— set your heart ablaze

Thats Not My Neighbor!

Oh, Mr. Mosses Part One

Oh, Mr, Mosses Part Two

Oh, Mr. Mosses Part Three

Oh, Mr. Mosses Part Four

JJK (Jujutsu Kaisen)

Kisses and Ceramics (Nanami/Reader)

Elden Ring

His Little Wife (Messmer The Impaler/Reader)

Landing a Blow (Messmer The Impaler/Reader)

Starting the jest (Messmer The Impaler/Reader)

Protector of his Woman (Messmer The Impaler/Reader)

Blinded by The Flame (Messmer The Impaler/Reader)

To love and Forget (Messmer The Impaler/Reader)

Sweet taste of nectar 🔴 (Messmer the Impaler/Reader)

Being Away From Thou (Messmer The Impaler/Reader)

Changing Your Mind (Messmer the Impaler/Reader)

Care for me? (Messmer the Impaler/Reader)

the begging of the end (Messmer the Impaler/Reader)

BorderLands

Personal Space? Never Heard of Her! (Handsome Jack/Reader)

Gladiator II

To Honor Your Husband (Emperor Geta/Reader)

Be My Distraction (Emperor Geta/Reader)

Morning is Forever (Emperor Geta/Reader)

A break in the night (Emperor Geta/Reader)

Befitting for an emperor (Emperor Geta/Reader)

forbidden words and lidded eyes (Emperor Geta/Reader)

Benevolence (Emperor Geta/Reader)

fruits make the man (General Acacius/Reader)

soon to be heir (Emperor Geta / Reader)

Belittling the Reign (Emperor Geta / Reader)

Festivities of Saturnalia (Emperor Caracalla / Reader)

To love an emperor (Emperor Caracalla / Reader)

Stranger Things

• Fall Baking (Eddie Munson / Reader)

• Make that Two (Eddie Munson / Reader)

Pirates of the Caribbean

Zeno didn’t even knock. No smooth walk up to the entrance. No brisk walk up to the desk to carefully yet skillfully flirt with you— even if you were oblivious to it.

No. Because today, today the door slammed open so hard it rattled the glass panels beside it, the sound cracking through the quiet lobby like something violent and alive. The marble floors echoed the impact, and for a moment the entire building seemed to hold its breath.

You jumped in your chair.

Your pen slipped from your fingers, clattering softly against the desk as your heart jolted straight into your throat.

“Good m—”

The greeting died before it could finish.

Zeno stood in the doorway, shoulders tense beneath his dark coat, eyes already locked on you.

He looked different.

Not the controlled irritation he usually carried when he visited. Not the quiet, simmering tension you’d come to recognize whenever Victor entered the room.

Like something in him had already snapped and he was moving before the rest of the world had caught up.

“Get up. Now.”

The words came out low and rough.

You blinked, confusion knitting your brows together as you pushed your chair back slightly.

“…Um, What?”

Zeno was already crossing the lobby.

Each step was quick and purposeful, the sound of his shoes against the marble too loud in the quiet building. Your stomach tightened without you understanding why.

“Zeno, what’s going on?” you asked softly.

He didn’t answer.

His hand reached the desk first, palm bracing against the edge as he leaned forward slightly. His gaze flicked over you—your face, your posture, the faint tension in your shoulders—like he was checking something important.

Then his eyes moved upward.

Toward the corner of the ceiling.

You followed his gaze automatically.

The security camera.

You’d never paid much attention to it before.

It had always just been there. Watching.

Zeno’s jaw tightened. His hand moved under his coat. You barely had time to register what he was doing before the gun appeared in his grip. Your breath caught.

“Zeno—!”

The shot exploded through the lobby.

The sound was deafening in the enclosed space, sharp and violent as the bullet struck the camera. Glass shattered instantly, the small device sparking before it hung uselessly from the wall. You flinched so hard your chair nearly tipped backward. A small, startled sound escaped your throat before you could stop it, your hands flying instinctively to your ears as your heart began racing painfully fast.

“I said—” Zeno’s attention snapped back to you immediately. The gun disappeared beneath his coat just as quickly as it had appeared.

You were shaking. It was immediate and obvious.  Your fingers trembled against the edge of the desk, your breathing uneven as the shock of the gunshot echoed painfully in your ears.

Zeno swore under his breath. “Fucking,” he cut himself off abruptly. 

“Easy,” he muttered, stepping closer.

His hands reached you a second later, gripping your upper arms to steady you as you struggled to find your balance again.

Your voice came out thin and shaky. “Why would you—?”

