#love you
relentlessescapism · 16 hours ago
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“Look, after working a hardcore assignment like this, you need to go blow off some steam after shift. You know, give your brain a different focus. It’s only way you have a fighting chance of actually sleeping. Trust me.”
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tinytheghost · a day ago
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I miss you all 🥰
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vedanllnippy · 21 hours ago
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thenatsdorf · a month ago
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frankpilled · a month ago
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domesticated-chaos-uwu · 5 months ago
Good morning to aromantics that still like romance, aromantics in relationships with alloromantics, aromantics that are sappy and affectionate, aromantics that enjoy the romance genre, aromantics that don't seem to fit what others expect aromantic people seem like. I love you.
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dadstielkline · 7 months ago
"castiel is just awkward, stiff, and emotionless"
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counter argument: you are WRONG
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jordisstigander · 3 months ago
Love a mutual who never reblogs my posts. My stuff doesn't fit your vibe, but you still follow me? Amazing, love you.
Love a mutual who reblogs my posts every now and again. Every time I see you repost something I get excited that I hit that sweet spot and shared something you liked. Fantastic, love you.
Love a mutual who reblogs pretty much everything I post. I get to see all my posts again, you're clearly feeling my vibe, I feel seen. Spectacular, love you.
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duckiemquack · 3 months ago
Venus Persona Chart
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💘Ascendant: Our perception of love. How important is love to us, and of course this house tells us about self-love. Aspects of our physique and personality that make us attractive. Along with the Ruler of the Ascendant, the kind of beauty we have. Things about us that we find attractive.
💘2nd house: What things we find beautiful, the type of clothing that we like to wear and the type of clothing that we like our partner to wear. Accessories that we like to wear. Where does our Venus shine? By doing what and behaving in which way others find us attractive. Ways we can improve our self-esteem and indulge ourselves more.
💘3rd house: The way in which we express love and affection, be it verbal or written. The way we flirt, our thoughts about love. It can indicate popularity in school or crushes that we may have had at an earlier age. That which we think is beautiful. The beauty in our thoughts, our ability to enchant beyond our body por appearance.
💘4th house: You can tell us the aesthetics of our home, its design. A way of loving that we express only when we are really comfortable. Some quality of ours that makes our partners feel comfortable. Something that deep down we like in relationships but we do not openly admit. What makes us feel comfortable in a relationship, what makes our hearts jump from emotion.
💘5th house: Our creative and artistic abilities can still represent activities that we really like to do. Couples that we like and tend to attract, informal couples, dating and a lighthearted love. It can be an indicator of our self-esteem and self-esteem as it is the house of Leo. Things that make us very attractive in the eyes of others.
💘6th house: Ways in which we pamper ourselves, in which we take care of our body, beauty routines, makeup, shopping, etc. Routines that we find cute or that we just like. Ways we like to help our partner. The affection that we can have for our pets. How we demonstrate devotion and actions we take to improve our relationship and self-esteem.
💘7th house: The type of relationships that we usually attract, we like or even the type of partners that we can have. How we behave in a relationship. Another house that indicates the way in which we can show off our Venus energy (usually represented by the planets that are there, the position of the Ruler and activities related to the sign in which the house is). How we relate to others when we are in a good mood or are concerned about leaving a good impression.
💘8th house: The intensity with which we can love, taboo things or not so normalized or politically correct ideas of love that can attract our attention. Our sexyness and flirtation, teasing during sex. It can give us clues about the way we have relationships and even our sexual orientation. Very profound changes that we provoke in our partners and that they provoke in us.
💘9th house: Our learnings in the field of love. Our love affairs in high school and college, foreign crushes, long distance relationships and often show the admirers we attract. Things we teach our partners and things they teach us. Type of cultures we are in love with.
💘10th house: Traits of our personality or body that make us attractive in the eyes of those who meet us for the first time. The type of beauty we would like to have, the type of clothing we would like to look good in, and the type of appearance we want to have. In the same way, the type of relationships that we would like to have.
💘11th house: It is related to distant love affairs, aesthetics of our blogs, and in what strange things we find beauty. Our female friends, or friends we can come to love romantically. It speaks to us of mass appeal and the ability to charm people or to fit in.
💘12th house: They can be parts of our body that others see beautiful but we find it difficult to see them as such. Needs that we have in love that we find difficult to admit or that we repress. Way of loving that we do not show until we are in a serious relationship in which there is a deeper connection. Aspect of the relationships that we idealize or dream of.
