, where do you usually drive?" I asked, pretending to be completely unaware of his true profession.

"Oh, you know, here and there," he said, trying to be vague. "Mostly around the city, sometimes longer trips."

"Must be fun, getting to see different places and meet different people," I said, keeping up the act.

"Yeah, it's interesting for sure," he agreed. "And sometimes you get to witness some pretty crazy stuff."

"I bet," I replied. "Like what?"

"Well, there was this one time I drove a bunch of guys to a music festival. They were already half-drunk and started a karaoke session in the backseat. It was wild," he said with a laugh.

"Sounds like a blast," I said, laughing along. This definitely felt like a recounting of a true story, probably along the lines of something that Yuki or Lando would do.

We continued the conversation, laughing and chatting, flirting here and there for the next half hour until my coworkers arrived. When they did, it gave Oscar and I quite a fright, as we both were mid-conversation when the front door swung open.

My coworker gave us morning blessings, and a blush blossomed across Oscar's cheeks, shy, that he got caught. Crumbling up his paper cup and paper wrap that held what used-to-be a croissant, we both knew it was time for him to leave.

"Wait," I said laughing, "We just had a whole conversation and I still don't know your name," I said, still playing into the role.

"Oscar," he said, genuine, and for a second I felt bad for lying to him. But then again, not really, he played into the banter as well.

"Will I see you here again, Oscar?" I asked.

"You might just have to wait and see," he winked. As I held the door open for him as he left, his hand brushed against mine, and goosebumps rippled across my arm. I felt a swirl of butterflies in my stomach when he smiled and wished me a heartfelt goodbye. Oh, brother.

This is not going to end well.

Snapping me awake from my daydream, my coworker whisper shouted. "You do know that was just Formula One driver Oscar Piastri, right girl? You definitely know who he is."

"Oh of course," I laughed, speaking at a normal volume. "But he doesn't know that I know that," I replied.

"Oh good God, this might end horribly, or become an extremely funny story that one tells at family dinner," my coworker said.

"Do you think the next time he comes he will sign my Oscar Piastri poster hanging in the janitorial closet?" I jokingly asked.

"Y/N!!!" my coworker scolded.

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oscarpiastri

liked by yourbff1, user1 and 303,199 others

oscarpiastri: special treat, special day

view comments:

user1: i hate this cryptic ass caption-

user1: OSCAR WHAT DOES IT MEAN

user2: alright we get it oscar, you had some good food and your big backedness made you have a good day

user3: wait... this pastry shop looks so good i might check it out

user4: oscar giving a bakery a free shoutout, absolutely unheard of

user5: the bakery is called L'Orchidée Bakery, and they are based in monaco! hope this helps 🧁💗

liked by oscarpiastri

user6: wait imagine if oscar's sneaky link worked there, that would be hella funny

user7: ainnoway that man pulls 🧍🏻

user8: honestly, you never know 😭

landonorris: we get it, you would not stop yapping about your amazing strawberry chocolate croissant this morning

landonorris: and how amazing, stunning, and beautiful that one girl was-

logansargeant: you forgot to mention that he was practically drooling everytime he spoke of her

landonorris: and he didn't even get her name 😝🫵🏻

logansargeant: what an absolute LOSER 💀

oscarpiastri: DELETE THIS.

oscarpiastri: DELETE THIS NOW.

oscarpiastri: i am not a loser. i very much win in life.

oscarpiastri: PLEASE DELETE THIS.

this comment thread has been deleted

user9: SKSKKSKSREJAJA did you guys see the deleted comment thread omg

user10: that is not real omg, oscar rizzing finally??!

user7: @/user6 i'm so sorry you were so right 😭😭

user6: i just know he pulls hella bitches

user6: you guys are just unfamiliar with his game (awkward white boy rizz)

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, yourbff1 and 101 others

yourusername: la dolce vita (he bought me books and flowers, and baked for me)

view comments

yourbff1: yada yada yada, no need to rub it in you bagged your longtime bae

user1: WAIT THATS HER NEW BOYFIE??

yourbff2: what in the soft launch, CALL ME NOW-

yourbff2: PLEASE ANSWER THE PHONE

oscarpiastri: no can do cuz 🥳😝📢

oscarpiastri: i fear she's cuddling with her man right now

yourbff2: YOU STOLE MY GIRL, you GIRL STEALER 🫵🏿

yourbff1: out of context that sounds so, so wrong 💀

user2: babe, your new boyfie is oscar mf piastri. 🧍🏻‍♀️

liked by yourusername and oscarpiastri

oscarpiastri: so sad that you lied to me when we first met

oscarpiastri: heart❤️ been broke💔🤕 so many times⏰ i don’t know❌🤷‍♀️ what to believe 🍃🙏 yeah👍 mama🤰say it’s my👧😣fault🥺😢 my fault😭😞 i wear my heart💝 on my sleeve👕

yourusername: SO SO SO SORRY BABE XX

user3: she's just a girl, oscar 🙄

oscarpiastri: i hope the date was amazing, you cutie patootie

yourusername: of course it was, my hubby bubby

oscarpiastri: ugh, my teddy bear honey bee is so cute in this

yourusername: you're definitely cuter sugar plum baby bear

yourbff1: YOU DIGUST ME

yourbff1: GET TS OUT OF THE COMMENT SECTION

user4: ^^ and INTO the bedroom

liked by oscarpiastri

yourbff2: @/user4 @/oscarpiastri aw HELL NO ❌❌👈🏿

yourbff2: she is my ROOMATE and the walls are THIN 🧍🏿‍♀️

oscarpiastri

liked by yourusername, yourbff1 and 487,120 others

oscarpiastri: i just got wined and dined

view comments:

user1: two posts of the same bakery in a row?! yeah, somethings up

user2: the jig is up oscar! reveal your girlfriend

landonorris: ohhh, so that's why you were gone for dinner

logansargaent: L to you, because i knew where he was the whole time

landonorris: not fair @/oscarpiastri, not fair 📢📢

charles_leclerc: who is this lovely woman oscar?

charles_leclerc: hello?? do not ignore me

user3: LMFAO oscar ANSWER UR FATHER

charles_leclerc: it says that you are active on instagram, i see you

charles_leclerc: i just want to know who my son's girlfriend is

user4: girlfriend?!?!? what have i missed omg, i just left insta for a week

user5: oscar's soft launch era 💀 LMAO, we think he's dating a girl who works at a bakery

user5: he thinks he is being sneaky and subtle but he's really NOT.

user6: wait guys i think i found her @, its yourusername i think

user7: wait it totally is, in one of her posts, she's wearing that exact same white shirt

user8: and the bakery looks EXACTLY the same in both of their posts

user9: SKMSJEOAMSKK SHE'S IN THE LIKES YOU GUYS YOURUSERNAME IS IN THE LIKES

user10: @/yourusername girl stop lurking in the comments i know your reading them 🧐🤨

liked by yourusername

user10: SJEHLSHEILA SEE I TOLD YOU SO

yourusername

liked by oscarpiastri, landonorris and 28,991 others

yourusername: dinner with a side of formula one pic creds: my boyfie ofc 💗

view comments:

yourusername: chat, i blew up so much omg

yourusername: in my famous era i guess

user1: you mean your WAG era ofc...

liked by oscarpiastri

yourbff1: i'm single, and my fist is ready to mingle in your face

landonorris: so this is the girl, huh, she's pretty

oscarpiastri: HOWDIDYOUFINDHER

oscarpiastri: she's MINE to call pretty btw. 🤬😡💢

landonorris: stole ur phone hehe

yourbff2: rip my ass for having to take all these lovey dovey disgusting pics of them.

yourbff2: DO NOT BREAK HER HEART OSCAH 🍴🍴🍴

yourusername: DO NOT THREATEN HIM PLEASE 😭 (ty for taking these pics omg tysm)

oscarpiastri: I PROMISE I PROMISE TO LOVE MY SUGAR PLUM FAIRY SO VERY MUCH

yourusername: awww, i love you too my honey bear bee

yourbff1: and they're back.

charles_leclerc: omg guys i found her instagram @/logansargeant @/georgerussel63 @/lewishamilton

oscarpiastri: PLEAASEEE NOOOOO

yourusername: what, afraid to show your girlfriend off 🤨🫵🏽

oscarpiastri: whatttt, nooo

georgerussel63: i like you @/yourusername, you make oscar scared

yourusername: awww, thx george <33

oscarpiastri: not funny george

oscarpiastri: are we still ignoring the fact that you lied to me when we first met 🤬🧐

yourusername: are we still ignoring that you ALSO lied to me?!

charles_leclerc: kids, kids, get along please!

oscarpiastri: yes, father

yourusername: yes, father-in-law

yourusername and oscarpiastri

liked by yourbff1, charles_leclerc and 1,220,151 others

yourusername and oscarpiastri: hard launches, only.

comments are disabled

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author's note: ty guys for reading this fic! 😍🫶🏾

1K notes · View notes

yourmidnightlover · 11 months ago

Text

control

(forever? pt 2)

pairing: mob!bucky barnes x fem!reader (arranged marriage)

summary: after a rough night with bucky, you wake up alone and get some frustrating news from your beloved husband

warnings: reader is insecure/doubts, not eating for 24 hours (out of protest), kind of controlling bucky, violence, if i missed anything, please let me know!

w/c: 2.7k+

a/n: hiii! this is the second part that was in high demand after i posted forever? i hope y'all like it! this has been sitting in my drafts for what feels like forever and i finally have had a chance to share it with you all! i hope it's worth the wait :)

part 3 -> the story

you woke up alone, just like every morning in the past two months with the exception of the smell of his cologne only a whisper on your bedsheets.

maybe you shouldnt have expected anything else from him. he had just felt bad about what happened, about making you cry, that’s all. he couldn’t have you running out on the deal that was made. he just had to save face. it was all business…

there was another knock on the door. two days in a row, which was rather surprising.

opening the door, you come face to face with bucky’s right hand man, steve. his kind blue eyes shone with a hint of remorse, likely knowing at least a bit of what happened last night from his boss.

“hi,” you smiled, your hand remaining on the doorknob.

“hey,” his eyes examined your face, probably to report back to bucky on how you were doing. as if he couldn’t check on you himself. “are you hungry?”

you turn around to look at the clock that reads 12:30.

“i didn’t realize how late it was,” you shook your head as he chuckled.

“you probably needed the rest after…” he inhaled a sharp breath. “anyway, bucky wants you to head up to the office. told me to make sure you ate too.”

why couldn’t he show you how caring he was?

maybe that’s why he left so early… because he had stuff in the office to take care of. that was what your mind would assume to save your own ego, at least.

he took you by a mom and pop diner around the corner from their office, let you eat as many waffles and pieces of bacon as your heart desired until he discreetly paid the bill and then you made your way to the office to meet with your husband.

stopping outside his door, you heard his voice ringing angry and raging.

“i said to find him. i don’t care if you have to work all day and night to do it. i’m gonna find out where he is. nobody touches what’s mine and gets away with it.”

was he talking about you? or was he talking about another one of his many possessions or assets. either way, with the tone he was talking about everything, even if he was talking about you, he made it seem as though you were merely an object that was in his trophy case. if he was looking for john in order to reprimand him, it was likely to send a message to everyone else that dared look at him. to ensure they didn’t see him as weak.

he would never do anything for you out of the kindness of his heart, surely.

“do whatever needs to be done. end of discussion.” you heard a dial tone end, followed by steve knocking on the door.

“glad you made it safely,” bucky nodded towards steve before glancing at your form tucked behind him. “how’re you feelin’?” you shrugged.

“fine, i guess.”

“thank you, steve,” seemingly dismissing steve, he left the room promptly. “i wanted to talk with you about something.” you remained quiet; he sighed before continuing. “i’ve made some arrangements to get you your own personal bodyguard, for when i’m not around to ensure your safety. they would be ‘round the clock unless approved otherwise or when i’m available to be around you.”

“so i would be watched 24/7?” you finally piped up. “like a child?” you voice was still meek as you mentioned your objection.

“it’s for your safety.” he stepped closer to you, not missing the way your body tensed at the movement. “so that something like what happened last night doesn’t happen again,” his jaw tensed, seemingly at the mention of what happened.

so someone doesn’t touch his precious trophy again, you thought to yourself.

“i’m a grown woman. i barely even leave the house, and you think i need more surveillance?” your brows furrowed together as you shrunk into yourself, your shoulders deflating at the thought of losing even more of yourself to this marriage.

“it happened at our house,” bucky reminded you.

“it happened with you right around the corner, too. y’might as well have a drone following me around at that point,” you scoffed quietly. “what? next i won’t be able to shower by myself.”

“if that’s what it takes to ensure your safety, then that’s what’ll happen.” there was no playfulness or sarcasm in his tone.

“i was joking, you can’t be serious,” you looked at him, feeling stubborn tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“deadly,” he assured you, his brows raised and his serious tone piercing your heart. “whatever it takes.”

you shook your head as you turned to the door. “no.”

your hand reached the doorknob before he added, “i was running this by you as a courtesy. not to get your permission.”

you froze in your steps, turning to him with a questioning look. a couple tears finally broke free from the dam before you responded, “then what was the point?” with that, you walked out of his office, turning to steve. “is it you?” after seeing the tears streaking your face, the choked sobs leaving your throat, he looked to the ground in defeat. you had your answer. and bucky had your freedom in his hand.

you really were just a device for him at this point. you play the part of a loving, devoted wife while he probably does whatever he pleases to maintain his image to the public.

you understood that their businesses were in the public eye and that the news of a finance business being absorbed how it was would draw a lot of attention, but nothing made sense right now. he was being so serious about it all. 24/7 surveillance, a fucking bodyguard… for a finance business merge. it was disheartening, to say the least.

it’s not like you had a say in the matter, anyway. so, steve escorted you safely from the premises back to your gated house, where you locked yourself in your room for the rest of the night.

you didn’t open the door when he tried to ask what you wanted for dinner, or when he tried to give you a sandwich.

you didn’t even open the door when bucky tried to knock himself once he got home at 11p.m.

or in the morning when they tried to give you breakfast.

or at noon when steve insisted on lunch.