Your chest hitched as you tried to breathe normally again.

Zeno’s grip loosened slightly when he realized how frightened you were.

“…Shit,” he murmured quietly.

The anger in his posture shifted almost instantly.

His hands slid from your arms to your shoulders, holding you in place but no longer rough. His voice dropped lower, softer in a way you’d rarely heard from him.

“Hey,” he said gently. “Look at me.”

Your gaze lifted slowly.

Your eyes were wide and glassy with shock, your breath still uneven as you tried to calm the pounding in your chest.

“I didn’t mean to scare you,” Zeno added quietly.

“You—shot—” you tried again weakly.

“I know.”

Your hands trembled as you lowered them from your ears.

“Why would you shoot it?” you whispered.

Zeno exhaled slowly, his gaze flicking briefly toward the broken remains of the camera.

“Because im tired of you being watched, sweetheart..”

The words landed heavier than you expected.

Your brows pulled together.

“…It’s just.. security,” you said softly.

Zeno’s expression hardened.

“No,” he replied quietly. “It’s Victor.”

A small, uncomfortable silence settled between you.

Your stomach twisted.

Zeno watched the realization flicker faintly across your face.

He stepped back slightly then, his hands falling away from your shoulders as he straightened again.

“We’re leaving,” he said.

Your head lifted quickly.

“…What?”

“We’re leaving,” he repeated calmly.

Your heart stumbled.

“Zeno, I can’t just—this is my job!”

“No, it isn't. You don’t work here anymore.”

The certainty in his voice made you blink.

“You don’t get to decide that,” you replied quietly.

“I already did.”

You stared at him.

Your chest tightened slightly as you shook your head.

“I didn’t say yes to your offer yet,” you murmured.

Zeno’s gaze dropped briefly to your arm.

The faint puncture mark was still visible where your sleeve had shifted slightly.

His jaw tightened again.

“You shouldn’t still be here,” he muttered.

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not.”

Your fingers curled against the desk.

“He hasn’t done anything—”

“Stop saying that!” Zeno seethed. A black, thin veined line spread more and more on the left sife of his neck, cutting up his cheek with sharp contrast to his skin.

The words came out sharper than he intended. You flinched again.

Zeno immediately ran a hand down his face, frustration flickering briefly across his expression.

“…I’m not arguing about this,” he said more quietly.

Your voice came out softer now.

“Then what are you doing?”

Zeno looked at you again.

Really looked at you.

The faint exhaustion beneath your eyes. The hesitation in your posture. The way your hand unconsciously drifted toward the ache in your arm. And something in his chest twisted painfully tight.

“I’m getting you out of here,” he said.

Your gaze dropped to the floor.

“Zeno…”

He stepped closer again, slower this time.

His voice lowered slightly.

“You trust me?”

The question caught you off guard.

“…I barely even know you, Zeno,” you admitted honestly.

His mouth twitched faintly.

“Fair, sweetheart.”

Silence stretched for a moment.

Then he reached for your hand.

Your breath caught slightly when his gloved fingers wrapped gently around yours.

“Come with me anyway,” he said quietly.

Your heart pounded again. Not from fear this time. Something else. “I’m scared,” you whispered.

His thumb brushed slowly across your knuckles. He hummed.  “I know.”

Your voice trembled faintly.

“You..shot a gun in the middle of my office.”

A faint huff of breath escaped him.

“Yeah. And its not the first time, either.”

Your lips parted slightly.

“You can’t just drag me out of here like some criminal.”

Zeno tilted his head slightly.

“Who said anything about dragging?”

Your eyebrows lifted. 

“Ill carry you if you need, secretary,”

A small, nervous sound escaped you.

“You can't be serious. You literally grabbed me five minutes ago!”

“That was different.”

“How?”

“You weren’t moving.”

Your lips pressed together.

Zeno studied your face for a moment longer.

Then his voice softened again.

“…Hey.”

You looked up.

“You don’t have to figure everything out right now,” he said quietly. “Just do me a favor and  leave the building.”

Your chest tightened again.

“…And then what?”

Zeno hesitated.

For the first time since bursting through the door.

“…Then we’ll figure the rest out.”

You stared at him for a long moment.

Your gaze drifted slowly to your arm again.

The ache hadn’t gone away.

Victor’s voice echoed faintly in your memory.

Rabbit.

Your stomach turned slightly.

Your fingers tightened around Zeno’s hand.

“…Okay,” you whispered.

Relief flashed across his face so quickly you almost missed it.

“Good,” he murmured.

He didn’t waste another second.

His hand tightened gently around yours as he guided you toward the door.

