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aphroditedahlias · 3 years

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Yandere dabi x reader

Reader has still home syndrome and protects dabi when she’s rescued.

Tw // Stockholm syndrome

In this dabi is still a criminal but his quirk isn’t mentioned and his face isn’t known for being a villain . The only thing people have knowledge of is that he supposedly kidnapped reader.

Not edited

It’s been about a year since dabi kidnapped you and life couldn’t be better.

You don’t have to think for yourself, dress yourself, feed or bathe yourself. Dabi does it all and on top of that, he’s shown you he loves you more than anyone else ever could.

Waking you up with a kiss dabi lightly picks you up to bring you to the table for your breakfast.

“ eat up baby i have a surprise for youbut we gotta fill that stomach up first” He says smiling down at you.

You’ve shown no signs of trying to escape and you even show him more affection than he thought you would when he originally planned to take you. So, today he bought you a tv. You can watch Netflix, Hulu whatever you want. Anything to make his princess happy

After about 10 minutes of eating you push your plate away symboling you’re finish with your meal. He presses a cup of cold water to your lips, wiping away any spillage.

“ come on you wanna see the surprise?”

You jump up into his arms allowing him to carry you to the next room. You immediately start screaming in joy, jumping around with tears collecting in your eyes.

“ A TV? For me? Really?” You look at him hoping this isn’t a joke.

He smiles, happy at your reaction going to turn it on to a cooking channel.

“ you’ve been my good girl for so long I just wanted to you how much I appreciate you.”

You go to sit down waiting for him to finish setting up the tv and turn it on for you when you hear loud banging. Your eyes immediately bludge and you run to dabi seeking comfort.

His face drops and you can feel his heart pick up.

“ baby-“

Before he has a chance to finish his sentence police bust open the door swarming the place. He has you behind him, shielding you from them.

“ where is she?” They yell.

“ my wife?” Dabi says, smirking at them

“ oh don’t play stupid hand the girl over now.”

Dabi knows that the situation is going to end with you in his arms either way so pulls you in front of him leaving a kiss on your head before telling you to go towards them.

“ please, what’s happening come with me please don’t leave.” You say, a second round of tears springing in your eyes.

Dabi looks at you one last time, silently reassuring you it’s okay before the police hand cuff him. They take him outside sitting him in a car.

“ ma’am are you Okay? We��re here to bring you back are you y/n l/n?” The police say, sitting you on the couch trying to coax information out of you.

“ bring me back where? You’re ruining everything where did you take him? Stop saying my name, stop touching me and leave me alone.” You say fighting back the urge to run out of the door to find dabi.

The police eye eachother all confused

“Okay please calm down maam, are you saying you want to stay here with him?? You were reported missing and his face matches the Potential perpetrator of your kiddnapper. Don’t you want to see your family again?

“ he is my family. Can you stop i love him, bring him back he didn’t do anything please just take whatever I don’t care what you do just bring him back.” You snap at him.

They exchange another look before an officer takes out his Walkie-talkie to communicate to the other officers that they can bring dabi back in.

He comes back in and has his cuffs taken off and you run into the safety of his arms pressing your lips to his. He rests a hand on your ass lightly gripping it to taunt the the intruders.

“ I think y’all have caused enough stress on my lady so get the fuck off my property unless there’s something else you need. “ dabi says dismissing them.

They give you one last look to ensure you’re okay but you’re too busy ogling at dabi to notice. They take their leave and he carries you to bed knowing you’ll need sleep after what just happened.

“ were they going to take you away from me?” You ask, clinging onto him trying to hold back your sobs.

“ yes baby, that’s why you can’t go outside. People will think bad of us and try to separate us, but as long as you stay here where you belong it’s going to be okay.”

He lifts you up and places you on his hips for you to straddlehim. Leaning down to kiss him you rock your hips back and forth, desperate to be closer to him.

Picking up on what you’re doing he grips your hips in an effort to still you.

“ no not right now you need to sleep, I’ll put it in and let you rest. How’s that sound.” He says, already pulling his sweats down

You hum in agreement,

While you lay against him, you can’t help but wonder how you survived before he had taken you.

—-—————————————————————-

Do NOT steal, rewrite ir take credit for my work without permission

Reblogs are always welcome 💜💚💜💚

I am a new writer so i am completely open to constructive criticism 😗

I do not condone anything thing written in dc fics to be played out in real life.