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💓Sun & Venus: These two represent our beauty type and our loving style and language. Their placement can also represent what we find beautiful. How does being loved by us feels like and the type of love we are naturally drawn to. What makes us appealing. This can also represent the lovers we tend to feel attracted to.
💓Moon: Our emotional need when it comes to having a relationship. What do we need in our relationships in order to feel comfy or secure. The maximum representation of our femenine side. How do we nurture our relationships? How can we nurture ourselves in order to feel more beautiful?
💓Mercury: How do we express our romantic feelings. Our poetry and ability to enchant with words, writes. What do we think is beautiful? The way we communicate interest, how our compliments feel and can even represent our flirting ability.
💓Mars: The types of people we can be sexually and romantically attracted to at the same time. The mixture of Mars in the chart of Venus gives us this "sex with love". What can make us highly attractive in sex. How we argue with partners or what we usually argue with them.
💓Jupiter & Part of Fortune: In what area of ​​our life or to whom we tend to show affection or affection with less inhibition. Good things about our way of loving. Things we can give in excess when we are in love. Physical attributes that stand out or that others find beautiful. Our luck in love, or things that we can easily achieve in our relationships.
💓Saturn: Places or people for whom it is difficult for us to show love. What stages of love or what things in relationships do we take seriously. It tells us about a more elegant beauty that we have. Like another point that we will study later, it indicates our ability to commit ourselves.
💓Uranus: Strange things that we consider beautiful. Like the Sun and the 1st house, it can indicate our self-love. Uranus, being the planet of friends, can tell us about friends for whom we developed a crush. Long distance and unconventional relationships. Oddities that make us attractive.
💓Neptune: The planet of idealization in this charts plays a very utopian role, it tells us about unrealistic visions that we have of love (be they positive or negative), blurred ways that we have of seeing love. The type of people or why these people idealize us. Creative skills, especially oriented to painting, cinema or music. The type of songs we listen to and both the Neptune Ruler and the aspects it does can tell us about the artists we like.
💓Pluto: Our attributes or our personality traits that make us irresistible. Our relationship with jealousy, what usually causes it and how our partners handle jealousy. Transformations we go through during our relationships. Things that we may like very intensely. Love-hate kind of relationships.
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mple-selhnhh · 5 months ago
One day, you and I, will meet,
and make things right again.
Maybe not today or tomorrow, but someday.
I promise.
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livelovecaliforniadreams · 21 days ago
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dear-ao3 · 3 months ago
when your boyfriend frequents your tumblr so you cant post about the fantastic birthday gift you got him :/ (affectionate)
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polishlolita · 9 months ago
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menervaloki · 5 months ago
𝓘 𝓵𝓸𝓿𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾
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bubblegumcutiee · 5 months ago
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I love you
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six-feet-sleep · 4 months ago
Mr. Red-Eye | Pt 2 of ?
Previous Part | Next Part AO3 Summary: Silco/f!reader Coffee Shop AU | A terrifying customer bribes you to not hire his daughter. It’s a weird start to the day. Word Count: 3782 Warning: SFWish Depression, Head Trauma, Bad Email Etiquette
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"My head hurts." 
"I know." 
"Can I have ibuprofen?" 
"Not for the first few days." 
"Why...so?" You frowned. That wasn't the right word. 
“No NSAIDs: thus sayeth WebMD.”
Currently, Mr. Red-eye — ( "No, no, thank you for the alias." ) — was acting as your warden until your employer arrived. 
He paced a perimeter around the table where you sat, holding a ziploc bag full of ice to the base of your skull. Every now and then, he barked, "Ice pack," when you let it slip. Otherwise, he wouldn’t let you lift a finger. It was infuriating. 
Nothing was prepped. Nothing was stocked. You couldn’t leave the store in this state in good conscience. 
The door pushed open and a young woman entered, her slouchy sweatshirt and messy high bun flopping with each step. “Good morning!”
Her typical order sprang to the forefront of your mind: a small raspberry mocha with an extra shot of espresso. She got a brownie every so often, when she looked sad.
You reflexively said,“Welcome!” at the same time that he spat: “The 'Open' sign is off. Which are you, blind or stupid?” 
She stopped in her tracks, smile buckling. “Oh, um. I'm.” 