The marble floors echoed softly beneath your steps as you crossed the lobby together.

For the first time since you’d started working there—

You didn’t look back.

The cool night air hit your face the moment you stepped outside.

Your lungs filled sharply with the fresh air, the tension in your chest loosening slightly as you realized how tightly you’d been holding yourself together inside that building.

Zeno’s car sat waiting at the curb.

He opened the passenger door without a word.

You hesitated for only a second before sliding inside.

The leather seat was cool beneath you.

Zeno rounded the front of the car and climbed into the driver’s side.

The engine started immediately.

Neither of you spoke at first.

The city lights drifted past slowly as he pulled away from the curb.

Your hands were still trembling slightly in your lap.

Zeno noticed.

His hand moved quietly across the center console, resting lightly over yours.

Your breath caught faintly.

“You alright?” he asked.

You nodded slowly.

“…Just shaken.”

“Yeah.”

A small silence passed between you.

Then you spoke again.

“You really scared me in there.”

“I know.”

“…You apologized.”

He glanced at you briefly.

“That surprising?”

“…A little.”

A faint smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Don’t get used to it.”

Your lips twitched slightly despite everything.

The tension in the car softened just a little.

Zeno’s hand remained over yours the entire drive.

And neither of you moved it away.

Later that night, when the car finally stopped and the world had grown quieter around you both, the tension between you hadn’t disappeared.

It had only changed.

Shifted.

Zeno stood closer than he had before.

His gaze moved slowly over your face as if he was still reassuring himself you were really there.

Safe.

Your heart beat a little faster beneath the weight of it.

“You’re staring, I can tell even through those shades of yours, y'know,” you murmured softly.

“Yeah. I am” He admitted.

“…And.. Why?”

His voice lowered slightly.

“Because I didn't expect you to say yes to my demand.”

Your breath caught faintly.

The silence between you deepened.

Then his hand lifted slowly to your face.

His touch was gentle. Careful. Nothing like the urgency he’d shown earlier.

Your eyes closed briefly as his thumb brushed lightly along your cheek.

“Zeno…”

His forehead rested lightly against yours.

“You alright?” he asked quietly.

“…I think so.”

His breath brushed faintly against your lips.

“Thats good, baby.”

The kiss that followed was slow. Made you slowly lean into his form with a hand placed on his neck, the other one bunched up somewhere on his coat. Zeno growled into your mouth, deepening the kiss carefully with tight hands smoldering their way across your waist.

You felt.. Relaxed.

Stress free.

Felt nothing but just warmth.

Zeno didn’t go home right away. He just fucking couldn’t. Not after your face— after Victors god damn gall and audacity, no way.

So, he drove.

No destination in mind—just the low hum of the engine beneath him and the quiet stretch of empty roads bleeding into one another. The city lights blurred past in streaks, distant and unimportant. His hands rested steady on the wheel, gloved fingers unmoving, his posture rigid in a way that hadn’t eased since he’d walked out of that building.

Since he’d left you there.

His jaw tightened.

The image wouldn’t leave him alone.

You behind that desk—small, soft, still trying to explain it like it made sense. Like any of it made sense. Your voice, quiet and careful, insisting it was “just a check-up.” The mark on your arm. The way your fingers had twitched under his touch.

The way you’d said you trusted Victor.

Zeno exhaled sharply through his nose.

“Stupid,” he muttered under his breath.

He didn’t know if he meant you.

Or himself.

The car slowed.

Turned.

He didn’t remember deciding to go back to his place—but he was there anyway. The engine cut. Silence settled in around him, thick and immediate.

For a moment, he didn’t move.

His hands stayed on the wheel.

Still.

Tense.

Then finally, he leaned back in the seat, eyes closing briefly.

And there you were.

Again.

Not the way he’d left you.

Not pale and unsteady and too damn trusting.

No—this version of you was different.

Softer.

Warmer.

Safe.

His eyes opened.

That was enough of that.

—

Sleep didn’t come easy.

It never did.

Zeno wasn’t the kind of man who rested. His mind didn’t quiet—it calculated, replayed, sharpened every detail into something useful or something dangerous. But eventually, exhaustion won in the only way it knew how.

Abruptly.

Without permission.

—

The house was quiet.

Not empty—quiet.

The kind of quiet that felt lived in.

Warm.

Zeno stood in the doorway for a moment, something unfamiliar settling in his chest as his gaze moved slowly through the space. It wasn’t large. Not extravagant. Just… clean. Simple. The faint scent of something warm lingered in the air—tea, maybe. Or something cooking.