“it’s been almost 24 hours since you’ve eaten,” steve sighed from the other side of the door as you sat at your desk, pen doodling meaningless lines in your notebook as you stared at the blank word document. “bucky’s not gonna be happy if he finds out you haven’t been eating or talking or… anything. you know i have to tell him.”

and you stayed quiet.

if he wanted a polite little trophy wife, he would get one. but last time trophy wives were a thing was in the 40s, and they weren’t really allowed to say much, so you figured you’d follow suit.

kind of like your own version of a peaceful protest.

apparently bucky wasn’t very happy about that.

he showed up knocking on your door not 20 minutes after steve tried to insist on lunch again. at least he wasn’t busting the door down, much to your surprise.

“it’s bucky, but i’m sure you’ve figured that out,” his voice rang with a certain softness he had with you only two nights ago. “i told steve to go for a little walk so i could talk with you. i was hoping you’d maybe respond?” he tried to open the door, finding it remained locked. “sweetheart, please just eat something. you haven’t even had water since yesterday. you know you have to drink something.”

you suppose it would look pretty bad for him if his dear wife went to the hospital for dehydration, or starvation for that matter. has the bucky barnes been treating his wife as less than? or has he simply forgotten about his wife? perhaps she’s a weak point for him?

although he probably wouldn’t admit you to the hospital, he’d probably hire someone to come to the house themselves, sworn to secrecy of some sort.

you heard rustling on the other side of the door, not footsteps, more like clothing being rustled followed by a thump. his voice rang out lower on the door when he spoke, “i know you’re not happy about having a bodyguard. i understand, i do. you think your freedom is being tarnished and threatened and this is you trying to control what little you can because of that.”

how can he act like he knows you so well? the man who made it seem as though the marriage would be at least a partnership before the words ‘i do’ were uttered. after the honeymoon a flip must’ve been switched in his brain, telling him you were a little toy for him rather than the partner you had agreed to be.

but, after plenty of time to think, you’ve come to realize that you were being rather selfish. as much as you wanted your freedom. you wanted to stick it to the man and tell him that you deserved respect, because you did.

you also had a duty to your family, to keep them safe. being in this marriage was the only way to do that. and if any questions arose, like bucky’s care for you, then your family would be in danger.

with a click, you unlocked the door. he must’ve heard it because he slowly opened the door and took a step inside your room, a few feet from you.

“i’m sorry,” you looked at the collar of his suit rather than his eyes. “i’ve been acting rash and immature. i apologize for that.”

“i didn’t-”

“i won’t question your authority again,” you were picking at your nails. “i understand that you need steve to make sure nobody harms me to maintain your image. i respect that. i respect your decision.”

you couldn’t bare to look at his face. your gaze shifted to the floor as he began to nod.

“does that mean you’ll eat something?” you nodded, chewing on your lower lip before responding.

“i’m sorry for taking time away from your business,” you moved the hair from your face, tucking it behind your ears, doing anything you could to distract yourself. “i now how valuable your time is.”

“you’re more valuable than all the time i have,” he took a step closer to you before you felt his index finger and thumb gently holding your chin, nudging your head up to look him in the face. “do you understand?” his blue eyes were full of emotion, a mix of them, at that. if you squinted it was almost like there were tears building at the corners of his eyes. but you weren’t squinting anymore. you saw the full picture quite clearly with your eyes wide open.

“i understand,” you nodded curtly.

you did understand.

you understood that he had an image to maintain. that image, for you and your family, was for him to be a devoted, loving husband to his equally loving and devoted wife.

his image is his reputation, and no money in the world could buy the reputation he has.

he let go of your chin, cupping the sides of your face before he leaned in to press a kiss to your forehead, “i brought your favorite with me. steve’s warmed it up in the microwave for when you’re ready for it. just… eat whatever you can. if you’re still hungry i’d gladly go and grab some more for you.”

“aren’t you going back to the office?” you, voluntarily this time, looked into his eyes with furrowed brows.

“no, my love,” he shook his head before dropping his hands from your face. “i told them i needed to spend the rest of the day with my wife.”

of course. if steve knew about last night, people at the office probably did too. it would look pretty lousy if he didn’t look after his wife after an incident like that.

“oh,” you nodded as you broke eye contact once more. “that sounds nice.”

you followed him downstairs, where steve had already set your food aside for you to start on. not eating for so long truly did affect you more than you thought. you didn’t even realize how hungry you were, finishing the entire meal in less than 15 minutes.

bucky was sitting beside you, eating his own food as he made sure you ate and drank, and noticed when you made a happy plate, and cup, might he happily add.

“wanna go get some more now?” he let his hand float to your hair, raking through your messy locks with a smile growing at the corner of his lips.

“no, that’s okay,” you shook your head, not wawnting to bother him more than necessary.

“if you’re still hungry, then that’s not okay,” you looked to see him shaking his head, his eyes fixed on the dining room table. “c’mon,” he stood from the table, holding his hand out for you to take. “we’re going to get s’more food.”

“will we be going alone?” you let your eyes gravitate to where steve stood in the corner of the room, having not been dismissed by bucky yet.

“steve,” bucky called him over. “you can go home now. i’ve got her. thank you.” he released him from his duties. “now will you come with me?”

you took a second to think. maybe he was a controlling asshole, but what he was doing was for your safety, whether you agreed with it or not. “okay,” you nodded, figuring it was also best you went along with whatever he said. he seemed to get whatever he wanted anyways. “can we just go through a drive through somewhere?”

“if that’s what you want…” he nodded, surprisingly agreeing to your proposal. “where to?”

“... mcdonalds?” you suggested once more.

“of course, my love,” he pressed a kiss to the crown of your head, oddly affectionate since nobody was around. “when we get back i’ll arrange hiring a chef for you, as well. i won’t have you going hungry if i can help it.”

“you don’t have to-”

“i will.”

you knew better than to argue. you wouldn’t poke the bear if you could help it. sure, he’s told you he wouldn’t hurt you. you were his wife and if news came out that he had hurt his wife in any way, his reputation would be threatened.

you couldn’t help but remember every warning your friends told you about going into a relationship with this man. warnings about being on your toes, watching your back, never letting your guard down.

in your mind, this was just one more reason you wouldn’t have to leave the house. another little piece of freedom taken from you in a roundabout sense.

“okay,” you nodded, accepting your fate as someone who would eventually be trapped in their house forever.

he took you through the drive through at mcdonald’s, getting you whatever you wanted and an oreo mcflurry. on the way home, eating the mcflurry before it melted, it was a silent ride. and not a very comfortable one, probably due to your suspicions about him wanting to control you.

maybe him controlling you wouldn’t be so bad… he was kind to you, provided for you, made sure you didn’t want for anything. but with that, went a lot of your heart, freedom, and control.

TAGS:

@nefri-black

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes angst #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fluff #james bucky barnes #marvel #bucky barnes smut #sargeant barnes #bucky barnes au #bucky au #sargeant bucky barnes #mob!bucky barnes #mob bucky barnes #mob!bucky #mafia au #mafia bucky barnes #mafia bucky x reader #mafia bucky x you

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darylbrainrot · 2 months ago

Text

HEARTTHROB-

CHAPTER 1: Feeding Starving Influencers (2.4k words)

a/n: i messed up the date on the second ss, its supposed to be January 15

JANUARY 15— 1:51 PM

You were currently sitting in your office, doing nothing but trying to brainstorm some new ideas on what to post for your youtube. You have been feeling a bit burnt out, feeling as if every single unique idea has oozed out of your brain and formed a puddle of mush at the bottom of your feet. Uninspired, dull, and discouraged were some simple adjectives to put into perspective of your current feelings.

It felt as if your thoughts were the same as watching paint dry; boring, repetitive, and expected. Sighing, you grabbed your phone to scroll on whatever social media you want to pick to at least give yourself a sort of a brain break. That was until you noticed a new notification on your phone.

You felt nervous weirdly enough. This would be your first time even agreeing to collaborate with someone else and it's an all time new for you. You and Quen have been following each other for quite some time. You guys never texted, only comments left on each other posts was the farthest you've ever done. Even though this was an all-time new for you, pushing and challenging boundaries, you felt kinda glad this chance landed itself on your lap.

New opportunities dont come by every day, so you had to take this one.

Even though you don't know her, you can clearly tell she's a genuine person. Through this short interaction, you already felt so much better.

JANUARY 17— 7:30 AM

Today was the day you are going over Quen's to film for her youtube. You were excited and anxious at the same time. Quen sent you her address a bit ago after you both agreed on a time for you to get there. She lived around 2 hours max away from you, so you decided to leave a bit early to beat traffic. You both had decided to meet at 10:40 am as it was a good time for you and Quen.

Grabbing your keys, jacket, bag, and whatever necessities needed, you left your apartment and started heading towards your car. You started your car, hearing your engine roar into power, as you sat in the driver's seat. You had a Nissan 350z, one of your dream cars from youth that you were able to buy at a good price a couple years back. It had a black glossy exterior shining brightly and a matching black and red interior. Though you had one of your dream cars, your true dream car was a 1965 Ford Mustang.

Getting comfortable in your seat, you connect your phone to the aux to start playing your spotify playlist. The first song that came up was dive in by pierce the veil, one of your favorite songs. Singing along, you finally pulled out of the parking lot and headed your way toward Quen's address.

Traffic was quite forgiving today, as surprising as it is. It was a decently long drive but you felt glad that there was no heavy traffic on your way to Quen. Glad that you slept a bit longer yesterday, you were nearing her house and you can already tell its gorgeous.

it was a modern house, still, you can see Quen's personality seeping through.

Sending her a quick message about your arrival, you quickly found an empty parking space and parked. Grabbing your items, you made your way to her house.

It was cute, with pretty greenery outside, giving the house some personality. Your heart was beating rapidly, and you felt your nerves at an all-time max even though you knew that Quen was a nice and chill person. You felt your hands get clammy so you quickly wiped your hands on your pants. But as soon as you reached her doorstep, the door flew right open.

She yelled your name with a huge grin, quickly catching you in a hug.

"HEYYY! You're literally so much more gorgeous in person that I think I'm already in love with you", Quen said

You laugh, your smile matching hers "I think I should get on one knee already, I already love you."

You both laugh, she quickly moves out of the way and welcomes you in. The inside of her house was cute, with some nice vintage furniture and random pops of color here and there that highlighted her personality. There were silly pictures on the walls of her with friends or family, each sharing a big smile on their face. Seeing those photos puts a smile on your face.

"So, our set is all ready, I have all the cameras and audio prepared with the kitchen already set up with everything we need to cook. Do you want to start right now or do you want to relax for a bit, I know that you mentioned your car ride was pretty long." She said, moving her hands as she spoke. It seemed that was a habit of hers.

"I'm fine with recording right away" She nodded as she made her way to the kitchen with you following behind.

Once you made it to the kitchen, you saw how big it was. It was huge with white walls, wooden shelves with plants, and an assortment of tiny and cute decorations on them, the shelves were a nice shade of light gray that complemented well with the marble countertops. The ingredients needed lied on the countertops ready for use and the rest of the room was filled with cameras, lights, microphones, and people.

"Okay, so everything is set up as I said, my crews are here to make sure the audio is working and they're making sure the camera is good and shit." She was pointing at her crew and naming them, with them waving at you and you waving back with a smile.

Nodding, she continued, "We can start in 5, I'll do the intro and introduce you and what we're gonna do and will continue from there. You feeling alright? I know its your first collab and I would feel hella anxious if I was you right now."

"Okay that sounds good but yeah I feel a bit anxious right now, but I'll feel better as we film though, thanks for checking in." She nods, signaling her crew to get ready for filming as they all start their checking on the filming gear.

As soon as you knew it, 5 minutes had passed and filming started.

Quen positions herself in the middle of the kitchen island, arms stretched out. The person with the camera zoomed in into her as she began speaking, "Hey guys, welcome to this next episode of feeding starving celebrities, and today's guest is... Pierce the y/n!!!!" She yelled excitedly, with a huge smile on her face.

She raised her hands, signaling for the camera to pan to you. You smiled at her, your smile matching hers as you waved at the camera.

"hi"

"Okay so while she trying to act nonchalant, today I have a fat stack of questions to ask her while we make her favorite dishes. Any guesses on what were making?" She turned to you, waiting for your response.

"Umm... based on what ingredients are out, are we making sopes maybe? Hmmm, maybe agua de horchata too?" Your face was curious, hands on hips as you took a look at the variety of ingredients covering her marble counters.

"Okay, I see you!! You basically got it right but were also making jericallas, I know you're from Guadalajara and that's a very popular dessert there and you mentioned it as your favorite before. Sooo, that will be the menu for today! Lets hope and pray we don't burn down the kitchen!"

"Damn, you really did pull a Nardwuar on me, am I in one of his interviews?? Cut the cameras." You grin, successfully feeling less nervous.

She laughs, "Anyways, let's not expose my secrets. So we're gonna start with the sopes. I have the the masa, beans, meat, lettuce, cheese, and the cream." Nodding in confirmation, she continues.

"SO, step one, we mix the masa harina with salt and water," She says, grabbing the Maseca corn flour from behind her as well with the salt. "According to my directions, not really mine but from this website but let's pretend it's my recipe, we need 2 cups masa harina, 1/4 teaspoon salt, and 1 1/4 cups of water."

As Quen goes to fill a measuring cup with the needed amount of water, you grab a bowl big enough to mix the ingredients and start to pour out the needed measures of both the salt and flour. Pouring them into the bowl, Quen comes back with the needed water.

"Okay, so now, we pour the water in and mix with our hands. Do you wanna do that or do I do it?" She asks you.

"I got it, can you pour the water in though?"

She nods, pouring half of the water into the bowl so you can start mixing. Slowly, it starts becoming into the dough as Quen pours the rest into it. As you continue to mix it, you see Quen reach for her questions.

"So y/n, question numero uno is - wait actually its not really a question more of a statement. Anyways...", she looks into the second camera, giving it a mischievous glance that you didn't notice. "Look at this photo for me and tell me what you think about it. Does it trigger any feelings or memories?"