“You’re what? Spit it out.” The clatter of his dress shoes bounced off of the walls of the silent cafe as he stormed toward the other customer.
It was the perfect distraction. With your keeper’s focus elsewhere, you lowered the ice pack and slunk behind the counter in search of the broom. Maybe you could sweep up some of these beans before he noticed. 
“Um, I’ll go, um. I didn’t realize,” the woman stammered as your fingers locked around the green plastic handle.
There was the patter of retreating footsteps, then the door opening and shutting. You peeked over the counter. His back was to you, shoulders jerking as he tried to work the lock. There was a trick to it, the tumbler had to angle just-so for the latch to catch. Good, you just needed a minute to sort out this mess— 
The broom bristles rustled over the coffee and he rounded on you, eyes blazing.
Firmly, quietly, he said,"Sit. Down."
Wide-eyed, you returned to the table and picked up the ice pack, placing it back on your head. Then you shot him a thumbs up.
The pleased nod you received was much too satisfying. You blushed a little before turning your attention to the enamel pins on your apron. You began angling them all right-side up.
After finally managing to lock the door, he returned to hover over you like a buzzard. Condensation dripped from the plastic bag, soaking into the neckline of your shirt. You winced. 
"My head hurts," you only realized you were repeating yourself after the words passed your lips. 
"Yes, I know." 
A few minutes passed until Mr. Kiramman's car swung into the parking spot at the front of the shop. He sprung out and jogged to the front door.
"That's my boss!"
He was silent for a moment. There was something unspoken caught in his throat, you could see him mulling it over, his tongue pressing to the inside of his cheek. His face was still much too pale. He flicked a piece of cardstock out to you. “My card. Email is the most reliable way to reach me." 
"Email? Retro." The business card read 'The Last Drop’. There was no name. You squinted. You'd thrown up in that bar before. 
"Hardly. Tempting as it may be, don't do anything else stupid today." 
“No promises.”
He left without ceremony, pushing past a perplexed Mr. Kiramman as he opened the door.
"Hi, Mr. Kiramman," you said, as the owner of The Pour Over rushed to your side. He crouched to meet you at eye-level.
“Hey, kid, who was that? What happened?" 
"Uh, that was a regular, he was here when I fell." 
"Okay. Okay, Jayce is coming in at 8? Good. We're going to run through a few things together. See my finger?" He had his index finger up in front of his face. You nodded. "Keep your head steady and follow it with your eyes." 
You tracked the path of his finger as it traveled, left to right, but your eyes kept stuttering back to his. His crows feet crinkled with worry.
Apropos of nothing, you said, "Do you think it's bad I dropped out of school?" 
"No, I think you need to go to a doctor."
With that, the two of you closed up shop. Mr. Kiramman drove you to the closest doctor's office — surprise, you had a concussion — then home. You cried fat tears in the passenger seat when he gave you 2 weeks off, paid. Then you tottered down the cement stairs to your studio apartment and face planted into the futon.
A small caravan of visitors came those first few days. Each one of them brought you soup.
Jayce and Viktor and Mel came bearing a pallet of stove-top ramen and your bike. The upstairs neighbors made stew. Caitlyn Kiramman delivered a big, sloshing container of pureed butternut squash. Her mother ignored you from the car idling in the front drive. 
Between eating soup and sleeping, you replayed the event in your mind: the bang, the fall, your head cracking on the tile. Everything that followed.
You shut your eyes; you wished you could erase everything except Mr. Red-eye pulling you into an embrace. You pretended the blanket wrapped around you were his weird, bony arms. Every time you thought about it, your chest seized up with an unfathomable tangle of emotions.
Fear and lust and annoyed fondness. It was a nightmare.
Instead of addressing any of those feelings, you pulled your laptop onto the futon and started season 1 of The Great British Bake Off. You should probably go to therapy. -
It was day 8 of your forced vacation when you woke, heart pounding, phone in hand. 
Your pulse throbbed at the base of your skull and there was something stuck to your cheek. You peeled it off. 
The business card stared back at you.
It had warped a little, curved to the contour of your cheek, but was thick and smooth to the touch. You ran a finger over it. The letters were embossed, not just printed on. This was an American Psycho level business card. You flipped it and saw a symbol on the back. A stylized eye with an s inside. Cute.
Then you held up the phone and stared blearily at the email you didn't remember typing. 
answr ur phon >:l
It's unsent.