Domestic.

The word sat strangely in his mind.

He stepped inside.

The floor didn’t echo like marble.

It didn’t swallow sound.

It held it.

Soft.

Grounded.

And then—

Movement.

You. You in a pale slip that showed off every curve— every god damn crevice that kept his eyes trained on your figure.

You crossed the room like you belonged there—because frankly, you did. The house fit your aesthetic. Soft, cozy and warm. Your hair was loose and there was a softness to you that felt… untouched. Unbothered. And Zeno Loved that.

“You’re late, baby,” you murmured, your voice warm in a way he’d never heard before.

Zeno stopped.

For a second, he just looked at you.

Really looked.

No tension. No confusion. No distance. Something in his chest loosened. Baby? God, he could die a happy man, forget of the burdens of life, of the promises he made to the company— for this. All for this.

“…Got.. held up,” he replied, his voice lower, but not sharp. Not cutting. You looked absolutely beautiful.

Your voice?

Divine.

You stepped closer.

Close enough that your fingers brushed lightly against his coat, pushing it back from his shoulders like it was second nature. Like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“I’ve cooked your favorite, It’s on the stove cooling,” you said softly. Smiling at him like he wasn’t a man infected, like he deserved such kindness.

Zeno exhaled, slow, as your hands moved to his sleeves, sliding the coat off him with quiet ease. His gaze didn’t leave your face. Not once.

“You waiting up for me, sweetheart?” he asked.

Your lips curved slightly. A light pink adorned your cheeks and the warm lighting cascaded it.

“Always.”

The word landed somewhere deep.

Too deep.

His hand moved before he thought about it.

Coming up to your waist—firm, steady, like it belonged there. Like it had every right to be there. He pulled you in without resistance, your body fitting easily against his, soft and warm and real.

Not fragile.

Not something to avoid.

Something to hold.

His thumb brushed lightly along your side, slow, absentminded, like he couldn’t quite stop touching you once he’d started.

You didn’t flinch.

Didn’t tense.

You leaned into him.

That alone nearly undid him.

“…Missed you,” you murmured. “So much.”

Zeno’s grip tightened slightly.

“Yeah?” he asked, quieter now.

You nodded, your hands resting lightly against his chest, fingers smoothing over the fabric like you were grounding yourself in him.

“Mmh.”

His hand slid higher along your back, slow, deliberate, feeling the curve of you beneath his palm like he was memorizing it. Like it mattered.

Like you mattered.

His other hand came up—fingers brushing gently along your jaw, tilting your face just enough that he could look at you properly.

No fear.

No hesitation.

Just you.

Looking at him like he was something worth wanting.

Zeno’s expression softened.

Actually softened.

Something rare. Something unguarded.

“…C’mere,” he muttered, quieter than anything he’d ever said awake.

He leaned down, pressing his forehead briefly against yours before his lips found yours—slow, deliberate, not rushed, not forceful. Just… there. Warm. Grounding. Like something he hadn’t known he needed until now.

You melted into it.

Soft.

Willing.

Your fingers curled lightly into his shirt, pulling him closer like you didn’t want the space between you at all.

Zeno’s hand tightened at your waist, pulling you flush against him, his other hand sliding into your hair, holding you there—not controlling, not forcing—just keeping you close.

Like he wasn’t letting go.

Not this time.

Not here.

The kiss deepened—not rushed, but heavier, slower, his restraint slipping into something more tangible. His thumb brushed along your jaw again, then down your neck, tracing the line of your pulse like he could feel it under his skin.

You sighed softly against him.

That sound—

Something in him snapped tight.

His grip shifted, pulling you closer still, his mouth moving against yours with more intent now, more weight behind it. His fingers pressed into your side, grounding himself in the feel of you, the warmth, the softness—yours.

Real.

Safe.

His.

—

Zeno’s eyes snapped open.

Dark.

Sharp.

Immediate.

The room was cold.

Empty.

Silent.

His hand clenched against the sheets, breath heavier than it should have been, his jaw tight enough to ache. The ghost of it lingered—your warmth, your voice, the way you’d leaned into him like it was natural.

Like you belonged there.

Like you belonged to—

He sat up abruptly.

“Fuck.”

The word came out low, rough, dragged from somewhere deeper than he liked to acknowledge.

His hand dragged down his face, slow, controlled, like he was physically pulling himself back into reality. Back into what was. “Fuck!”

Not what he’d just—

No.

Zeno swung his legs off the bed, standing in one smooth motion, tension snapping back into place where it belonged. Where it needed to be.

That wasn’t real.

That wasn’t you.