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writefightandflightclub · 4 years

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A cut above the rest (Poe Dameron x reader)

Author’s note: I JUST REALISED THAT REBELS MUST STILL GET HAIR CUTS AND OMFGJDJDJJRJDJ CAN YOU IMAGINE CUTTING POE DAMERON’S HAIR? IT WOULD BE A FUCKING SPIRITUAL EXPERIENCE.

Summary: five times you cut Poe Dameron’s hair.

You can skip the Prologue at the beginning if you prefer and go right ahead to “Haircut One”.

Warnings: it’s pure fluff and mild angst, sweetie.

(GIF by @youngavengervic THANK YOU FOR YOUR SERVICE)

Prologue (skippable- start below at “Haircut One” if you so wish)

Poe: “Oh, Sorry.”

A man appears in your makeshift salon. You look up from your datapad and your cup of steaming caf.

You: “You are?”

Poe: “Poe. Poe Dameron.”

He reaches out to shake your hand in greeting, since he’s introducing himself.

You: “Uh, I mean, why are you sorry?”

Poe: “Because I disturbed you.”

You: “I’ve been waiting to get my hands on you, Commander.”

Poe: “You have?”

You: “You didn’t, by the way.”

Poe: “What?”

You: “I saw your hair from across the base.”

Poe: “Uh-huh. Wait.”

He grabs your shoulders.

Poe: “Shall we start over? I’m here for a haircut.”

You: “I know! That’s what I’ve been saying.”

Poe: “Is it? Right. So is the droid around?”

You: “The droid’s around but how about a human touch?”

You reach below your waistband.

Poe: “Woah, ma’am, I’m flattered but...”

Your hand emerges from your apron with a pair of scissors.

Poe: “Oh.”

You: “I’m Y/N. Y/N YL/N. Do you want a haircut then?”

Poe: “Sure.”

Haircut One

Poe sits in your salon chair and you stand behind him, running warm water into your makeshift, upcycled cockpit basin. You press your palms to the top of his shoulders, tipping him back gently until his head comes to rest on the supportive tubing, the back of his hair dipping into the water. You prop his head up with an open palm as you douse his luxurious hair in warm water and a sweet smelling concoction. He closes his eyes and you look down at his wet curls, pulled back from his face, the thick brush of his lashes and his strong features. Boy, he’s handsome. And you hear he knows it.

You suddenly feel a little self-conscious that you are massaging his beautiful head, especially when it begins to illicit a satisfied hum from him. You bet there are a lot of people on base who have dreamed about running their fingers through the Commander’s hair.

You hope he’s enjoying it, being able to take a rare moment away from his duties, have someone take care of him for a change. From this angle though, you can see his fists are still clenched on the arms of the chair, his brows still tense.

“Just relax, Commander,” you say soothingly.

“I will if you will.”

“Huh?”

“Call me Poe.” he explains, with a warm smile.

“Ok, Poe.”

You keep massaging his scalp, your fingers weaving in his hair, around his temples, his neck. Maybe you wash his hair a little too long, partly because you really want to see his fists unclench, which they eventually do. Partly because you do not mind this view of him blissed out under your fingertips. At all.

“Ok.” You tap his shoulders again, softly, guiding him up and wrapping a cloth around his hair before any drips can sneak their way down beneath the collar of his shirt.

He lets out another satisfied hum. “Thank you, that was nice.”

“It was.” you agree. Oh planets, did you actually just say that? Nope, no way out of it. You think you catch amusement blooming across his face but, kindly, he does his best to hide it.

You tousle his hair until it’s damp, then urge him quickly over to the salon chair in a vague attempt to leave your embarrassment behind. You wheel your stool up close to him.

You begin to rotate around his head, fondling his hair with your fingers, pulling at sections with your fingers laced into his curls. You concentrate hard on looking at his hair and not right into his eyes, especially as you place your hands on either side of his face, checking the symmetry, only arms-length away. You are equally careful that your hip doesn’t press too earnestly against his shoulder as you stand to clip the strands you can’t reach seated.

You snip conscientiously away at his tresses, very aware that his eyes meet yours with interest whenever you are in front of him, even through the mirror when you’re not.