As you glance up from the bowl, Quen shows you the big notecard with her question written on it, but instead of a question, there's a photo.

"Oh my god" your jaw drops, "how the fuck did you find my middle school graduation photo. Dude... I swear to god do I need to put myself under witness protection, like I'm fearing for my life right now how did you actually find that. This is like lost footage." You start looking around as if you were being watched to further add to your bit.

Quen laughs loudly, doubling over as she shows the camera your middle school graduation photo. You had a heavy side bang, a terrible sense of fashion as if you just walked out of hot topic and Spencer at the same time, and heavy eyeliner.

"Dude, like seriously, I don't know how I was allowed to walk out of my house looking like that. I still feel the eyeliner in my eyes from the amount of times I messed up my eyeliner and ended up poking my eyes."

"STOP, you do NOT look that bad queen, man, have you seen how I looked like when I was doing Vine?" You laugh along with Quen, still wondering how she even got that photo.

"Dude this is actually insane, I was expecting some icebreaker type of questions but instead we just dove straight into it??? Oh my god. This is making me nervous for the rest of my questions."

The rest of the time goes on well, Quen asks some questions here and there while you both continue making the sopes. It was going pretty good, you started to cook the beans to place onto the cooked sopes while Quen started to work on the agua de horchata.

As you finished heating up the beans while Quen was talking to you, she suddenly cut herself off her sentence.

"You know what song has been stuck in my head as of recently?" You hum, asking her to continue as you started to spread the beans on each sope. "You know the song with Jorjiana and GloRilla? ILBB2?"

"Yeah, I've heard of it"

"So, the part thats stuck in my head is the one that goes like" Quen clears her throat, "They say shooters shoot... Duke Dennis, whats up with you?"

Before you can reply, she hits you with another line.

"SO WHO YOU TRYNNA SHOOT AT? WHOS YOUR YOUTUBE CRUSH??" She squeals, showing off her card with her question reading "who’s your youtube crush", pride evident on her face at how smoothly she was able to ask this.

Most people wouldve dodged the question, claiming it to be too risky for them to answer or either they were too scared to answer it. They would've played it cool, given a safe answer.

But you? You doubled down.

So, with all the confidence you could muster, you leaned over the kitchen counter, looking deadstraight into the camera in font of you, and said, "Hamzah, whats up with you?"

Quen lost her mind, squealing as she look at you in disbelief.

She yelled your name, "HAMZAH? As in hamzahthefantastic? The guy who's a part of slushy noobz?" Her eyes were wide as you nodded to her question.

"Girl I strive to be as bold as you, but as much as I strive to be as bold as you, I pray for you as well cause damn, may those fan girls not release their wrath on you."

"Anyways, back on topic, how do you know about Hamzah?" Quen asks you as she starts to drain the horchata she made in the blender into a pitcher, making sure to strain it.

You were finishing up the toppings on each sope, veggies, Oaxaca cheese, and crema. "I've seen some clips of both Martin and Hamzah on tik tok. I like them both, they're funny and seem like genuine people. I've seen Hamzah though and just thought he was cute, especially when he wasn't bald but he's still cute without hair." You shrug as Quen laughs.

The rest of the video goes well, you both finished making the sopes and horchata and moved on to making the jericallas which were simple enough and easier with two people. Quen kept on asking you questions with you answered them, you both were a good duo.

Laughs and screams were shared between you both as you conversed, your face hurt with how much you were smiling all throughout the hour and more of filming.

You finally finished making all the food and tried it together. It was really good in your opinion and Quens. Finally filming the outro and everything needed, at around 12:50 you were done with filming and cleaning up everything.

Since it was still bright out, you and Quen decided to hang out since both of your schedules were empty. It was a great night, full of laughter and meaningful conversations. Your bond with Quen was strong and you were glad you accepted her collaboration.

You had gotten home at 7:46 PM, finally worn out with all the action that you just headed straight into the shower and took a very deserved hot shower. You successfully ended your day at 10:26 PM and decided to treat yourself to early sleep.

PREVIOUS | SERIES LIST | FORWARD

taglist *ੈ✩‧₊˚- @marixoa @vivianne666 @amoreemiaa @emilyloves5243 @lunascerebro @prettylittlevampire12 @urthem00n @a1exaaaa

#smau #emo reader #mexican reader #hamzah x reader #slushy noobz #darylbrainrot works #hamzahthefantastic #hamzah fic #hamzah imagines #hamzah x y/n

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im-totally-not-an-alien-2 · 2 years ago

Text

Halloween prompts year 2 day 7

Danny sees a 30 minute video in his recommendations titled: Why Red Robin and Phantom should never meet, and honestly? The more he watches the more he immediately wants to fly to New Jersey and declare Red Robin and Spoiler his new friends

Tim sees the same video and is losing his mind cause this is how he learns about the Anti ecto acts and about a Lazarus hell portal being open in a small city in Illinois for two years without the JL knowing anything!

He needs to save this guy before he gets himself...okay. Maybe its a little late for that but his point still stands!

It has nothing to do to him liking how many unhinged situations him and Phantom could get away with. Nothing!

RR could hardly believe it when Phantom showed up on his patrol a few nights later, offering to give him a tour of the ghost zone (at least what Danny had mapped out already) in return for some assistance against Vlad, the GIW, the Fentons and help him get Danny and Jazz Fenton rights to thiwr parents patents and machines so the government can't steal them...and maybe set up a place for them to live until they're 18

Also he wanted to know how cool RR was with clones.

Tim gets a thermos and immediately sucks Phantom up, apologizes claiming he needed to test it to make sure it was legit, and they go one thier way. Dannys just glad he didn't give him a blaster.

They become best friends, prank the other bats, terrorize all of thier enemies, ect.

The real problems start when Danny "can't recognize ethics unless its actively hurting someone" Fenton and Tim "always one and a half steps from turning into a supervillian" Drake start taking things a bit too far riding off of eachothers excitement

The universe trembles in fear.

Constantine hides and puts his phone on silent.

#halloween prompts #prompts #dpxdc #danny phantom #danny fenton #fanfiction prompts #red robin #tim drake #they would be so very very unhinged together ❤#breaindead #deadtired #maybe #could be platonic or romantic #either way they are chaos grimlins

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seungfl0wer · 6 months ago

Text

*𝑳𝒂𝒕𝒆*

Pairing: Jisung x Reader (Fem)

Genre: Angst -> Smut/Fluff

Warnings: Meanie Jisung, Hint of a Panic attack, Make up sex basically, Shower Sex, Use of Princess, Unprotected Sex, Creampie, sorry for any mistakes or missing warnings!

Find The Request Here

-🖤

You never minded going to these “meetings” with your boyfriend but he was always so bad at either telling you the right time or even mentioning it. You just got out of the shower putting on your clothes checking the time. You still had an hour to get ready. After getting dressed you sat down to do your make up. A few minutes passed before your boyfriend flung the door open. He looked irritated already. “Seriously? You’re still not ready!” He said with gritted teeth.

“You said we didn’t have to be there till 8:30” you said looking at him a bit confused.

“No I told you this morning it was changed we have to be there at 8! Which it’s already- oh look at that 7:50!” He hissed.

“I’m sorry Ji I’m almost done and we-“ he cut you off.

“You always fucking do this! I’m late to fucking everything because of you! You know how annoying that is!” He yelled.

You gulped a little feeling bad “I’ll just finish in the car then..” you said softly taking the few things you needed.

“You know it doesn’t even fucking matter! Either way we are gonna be late! All because the princess can’t manage her fucking time like an actual adult!” He yelled.

Jisung wasn’t like this normally however things have been stressing him out and to be fair you did make them late a lot. Not on purpose of course. You felt tears pricking at your eyes hanging your head as you walked towards the door. As much as you wanted to argue it wasn’t worth it right now. Not when he was already upset and then having to go meet higher up people. You slunk in the passenger seat as he got in. You finished up your make up fast only having to do a few small things. Jisung didn’t say much not until he got a call from someone.

You could tell he was getting more irritated as the call went on. After hanging up you didn’t say anything afraid of making him more upset. “Fucking great! The big manager is asking for me and I’m not even fucking there!” He said gripping the steering wheel. “You know next time I’m just not gonna bring you! It’s so irritating that I can never be there when I’m supposed to!”

“I’m sorry” you said in almost a whisper.

“Yeah well sorry doesn’t always fix everything!” He said his voice low.

When you finally got there he all but left without you. You walked up trying to put a smile on. Waving at his friends before making your way towards them. The night went on and it seemed to be fine. You were just sitting there in your head. “You alright?” A familiar voice asked.

“I’m fine” you said softly.

There was so many people there and with how the night started you were already feeling anxious. As the place filled with more and more you felt like you couldn’t breathe. You always had a problem with crowds jisung normally would stay with you to make it better but he hasn’t even come to check on you. He hasn’t even looked in your direction making you feel even worse. Your chest started to tighten feeling like you were gonna throw up almost. You got up legs becoming a bit wobbly. You made your way to the bathroom. Before getting into a stall you could feel the tear falling.

You were shaking trying your hardest to catch your breath. You leaned back in the stall wanting nothing more than to crawl in bed and just cry. You cried, chest heaving body shaking. You tried pulling yourself together trying to calm yourself down. When you finally calmed down enough you made your way out trying to fix your make up enough that it wasn’t noticeable. When you slinked back to your seat jisung was actually sitting there. “Where have you been?” He asked.

“I- I was in the bathroom” you said voice still a bit shaky.

He looked over your face he could see how red your eyes were. How puffy they were and knew you had been crying. “You alright?” He asked his voice a bit softer.

“How uhm- how was meeting the bigger guy” you asked avoiding his question.

“Oh uhm good, he was excited to meet me. Said he has been looking into having me move up in the branch.” He said still looking over your face.

“That’s great ji” you said with a half smile.

“Babe seriously are you-“ he started to say before getting cut off.

“Jisung! I found you!” A smiley boy said walking towards you.

“Hey lix” Jisung said smiling back.

“Hey come here Lisa from the higher ups wants to talk to you!” He said waving him to come with.

Jisung looked at you his eyes worrying looking over you. He knew you hated this stuff just as much as he did. He knew you hated being left alone but with more whining from the other boy to hurry he reluctantly got up. While he was talking to the women he kept his eye on you. He could see how shaky your hands were, how you kept wiping your eyes but smiled. You were trying your best to keep it in. Chan had came back to you handing you a drink. “You good?” He asked as he handed it to you. You only nodded taking the drink. You fiddled with the water bouncing your leg nerves just eating away at you.

When jisung found his way back to you once more sitting closer to you. He laid his hand on your leg leaning in to talk to you. “Princess are you alright?”

“Ji- can you not call me that anymore?” You said lip shaking a bit.

“What princess? You love when I call you that?” He said a bit confused.

“Yeah.. I did.. I just.. please don’t anymore” you said your words coming out in almost a choke.

“Oh- okay..” he said his words trailing off he leaned back in his seat brain going a mile a minute.

You didn’t talk anymore just sitting there waiting to go home. Jisung got up a few more times each time keeping his eyes on you. His heart was breaking ‘god I’m such an asshole, I can’t believe I got so upset with them today’ he said to himself. When he finally made his way back to you once more he extended his hand to you “ready to go?” He asked. You nodded getting up not taking his hand though. You made your way through the people jisung right behind you.

He opened the door for you getting in his side. Neither of you said anything for a while. However the silence was eating at him. When he did sneak a peak at you his heart completely crumbled. Your lip was quivering, a small tear falling before you quickly wiped it away. You were so close to the door body almost turned away from him. “Hey you wanna stop at the ice cream shop you like?” He said with a small smile.

You shook your head “n-no I just wanna go home” you said softly.

Man did he really fuck up, you never said no to ice cream. When you got home you quickly walked in, going straight for your room. You hopped back in the shower, something that always made you feel better. You leaned your back against the wall feeling the warm water against your skin. You couldn’t help it, you started to bawl. Tears just pouring as you ugly cried. Sobbing loudly, jisung who was outside the door felt horrible.

It was his fault. Is all he kept saying “I need to fix this.” He said softly before coming into the bathroom. He stripped himself of his clothes slowly getting in with you. You didn’t even hear him only when you felt his arms wrapped around you making you jump didn’t notice. “I’m so sorry” he said softly holding onto you tightly.

“I’m sorry I ruin everything- I- I I’m sorry I make us late and make you mad I’m-“ you choked out crying somehow harder.

Jisung rubbed your back hushing you “no I’m sorry I shouldn’t have said what I said. I was being a complete asshole. And then I kept leaving you knowing you hate crowds. Baby I’m so fucking sorry. You didn’t deserve that” he said tilting your head up to look at him.

“Princess-“ he started to say before stopping himself. “Y/n I’m sorry. I love you. I’m sorry I’m such a dick” he said.

“I know you’re stressed and I shouldn’t have added more to it..” you said softly.

“That’s not an excuse to treat you like I did..” he said “is- is the reason you don’t want me to call you princess because of what I said?” He asked.

When you slowly nodded he felt tears of his own prick at his eyes. “Please I’m sorry- I didn’t mean to make it sound so bad. You are my princess. I wanna always treat you like one because you’re the love of my life.” He said.

“You can call me it just.. don’t use it against me..” you said.

“Never again” he said eyes looking into yours. “You know I didn’t even tell you how beautiful you looked today” he said leaning in his lips ghostly at yours. “My beautiful princess, I love you so much. Let me fix this yeah? Let me show you how much I love you” he said before kissing you.

One hand coming up to cup your face the other laying softly at your hips. He kissed you passionately. Tongue gliding against your lips asking for entrance. You happily let him in tongues tangling with one another. His hand on your hip making its way to your core. His fingers gliding up and down your folds rubbing against your clit. When you arched into his touch he slowly pushed his fingers into you. The kiss slowly becoming sloppier as you moaned against his lips. Your hands wondered down his body touching to tip of his cock making him jump a bit.