You were still in that building.

Still sitting behind that desk.

Still letting Victor put a needle in your arm and calling it nothing.

His jaw tightened.

The softness from the dream—gone.

Burned out.

Replaced with something sharper.

Colder.

More focused.

“…No,” he muttered.

Not happening.

Not again.

His hand flexed at his side, gloved fingers curling as his mind snapped back into place, every thought narrowing down to one singular, unshakable point.

You didn’t belong there.

And he was done letting you pretend otherwise.

Zeno reached for his coat.

Already moving.

Already decided.

He’d given you a choice.

That was generous enough.

If you didn’t take it—

His expression hardened.

You tried to distract yourself since the incident. You really did. And it didnt help that the building felt wrong.

Not the empty, lonely kind of wrong—no, it was never truly empty—but wrong in a quieter, more insidious way. The kind that settled under your skin and stayed there, subtle and persistent, like a splinter you couldn’t quite find. The marble floors still gleamed. The tall windows still poured in that same pale, indifferent light. Your desk sat exactly where it always had. The filing cabinet behind you was still neatly organized, invoices stacked, schedules aligned, everything in its proper place.

And yet—

You couldn’t focus.

Your pen hovered over the paper longer than it should have, your handwriting slower, more careful, like each number had to be placed rather than written. The dull ache in your arm hadn’t gone away. It had deepened, settled into something heavier beneath the skin. Not pain exactly—just a persistent soreness that made your fingers twitch if you wrote too long, your wrist stiff if you held it at the wrong angle.

You flexed your hand slightly, watching the faint tremor in your fingers.

“…I’m fine,” you whispered, more out of habit than belief.

The words didn’t settle the way they used to.

You reached for your tea, took a small sip, and tried to ignore the way your stomach turned faintly at the lukewarm taste.

The front door opened.

The sound echoed sharper than usual.

You looked up—

—and the breath you took caught halfway.

Zeno.

He filled the doorway like something dragged in from a different world entirely—too sharp, too solid, too real for the soft, stagnant quiet of the building. His coat hung heavy off his shoulders, dark and unbothered, but there was nothing unbothered about him. Not today. The tension in him was visible now, coiled tight beneath the surface, something barely contained.

His gaze found you immediately.

Not the desk.

Not the hallway.

You.

And it stayed there.

Your spine straightened instinctively, fingers tightening slightly around your pen.

“G-good afternoon, Mr. Zeno,” you started, voice soft, polite, automatic. “I didn’t expect—”

“You let him do it again, didnt you?”

The words cut through you clean.

No greeting.

No patience.

Just.. that.

Your lips parted, confusion flickering across your face.

“I—what?”

He was already moving.

Each step measured, deliberate, the sound of his shoes against marble heavier than it should have been. The distance between you shrank too quickly, your chest tightening in response, fingers curling against the edge of the desk like it might steady you.

“I asked you something,” he said, voice low, rougher than you’d ever heard it. “Did you let him take more?”

Your brows knit together, your mind scrambling to catch up.

“Oh—the check-ups?” you said, softer now. “It’s just routine, I—”

“Don’t.”

The word snapped.

You flinched.

Actually flinched, shoulders drawing in slightly before you could stop yourself. The reaction was small, instinctive—but Zeno saw it. Of course he did.

He exhaled through his nose, sharp, controlled, like he was forcing something back down.

“Don’t say it like that,” he muttered, quieter now but no less intense. “Like it’s nothing.”

Your grip tightened against the desk.

“It is nothing,” you insisted, though your voice wavered just slightly. “He’s just checking on me. I told you—he offered, and I don’t really go to doctors, so I thought—”

“I know what you told me, sweetheart.” He was too close now.

The desk no longer felt like a barrier—it felt like something trapping you in place. Your pulse picked up, soft but noticeable, your breath a little shallower than before.

Zeno’s gaze dropped.

To your arm.

To the way your sleeve had ridden up just enough to expose the faint mark you hadn’t bothered to cover.

His jaw tightened.

“Show me.”

You blinked.

“…what?”

“Your arm.”

Something in your stomach twisted.

“I—it’s fine, really, I don’t think—”

His hand moved.

Fast.

His gloved fingers closed around your wrist before you could pull away, firm and unyielding, guiding your arm onto the desk. The leather was cool against your skin, the grip solid—grounding in a way that startled you more than it should have.

“Mr. Zeno—”

“Hold still.”

Low.

Not raised.

But final.

Your body stilled before your mind could argue.