“What the fuck?” You looked at your calls. Nothing outgoing. Then you checked your text messages. “What the fuuuuck.”
There were a flurry of messages to Mr. Red-eye’s number: ‘sorry for freak ng out are u mad at me’, then just ‘r u mad at me’, then 'is jayc makin the essspresso right'. 
Several more followed, increasingly incomprehensible and equally neurotic. 
Each was separated by an automated response: 'This is a landline, your message cannot be delivered.' There was no more beautiful string of words in the human language. 
"Oh, thank fuck."
You flopped back into the futon and picked out patterns in the water stains on the ceiling while your heartbeat settled. A hunger pang stabbed at your belly, but escaping the cushy depression was almost impossible. The center of the futon had a deep divot, set in by years of sleep. You slotted into it perfectly; you belonged there. 
The fridge was visible from the futon — that was the beauty of studio apartments —  but it was still an impossible distance. 
The routine parts of living were getting farther and farther out of reach. A concerning number of days had passed since your last shower and the sharp, human smell of you was settling into the bedclothes. It was a scent you associated with deep sadness.
Instead of getting up to eat, you pulled the laptop onto your stomach like an otter. 
You were on season 4 of GBBO. You watched a British gangster film between each season as a palate cleanser (‘Snatch’, ‘Sexy Beast’, ‘Lock, Stock & Two Smoking Barrels’) but even th— your fingers jumped back from the mouse pad. 
Mr. Red-eye stared you down through the screen.
There was a local news widget on the browser home page covering Piltover, Zaun and the greater metropolitan area. The header read: 'Sumps to Riches, Meet the Industrialist'. 
It was a good picture. A really good picture. Your eyes lingered on the sharp lines of his cheek bones. 
He was walking in the warehouse district like he owned the place ( and according to the top blurb, he owned a good deal of it). His hands were tucked in the pockets of a lovely wool peacoat, the scarred side of his face angled away from the camera. You shivered in a way that couldn't be entirely blamed on poor insulation. 
Maybe there were more photos. You clicked on the article link. 
Silco. His name was Silco. 
You sucked both lips into your mouth and rolled them between your teeth. Then you hunted down the article on your phone. After pasting it in, you tapped out a message and hovered over the send button for a few long seconds before pulling the trigger.
[Sumps to Riches, Meet the Industrialist] figured out your name are u impressed with my sleuthing skills btw this is your favorite barista (unless ur cheating on me??? who r they?????) 
The response chimed almost immediately.
I am nothing if not faithful. The myriad spelling errors and lack of punctuation are a result of your brain injury, I’m sure. Go to sleep. Best Regards, S
You laughed and leaned back into the pillow. 
'so u own the last drop???'
'I do, yes. It's one of my many business ventures. You would know that if you'd read beyond the first line of the article.'
‘lol i puked there last halloween, it was lovely only looked at the pics. im illiterate remember'
'Thank you for your patronage. Never return.'
Emails volleyed back and forth from early morning well into the afternoon. Hours lulled between responses on both sides, when he was in a meeting or when you fell asleep, phone in hand.
Finally, the gnawing in your stomach was too much to ignore. You puttered into the kitchenette. The fridge held stacks of unfamiliar, half-emptyTupperware and a single carton of oat milk. 
It was soup all the way down. You snorted and snapped a quick picture, attaching it to the email.
'choo choo all aboard the soup train. protip, ppl give you soup when ur hurt'
He responded with, 'Is that everything in your refrigerator? That isn’t enough food.’ 
You frowned. Maybe the picture would have been less sad if you cropped it. 
'dont worry i have these too.‘ You typed, attaching a picture of the jumbo pack of ramen. ’u may have $, but im soup rich'
'You do realize that you can get gout from eating too much sodium.' 
'please, im gonna live forever'
He didn’t respond, so you drowned your embarrassment in the only thing at your disposal: soup. 
The reply came a few hours later. 'Go outside.' 
Fresh air hit you when you opened the door, crisp and strange. 
Two big paper bags sat at the bottom of the flight of cement stairs. A receipt for a grocery delivery service fluttered from the lip of one. Uneasiness prickled down your spine as you peeked into the first bag.
There were apples and bananas and a little bushel of carrots with the leaves still on. Muesli and yogurt, chunky peanut butter and bread and apricot preserves. 