Finally, he asks, charmingly enough to just about get away with it: “Would it be unprofessional if I said you were pretty?”

Typical flyboy. Still, butterflies bloom in the pit of your stomach. And you can’t help but smile brightly.

“Well. You might not want to risk it while I’m holding sharp implements.” You toss him a good-humoured look, just a hint of flirtation in it.

He smiles warmly, fluttering his eyelashes innocently at you. “Noted. I’ll tell you later.”

There are those butterflies again. Damn, he’s cute. You finish him up and brush the stray hairs from his shoulders and his neck with your palms. Finally, you hold the mirror up to the back of his head, awaiting his verdict.

“How do you think I look?”

“In my professional opinion?”

“Of course.” his eyes glint with humour.

“Emphatically not bad.”

“I’ll take that.” He thanks you, picks up his leather jacket, throws it on. Then he winks at you and strolls out. You can’t help but smile to yourself as you sweep up.

Haircut Two

Maker, you are pleased to have him back in your chair again. It seems like it has been some time, and his hair is looking particularly overgrown. Washing his hair is a ritual you could certainly get used to. You enjoy the way he melts more readily into the chair this time.

A little more prepared and relaxed than last time yourself, you make the usual small talk, but he responds quickly, turning the questions back on you before you can even think.

“So, how did you end up becoming a rebel hairdresser?”

Is that even a thing? You scrunch your nose. Does he really wanna know?

“I wanted to be a pilot.” you laugh, cringing slightly, combing through his hair.

“I don’t know how to tell you this, but this isn’t a common route into the profession.” He jokes warmly.

Your shoulders shake in gentle laughter.

You hum, thinking. “Yeah. I didn’t have the resources to go to flight school. So, I trained as a hairdresser. I was good at it, and would you believe...” you flick your tongue out over your lip as you trim the hair around his ears. He turns his head to listen more intently and you reposition him with a firm hand, again. “I told you to stop moving.”

“Sorry”, he smirks.

“Well, I caught the attention of the senate, over on Hadnor, a fringe group of dissenters in the diplomatic unit who were loyal to the Resistance.”

He is about to turn his head towards you again. He’s such an attentive person, you are learning- it’s only natural to him. “Stay still.” you remind him with a chuckle. “Well, they needed someone to pose as a hairdresser to the elite and gain access to the secrets of the upper echelons. I wanted to help.”

“Espionage? You were a spy?” he asks, clearly shocked, but he doesn’t look at you this time.

“Yeah,” you say, your voice tighter, thinner. “I spent 10 years making monsters look beautiful and learning their secrets, trying to advance the Resistance from within... and trying not to get caught.”

“Then what happened?”He is almost afraid to ask.

“I got caught.” There is a pause before you continue. “Three years passed, then I got out.” your voice is heavy, the glaring omission of what they did to you in those three years not something he wants to push.

“I’m sorry.” He turns towards you again and you move his head back wordlessly.

You tug in a steadying breath. “It’s fine. I just wish I could be more useful around here but I...” you shrug “Let’s just say my skills were cutting hair and spying, and I’m not ready yet to go back to spying.”

“Haircuts are useful.”

He’s kind. He has a good heart.

“Really, they are. If my hair grew over my eyes how would I fly my X-Wing?”

“You fly an X-Wing?” you tease, sarcastically. “That’s never come up.”

You fish out a lock of hair that has fallen under his collar, your fingers brushing his neck, his collarbone. He shivers from the contact.

“What about your dream of being a pilot?” he turns his head towards you.

“Poe, if you turn your head to look at me one more time...” you chide.

But you meet his eyes and find them impossibly soft. “I just like looking at you.”

You are taken aback. “Yeah well,” you dismiss, not quite knowing how to react, “I’m sure you like having two ears even more. Eyes front, Dameron.”

“Yes, maam.” he turns his head, a smile ghosting at the corner of his lips.

You try to take a few deep breaths until your heart stops hammering.

Haircut three

The next time you have him in your chair, he’s in a playful mood. Ok, an even more playful mood.

“Same again?” you ask him.

His face turns thoughtful, ridiculous. “I want a sexy haircut. What will make me look sexy?”

He raises a suggestive eyebrow at you. Unf. He’s sexy already. “You know, I think you’re covered.” you admit.