He adjusted your wrist slightly, turning it just enough to see clearly, his touch controlled—too controlled, like every ounce of pressure was measured, deliberate. His thumb pressed just beneath the puncture mark.

You inhaled sharply.

A quiet, startled sound slipped from your throat as the pressure sent a sharp awareness up your arm, your fingers twitching instinctively against the desk.

Zeno’s eyes flicked up.

He caught it.

“…You feel that?” he asked, voice quieter now—but worse for it.

“Yes…” you admitted, barely above a whisper.

His thumb pressed again.

Not harder.

Just enough to make you notice.

“You think that’s normal?” he said.

“I—I don’t know,” you said honestly this time, the words slipping out softer than you intended. “He said it was, and I—”

“You believe him.”

Your lips pressed together.

“I just.. I just trust him,” you said, automatic, like the words had been placed in you long before this moment. “Hes my boss.”

Zeno’s grip tightened.

Not enough to hurt.

But enough to make your breath hitch.

“He doesnt have to be.” It came out low, barely a growl above the ominous silence of the room.

“…why?” you asked, quieter now, uncertainty threading through your voice. “He hasn’t done anything wrong.”

Zeno let out a short, humorless breath.

“You don’t even know what he’s doing to you.”

“It’s just blood—”

“Do you actually hear yourself?”

The edge was back now.

Sharper.

Your shoulders tensed.

“You think this is a clinic?” he continued, leaning in just slightly, his presence pressing into your space without touching you. “You think this is a normal job? You sit at the front of a building that runs shipments at odd hours, that locks its lower level behind reinforced steel, that’s funded by money you don’t ask about—and you think he’s drawing your blood for your health?”

Your heart was beating faster now.

Too fast.

“I—I didn’t think it mattered,” you said, softer, your gaze faltering for the first time.

“That’s the problem,” he snapped. “You don’t think at all.”

The words hit harder than you expected.

You flinched again.

Zeno went still.

Just for a second.

His grip shifted—not loosening, not tightening—just… adjusting, like he was reminding himself you were there. That you were you.

“…You don’t even know what you are to him,” he said, quieter now.

Your throat felt tight.

“What does that mean?” you asked.

For a moment, something flickered across his face—hesitation, calculation, something caught between anger and restraint.

But before he could answer—

Footsteps.

Measured.

Familiar.

“Well,” Victor’s voice slid into the room, smooth and faintly amused, “this is… an unexpected visit.” 

Zeno didn’t let go immediately.

Victor stepped into view, his gaze drifting lazily over the scene—your seated form, Zeno standing far too close, his hand still wrapped around your wrist like he had no intention of releasing it.

A small smile curled at his lips.

“You’re upsetting her,” Victor said lightly.

You hadn’t even realized how tense you were until the words landed.

Zeno’s jaw tightened.

“Am I?” he replied.

Victor hummed, stepping closer, completely unbothered.

“She’s not used to your… approach,” he continued. “You’ll have to forgive him, Rabbit. Hes very… Intrusive, when he wants to be.” That word made something twist in your stomach.

Zeno went completely still.

Then—slowly—he released you.

Your hand dropped back to the desk, fingers curling faintly where his grip had been, the absence of it almost as noticeable as the pressure had been.

“You’re only using her,” Zeno said.

Victor tilted his head, amused.

“Such an ugly way to phrase it,” he replied. “She’s being taken care of. That’s more than she’s had before, wouldn’t you agree?”

Your chest tightened.

You didn’t like that.

Didn’t like how easily he said it.

Didn’t like how it fit.

Zeno’s expression darkened.

“You don’t get to decide that.”

Victor’s smile sharpened.

“And you do, my friend?”

Silence stretched. Heavy. Pressing.

Zeno didn’t answer.

But the look he gave Victor was enough.

Victor watched him for a moment, then sighed, already bored.

“If you’re finished puffing up like a peacock,” he said, turning slightly, “I have work to continue.”

His gaze flicked to you.

“Don’t wander too far, Rabbit” he added absently. “We’ll continue our.. Exams later.”

Later.

The word settled wrong.

Victor disappeared down the hall like nothing had happened.

Like you hadn’t been sitting there between them.

The quiet returned.

But it didn’t feel safe anymore.

You rubbed your wrist lightly, your fingers tracing the place Zeno had held you, the lingering pressure still there beneath your skin.

“…I didn’t like that,” you admitted softly.

Zeno looked at you.

Really looked this time.

“Good,” he said.

“That’s not a good thing,” you murmured.

“It is,” he replied. “It means you’re finally paying attention.”

You hesitated.

Your gaze drifted—just briefly—toward the hallway. Toward the door that led downstairs. It looked the same.