His fingers moved faster in you, you matching his pace as you moved your hand up and down his shaft. You were both moaning into the kiss but when he finally pulled away you attached yourself to his neck. Kissing it softly nipping at his sensitive spots. Both of you moaning and groaning as you felt your high quickly coming. He could feel your walls tightening around his fingers and to your dismay he pulled away. When you whined he couldn’t help but chuckle a small bit. “M’sorry princess, but I need to be inside you before I cum” he said taking your leg to put around him.

His cock sliding up and down your folds before pushing into you desperately. He held onto you tightly eyes fluttering open and shut. You attached your lips back to his neck sucking marks all over it. He let his hand wonder down to your clit once more rubbing it ever so perfectly. “I love you y/n, I love you so much my beautiful princess- ah I’m- m’sorry for being a jerk” he said with a long groan.

His thrusts were becoming harsher more sloppy as your walls were pulling him in even more. “I love you to Ji” you croaked out. The way he was moving, the way his fingers move perfectly against your clit and the mix of the hot water was bringing you fast to your orgasm. “My princess, my everything-“ he stammered out. He nudged you making you look at him before he crashed his lips into yours. The kiss was full of need, sloppy with teeth accidentally hitting.

“M’so close princess” he whined.

“Me- me too” you said.

With a few more thrusts hitting your g hard you were cumming. Your walls clenching tightly around him as you came hard. With just one more thrust he was cumming himself choking out as he did one more “I love you” as his cum filled you full. He held onto you tightly peppering kisses to your shoulder.

When you both finally caught your breath he leaned his forehead against yours “I’m sorry, I really am. If I’m ever being like that again please hit me” he said making you chuckle.

“I’ll try and be better at my times too” you said with a smile. “But hey Ji” you said that smile growing.

“Mm?” He hummed.

“Can we still.. go get ice cream?” You said with a little giggle.

“Of course anything for my princess, we gotta actually shower though.” He said.

“Okee then we get ice cream?”

“Yes, then we get ice cream”

The drive to the ice cream was nice Jisung hand intertwined with yours just jamming out to music. He got you the biggest ice cream. While eating the ice cream you looked at the stars making him smile “all those pretty stars up there could never compare to my beautiful princess” he said before kissing you lovingly.

﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌﹌

💙 If you’d like to read more of my stuff you can find it Here: Master List . Thank you for reading and if requests are open or you just wanna talk feel free to send me something🩵

Taglist: @satosugu4l @do-you-remember-summer-127 @xines16 @minh0scat @troublemaker02 @tr-mha-fan @lunearta @velvetmoonlght @minghaosimp @ldysmfrst @felixleftchickennugget

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thehoneybeestings · 4 months ago

Text

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫!𝐯𝐢 𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐦𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐨𝐧𝐬

𝐝𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐫!𝐯𝐢 𝐱 𝐛𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐚!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫

Word Count: 1.8K Content/Warnings: enemies to lovers, modern!au, dancer!vi au, dancer!reader, implied smut but sfw, fem reader (gn pronouns used, though), probably some dance discrepancies because i'm not a dancer myself A/N: I had so much fun writing this; Vi and reader are so sassy like can y'all just fuck it out already... anyway, hope you guys enjoy!

𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞, 𝐁𝐞𝐞 ୨ৎ

──˚₊•୨ৎ•‧₊˚──

୨ৎ The day your mom took you to your local dance company's performance of The Nutcracker was the day your love for dance began

୨ৎ At 7, you could hardly tell the difference between The Royal Ballet and Piltover Springs Dance School; and to say you were in awe was the understatement of the century

୨ৎ The glittering tutus, the leaps and twirls; you were sure you'd just discovered what you wanted to be when you grew up: A Ballerina

୨ৎ And here you were now; not quite a Royal Ballerina, but, you'd just gotten cast as The Sugar Plum Fairy in the very same annual performance of The Nutcracker you'd seen 11 years ago

୨ৎ You were beaming, trying your best to contain your excitement as the director of the school read out the rest of the cast list, until...

୨ৎ "For the first time in Piltover Springs Dance School history, our board was left completely at a loss when attempting to choose between our two top contenders for Star Senior. For this reason, we unanimously agreed that this year's Senior Showcase will feature both students. We’ve decided on a contemporary duet, and for this piece, we've chosen Y/n Y/l/n, and Violet Lanes. Round of applause for this year's Star Seniors!"

୨ৎ Your smile drops as quickly as it had appeared on your face just minutes ago

୨ৎ What. The. Hell.

୨ৎ You'd been pushing yourself beyond measure to earn this distinction, and if you were being honest, you'd rather not have earned it all than be the first student in the school's history forced to share it; and nevertheless, with Violet Lanes

୨ৎ As much you loved dance, you hated Violet; who was now more commonly referred to as Vi, courtesy of the nickname her first dance teacher gave to her

୨ৎ She’d been taking Hip-Hop lessons at the school for as long as you'd been taking Ballet lessons, and by the time you both started taking the same contemporary dance class in the 6th grade, your instructors had already started placing bets on which one of you it would be to earn the Star Senior distinction

୨ৎ You wonder if maybe you and Vi could've become friends if it weren't for how fiercely competitive you both were

୨ৎ But, alas: the two of you were nothing if not fiercely competitive, and oh how ironic it was that you'd now share the distinction that had driven you two so far apart

୨ৎ Clearly, Ekko was loving the irony

୨ৎ "Alright, alright, Star Senior! I can't wait for this one..." he'd say, rubbing his hands together with a shit-eating grin on his face

୨ৎ "I'm so pissed," you'd laugh incredulously, shoving pointe shoes into your bag, "I’d even let Caitlyn have my goddamn spot instead!”

୨ৎ "Ouch,"

୨ৎ You'd recognize the voice behind you anywhere

୨ৎ "If we're gonna be spending this much time together, you might wanna learn to love me, sugar plum.”

୨ৎ You turn to see Vi holding out a piece of paper- the schedule for the upcoming dance season- and your eyes scan for the following dates and times:

୨ৎ Mon, Tues, Thurs, Fri- Company Rehearsal: The Nutcracker; 5:30-7:00 PM

୨ৎ Mon, Tues, Wed, Thurs, Fri- Senior Showcase Rehearsal; 7:15-8:00 PM

୨ৎ You double, triple, quadruple check that you’re seeing this right

୨ৎ "Every day...?" you whisper, mostly to yourself

୨ৎ "Every day. Short sessions, so we can't really afford not to meet every day."

୨ৎ You look up to find that she's sucking her teeth, trying her best not to crack a satisfied smile at the irritation on your face, and anger pierces through you like a lightning bolt

୨ৎ “You're such a dick,” you seethe, eyes narrowed

୨ৎ She just rolls her own in response, unphased as usual; you'd never been able to get a rise out of her the way she could get one out of you, and that just pissed you off even more

୨ৎ “Look,” she sighs, “I don't want to do this stupid ass duet any more than you do, and I sure as hell didn't bust my ass for this distinction so that I could share it, so let's just get the show over with, and then we never have to see each other again. Cool?”

୨ৎ And you admit- for the first time ever, and certainly not out loud- that she's right; you just needed to get through the next eight months, and then you'd never have to see Violet Lanes again…

୨ৎ But why didn't that feel as good to think about as you thought it would?

୨ৎ When 7:15 PM rolls around the next evening, you're already spent from your first day of rehearsals for The Nutcracker

୨ৎ You're hot, sweaty, and tired; and when you walk in a minute late to see Vi checking the imaginary watch on her hand, you know the next few months are going to test your patience like nothing has before

୨ৎ “Don’t piss me off,” you spit, shaking your head as you hold a hand out to her

୨ৎ Vi quirks an eyebrow and chuckles through her nose. "Hello to you too, sugar plum."

୨ৎ You scoff at the stupid nickname before you both turn to the instructor, whose eyebrows are raised as he wonders what the hell he's just gotten himself into

୨ৎ The two of you barely speak to each other during your rehearsals; you're just there to learn the moves, and frankly, try not to end each session at each other’s throats

୨ৎ The latter is a bit of a challenge for the two of you, surprising no one, but what does surprise you is the undeniable chemistry you and Vi have as dance partners

୨ৎ You two are quick to learn every move, and even quicker to learn each other; you sync effortlessly…

୨ৎ Until, the lift

୨ৎ You could not-for the life of you- get the damn lift down

୨ৎ In fact, it takes an entire week of rehearsals just to get halfway there, and even then, it's nowhere near performance-ready

୨ৎ "We might have to scratch the lift and come up with something else," your instructor muses, scratching his chin and looking down at his notebook for other ideas

୨ৎ And Vi is quick to notice the way your face falls in response to his words

୨ৎ To know you was to know someone who demanded perfection from themselves, and it was evident that the idea of not being able to handle something as simple as a lift was going to eat at you

୨ৎ And so, she asks you to stay late that day… a proposal you immediately reject, because,

୨ৎ “I don’t need extra practice, and I certainly don’t need to spend more time with you.”

୨ৎ “Y/n,” she’d deadpan, hands on her hips, “Cut the shit. This is why we can’t get the lift down. You freeze up as soon as you get halfway in the air, and when you hesitate, I hesitate, and then I start to drop you, and all of this because you hate me so much that you can’t even relax into a lift you learned to do when you were 15.”

୨ৎ You huff out a laugh, raising your eyebrows and crossing your arms

୨ৎ “Seriously?” You challenge, “Well… maybe you’re just not strong enough to-”

୨ৎ She quirks an eyebrow and gives you a knowing smirk

୨ৎ Yeah… you kinda figured that one wouldn’t work

୨ৎ “Okay… well, I actually learned to do that lift when I was 13, so it’s been a while since-”

୨ৎ “Y/n,” she interrupts, her voice much more stern than the first time your name left her lips

୨ৎ “What?!” you seethe, now kicking yourself for getting so damn flustered

୨ৎ Vi takes a step forward, and for the first time in your 7-year-long rivalry, her expression softens as she speaks to you

୨ৎ And something blossoms in your belly; something much too close to butterflies for your liking…

୨ৎ “What we’re doing… it’s not working anymore.”

୨ৎ You look up at her through your eyelashes, a pout on your face

୨ৎ You know she’s right

୨ৎ “The break-up speech usually happens after we date, for the record,” you mumble

୨ৎ And she can’t help but laugh, and you can’t help but crack a smile, and have her eyes always crinkled up like that when she laughs?

୨ৎ “C’mon, you know what I mean. You don’t have to like me… but you’ve at least gotta trust me. Just enough for me to hold you in the air for like, three seconds,” she chuckles, “can you do that?”

୨ৎ You stare at her; pensive, hesitant

୨ৎ “I can try.”

୨ৎ “Okay,” she breathes out with a smile, “Then let’s try.”

୨ৎ She presses play on her phone, the same 10-second interval that you’ve heard countless times now begins playing, and you go for the lift; better this time, but she can feel that you’re still unsure

୨ৎ “Damn it,” you spit as she places you back onto your feet

୨ৎ But this time, her hands don’t leave your hips

୨ৎ “Hey,” she calls out with a squeeze to your sides, “Relax. It’s okay, you’re doing good. I’ve got you, I promise.”

୨ৎ She’s never talked to you like this before

୨ৎ Had her voice always sounded so sweet?

୨ৎ Where did that scar on her lip come from?

୨ৎ When did she get this close to you?

୨ৎ “You good?”

୨ৎ Your eyes snap up to meet hers, and what a pretty shade of blue, and you don’t even mean to lick your lips, and-

୨ৎ “No fucking way,” she smirks, “you’re checking me out right now?”

୨ৎ You’re quick to push off of her, immediately denying such claims

୨ৎ “No! What are you talking about? I’m not-”

୨ৎ “Dude, you so are; you just bit your lip!”

୨ৎ “I did not-” you break with a chuckle, closing your eyes. “I was not checking you out.”

୨ৎ“Look at you! Lying through your teeth! It was so obvious, Y/n, I swear to-”

୨ৎ “Are you gonna keep stating the obvious then? Or are you gonna do something about it?”

୨ৎ And oh, did she.

୨ৎ Right there in the studio.

୨ৎ (And all those mirrors… really makes you think…)

୨ৎ Anyhow... it's safe to say that the next day, your instructor was pleasantly surprised to find that the lift was suddenly no longer an issue

୨ৎ You have your first costume fitting the next week

୨ৎ Your tutu was baby pink, covered in glitter and Swarovski crystals, and stuck straight out from your hips; it was exactly what you dreamed of wearing when you saw The Nutcracker for the first time

୨ৎ You'd beam at yourself in the mirror before turning to Ekko, who was already in his Nutcracker costume

୨ৎ "How do I look?" You'd ask

୨ৎ "Holy shit,"

୨ৎ You and Ekko would turn to the voice you'd recognize anywhere; and there stood a head of hot-pink hair, leaning against the doorframe of the ballet studio, chewing on a granola bar

୨ৎ "You look like a fucking cupcake."

୨ৎ Ekko would let out a bark of laughter, and you'd roll your eyes

୨ৎ "I'm a Sugar Plum Fairy," you'd correct, annoyance lacing your tone

୨ৎ "The Sugar Plum Fairy, lest I not forget," Vi would tease

୨ৎ And Ekko would think he was going crazy when he sees Vi shoot you a wink, and you smile back

୨ৎ “Pretty,” Vi would muse before strolling off into the hallway

୨ৎ Okay, now he was sure he was going crazy

୨ৎ “Wait… Y/n, is that a hickey on your neck?!”

──˚₊• 𝐄𝐍𝐃 •‧₊˚──

P.S. - so do y'all want a full-length dance studio smut scene or...

#vi x reader #violet x reader #vi arcane #vi x y/n #vi x you #violet x you #violet x y/n #arcane au #dancer!vi #enemies to lovers #wlw #sapphic #lesbian #violet arcane #vi imagine #arcane imagine #arcane fanfic

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menelausblues · 5 days ago

Text

tuesdays.