“Yeah?” Oh, he looks a little too pleased with himself now; what have you done?

For once he keeps his eyes front, head still. “Stop looking at me.” he teases, with a deliciously warm smile, mock indignant.

“I’m cutting your hair, I have to look at you.” you giggle, the sound music to his ears.

“Not like that, you don’t.” he bites his lip, faux pornographic, grunting for effect.

“I think I’m being misrepresented here.” you laugh heartily, from your belly, resting the crook of your arm on his shoulder as you fold forward with mirth.

It has been a long time since you felt this light.

You let him flirt with you this time. You even flirt back.

But maybe that was cruel, because when he slips his jacket back on and asks you bashfully, adorably, if you’d like to grab a drink with him sometime, and you say no, his face sags with disappointment. His pretty eyes look wounded.

And it baffles you why you would say no to this sweet, warm, funny, brave, and handsome man. But your “no, I’m sorry, I...” slips out before you can think it through. It comes out before you realise quite what you’ve done.

Years of espionage, years of pretending to be someone else, had meant that there was never a “you” for anyone to get close to. And there was never anyone you could trust even if there had been.

Still, as he masks his disappointment and walks out of the salon, you realise suddenly, that maybe you want that person to be him.

It’s a shame, then, that you’ve blown it.

Haircut four

The next time, you are surprised to see him. Not only because of how you left it, but also because word on base travels fast.

He hadn’t had a good day. The mission hadn’t panned out. He’d lost people.

He catches you sweeping, just as you’re about to shut things down for the night. You can see instantly that his face is full of distress. His body sags like a fire-gutted building.

“Poe?” you greet him, concerned, and he doesn’t respond. That concerns you further.

Instead, he just shuffles his feet on the floor like he doesn’t quite know what he’s doing here.

“Sorry, I should just go...”

“Wait.” you grab his wrist. “What do you need?”

“I came here to.. Can you...” he isn’t going to continue but your eyes encourage him. “Can you wash my hair?”

Comfort. He wants comfort, you realise. You’ll happily, readily give it to him.

“Sure I can. Sure. Sit down right now. Lie back.”

You do everything you can to soothe him, make him feel calm.

As your hands move through his hair, the warm water, the scents, and -you think- your touch, comforting him, you gently probe. “Do you... want to talk about it?”

He’s silent for a moment. Then he sits up abruptly, water dripping down on to his neck, over his face- not that he cares. You wonder if maybe he’s crying, but amidst all of the water you can barely tell.

Quickly, you grab a towel and roll it, pass it around his neck, at least to catch some of the water. Coming to kneel in front of his chair, you place your hand firmly over his, giving it a squeeze. He responds by running his fingers over the ridges of your knuckles, his focus intent, eyes downcast, solemn.

“Poe...”

He starts to speak, but not about what you expect.

“Why did you say no?”

“What?”

He is quick to backtrack. “You know what, never mind, this was stupid. I should.. I just need to be alone.”

And he unrolls the towel and turns to sweep out.

“Wait!”

He pauses in his tracks but he doesn’t turn back to you.

“I... I don’t know why I said no, Poe. I.. I wanted to say yes.”

“You wanted to say yes?” he repeats. Then he nods to himself, and continues his path to the door.

You sigh heavily, think about chasing after him for a moment. But then you simply mop up the pools of water he left behind him and close up.

Haircut five

He steps into the salon looking a lot more like himself, you are pleased to see. A steady smile on his face, a brightness to his eyes, more energy to his gait.

“It’s too soon for a haircut, Poe. You’ll be bald if I...”

“I know.” His eyes are playful.

“What’s going on?” you ask, intrigued and mystified.

“Come with me.” he grins “I wanna give you a flying lesson.”

Your jaw drops. “What? Don’t be ridiculous!”

“I know you want to say yes.” his eyes dance with enthusiasm.

“Poe...” you try to protest. Although you are half-smiling, he can tell you’re still hesitant.

“You can trust me.” he promises, taking both your hands in his. “Just let me make this dream come true for you. Then the next. And the next.”

You want to cry with how sweet, how precious he is.

“I don’t know...” you tease. “You? Flying?! Are you any good at that?”