There was a bag of very nice coffee beans, locally roasted, but they were whole-beans and you didn't have a grinder. Finally, you pulled out a carton of oat milk, the same brand already in the fridge.
White noise blotted out your thoughts.
Numb, you carried the bags inside and stocked the fridge with robotic efficiency. You should ask him how he found out your address, but you didn’t actually know if you wanted the answer to that.
You rested your forehead on the cool plastic door of the fridge.
'thanks for taking time out of ur schedule to make sure i dont drown in soup' 
'It was nothing. My assistant handled it. I paid for your groceries once, I thought I may as well do it again.'
Was he talking about the bribe? Your brows furrowed. It wasn’t clear if that made things better or worse. You paced around the apartment, typing and erasing, typing and erasing. After repeating this several times, you broke the loop and dropped the phone onto the futon.
You returned to the stocked fridge and opened it, then pretzeled your legs to sit on the warped linoleum. Cool air washed over you as you contemplated the contents, chin resting on a fist. Without the counter separating you, that clear lines of customer and employee, you didn’t know what it meant. 
This felt like a handout, and those came with strings attached. 
No exceptions. 
You just didn’t know what those strings were yet. The most obvious one verged on indecent. As much as you’ve joked about wanting a sugar daddy, you also joked about getting hit by a bus for settlement money. You didn't go around throwing yourself into traffic.
You tapped your fingers against your lips. Maybe that wouldn’t be so bad. You’d spent the last day giggling into your phone like an idiot. Talking to him was fun. 
You thought about the delicate webbing of veins and tendons bulging in his hands when he slammed them into the counter. How he gently tucked his head over your chin when you were sobbing in his arms. He’d held you close. You could be closer. Warmth bloomed in your belly.
You buried your face in your hands, then dragged them down, tugging at your lower eyelids then cheeks then lips. 
"Uggggh, fuck meeee.” You grabbed an apple from the crisper drawer. “Literally, figuratively. Whatever.”
It was an heirloom variety, you thought. The peachy pink skin gave a satisfying crunch when you bit down. Sweet, tangy juice danced over your tongue. You closed your eyes and leaned to the side, tipping over. Then you starfished on the floor and kicked the fridge closed.
You groaned into the next bite.
It was fucking delicious. 
Tucking your arms, you rolled from the kitchenette to the carpet in front of the futon and swung into a seated position. You stared at the phone as the apple dwindled down to the core.  When it was done you chucked it over your shoulder, missing the trash bin entirely. It landed on the ground with a wet slap. 
Fuck it. Your hand darted out.
‘monday is my first shift back 9-3,’ You typed. ’not opening, but w/e 🐝 there or 🐝square’
‘I’ll pencil you in.’
It was 2:40, a breath away from the end of your shift. 
You smelled like souring milk and coffee beans and sweat, the result of a hard noontime rush.
Silco hadn’t shown. You’d worn eyeliner for that weak-chinned Nosferatu-looking fuck and he didn’t show.
For the past week, the two of you had been emailing each other all day. There were multiple messages where he’d guaranteed his attendance. You double checked that on your break, scrolling back as you puffed angrily on a cigarette. You, pointedly, did not message him.
The fucking nerve. You fumed silently while you counted the till for shift change. 
"Welcome!" You and Jayce said in unison when the door opened. Viktor's muted "Welcome," came a second later from the back of the house, where he sat cutting brownies for the display case.
The sunglasses threw you off at first, but when you recognized him, you felt your practiced customer-service smile break into a huge grin.
Annoyance and joy battled for priority in your mind. 
You leaned over the counter, balancing on your toes to watch Silco full-on as he approached the register. “Excuse me, you’re late!”
He looked at his wrist. “I have thirteen minutes.” He was wearing a waxy-looking bomber jacket instead of the typical wool peacoat. There’s a…tee-shirt underneath, and jeans of all things. Was this casual-everyday-Silco? You’d never seen him this dressed down. Still, you were sure that the tee-shirt is worth more than you made in a shift.
You fall back to your feet when he makes it to the counter. If he was taken aback by the gawking, it didn't show. 
"Nice shades. You look like James Dean, if James Dean was a vampire."
“Oh, shut up. I’m photosensitive.”
You tap his familiar order into the terminal.
His mouth quirked up and your skin caught on fire from your chest up to your forehead. "Mr. Red-eye to you." He slid a 10 across the counter. 