꒰ your roommate xavier is odd and quite specific. ꒱

𖥔 ݁ 12.5k. no evol, roommates to lovers au. video game developer x student mc/reader. xavier is a shy guy. rafayel cameo as your quirky neighbor. xavier and mc cook together. somewhat slow burn? domestic fluff. misunderstandings. jealousy. light angst. humor. ❀ ݁ this is old, very old. n i've re-written it for several fandoms atp but it belongs to xavier now n this is the last time i'll put it out there lmao.

mdni.

having xavier as a roommate doesn’t necessarily cause you any problems in your everyday life, but boy is he a rather peculiar man from time to time.

sharing space with him is an overall easygoing and even enjoyable experience due to his reserved and borderline reclusive nature.

he’s quiet, rarely has guests, and doesn’t pester you. he’s also quite domestic, which seems to indirectly benefit you. his areas are well-kept and consistently clean. he stays on top of household finances and shopkeeping. he enjoys cooking and often feeds you.

when you’re gone for the entire day from morning until night, either at work or shuffling through campus, you come home to an extra serving waiting for you. though, he’s never anywhere in sight. ( admittedly, you did eat his extras without permission the first time, but now, he delegates them to you in space-themed bento box you think he’s had since he was a boy. )

considering he sleeps quite early in order to wake up at the first breath of every morning, and you finally consume your second meal of the day alone in the dimly lit kitchen at 11:30 pm, there’s never an appropriate time to thank him. so, you instead leave a sticky note that reads, ‘thank you for the food. i ate well!’ on the coffee machine, the first place he looks each morning. you know this because every day, promptly at 7:15 am, you’re roused from your slumber by the pleasant aroma of coffee brewing and clinging to the air, seeping through all the walls. it’s a habit of his that cultivates comfort, a sense of home. you don’t even like coffee, but his routine is oddly like an alarm, a signal to your body that the day is beginning and rising with him. shortly after his brew begins, your eyes flutter open, humming contentedly as you take in the scent and stretch the sleep out of your limbs. xavier is kind enough. he doesn’t make many demands of you and asks for a reasonable amount to rent his spare room. of all the people and places you could have secured last-minute housing for university, you’re quite fortunate to end up with xavier.

he’s a simple guy, not one for many words, communicating in mostly happy hums, gentle sighs, and soft nods ( when you actually see him come slinking out of his bedroom or enter quietly from wherever he spends his day, that is. ) but despite being mostly pleasant and tolerable, he still has these oddities that make you quirk a brow at him, utterly perplexed. firstly, he nitpicks the number of paper towels you use at once. on one of the rare occasions you mutually linger in the common space other than tuesday, you have the audacity to wash your hands in front of him — dry them, no less. naturally, like any other, you grab paper towels to dry, and you feel his eyes locked on your side profile, watching diligently from the dining table. his eyes, little seas you can drown in, shamelessly bore into you. he analyzes you carefully — judges you.

you meet his eyes slowly, unusually nervous. you feel as if you’re being heavily and thoroughly scrutinized. his displeasure pierces the air with terrifying persistence.

“uh…is everything okay?” “you use a lot of paper towels at once.” he notes quietly, never tearing his gaze from yours. “it’s pretty wasteful.” he admittedly didn’t state it with malice, only moderate concern at best. when he says it, you look down between your palms where a bundle of paper towels are bunched.

you can admit it’s more than you actually needed, but it’s such an odd thing to want to observe and take note of, such a specific behavior to apply feedback to. you look back up at him, blinking slowly. “sorry?” you offer half-heartedly. “is there a certain amount you’d like me to use at a time?” you try your damndest not to let the severity of your bubbling agitation show, but you hear it slip in the way you offer him a careless apology and defensive inquiry about a solution. to your dismay, xavier only hums, ignoring your attitude and seriously considering your notion. “ideally, paper towels should only be used for spills and messes, so as to not permanently stain our cloth towels. considering there are two hundred and eight sheets in total, at an average cost of five diamonds per roll, making each sheet worth just under two-point-five gold, it’d be objectively more cost-efficient and environmentally friendly if you…placed a cloth towel there specifically to dry your hands and include it in your laundry cycle regularly. that’s what i do. it’s…the most reasonable option.” “uh…huh.” you say it slowly, trying to wrap your mind around why it took a boy who hardly ever speaks so many words to arrive at a simple conclusion: put a hand towel there instead. “i’ll put a towel there. i’m sorry for being wasteful.” he nods, his hard gaze softening and moving back to previous stimuli. “thank you for acknowledging my concern.” in truth, you don’t even get a chance to add a towel. xavier does it himself. the next time you’re in the kitchen, you notice he’s left an additional towel hanging right next to his, identical. the sight of it causes you to shake your head and chuckle to yourself, lips tilting into a grin.

peculiar boy.

coupled with his obtuse observational interests is xavier’s odd attachment to tiny, mundane instances inside his routine. specifically, everyone coming home on time. every tuesday you only have a single class in the morning, and you also have a day off from your part-time job. so, you usually stroll back into the apartment by mid-afternoon. xavier is never there when you arrive, and you don’t know much about what he does with his time during the day. at most, you know he’s already graduated university. you know he must make decent money considering his capacity for keeping the entire house’s basic needs met. you figure he has to do something during the daytime.

that, or it’s nepotism.

what it is? you’re uncertain, but he always carries a backpack stuffed full, and his laptop is always tucked securely under his arm within a protective sleeve. xavier is a habitual creature through and through, dancing in the spaces of predictability with perceivable glee. he arrives back home by 4:30 consistently. by that time, you’re usually engrossed in a book, spread out on the living room floor studying, or curled up on the couch watching dramas whenever he finally arrives. you never make eye contact or redirect your attention from what it’s already fixated on, but you do always absentmindedly greet him the same way each time: “welcome home.”

he always gives you a small hello and immediately retreats to his room without another word. sometime around six, he emerges from his room and comes to the common space to ask if you want dinner. tuesday evening is the only occasion during the week you’re able to try the things he makes fresh, rather than reheating them. and you both sit in an incredibly comforting, idle silence while you eat. there’s never expectations to entertain one another or engage in meaningless small talk. you compliment his meal, thank him, and tell him you ate well. it’s never a lie. xavier is an exceptional cook. but on one particular tuesday in question, he comes stumbling into the apartment at 2:45 pm, significantly earlier than usual, and he’s in an evident frenzy. he comes in, kicks his shoes off at the door with little regard ( entirely unlike him ), and moans begrudgingly as he shuffles back toward his room, defeat loud and palpable.

“welcom—” the greeting dies on your lips, hearing his long string of audible dread and looking after him as he scurries down the hall. “xavier?” you call after him. you watch his tall figure pause and turn back towards you when he hears you, his cerulean eyes round and wide with apprehension and fear. “yes?” “rough day?” you ask him softly, trying not to overwhelm him even more. “you’re home pretty early and you have this distinct look of terror.” you try to joke lightheartedly, but he sighs in response, looking down at his feet. “it is a rough day and it’s only going to get worse. i don’t know what to do.” “do you need help with something?” “i…i think so? i have friends coming over. i’ve never had anyone over here. i don’t…do that. i’ve never made that much food. i feel like i won’t be able to get done in time and clean myself up.” “you seem really stressed out about this. how many people are coming?” “…two,” he answers sheepishly. “but additional mouths to feed means more time and honestly, i don’t have any time. i left work early so i could try to make this happen, but now it means i’m going to be behind on the schedule i put together for my project and this is…it’s…it’s fussing up my routine. that's making me stressed. i’m sorry. i’m sorry . i know i’m just blubbering and prattling right now.” “xavier,” you say softly, giving him a sympathetic smile. “it’s okay. i get it. i hate when my day gets thrown off, too. i’m not doing anything particularly important if you want help with making dinner. are there things you need from the store or anything? i can take care of that while you wash up and relax for a bit.”

he’s quiet for a moment as if he doesn’t know what to say. he just stares at you with an unreadable expression, nods once — quite curtly — and turns back toward his room. you don’t take it any kind of way, knowing he often responds pretty similarly. you figure he just isn’t used to requesting or receiving help, but it’s fine. you can and will follow through. xavier doesn’t realize what a load he takes off your shoulder by providing you with regular meals. in your mind, the least you can do is eat well, be mindful of your paper towel use, and offer helpful hands when applicable. later when the two of you are prepping dinner and simultaneously trying to make the apartment feel ‘guest ready’, you keep noticing him glance over at you, but he doesn’t speak. actually, he hardly says anything at all the entire time you work together. it’s such a strange contradiction. he presents himself as shy and reserved because he simply dosen’t speak, but when he does speak, he seems to talk a mile a minute or be unnecessarily long-winded at an average speed. there isn’t really an in-between thus far, and you’d lived with him for nearly a year. unable to endure any more of his silent but blatant gazes, you snap your head to him, a little curious and also frustrated. “why are you staring at me? did i do something again?” “no,” his head shakes as he blinks, seeming a bit taken aback by your tone. “i was…thinking that i’m really grateful that you were willing to help me with this. i don’t have enough time to finish all my work. i don’t have enough time to see my friends or have dinner with them. i don’t have enough time to spend with myself. but i’m trying to do it anyway because…it matters, you know? but i was…in a panic earlier. i get really stuck on my routines. inconsistencies just make my brain itch. i was feeling really overwhelmed and your offer to go gather the things i needed just so i could shower and breathe for ten minutes…meant…a lot to me. so…thank you. also…i’m sorry…for staring. i have this really bad habit of not knowing what to say, so i say nothing or… everything.”

to his apparent surprise, you giggle. his eyes widen a bit at the sound. “yeah, i noticed that about you, actually.” you place a comforting hand on his shoulder. “no problem. we’ve been here together for a while now, yeah? it’s only natural that sometimes we need to rely on each other. it’s kind of like how you leave me your extras from dinner for when i get home. i…otherwise would only eat once a day most days. i move around a lot. i forget about it, and by the time i get home, i’m too exhausted to make food. i’m grateful for how you’re willing to help me, too.” you didn’t expect to see his face flush red or for him to look down as if staring at his feet will make the bright, rosy tips of his ears disappear.

“yeah…no problem. i guess you’re right.” “so…what is it that you do for work? what’s so time-consuming that you essentially have no life outside of it?” you ask. although you’re curious about his line of work, you ask him for his benefit, so he doesn’t feel embarrassed for feeling flustered after your exchange. you’re starting to figure out that although xavier appears and presents as if his lack of social involvement is a personal preference and choice, being a loner is not just a stylistic choice but an inevitable outcome.

he’s clearly socially inept. when you guys eat in thick silence, it’s not because he’s wading in an endless sea of comfortable notions and doesn’t feel the need to speak. he doesn’t know what to say, so he opts for absolutely nothing. small talk is likely not something he’s familiar with or perhaps even cares about. he has to be coaxed out of his fretful foundation just to express that he needs help. he communicates in grunts, nods, and sighs because it’s easier than navigating a flow of back and forth in conversation. “i’m a video game designer. i…work on actions and movements mostly. the physics of it all. when characters engage in combat or how they interact with certain parts of the environment in open-world games? i’m part of the team that goes behind creating things like that. we give the characters life and motion. it’s…pretty cool considering it’s been my dream job since i was young, but it’s a lot of hard work. we’re working on a really important game right now. it could put our team on the map with. so, i have to do my best. i can’t let my team down.” you hum, impressed. “that’s actually really cool. i kind of figured you were a nerd in some capacity. you’re a cool nerd with a cool job.” he laughs then, light and quiet but saccharine sweet. “i wouldn’t say i’m a nerd. i have a deep understanding of my personal interests. it doesn’t make me nerdy. just knowledgeable.”

you nod in agreement but hum in protest. “no, it doesn’t make you nerdy, but telling someone they use too many paper towels and proceeding to itemize the cost of a single sheet on a whim is…not, not nerdy.” you explain, clicking your tongue. he pouts. “i thought that information was relevant to helping you understand my stance.” “i would’ve understood even if you didn’t explain, xavier. it’s your apartment and you buy all the paper towels. it’s not wrong for you to, without explanation, tell me to be mindful of my excessive use.” xavier looks you over, his expression contorted by perceivable perplexity, lips pursed and eyes just staring at you while blinking blankly. “but you clearly were bothered by me bringing it up. that’s why i elaborated like that.” nonchalantly, you shrug. “i wasn’t bothered you brought it up. i just thought you were being peculiar. and you still haven’t been able to escape those allegations, by the way. it’s alright, though. even if we end up having to indict you for your oddities, i’ll still accept you.”

it’s quiet between you both then. xavier seems to have nothing else to offer to the little exchange, and that’s fine with you because when you peek at him again as he’s chopping vegetables, you notice his tiny smile. and you note that the subtle little smile doesn’t leave him for the entirety of the evening. you sit quietly on the opposite side of the room, midding — uninvolved but happily present — observing him engage with his work friends, jeremiah and ulysses. he seems quite comfortable with them. his speech becomes fluid, easy, and even exciting at times. you see a little sparkle in his eyes when they talk about games and how jeremiah is close to finishing is personal passion project.

xavier must love gaming a lot. you wonder if video game development is really his dream activity or just the dream career, and maybe his real passion is something more novel and less technical. regardless, you can’t help the sheer feeling of pride that swirls around in your chest seeing him like this: attentive, involved, lively. it gives you a subtle little smile of your own. and you note that it doesn’t leave you for the entirety of the evening.

among all other observations, the characteristic of xavier’s that confirms the strength of his quirkiness is how he’s suddenly far too concerned with how you spend your tuesdays. it starts the week after you help him prepare his tiny dinner party for his friends, the most peculiar aspects of his behavior. it’s all because on one particular tuesday in question, you never come home after class.

your friend and co-worker, tara, has a date with a girl she’s been flirting with for a while, and you agree to switch shifts. today in exchange for a day you don’t have class and you can stay home, a fair and even trade. you’re tired, hanging on by a thread, but you really need the extra time for the week. ( you work as a waitress at a small restaurant near the university. most students dine between classes or on their lunches. it’s a small but heavily populated establishment. when you volunteer to work on busy days, your boss advances you what you make for that day at the end of the night. it has its perks and its pits. ) while cleaning off the table of a guest who just left, you receive repeated text messages, making your brows furrow as your phone shoots signal after signal in quick succession. who could possibly be texting you this urgently? no one ever does. you glance at the time. 4:32 pm. xavier usually wanders through the door right around now. your expression lifts in light shock as you see he happens to be the source of the incessant sounding.