He pulls his hair back from his forehead. “No hair in my eyes, thanks to my favourite hairdresser. And I’m pretty sexy.”

“How is that relevant?”

He snakes his hands around your waist, bringing his face close to yours.

“Oh, it’ll be relevant.” he says seductively, pumping his eyebrows.

You look up at him, this ridiculous man with hope all over his face.

And you might just have to say yes.

#poe dameron x reader #poe dameron #poe dameron fic #poe dameron x y/n #poe dameron x you #star wars x reader #poe dameron fluff #swcreators #sw #sw writing #fan fic #reader insert #poe dameron x gender neutral reader #poe x gender neutral reader #gender neutral reader #poe dameron imagine #poe damerons hair

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bearsfakedthemoonlanding · 4 years

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Trans Boy Day Vlog

“Hey, Joseph... you know that vlogs are video-blogs, right?”

No, I don’t. I like the word.

[CW: misgendering, musing about gender meant to pass absolutely no judgment and probably mean absolutely nothing to anyone else besides myself. this tumblr really is for myself and my thoughts, and if something i think or feel or say affects you negatively-- i’m so sorry.

we all experience ourselves and our lives very differently. i cannot expect my experiences to fit you nicely, just as you can’t expect yours to fit me either. what i say is about myself, my own life, and my own boyhood. however you experience yours is just as valid as my own.]

Today is a good day! It’s been two shifts since I’ve embarrassed myself terribly, and I think we can keep this up with enough effort. Go team. I was “ma’am”d and unfortunate amount of times today. Enough so that I looked to my chef and said, “okay, dude, level with me. what the fuck am I doing wrong?”

because let me paint you a picture. black sneakers. baggy black jeans. a black uniform t-shirt. a black apron, not synched at the waist. a binder. no boobs. a black face mask that covers everything under my eyes. a black baseball cap on backwards. thick glasses. if anything, i am shapeless. i am the same height and build as two of my cis-male coworkers. and yet, all fuckin’ day, I get “ma’am” and “miss” and “dear” and “baby”

I don’t hate pet names. I really don’t. any time a sweet older woman calls me “baby” it increases my HP by like. +5. God bless the south. but men don’t call each other “baby,” so every time a man does it, I lose a month off of my life. just a month. let’s not be melodramatic here.

if men went around calling each other “baby” then we would have no problems! but they don’t. so i seeth.

what. am. i. doing. wrong.

we decided it just has to be the voice. allegedly I don’t have feminine mannerisms, and i don’t walk weird, and nothing about me outwardly screams “girl.” so what gives?

the voice.

testosterone, baby, i’m begging you. drop me already, please for the love of God.

isn’t gender a funny thing? for my own personal use, i could care less. who i am in private, or around my good close friends, or my partner, is ambiguous and without bounds. that boy doesn’t need any rules or guidelines. he can act however he acts, and it’s all okay.

but in public i get “baby” and “sweetheart” and “dear.” with certain coworkers i feel the pressure to “butch up,” lest they think i’m faking it.

faking it. fuck me, right? oh to live in a way that is effortless. i spent so much time as a girl trying to act properly like one, hoping against hope that enough “faking it” would turn it from “faking it” into “feeling it.” being a girl was so hard. giving up on being a girl wasn’t much better, because yeah I was more comfortable with myself, but then i was just “bad at being a girl.” and for a while that was enough, because i was still so angry and rebellious. you know how you are at seventeen/eighteen/nineteen but y’know. i don’t wanna be angry and rebellious forever. i just wanna be.

and i’ve wanted to be a man since i first imagined the option. thanks Mulan, you’re the real MVP. if this was conversion therapy camp, i’d site that movie as my “root.” but fuck that.

i don’t really want to be cis. i don’t know who the fuck i would be if i’d been born with a dick and shoved into masculine roles my entire childhood. i have no idea what that kid would have been like, who they would have grown up to be. so much of who i am is because of who i was when i was little. how could i ever try and get rid of that? pain and confusion and all that was wrapped up in it, it wasn’t all bad, it wasn’t just constant misery. it was a lot of good. and to have not had that, to have not spent so much time discovering this person that i am now.

i don’t know who that person would be. i don’t know if i would like them.