But it didn’t feel the same.

“…why do you even care?” you asked quietly.

The question hung there.

Simple.

Honest.

Zeno didn’t answer right away.

His gaze stayed on you, something heavier settling behind it now—something less restrained, less distant.

Then he stepped back.

Just enough.

Not far.

“…Because you don’t belong here,” he said.

Your chest tightened.

“And you do?” you asked.

A beat.

“I don't know.”

Silence again.

Thicker this time.

And then—

Zeno reached into his coat.

You stiffened slightly, watching as he pulled something free—a card, dark, clean, edges sharp between his fingers.

He set it down on the desk in front of you.

The sound was soft.

But it landed heavy.

“Quit,” he said.

Your breath caught.

“…what?”

“Quit,” he repeated, more quietly this time, but no less firm. “Leave this place. Don’t come back.”

You stared at the card.

Then up at him.

“I—I can’t just—this is my job, I—”

“I’ll give you another one.”

The words came without hesitation.

Like he’d already decided.

Your heart stuttered.

“You’ll work for me,” Zeno continued, his gaze was steady on you, and some part of you itched and clawed at the idea of seeing his gaze— how they must look staring right at you. Such a intrusive thought made it hard to look away. “Administrative, same as this. Better pay. Better hours. No one touches you without permission.”

Your fingers curled slightly against the desk. “And whatever you want, whenever.” He added.

“That’s—” you swallowed. “That’s a lot to just… offer someone.”

“I’m not offering it to someone.”

The correction was quiet.

Precise.

“I’m offering it to you.”

Something in your chest tightened again.

Different this time.

“You don’t even know me,” you said softly.

Zeno’s gaze didn’t waver.

“I know enough.”

Silence settled between you.

Your eyes dropped back to the card.

Then, slowly, to your arm.

To the mark.

To the ache that hadn’t gone away.

Your fingers hovered over the edge of the card—

But didn’t pick it up.

Not yet.

“I…” you hesitated.

Zeno didn’t push.

Didn’t rush you.

But he didn’t look away either.

“Think about it,” he said finally.

Then he turned.

Walked toward the door.

And just before stepping out—

He paused.

Not looking back.

“…Next time he asks,” he added, voice low, controlled, “say no, sweetheart.”

The door opened.

Closed.

And you were alone again.

The building quiet.

The same.

But not.

Your gaze dropped slowly to the card resting on your desk.

Then to your arm.

Then—

Back to the hallway.

To that door.

You stared at it longer this time.

Not with trust.

Not with certainty.

Just something quieter.

Something uncertain.

And for the first time—

Zeno liked to be careful with you. To guide you by your waist, to smudge clumsy kisses on your face. Going up your jaw, tracing your cheek and up your nose.

“Zeno,” you giggle out, fingertips lightly dusting his shoulders and smushing the muscle that lay there.

He mumbled some response back, hands and lips too busy guiding their way across the soft expansion of your body.

“—yeah?” He finally got out. Voice deep and laced with something more— some visceral need for you mixed with lust and love that it made him numb and thick headed.

Thick headed enough to have you in his lap— in his car, just outside your work place.

The workplace Victor resided in.

Where patients were excitemented on.

Where you had no idea of half the monstrosities— half of the lies that made up the foundations of that place —“Zeno?” Your mumble broke him right out of his concentrated thoughts, his hands, ungloved and thick, made their way to your waist. Stroking, feeling the soft skin that laid there.

“Mmh?” He grunted out, lightly lifting his hips up too meet yours in pure wanton need. “What do you need, baby?”

Instantly a shiver went up your spine, your legs tightened their good around the sides of his legs and your hand splayed out on his jawline, making their way up to the glasses that lay across his face. Dark and hidden pupils stared right back.

“Can— can you take these off?” The reply was instant.

“No.”

It was so quick, so sudden you jumped back out of reflex. The hardness in his voice made your hands recede, the lust and need that was once there moments ago replaced with confusion— embarrassment.

The shift was so sudden it felt like something had snapped between you—one second soft and warm and close, the next… sharp. Closed off.

“I—” you started, but your voice came out smaller than you meant it to.

Zeno didn’t move at first. His hands were still on your waist, but they’d gone still. Not guiding anymore. Not gentle.

Just there.

Watching.

You pulled back a little more, enough to put space between your faces, your knees pressing into the seat instead of into him. Your fingers hovered awkwardly near his collar before dropping to your lap.

“I just… wanted to see your eyes,” you said quietly.

It wasn’t a demand. It never was with you.