4:32 pm ⋮ xavier.

are you safe? you’re not at home. it’s tuesday. you’re usually home when i get here. my routine is thrown off.

you roll your eyes reading his messages. he’s being hyperbolic and overdramatic again, but for what? is it really so important that you’re there just to say two words he hardly acknowledges only to hole up in his room until he’s ready to make dinner?

maybe this is his attempt at humor.

you chuckle at the thought of it. xavier is so socially awkward that his jokes don’t even land; they just float in the air, suspended by complexity until someone gets it.

4:34 pm ⋮ you.

you’re being incredibly dramatic. i’m at work. very alive and well. making money to keep feeding us.

4:35 pm ⋮ xavier.

objectively incorrect. i buy all of our food?

4:40 pm ⋮ xavier.

look. no one was here to welcome me home and now i’m back but don’t feel an ounce of welcome about it.

you laugh at his response, very heartily, right in the middle of a restaurant, inwardly beaming with pride because he made a joke. and it was actually kind of funny. only kind of. you start to wonder why it matters so much to you if he grows into himself and becomes comfortable enough to speak freely and easily. why do you feel so invested in his character development? regardless, you hope to see him come out of his shell more. it’s becoming of him.

4:42 pm ⋮ xavier.

will you make it in time for dinner or another long night?

4:44 pm ⋮ you.

probably not. it’s pretty busy and we’re already short-staffed. another long night. aiming to be back by ten tonight. i have homework due at midnight.

4:45 pm ⋮ xavier.

okay…understood. godspeed.

work goes by as it does. it’s always the same formula and equation, just different bodies and times of day. you finally come strolling home at 10:05 pm. you’re dead tired and knowing you still have to finish your homework and submit it is making the exhaustion feel heavier than it probably is. when you head inside, you expect it to be dark, only the light above the stove left on as per usual, but instead, all of the lights are on. the tv is chattering with excitement, playing some kind of variety show, and there’s a spicy, thick aroma in the air that makes you pause briefly to breathe it in. it’s so pleasant. and warm. you walk in, greeted by a scent that feels like a long embrace.

as you stroll through the door, you look to your immediate left where the open layout kitchen is placed. xavier stands next to the stove, chopping vegetables carefully on the counter. “welcome home.” he announces it casually, just as you always do for him, but doesn’t tear his attention away from his task. you don’t know what exactly this is, the shift in his behavioral pattern. you aren’t sure what to name the feelings that attach to it, either, but you appreciate it because today you have an anomaly of your own. you understand it right then: what he means when he says he came back but he didn’t feel welcomed home. you’re always only ‘coming back’ but walking in and being welcomed by him, it feels more like ‘coming home’. you note that there might just be a difference. your voice is tepid and content when you finally speak. “hey, you’re up pretty late.” he only hums in response. you wander over to him, keeping a good grip on all your belongings. “cooking dinner at this hour? pretty unlike you. huh, your routine really did get messed up.” his lips quirk. “yeah, i worked more when i came home instead of eating. i’m still catching up from last week. but i noticed i was starving and then i realized it was almost ten. so i figured i might as well just commit to a curve in my routine. but…what about yours?” his inquiry surprises you a little because he’s initiating small talk with you. at first, your lips just part. “my…routine? uh…yeah? it got thrown off majorly today. i have an assignment due by midnight. i thought i would turn it in by this afternoon, but i got paid in advance for this shift, so that was nice.” xavier abruptly stops cutting his carrots and places the knife down calmly. and then, he just looks at you. it was a very normal look that you could give anyone: stranger, acquaintance, or friend. it was just a simple look, but for some reason, when his eyes meet yours, your heart starts to pick up its rhythm, and you swear you can hear the thump of it crescendo in your ears. he’s so…handsome. it’s not that you’ve never looked at him before. it’s not that you aren’t already aware that he’s a good-looking man. anyone with eyes and reason can see that. it’s just that right now you’re looking at him and he seems like his features have changed, like someone raised the saturation and clarity on his existence. his jawline seems sharper. his soft, blue eyes seem more potent, gleaming cooly. his lips are supple, pink, pouty, and curved quite romantically. he looks like a walking beckoning for affection. his pearly hair is tousled, all in disarray, like he’s been running his fingers through tirelessly. his clothes seem to cling to the thickness of his frame, outlining the definition of his thin but muscular build. he quite obviously works out. you didn’t notice that before, the way fabric bulges around his arms and shoulders. his feathery lashes flutter around lapis when he blinks, all that angelic beauty swirling around so casually. you haven’t looked at him this thoroughly before.

god, he’s pretty.

“you should make sure you respect your resting day routines. you seem to work really hard with…everything you’re doing.” xavier’s voice is soft and caring, cradling his own declaration tenderly. smiling, you nod, swallowing down how flustered suddenly you feel inside, hoping the quickening of your breath doesn’t give it away. “i hear you. it was a one-time thing anyway. now…need help?” “don’t you have homework?” his voice is perplexed. “go work on it. i’ll call you when i’m done.” to this, you reject his suggestion with a shake of your head. “no can do. i think i’m too tired and will take my loss with grace for the sake of a decent meal before midnight. i’ll ask again…need help?” you don’t say what you really mean right then: i think i’d rather spend time in silence with you. it looks like he’s only barely started, likely working on a base for some sort of soup. he has so many scraps laid out everywhere. xavier clears his throat. “uh…yeah…yeah, i do.”

“on it,” you say resolutely. “let me put my stuff up and change. it’ll only take me five and i’ll be back to help.”

after that, you don’t see xavier for the rest of the week. tuesday is really the only day your schedules coordinate enough to see each other even in passing. you don’t miss how disappointment settles in your chest every single time you wander inside at ten or eleven and you don’t see him standing there in the kitchen, back turned to you, nonchalantly welcoming you home. you don’t miss the way you stop yourself from texting him and telling him exactly what he told you: look. no one is here to welcome me back home and now i’m back but don’t feel an ounce of welcome about it. but on the following monday, you receive a surprising notification.

1:08 pm ⋮ xavier.

i would like to formally request permanent assistance with dinner on tuesday evenings. unless work or other contractual obligations prevent participation. it is much more efficient with two sets of hands. and since we both eat, it’s the most ethical and fair.

his formality makes you giggle, as it’s so aligned with who you now understand him to be. once again, smiling fondly to yourself, you think of what a peculiar boy he is. his request at its core is perfectly fair. he does buy all the food and cook it but you both enjoy the fruits of his labor. so if it’s a regular thing, you realistically should help him without a single qualm. that’s the line of reasoning you offer for the sheer speed of your response, agreeing to give away all your foreseeable tuesdays to him: in all fairness.

1:09 pm ⋮ you.

sure thing xavi.

you don’t miss the way it’s the first time you’ve ever called him by or given him any kind of nickname. you don’t miss the way you feel nervous to send it, as if being denied casual exchanges with him will have a significant impact on your emotions. now you’re the one acting peculiarly. for three weeks, on three consecutive tuesdays, you and xavier rally together in the kitchen, pick a recipe to follow, assign your roles, complete your duties, and successfully make meals together around six o’clock. for three consecutive tuesdays, you sit together at the table and eat well, sometimes in silence, but sometimes in comfortable, slow-paced conversation. the most surprising evolution is the budding presence of his attempts at small talk. “i don’t know how i feel about this recipe.” xavier admits after devouring the meat he’s made. “i don’t care for this marinade at all.” you, mouth full and consumption bordering barbaric, look confused. when you swallow, you have to inquire about why he feels this way. it’s quite delicious. and you can’t fathom him not liking it considering he ate all of it. “what? you didn’t like it? how? i think it’s incredible. probably your best yet. the meat is so, so tender and it’s very flavorful but not overwhelming. it pairs really well with this little sauce we made!” “you enjoyed it?” xavier asks. you notice then that he’s biting his lip rather nervously. “or are you only saying that because we spent a considerable amount of time on this one?” you grin, rolling your eyes. “why would i lie? you’re a good cook, xavi. seriously…i’ve never not enjoyed the food you’ve cooked. you did really well on the meat. and judging by your happy plate, i think you know that.” you figure out quickly that it isn’t that he doesn’t like it, but that he wants someone else to say he did a good job but doesn’t want to ask directly until an opinion is already offered.

he even seeks praise awkwardly. how endearing.

he doesn’t speak, only lowers his head with that subtle smile you’ve come to find yourself craving the sight of. admittedly, you enjoy this blooming tradition that the two of you are building. you feel excited for him to come home, eager for him to finish resting up and come out at six, ready to get started, ready to talk to you or just stand by your side. moreover, you really enjoy not eating dinner alone. you enjoy his proximity even in your settled silence. it always feels more like home when he’s here and you are, too, both parallel or perpendicular to the other. “this is nice.” you tell him warmly. “i kinda like our new tradition.” “oh,” he breathes softly. “i…” his head rises quickly and he looks at you, those icy eyes you’ve grown particularly fond of now slightly widened. you don’t know if you’re just seeing what your own unspoken feelings want to see, but it looks like longing looking back at you. his hand rests on the table and you glance down, only for a fraction of a moment, considering reaching your own out to find the answer to a theory you’ve constructed in the last few weeks: you think his hands might be incredibly soft. “well, um. i…that’s…good to know. i think that maybe…um, i…” ( your mind begs you to let it be known that he’s stammering and you’re staring, but your thoughts are ever so slightly somewhere else. ) you notice when he washes his hands, he pats them dry lightly with his towel. delicate. and he always opens the drawer below immediately after to pull out a tiny bottle of hand cream. every single time. habitual. he applies a dollop and rubs it all in gingerly. he makes sure to get all the nooks and crannies of his hands, the dips and the divots. thorough. patient. soft. satin. he seems to care a great deal about his hands, takes good care of them and the things they touch. you lick your lips and look away. “i’m sorry…i…uh…don’t know what to say i think and…” you cut him off. “is it a mutual understanding?” “what?” “do you…like our little tradition as well?” a slow, timid, soundless nod. you respond with tilted lips. “then…you can just say…i like it, too.” he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, but the look he gives you is becoming clearer, and you can’t look directly for too long or you’ll melt right before him.

xavier turns out to be a lot like the sun, and if you aren’t careful, your heart might try to become like spring and bloom for him. “i…like it, too.” he says finally. humming, you turn your attention back towards your food, looking away, and for the first time, being the one with nothing left to say. all the things you want to say officially teeter off the cusp of amiability and drop straight into a giant vat of arousal. after a moment, your body becomes so hot you can’t stand just sitting there anymore, so dinner ends abruptly with xavier telling you to leave your dishes and he’ll take care of them. you only nod and offer him a quiet thank you and a friendly goodnight. then you wander off to your room in a daze wondering if he noticed you squirming in your seat. he’s so domestic, you’re about to cum off the strength of existing in the same house as him. ( and that’s not good because you’re always in the same house as him. ) the things you watch him do in the kitchen, it’s all just so homely. there’s a kind of strength in a man who appreciates homemaking that makes you weak. telling you to make sure to preheat the oven, putting on his mitts to check on the food, setting timers, and tying an apron around his waist. cutting vegetables. using measuring cups.

‘slice, not dice. here, let me show you. watch.’

the way his triceps and biceps flex at the motion of his very intentional cuts, the way he’s always rolling up his sleeves, even when they’re short-sleeved shirts like a goddamn tease, basically begging to be turned into a husband and a father overnight.

it’s sickening. you officially want him so bad you want to throw up.

the orgasm you have in your room — stifling the sound of your moans and the sound of you quietly calling out his name when you did — spells it out quite clearly for you even if you don’t want to acknowledge it outright.

you like him. a lot. it’s absolutely sickening.

on thursday, another anomaly occurs in your schedule. a few actually, and all of them are pleasant. the first anomaly is relaxation. you don’t have class and since tara keeps up her end of the deal, you have an entire day at home to enjoy your alone time. but, as usual, you wake to the pleasant aroma of coffee. you smile even harder knowing there’s nowhere for you to be so you can move as quickly or as slowly as you like.

it means that maybe you can go have coffee with xavier before he leaves for the day. you don’t even like coffee, but you like him. and that’s more than enough reason to get you out of bed, tidy yourself a bit, and go sauntering out of your room to ask for a cup of hot liquid you’ll never consume. ( you’re more of a tea or hot chocolate kind of person, but there’s a first time for everything, and maybe having coffee will taste better if drinking it means spending even a fractal of time with him. ) this initiates the occurrence of the next anomaly. “good morning,” you say pleasantly. a yelp. a jolt. a wince. a hiss. a “fuck, fuck, fuck”. a resounding crash. the sound of shattered ceramic. xavier clearly isn’t expecting you to be up or to greet him. you wince at the sound of glass and lean over to see that he’s dropped and broken the mug he was holding: your mug. your favorite one. the one your grandmother made for you with her own two hands. there’s coffee pooling everywhere, all over the floor, and xavier moans dreadfully. “shit!” he exclaims. “you scared me. i’m so sorry. i didn’t mean…i didn’t mean to break it. i’m sorry. i really am.” the mug means the world to you, as your grandmother’s much older now and unable to craft little items for you like this anymore. it’s the only one of its kind. the only one that would ever be. and now it’s in pieces on the kitchen floor, a little sea of java surrounding the sad, jagged portions of loving sentiment. “i’m sorry i scared you.” you say softly, trying hard not to cry. you don’t want to make him feel bad. you don’t want him to feel bad at all. “it’s okay, xavi. it’s okay. i’ll get towels.” once you grab towels and come back to help him clean it up, he’s deep in a spell of unnerved groaning — a long, drawn-out whine that goes on under his breath for a while. “please don’t be upset.” he pleads, frowning. “i’m so, so sorry.” you smile softly, shaking your head. “i’m not upset, xavi. are you hurt at all? from the coffee? i heard you hiss.” “i’m okay. it splashed on me, but it didn’t burn me or anything.” you place the two large towels down to soak up all the liquid on the ground. xavier focuses on picking up each piece of the broken mug. as you watch him through the top of your eyes, you wonder just why he’s using your mug to begin with. “i’m not used to you being awake so early.” he admits, slightly embarrassed of how a simple good morning resulted in this. “but…good morning to you, too.” you just can’t help it. you giggle. peculiar boy. “if you want…you…you can pick one of my mugs to take in its place.” he offers, biting his lip. you nod and say okay for a few reasons: 1. you absolutely want something of his and it’s a microscopic guilty desire you have. 2. he seems like it’ll bother him a lot if he can’t rectify the situation in some way. you saying it’s okay doesn’t appear to suffice. 3. see reasons 1 and 2.