passing socially feels like trying to tick things off of a checklist. fit into a nice little descriptor. i am a “dude.” i am “sir.” i am “son” and “guy” and “young man.” or at least, i am everything that is not “maam” and “girl” and “young lady” and “miss.”

sometimes, secretly, i wish i could be comfortable like that. i imagine myself as a girl/lady/woman who hears those words and they feel right, but it feels like that woman exists at the end of a different path. as if, somewhere between eleven and fourteen i took a fork in the road that brought us here. and if i’d taken the other fork, i would have been there with Her.

she would have bouncy bobbed hair and wear cute skirts and suspenders, and she would be a spitfire and confident, and she would still be entirely me. all the feelings and smiles and mannerisms and humor and interests, but she would be a girl.

but i’m not her. i’m that person, that same exact person, those same feelings and smiles and mannerisms and humor and interests, but i’m a boy. i feel it deep in my gut, in my chest. i don’t know what it would take to get to Her. I tried a long long time to get to her. i don’t want to keep trying.

why fight it? why fucking bother, when this is so comfortable? when i LOVE who i am, as a boy, all cropped hair and tough jeans and bruised knees and knuckles and mud on my shoes and eventually a deeper voice, an adams apple, a kind smile and strong hands and my dad’s ears

yeah. i’ve had this vision for a while now. i’ve been this boy for a while now, i just didn’t quite know Him yet. i am so grateful for who i’ve grown up to be. for the man i’m growing into. maybe it’s taking me longer than other guys, sure. but we all take our own time.

besides, my family is full of late bloomers.

give me a few years, and i’ll look just right, and feel just right, and i won’t miss the woman I could have become, because really

y’know what?

genders an illusion anyways. men, women, fuck it.

i’m incoherent, please forgive me. i’m on three hours of sleep and five cups of coffee and a few pain killers. it’s been a long day. but i’m so happy.