Your heart was pounding. It was hard to think of what to say now that you were face-to-face again.
So, in a tragic cockney accent you said, "Need change for tha’ cock-and-hen? No? I’ll ‘ave that lily right up, mate!" The linguistic masterpiece was followed by rapid fire finger guns. 
His stoney face didn’t move an inch, eyes unreadable from behind the dark sunglasses. 
“Sorry, I watched a lot of Guy Ritchie movies. I think it rewired my brain.”
“I see.” Then he stalked over to the stack of newspapers, sifting through in search of whatever scary looking middle-aged men were into these days.
There weren't any customers behind him, so you had time to sink beneath the counter and scream silently. That was the kind of shit you'd stay awake thinking about five years down the line.
You turned to start the drink and were faced with Jayce's waggling eyebrows.
"You just got reeeeeally weird," he said in a stage whisper as you fitted a thermal sleeve on the cup and began filling it with coffee. The metal milk pitcher Jayce bobbed on the steam wand screeched as he looked at you over his stupid-huge-perfect shoulder.
"Yeah, I know that. You think I don't know that?" You hissed back, face still hot with embarrassment.
"That’s the guy? Like 'the guy' guy?" the other barista craned his neck up to get a better look. “Hey, don’t look!” You knew it was a mistake to tell him about Silco and your weird crush. But you wore eyeliner, and Jayce knew better than you think you’d want to just do a little something special for your first day back. 
At least you hadn’t mentioned the groceries. Or the coffee grinder he sent when you told him why you hadn’t tried the coffee yet.
"Yeah, shut up, he can definitely hear you right now," you hissed.
"No way, I'm steaming milk."
"You want Viktor to steam your milk."
He slammed the pitcher down, splashing hot white foam up over the lip. 
"Yeah, well you wanna make out with a seventy-year-old mob boss dad."
"Ohmygodshutup," you half snarled and darted to the espresso machine, snagging two shots that Jayce had already pulled. You ducked and weaved, sticking your tongue out as he tried to block you from dunking them into the red-eye. 
"I needed those! Take it back about the milk!"
"It literally doesn't mean anything, there's nothing to take back!"
"Calm down, children, there are customers." Viktor limped to the front counter, carrying a few gallons of milk to stock the front mini-fridge. Jayce practically fell over himself to divest the gaunt man of the cartons. 
"You're supposed to let me do stuff like that!"
"Jayce, why don't you see if we need to steaaam more miiilk." You said.
"We have no other tickets besides the red-eye. Steaming milk hardly seems necessary," observed Viktor. “Did I miss something?”
Jayce blushed down at his armful of milk cartons. 
"Nope! We're all good," You strode out to the seating area, dotted with small circular tables and stopped in your tracks.
Mr. Red-eye was sitting cross-legged at the high-top in the window, pouring over the newspaper in his hand. He was haloed in the afternoon sun, and the little streaks of gray at his temples caught the light in a way that had your mouth dry. 
You shook yourself out of it and closed the distance.
"Your red-eye, sir." You said in an exaggerated customer-service voice.
"Ah, thank you." His fingers brushed yours when he took the cup and you actively fought the urge to spout more cockney rhyming slang.
Apparently, that was your body’s new stress response. 
"You know, just for reference," He flicked the newspaper closed. "I'm not in the mob. I work primarily in finance and real estate. One could argue that there are similarities."
He was looking at you with an impish slyness. Ice shot through your veins. He definitely heard the bit about you wanting to make out with him. Fuck Jayce and his big-dumb-beautiful mouth.
You focused on the wall beyond Silco’s shoulder, unable to meet his eyes, even behind the sunglasses. "Ok, you aren't in the mob. Can you kill me anyway?"
"Of course. I'll make the necessary arrangements."
"What a gentleman."
Mr. Red-eye angled his body toward the door. "You're working tomorrow, too? See you then, sweetheart." He was smirking, like he pulled a fast one on you with the pet name. Like he won something. You kind of felt like you won something, too. 
A big, dopey smile stayed plastered on your face for the rest of the day. This would have terrified you just a few months ago. It still did, kind of. But the terror was accompanied by a swarm of butterflies in your chest.
Biking home felt like flying.
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bisexualmisthios · 6 months ago
Muscular women turn my brain to mush. Make heart do that pitter patter sapphic shit. I love you big beautiful beefcakes. Let me sit on ur lap. ❤️
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