as he’s showing you his plethora of available mugs, you catch yourself smiling. he has all of these mugs of his own, but…he was drinking his morning coffee out of yours. you survey them all and find only one that stands out. it’s a white, ceramic mug with the word ‘create’ etched messily into it. it’s oddly shaped, looking nearly homemade. irregular. odd. it’s the most xavier mug of them all. that’s the one you want. you point to it. “i’ll take that one.” you chirp.

for a brief moment, he hesitates, pouting cutely, but his lips slowly tilt upward. “of course you will. that one’s my favorite. i made it in my high school art class, but…okay. okay. a mug for a mug. you can keep it. drink your coffee out of it well…and frequently…or it might start to feel neglected. it’s an extroverted kind of mug.” if you knew it wouldn’t result in one of the most blatant forms of rejection you’ll ever face, because xavier is nothing if not brutally honest, maybe you would have kissed him right then. it would be hard not to if you knew with unearned confidence that he wouldn’t push you away. but, instead, you quietly take the mug and you’ll use it well just as he asks. and maybe he’ll try to sneak in a hidden smile by just lifting the corner of his lips. and maybe you’ll spot his dimple because of it, the one that likes to hide the same way your feelings do. and maybe the sight of it will make your heart flutter and your breath hitch. and maybe it ( in its own way ) could be just as good as a kiss. a homemade mug for a homemade mug.

you have a feeling you’ll keep it closer than anything else. “want to have coffee before you leave for work?” you ask, even knowing well that you’ll be wasting even more than he has, even knowing how upset he’ll be if he figures you out. but it feels worth it when he nods, offering you that coy smile you silently plead for nowadays. and you both do, in the soft lull of the morning, sit at the table over a cup of coffee. you even steal glances every now and then. when he asks why you haven’t touched your drink, you lie and say you prefer it with creamer, to which he turns his nose up in disgust. “creamer is a forbidden substance in this house.” he informs you. “but…if…if it really is a deal-breaker for your coffee enjoyment…i’ll make sure to get you some. what kind do you like?”

the next time you go grocery shopping for us, honey? why don’t you just ask me to pop the question right now?

you don’t care for coffee. you don’t care for creamer, but you care very, very dearly about the prospect of xavier getting any kind of special thing for you, with you in mind, with the purpose of making an experience better for you. it makes you feel special to him. ( you know plenty of special things he can give you to make the experience better. and it didn’t even cost money. he can use his perfect hands as much as he likes. ) “hazelnut,” you lie with a smile. “that’s my favorite.”

the third anomaly occurs much later in the day when you’re home alone and you’re lounging in the living room, wondering if thursday will get to be a second tuesday with xavier since you’ll both be here. unexpectedly, there’s a knock at the door. your brows furrow. you didn’t order any food. you didn’t expect a delivery. xavier always tells you if anyone’s dropping by. when you walk up to the door and peep out, you see a remarkably handsome man standing on the other side. you open the door carefully, revealing a boy, likely around your age, with soft lilac hair that seems to take on a pearlescent tint in the light. a blend of amethyst and carnelian in his eyes and standing there with a kind smile that seems like it might dissolve anything in sight that just so happens to perceive it.

he even has little dimples on his cheeks as he beams so pleasantly. he, much like xavier, is very pretty. “hi…can i…help you?” you ask timidly, not fully coming outside the crack in the door, only your head and a portion of your torso poking out. ( he might be attractive, but he’s still a stranger. ) he scratches the back of his head. “oh…uh, hi!…my name is rafayel? i just moved into that unit about a week ago.” he explains, jerking a thumb back towards his front door, #1103r, right across from you and xavier’s #1104r.

“oh! i didn’t even know the unit was empty.” you laugh. “welcome to the complex…and the hall. it’s fairly quiet, so i hope you aren’t a partier.” laughing, he shakes his head. “a baker and a painter, not a partier. i spend my spare time making sweet treats. you might smell me baking a lot, though. i…uh…i actually was coming to ask if you had butter? or margarine? i’ve started making cupcakes, but i didn’t get butter at the store, and i didn’t want to leave out…because i already started. so, i figured i could come to introduce myself…and ask a neighborly favor?”

he puts his hands together in a small plea.

wow, the boys in this building really do enjoy wholesome activities.

smiling, you nod. “sure, give me a second. i’ll be right back.” when you come back to the door with an entire package of butter, he smiles wide, making his eyes crinkle. “i hope that’ll be enough.” “more than, i’ll bring back what i don’t use.” he promises. “ah, you’re a lifesaver. thanks!”

“happy to help. welcome to the building, rafayel.” now, the exchange should be complete but he’s still just standing there. “well…if that’s all…” “what was your name? did you already tell me?” he asks suddenly, confused. “sorry, i wanted to say your name, too, because it seems respectful since you said my name, but i was trying to rack my brain for what you said your name was…” “i didn’t.” you clarify, chuckling at his spaciness despite knowing you’ll lie. “it’s…hunter.” “hunter. hm, i like it. it suits you somehow. anyway, thanks, miss hunter the neighbor. rafayel the baker will see you again soon to return his butter hostage and maybe offer a treat forged from his deepest gratitudes.” a lopsided grin and a wink. when he leaves, you close the door and stand there for a moment, recalling the entire exchange. he’s handsome, a bit spacey, but so friendly…so friendly he’s flirty. you’ll never complain about having eye candy for a neighbor, but…you don’t want xavier to get the wrong idea…if rafayel starts talking to you more… you quickly shake the thought away, reminding yourself to return to reality from the depths of your delusions. xavier is not interested in you in that way by any means. he, at most, wants to become friends, which is understandable for a person he’ll be living with for an additional year. that’s fair. you want to be friends, too. ( you just also want him to talk you through his day while he’s fingering you, that’s all. )

the next anomaly occurs at five pm when xavier arrives home much later than he usually does. for him, thirty minutes late is a lot. it throws off his routine. “welcome home.” you say casually as he finally comes waltzing in. you try your best to appear as if you’re as unfazed about his entry. you try not to make it disgustingly obvious that you aren’t just there relaxing anymore; you’re waiting. for him to come home. to welcome him back. this time, though, he doesn’t respond curtly as he ducks back towards his room. you hear the rustling of plastic bags he sets down on the kitchen counter.

he then wanders over to you and lays a heavy palm flat on the crown of your head. “hey,” he breathes. in movies or dramas, this is the moment where your world freezes, just becoming so petrified that even time doesn’t dare to move. you gulp hard, your heart racing even more so than it usually does over him.

what are you supposed to do? “did you…enjoy your day off?” he asks. “did you rest enough?”

“um…” your voice trails, mind still entranced by his hand resting on top of your hand. it’s such a gentle gesture, so tender and timid, like him. such a well-suited affection for his temperament. “i had…a relaxing day. it was nice.” you manage to speak, but you stare ahead, not bold enough to look up at the face he’s making while he touches you. he finally lowers his hand to his side and inside, you scream about it, protest profusely to the removal of his closeness. “what about you? was work okay?” you ask, breathing returning to normal as he heads back to the kitchen to unpack his things.

the first item he takes out is a little bottle of hazelnut creamer, and your heart is so warm you think it’s become nothing but a puddle of adoring liquid. “work was less stressful. we’re close to done with this project. so now there’s not as much silence in the office. everyone is slowly starting to act like real people again. it was driving me insane. when intense projects happen, it disrupts my routine so much. people stop saying good morning. i don’t feel comfortable saying anything more than i already don’t. and i think the secretary hates me because i kept messing up my report and printing it incorrectly. it created unnecessary work for her and it wasted a lot of paper. i made sure to pick some up while i was at the store to replace it, but…” he stops suddenly and frowns. “sorry, i just realized i was rambling again.” you can’t hide your loving smile even if you bother trying. “you’re talking about your day. there’s nothing wrong with that, especially if the person you’re talking to wants to know all the seemingly useless details.” xavier has this habit of just peering at you at times when you respond to his long-windedness with openness to experience. and boy were you dangerously open to experiencing him. “and…do you…?” he asks you slowly, his head tilting to the side. “…want to hear even the unimportant details?” you shrug casually and nod once. you decide on an endearing response with a touch of humor to soften the landing for your heart as it’s doing its somersaults. “i don’t mind hearing about your day in great detail…it’s like listening to an audiobook for free. or a podcast.” “you…” he rolls his eyes, lips quirking. a soft shake of the head. “anyway, what’d you do today? stay on the couch engrossed in your dramas?” “i cleaned up a bit, did some homework, met our new neighbor, and binged on a drama, yes.” his brows bundle together. “we didn’t already have a neighbor?” “that’s what i said! i didn’t know the unit across the hall was empty, but he came by to ask if he could have some butter and introduce himself.” xavier’s face scrunches up, slightly disgusted and confused. “butter? like…to just eat?” “xavi, what?” you ask, bubbling a laugh. “no, dummy. he’s a baker. he started making cupcakes and realized he didn’t have any. he said he’d bring back the excess.” again, a repulsed display of emotion. “i don’t want any food back after it’s left this apartment. there are all kinds of new germs and particles on it now. why would i consume that or allow you to? what kind of person do you take me for? god only knows what he does in that unit. and if he double dips? if he sticks his fingers in his mouth and touches the container without washing his hands? ew. there’s no way for us to even verify. the number of available and unfavorable possibilities is disgusting in itself. and bakers seem like the…‘lick their fingers clean’ type, so…he can keep the butter. i’ll get us more.” you purse your lips together, clasping them shut to keep your amused smile from showing how endearing you find him to be and also to keep from laughing at the severity of his seriousness, at how comical all his particularities are but adorable in the same breath. peculiar as ever. “okay, if he tries to return it, i’ll reject him.”

“that would be best.” a familiar, curt nod. “i’m making dinner in a little while…do you…want to help me? or will it throw your relaxation routine off?” you snort. “xavi, i don’t have a relaxation routine. the relaxation is disrupting the routine in a good way. but yes…what are we making?” and there it is again, that little smile that makes you want to clutch at your chest. having a second tuesday is another wonderful disruption to the routine.

the following tuesday, you’re giddy as you head home from class. you aren’t sure what moment does it for you, but you’ve settled comfortably into the fact that you like xavier, that given the opportunity, you’ll peel back every single layer of his existence to taste and lick and know every part of him. it doesn’t bother you to be just friends and roommates with him, though. you guys live together. even if something comes of it, if it goes south, it’ll really destroy the living dynamic you guys have cultivated, which is quite comfortable. gentle. tender. safe. besides, he reserves special kinds of platonic affections for you that suffice. as you approach the building, you see your neighbor, rafayel, struggling to balance a tall stack of white, flat boxes while he tries to open the door to the building. you jog up and hold it open for him. “ah, thank you, miss hunter the neighbor.” he says graciously. “saving me yet again.” rafayel is nice enough but he seems to be quirky in his own way. you’re starting to wonder if it’s a prerequisite for being accepted for housing in this place. as it stands, though, tensions are high between your household and his. when he returned the butter, rafayel was immensely offended by xavier’s suggestion that he ‘tainted the butter with his baker’s breath’ and the stern demand that he take it back, to which xavier’s lip curled in disgust as he emphasized that he especially didn’t want it then. it ended with rafayel leaving the butter by the door and sitting it on the ground, both oddballs unwilling to claim the absurdity. you ended up picking it up and throwing it away. while it was a comical event all around, seeing the two of them standing in the doorway trading glares over the sanitation of butter was amongst the strangest things you’ve witnessed. “do you need help, rafayel?” you ask with a laugh. “you look like you’re one, fragile step away from it all crumbling down.” he sighs. “if you don’t mind and it won’t taint your precious hands to touch my baker’s boxes, then yes, you may help me.” “for the record, i have absolutely no stock or stance in the butter sanitation conundrum. i am but an innocent bystander. so, no, your baker’s boxes aren’t at risk of tainting my hands.”

you roll your eyes at him. “you’re really dramatic, you know.” “criticizing me is not helpful.” he notes. “and i’m not certain, but i thought you asked to help.” “fine,” you grumble, grabbing a stack of the boxes out of his hands. “what’s all this for anyway?” he smiles triumphantly. “i got my first big gig as a freelance baker. i’m making fifty fishie cupcakes for a five-year-old’s birthday party tomorrow.” a playful smile. “wow, that’s really cool. congrats on that one. are you excited?” “excited…is certainly a word. maybe not one i’d use to describe this, but a word nonetheless. if you can’t tell by the thick layer of perspiration and sweat gathering on my forehead, everything is great and not stressful at all.” you pout, oddly concerned for his results. “are you going to be able to pull it off?” “well, the thing is that…no?” he laughs and so do you. “my friend thomas was supposed to be my helper so i could pull it off, but apparently chasing skirts is more important than making and icing cupcakes for a child’s birthday party. i wouldn’t know since i respect the brotherly code of conduct and would never, but it’s fine. i hope he gets laid.” you nod. “me too…but i hope he has a hard time performing. he shouldn’t have bailed on you. this seems…important to you.”