#ftm #trans boy #trans guy #lgbt #queer

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fuck-customers · 6 years

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What can I say then

Ok, lemme preface this. I am a supervisor at a credit card call center. Basically I take calls from regular reps whose callers ask for a supervisor, nothing too hard. Alright so, this rep transfers to me; I answer Me: “Hi, my name is _____, I am a supervisor here at [insert na-]” Cardholder: “WHY ARE YOU TALKING SO FAST, I DONT APPRECIATE YOU TRYING TO GET ME OFF THE PHONE.” Literally, I was speaking normal, sup calls don’t hurt my calls per hour I can take 2 hrs talking to this bitch and I’ll be fine. She didn’t even let me finish saying my shit. Ch: “what’s your name you didn’t say it” Me: ___ Ch: “what” Me: ___, (and it’s 3 letters so I spelled it out) Ch: I don’t like you spelling it out I’m not stupid. Me: ~ok~ “how May i assist you ma’am” Ch: I DONT LIKE YOU CALLING ME MAAM. THATS NOT MY NAME. MY PARENTS DIDNT NAME ME MAAM.” Honestly, it’s habit. I don’t call them by their first/last name bc people don’t like that. Sir/ma’am are my words, so I apologize right. Me: “I’m sorry, so how may I help?” Ch: “well my payment is 30.77$, I need to know why it’s an even number, I need odd numbers because that’s what goes well with my check, and my due date isn’t working for me.” Me: “ok so-“ (I’m about to rephrase what she says bc I’ve learn people like that bc it shows I listened right, but I just say it so I remember everything and do it in a way it’ll fit the acct. ch: “I DONT LIKE IT WHEN SOMEONE TELLS ME “ok so”, IT JUST SHOWS ME THAT THEY DONT CARE WHAT IM CALLING ABOUT. I JUST SPENT 4 MINUTES WAITING FOR YOU TO ANSWER AND YOURE GONNA COME TO ME AND SAY “ok so”.” Me: “It’s not that I don’t care, I just have to make sure I caught everything you said. First, your pymt is 30$ or 7% of your balance, whichever is greater. It’s 30.77$ because you’re over by 77 cents, if the even numbers aren’t working you can always round it to an odd number of your choosing, and in regards to your due da-“. Ch: “I DONT NEED YOU TO TELL ME WHAT TO DO. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE TELL ME WHAT TO DO. YOURE NOT MY MOM. PLUS NO ONE TOLD ME ITD BE 30$ a month.” Keep in mind she’s had this acct since 2015. Me: “Well, when you applied the teems&conditions stated your pymts would be 30$/7% of your Bal, whichever is greater. Now, we can’t tel-“ Ch: “I HATE HEARING THAT YOU CANT DO SOMETHING. I AM A CUSTOMER, I DIDNT CALL TO HEAR A ‘NO’, I AM A CUSTOMER AND IM CALING FOR HELP.” Me: “alright and I get that, I am trying to help but you keep saying you don’t like what I am telling you. I have to tell you what we can/can’t do, I can’t just ignore what you said and tell you something else. Now, you can pay 31$ that’s not issue. You’re just paying a bit more than the minimum that’s fine. In regards to your due date, (it’s currently on the 5th of each month) what date would you like?” Ch: “the 1st or 15th.” Here’s where I got frustrated, she’s due on the 5th, and she usually pays on the 3rd or 4th, so early. She’s requesting her due date 4 days earlier for whatever reason. I’m not in her life so whatever, she sounded hesitant when she said first, so I check the 15th. Me: (keep in mind I can’t say “can’t” bc shell cut me off and we’ll get nowhere) “unfortunately we are unable to select the 15th as a due date, but the 14th or 16th work, do either of those work for you?” Ch: “16th is fine.” Me: “ok, before I select that I have to remind you, you can only change your due date once every twelve months, do you still wish to select the 16th of each month?” Ch: “what day is the 16th next month (12-16-17)?” Me: “saturday.” Ch: “I CANT HAVE A SATURDAY I NEED THURSAYS I GET PAID THURSDAYS.” Me: “we ca-, I mean we don’t choose certain daYS, for due daTES, we need a numberic daTE(#) that works for you. Not daYS (sun-mon).” Ch: “I DONT UNDERSTAND WHY YOURE MAKING THIS SO HARD FOR ME.” Me: “I’m not trying to, I’m trying to help, so what daTE works for you?” Ch: “The 1st.” Me: “ok so again, before I select that I have to remind you, you can only change your due date once every twelve months, do you still wish to select the 1st of each month?” Ch: “NEXT MONTH ITS A FRIDAY AND THEN IN JANUARY ITS A MONDAY, NO THAT DOESNT WORK. I NEED THURSDAYS.” Me: “I’m sorry but we ca-, don’t choose daYS, we have daTE-“ Ch: “I DONT LIKE HEARING WHAT YOU DONT DO I HATE WHEN SOMEONE TELLS ME WHAG THEY DONT DO.” Me: “I have to tell you what is available and what is not, I cannot please everything you’re wanting. I cannot lie to you and say we can do things we can’t, I’m very sorry you hate all I’m saying but I have to do my job of letting you know your options.” Ch: “I DONT KNOW WHY YOURE MAKING THIS SO DIFFICULT FOR ME. YOU JUST DONT WANT TO HELP.” Me: “I am TRYIN-“ Ch: “WHY DO YOU TALK WHEN IM ABOUT TO TALK. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE TALK WHEN IM THINKING OF WHAT TO SAY.” Me: “so what daTE, are you looking for?” Ch: “I DONT KNOW. WHAT WORKS FOR ME DOESNT WORK FOR YOU. YOURE SO HARD TO TALK TO.” Me: (I’m starting to get mad) “you gave me the 1st and 15th, I told you the 1st works and either 14th or 16th work. You keep saying you need a Thursday but we do not choose daYS. We choose daTES. You said the 16th and then said no and chose the 1st, I was about to confirm the 1st and you said no bc they fall on different daYS of the week each month. We don’t choose the daYS they fall on. Jus-“ Ch: “I KNOW YOU DONT OK. IM NOT A CHILD. I HATE WHEN YOU TALK TO ME LIKE A CHILD. I HAYE THAT YOU REPEAT YOUR SELF I JUST, AM SO FRUSTRATED BEVAUSE YOURE JUST MAKING ME MAD.” Me: “Thats not my intention, what daTE works for you? That’s all I need.” Ch: “I DONT KNOW OK I DONT KNOW” Basically my call was 26 mins long, of her telling me she hates everything that I said and ended up requesting another supervisor and just hung up on him bc he was a male. Tl;dr: lady hates not getting her way.

#submissions #fuck customers #call center problems #submission

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