Just a soft want.

Zeno’s jaw tightened.

“You don’t need to,” he said.

Still too blunt. Too final.

Your chest tightened faintly at that. You nodded, even though something in your expression dimmed.

“Okay,” you murmured.

That should have been the end of it.

It usually was. You didn’t push. You didn’t argue.

But the quiet that followed felt… wrong.

Heavy.

Zeno exhaled slowly through his nose, dragging a hand down his face before leaning back in the seat. His other hand fell from your waist, leaving behind a strange cold where his warmth had been.

“You shouldn’t ask for things like that,” he added.

That made you look up again.

“…Why?” you asked, softer now. Careful.

He didn’t answer right away.

His gaze shifted away from you, toward the windshield, where the faint glow of the building lights reflected across the glass.

Because if you saw too much, you might start asking the wrong questions.

Because if you looked too closely, you might realize exactly what kind of man he was.

Because he didn’t want that.

“…Because you don’t understand what you’re asking,” he said finally. “This isn’t.. We aren’t anything. I’m not some nobody who you can act soft on.”

The words landed heavier than he intended.

You went quiet.

Not confused this time.

Just… embarrassed.

“Oh,” you said after a moment, barely above a whisper.

Your hands folded into your lap, fingers curling into the fabric of your skirt like you were trying to hold onto something.

“I’m sorry.”

That hit him wrong.

Zeno’s head turned back toward you immediately, something sharp flashing behind his glasses.

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“But you’re upset,” you said, still not looking at him.

“I’m not—” He cut himself off, jaw tightening again.

You thought he was.

You always thought you’d done something wrong when his tone changed like that.

It wasn’t your fault.

It never was.

But you didn’t know that.

“…Just forget it,” he muttered.

You nodded again.

Of course you did.

And that—

That quiet, immediate compliance—

It made something in his chest twist in a way he didn’t like.

The drive to your place was quiet.

Not the comfortable kind you’d grown used to with him.

This one sat between you.

Unresolved.

You kept your hands folded neatly in your lap, staring out the window at the rain trailing down the glass. The city lights blurred past, soft and distant.

Zeno drove with one hand on the wheel, the other resting tense against his thigh. His jaw stayed tight the entire time.

He shouldn’t have snapped at you.

It was a simple request.

Innocent.

But that was the problem.

You were too innocent.

And he was… not.

When he pulled up outside your apartment, the engine idled for a moment longer than necessary.

Neither of you moved right away.

“…Thank you for the um,” you sniffed. “ride,”

Polite.

Like always.

You reached for the door handle.

“Wait.”

The word came out before he could stop it.

You paused, looking back at him.

Zeno’s fingers tightened slightly against the steering wheel.

He wasn’t good at this part.

Explaining. Fixing.

Anything that required softness instead of control.

“…You didn’t do anything wrong,” he said, voice lower now.

Measured.

You watched him for a moment.

Trying to read him the way you always did.

“It’s okay,” you said gently. “I understand.”

You didn’t.

Not really.

But you said it anyway.

Something about that made irritation flicker again—brief, misplaced.

“Don’t say that if you don’t mean it,” he snapped.

Your expression faltered.

“I— I do mean it.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, sharper now. “You just say whatever keeps things easy.”

That one landed.

You went still.

Your fingers slowly slipped from the door handle.

“I wasn’t trying to—” you started, but your voice wavered.

Zeno dragged a hand through his hair, frustration bleeding through now.

“That’s the problem,” he cut in. “You’re not trying at all. You just… go along with whatever anyone tells you.”

Silence.

Heavy.

Immediate.

Your throat tightened.

“That’s not…” you started again, but the words didn’t come out right.

Your gaze dropped, shoulders drawing in just slightly.

“I didn’t think it bothered you,” you said quietly.

Zeno exhaled sharply.

“It doesn’t—” He stopped again.

Because it did.

Just not in the way you thought.

You nodded once.

Small.

“Okay.”

And that word—

That soft, accepting okay—

felt worse than if you’d argued back.

You opened the door this time.

The rain had softened to a light drizzle, cool against your skin as you stepped out.

“Goodnight, Zeno,” you said, still gentle. Still kind.

Like he hadn’t just—

“Sweetheart.”

You paused.

Turned back slightly.

Zeno’s hand was still on the wheel, his posture rigid.

“…That’s not what I meant,” he said, quieter now.

The edge was gone.

Replaced with something heavier.

Regret, maybe.

You gave him a small smile.

Not as bright as usual.

But still there.

“I know,” you said.

You closed the door softly behind you.

And Zeno?