“ah, miss hunter the neighbor is quite observant, rafayel notes.” he narrates himself in the third person. “it is pretty important to me. but…just to me.” that upset you deeply. you know what it’s like to have your dream not be taken seriously. all this time, you’ve been in school to join the hunter’s association of all things. no one really sees the benefit or believes in what you want to do. you have a heart condition, after all. you’re basically out here trying to prove your entire family wrong, that you’re capable of developing a strong, steady life without needing endless aid.

you hate the idea that rafayel is clearly very passionate about baking, about doing this kind of custom work, but his friends aren’t supporting him, and now he’s scrambling. “do you have to be a talented baker to be a baker’s assistant?” you ask, biting your lip. the flame in rafayel’s eyes twinkle. “not at all! you just need two hands and a decent enough ability to follow a series of simple directions.” nodding resolutely, you smile. “then consider me self-appointed as the baker’s elf. let’s go get these cupcakes made, rafayel the baker neighbor.” to this, he beams. “miss hunter the neighbor is starting to seem a bit like a friendly neighborhood fishie herself.”

making cupcakes from scratch is no fucking joke. there’s so many steps. it really is a series of simple directions, but if those simple directions are off even by a small margin, it ruins the batch and you have to start again. you didn’t realize how time-consuming it would be. in fact, you didn’t really keep up with the time at all, but when you catch a glimpse of it on his television, it’s already eight ‘o clock, and your eyes widen. “shit! i need to go to my apartment.” you tell him urgently. “are you okay from here or should i come back?” rafayel shakes his head, grinning. “you’ve done so much. i just need to finish working on these last fifteen. i got it. thank you so much. you didn’t have to help but you did. it means a lot.” “no problem, but next time, i expect to take home one of my own.” he laughs. “next time?” “rafayel the baker neighbor seems to need help a lot.” you say with a shrug before ducking out quickly. “see you later!” even though you’re only across the hall, you feel like you’re going to walk in and be in an insane amount of trouble. you haven’t even bothered looking at your phone.

when you walk in, xavier is sitting on the couch, but his head snaps up to you immediately. “you’re okay!” he says, relief evident in his voice as he rises to his feet. “where have you been? i hadn’t heard from you in hours and i got really worried about you.” he walks over to you but keeps a small distance between your bodies, looking you over for any sign of harm. your entire face heats up. you feel yourself shrinking before him as you take a breath. “sorry,” you say, looking down at your feet. “i was across the hall. i was helping rafayel wi—“ he cuts you off, brows knitting together, lips in a frustrated pout. “the unsanitary baker? why?” “if you would let me finish…” you snap, giving him a hard look. “his friend bailed on helping him and he got his first big order as a freelance baker. i was home so i helped. i was really busy so i wasn’t keeping track of time well. you wouldn’t believe how hard it is it make cupcakes from scratch.” an exasperated sigh leaves your lips just recounting the last few hours mentally. he’s not looking at you anymore when he speaks next. “you baked cupcakes with him?” he asked. “like…you baked them…together?” you feel confused but nod. “…yes? that’s what ‘helping’ would entail in this situation. he was stressed and i felt bad because i know what it’s like for no one to truly believe in you.”

“fine,” he spits, lips set in a hard line. “i hope it got done. dinner’s on the stove.” he walks past you toward the hallway then, his back turned. “and please wash your hands before you touch anything.” then…he just walks straight to his room without another word, leaving you feeling perplexed by his response. his bedroom door closes a little harder than usual and you fear you may have made a grave mistake by hanging out with rafayel, especially when it’s abundantly clear upon their first interaction they’re unlikely to get along.

maybe he feels like bailing on cooking to hang out with rafayel and not even letting him know is a jerk move and you agree.

since that event, the rest of the week is very awkward. even though you don’t see each other often on weekdays already, you have this inkling that xavier’s avoiding you at all costs. he even stops making his coffee. he just slips out into the early morning. you wake up close to ten am, very late, for every day it occurs. an obnoxious disruption in your routine, and he doesn’t make dinner at all. you go to bed pouting and hungry. but another anomaly occurs when tuesday rolls around again: you wake to find that your class has been canceled. ever the diligent student, you check your emails daily. when you finally get around to grabbing your phone in the morning, it’s the first thing you do. to your surprise, the one class you have is canceled due to the professor being ill. you take great pleasure in this because the regular routine in the home is now also back in motion.

you wake to the heavenly scent of colombian swimming in the air. you wander out into the living room. xavier leans back against the marble counter, sipping quietly from a dark-colored mug. “good morning,” you announce quietly, making sure not to frighten him. his eyes dart to your presence, and you just pause where you are, unsure if proceeding any closer is safe. “morning,” a short and dull response. “you’re up early.” you shake your head, playing with your hands nervously. “i’m always up this early. the smell of your coffee wakes me up every morning. i just usually stay in my room and get ready.” “oh,” his voice is small. after a long pause, he asks, “is it bothersome?” to answer, you smile lazily and offer another small head shake. “not at all. it’s actually my favorite alarm. very quiet and very pleasant. i’ve been waking up late the last week nearly. my routine…was thrown off.”

with all the gall in the world, he scoffs. “since when do you care about keeping a routine?” “what?” you ask softly, voice slightly wounded and face fluttering into confusion. “what do you mean?” “you skipped out on our routine last week and that didn’t seem to matter to you at all.” he states simply. your guilty eyes look at your nervously shuffling feet. “so, what is it? why did you hang out with him and bake with him?” you’re not sure if it’s the irritated tone he’s now choosing to take with you or the underlying insinuation that you, a grown adult, owe him a reasonable explanation for why you exert autonomy and choose to help others. as if you did something morally reprehensible by helping rafayel. you’re not even certain xavier is actually, fully angry that you bailed so much as he’s angry about who you were with and what you were doing instead, which is still unfathomable why it’s his business. yes, you should have let him know and you can own that because you know he probably waited a while for you to show up and you never did, but you’re not going to stand here and let him reprimand you for hanging out at your neighbor’s unit just because he’s decided he doesn’t like him for quite literally no real reason at all. “um, are you my father?” you ask, your face scrunching up in frustration. “he’s our new neighbor, xavier. he needed help. i’m just being kind, and i like hanging out with him. he’s funny an—” he cuts you off, setting down his mug. “you like hanging out with him?” “yes…?” it’s silent between the two of you then, his eyes going blank and glossy. “why? what’s so special about his place? why would you prefer spending tuesday there?” you’re genuinely appalled by his response. you expect he may not like the idea of you hanging out with someone he dislikes, but he’s not your parent or your partner, and he’s only become a friend recently. the way you feel like you’re being forced to justify your very simple, very innocent actions of helping rafayel is absolutely unacceptable because no matter how many times you say it, telling xavier you did it because he needed help and it was important for him to have it isn’t a sufficient explanation for him. but it’s the truth and it not being enough for him is not necessarily your burden to bear.

“xavier, i don’t owe you an explanation as to why i had a good time hanging out with him and helping him make cupcakes so his first, real order can lead to more. i don’t have to explain anything i choose to do with anyone. i don’t owe you or your ego elaboration.” “well…” his voice trails and he’s quiet for a minute as his skin slowly reddens and he nervously bites his lower lip. when he looks at you again and speaks, his voice is incredibly soft, unbearably wounded, and pained. “i want an explanation anyway. because i thought you liked spending your tuesday nights with me, but you went over there instead of staying to see me and make dinner together. and you didn’t even tell me. just left me waiting on you. what’s that about?” the sheer shock and confusion of his confession must be evident on your face. you feel your mouth part as if you want to speak but you don’t. your brows knit together, trying to make sense of his stance so you can properly answer his question.

your heart is racing wildly because it seems xavier may have developed feelings of his own…toward you. “wait…wait…” your voice trails, you’re still looking up, eyes blinking rapidly and narrowing, not in a sinister way but dubious.

as it stands, your current theory that he might have feelings for you, is unfounded and is permeated by perplexity.

“is…is that why you’re upset?” you ask him. “because i ended up helping him and missing one tuesday with you?” he sighs and nods, frustration exuded in his body language as if you stated the utter obvious simply to upset him. “you told me you liked our little tradition to cook together, but then picked another guy to make food with the very next week? an unsanitary one at that? and…and…you know what? i want to do that with you. making dinner isn’t fun on my own. not on tuesdays. not if you’re not here with me, and especially not if you’re not here because you’re over there and want to be there more than you want to be here. with me.” your question comes out suddenly, your tone layered in urgency. “xavier…do you like me?” he just stares, mouth slightly agape, looking as if you’ve asked a stupid question yet again. a soundless, ‘you’re not serious, right?’

his next comment confirms your intuition and also attests to your ability to read his expressions clearly now. “are you really asking me that? are you oblivious? after all this time? as if it wasn’t completely obvious that i do.” you snort. “xavier, if you liked me all this time, it was absolutely, undeniably, irrevocably not obvious.” “i gave you a hand towel that matches mine and placed them next to each other.” he details with a flat voice and a roll of his eyes. you look at him, growing progressively more flabbergasted by his position in the ongoing argument. he lives in a delusional mental world where he thinks his feelings, in all their silent conquest, are thoroughly known and understood. even though you’ve never spoken to him about anything of the sort.

“xavier…you do realize you criticized me for the number of paper towels i used, right? i thought you were just…solving the problem you created.” he has the audacity to groan. “i’ve made dinner for you to eat when you come home since the first time you left me a sticky note apologizing for eating my extras.” “yes, because you always make excess. that’s what you said!” you huff, arms folding over your chest. he can’t seriously believe he has a little avalanche of decent examples of his ‘liking you’ being obvious. there’s just no way. he would have to be completely disregarding every other aspect of objective reality except his own thoughts and perception in order to come to the conclusion that placing a hand towel on a bar or letting you have the extra food he makes regardless are his attempts to court you. “i got upset when you filled in for a coworker on a tuesday instead of coming home and i was only distressed because you weren’t here to tell me welcome home. i told you i didn’t feel welcomed without it!” now his voice is raising, aghast and disbelieving. you shrug, just staring at him with flat affect and dawning freshly picked neutrality. “i thought you were joking and finally developing a sense of humor. i was proud of you.” a squeak. he’s watching all his ridiculous reasonings be debunked and he just continues trailing down the list of them, much to your dismay.

if he’d shut up for a moment, you can get off the topic of what would have made it obvious and move on to something way more important, much more impactful. is he going to kiss you soon or what? so peculiar. he’d rather argue you down than take his shot with you and watch himself hit a bullseye. “i gave you my special mug to keep for your own because you said you wanted it.” another eye roll. “you broke my own special mug and told me to pick the one i wanted! i thought it was an eye for an eye. a mug for a mug!” he gestures towards the refrigerator. “i brought creamer, a banned substance, into this apartment for you.” “it’s creamer, xavier, not a confession. please be serious.” this time, his voice is small and sheepish. “i started giving you…head pats.” you can’t refute the intimacy of that one. you know it. he knows it. the smug smirk on his face not only knows it but is gloating about it. “fine, you got me there, but that still isn’t enough to infer romantic interest.” “i blatantly asked you to make it a permanent date with me to make dinner together on tuesdays. how much more obvious do i need to be?”

you furiously shake your head, protesting his claim. “no, no! you formally requested assistance with dinner on tuesdays. the word date was not aforementioned. you made it seem mandatory . in fact, you said it was only fair.” now, he’s blushing furiously, the tips of his ears going red. “it’s not mandatory, per se. it’s just the principle. and even still, you say that as a counter, yet you went over to his place instead of coming home to be with me…doing the cooking we agreed on and mutually enjoyed.” you scoff. “but it’s not mandatory to cook?” “well cooking isn’t mandatory, but it is mandatory that you genuinely like me back if we’re going to be doing domestic things like making meals to eat together. consistently. and openly. so when you do it with me for weeks and tell me entirely unprovoked that you like doing it with me, it gives the impression you want to be domestic with me. i only spend time at home, so i take that very seriously. i was starting to feel played with.” you won’t lie. all of his nonsense is just that: nonsense. but the idea that you left him feeling like you were giving mixed signals or like you were stringing him along for the fun of it deeply wounds you inside, because you also like him a hell of a lot. you would never go off and be intentionally confusing. “i wish you had said it clearly. we would have been on the same page a long time ago probably. i wouldn’t be spending a single tuesday there if i knew why you wanted me here.” xavier grumbles, “i genuinely don’t understand how you didn’t notice.”

“i genuinely don’t understand how you could possibly think i would?” you counter, the statement falling from your lips like a question that requires clarification. he steps closer to you, and for the first time, you see something new in his eyes: determination, passion, need, and desire. your breath catches in your throat when one hand goes around your waist, pulling you closer to him, the other cupping your cheek. your heart. that’s all you can hear is your heart thumping in your chest as if it might combust. “how is this for being crystal clear? i like making dinner for you and with you. i like that our hand towels are matching and next to each other. i like that the smell of my coffee wakes you up in the morning…i want to be the one that wakes you up in the mornings. so…with that being said, it’s tuesday and i want to make dinner with you tonight. if you want to make dinner with me, understand that you’re consenting to complete romantic affiliation.” “understood,” it comes out with no hesitation, your eyes glancing between baby blues and pretty, tinted lips begging and beckoning. “so, you’ll make dinner with me and consent to romantic affiliation?” he confirms, a lopsided grin forming. his choice of words begs a chuckle from you. you nod. “xavi, are you seriously asking me that? are you oblivious?” “can i kiss you now? i’ve been dying to.” you pout, feigning a great deal of disappointment and concern. “if you don’t know the answer, then maybe i really should go back across the hall…” his grip on your waist tightens, a soft thumb caressing your cheek and there’s that subtle smile you adore. “we’re definitely kissing because you have to be quiet. like right now.”

you laugh. “wow. that one was actually funny.” “what?” he asks, thrown by your response. “oh, nothing,” you sing. “c’mere,” smiling at your urge to draw him in, he leans down then, no longer willing to waste time being idle with you or staring into each other until you can’t take it. when his lips touch yours, the only thing you can think about is how soft they are, how smooth, silk against velvet. all you can think about is how gently he keeps you against his torso, how shyly his lips move with yours like he needs to test you out and know how you feel, like his lips have more to offer, but much like his conversational skill, you’ll have to coax him out of his timidity. when you both pull apart, you reach your hand up to touch his, tugging very gently on his fingers. he obliges your silent request for his hand, watching you with an enamored gaze, moving his palm from your face and allowing you to tangle your fingers together. you officially love his hands very much. you felt it on your cheek and now you feel it wrapped around every space between your fingers. the most peculiar thing of all about xavier seems to be just how correct your theory is: his hands are like satin, and they take immaculate care of anything they’re tasked with touching.

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