#Weekly box office work up

[followingthebutterflies7]

Every Day Since

Spencer Agnew x Reader

Word count: 1.4k

Summary: After three blissful years with Spencer, you stumble across a velvet box in his drawer and can’t shake the feeling that something big is coming.

Warnings: Emotional vulnerability.

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You had been together for a little over three years. Three years of absolute, unshakable bliss.

Three years of giggling together behind the scenes of shoots, laughing in between takes, and mouthing jokes across crowded sets. Of sleepy early morning coffee runs at your favorite coffee shop down the street, sharing earbuds and complaining about the weather. Of after-dinner walks in the park with no destination in mind, of slow kisses on the sidewalk, and of spontaneous late-night Target trips that always ended with too many snacks and at least one new hoodie to add to Spencer’s collection that you’d inevitably steal.

It was easy being with Spencer. Even on the hard days. Especially on the hard days.

You didn’t have to try to understand each other anymore, you just did. He could read the slope in your shoulders and know whether to tease you or to hold you. You could tell how his day had been just by the way he closed the front door to your shared apartment.

You both knew each other. Saw each other. Felt each other's souls.

Which is why you had seen it coming, felt it in the wind. You had known for weeks.

It wasn’t anything obvious or out of the ordinary. Spencer wasn’t suddenly acting weird or different. He still cuddled with you in the morning and grumbled loudly when you said you needed to get up. He would still hug you from behind when you were sitting at your desk working in the Smosh office. And he still loved you like he always had.

If anything, he was more thoughtful than usual. He was more present, more gentle, more intentional. Little things, like sneaking your favorite snack into the grocery cart or brushing your hair behind your ear mid-conversation without even realizing he was doing it. He’d hum quietly when you worked beside him, just to fill the space. He’d reach for your hand even when no one was watching.

But then there was the way he started looking at you.

Like he was memorizing you. Like he was standing on the edge of something huge, and realized that for the first time in his life falling didn’t feel so scary anymore.

And then, there was the drawer.

You didn’t mean to see it. You hadn’t gone snooping or anything. You were digging through his nightstand looking for some spare batteries, a recurring emergency for your weekly game night, and instead your fingers brushed velvet.

A small box. Tucked nearly beside a folded stack of your handwritten notes to him over the years. Ones you hadn't even realized he kept.

You closed the drawer immediately.

You didn’t open it.

You didn’t ask.

But you knew.

And when, after dinner, he looked at you with that sweet, soft smile of his and said, “Hey… want to go for a walk later?”

You said yes.

You didn’t need him to say it.

You already knew.

And you were ready.

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It was golden hour in Los Angeles. The kind that made the whole city look like it had been dipped in honey and held up to the sun.

The sunlight cast a warm glow through the trees, everything was soft and still. The trail through the park was quieter than usual, the occasional bird song flittering down from the branches, all the evening joggers had long since passed.

Spencer held your hand as you walked, your fingers laced like they had been a hundred times before.

Neither of you spoke much, choosing to walk in silence. But it wasn’t the awkward kind of quiet, it was the good kind, the comfortable kind. The kind that felt like breathing together. You didn’t need words when everything you needed to say lived in the space between your footsteps.

Halfway up the hill, Spencer gently tugged your hand, leading you off the path.

You knew where he was taking you before you even got there.

Your spot.

A small overlook only locals really knew about, tucked between two eucalyptus trees that always smelled like sweet memories. The city stretched out beneath you in a soft haze of amber and rose gold. This had been the place that started it all. The place you and Spencer had first admitted your feelings for each other.

You stepped out to the edge, your voice quiet and reverent. “Spence… this is so nice. I love being here with you.”

He didn’t answer right away.

When you turned around, he was just watching you. His eyes were wide and soft, a little scared, but full of something that made your heart ache in the best way.

The sunset painted his face in warm light, catching the edge of his lashes, the slope of his cheeks. He looked a little nervous. A little breathless. But so, so sure.

“I brought you here,” he said, voice low, “because I didn’t want this to happen on a set. Or at a party. Or anywhere with cameras in our faces.”

You turned fully to him. Your heart beats a little faster.

He stepped forward, taking both your hands in his. His fingers were warm. Something in his touch felt like a promise.

“I wanted it to be quiet. Just us. The way we started.”

Your chest swelled, tears already blurring your vision.

“Spencer…”

He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out the velvet box.

Your breath hitched.

Even though you’d already guessed, already known… seeing it made it real.

You didn’t need to see what was inside to know.

But when he opened it, your breath still caught. It wasn’t flashy. It wasn’t trendy.

It was perfect.

Simple. Elegant. Classic.

Exactly like the way he loved you. Steadily, gently, and with every part of himself.

Spencer knelt slowly, still holding your hands.

“I love you,” he said, and even though you’d heard him say those words a hundred times before, this time it cracked something wide open in your chest.

“I’ve loved you since the moment you walked into that writers' room and roasted my hoodie collection like it was your job. I still remember how you called my hoodie rotation a fashion crisis. A little hypocritical now, don’t you think, since you’ve stolen most of them.”

You laughed, choked on a tear.

“I’ve loved you since our first picnic in this park. When you spilled guacamole down your shirt and then spent ten minutes debating whether birds have regional accents.”

You laughed even harder, your shoulders shook.

“I’ve loved you in all the big moments, and all the quiet ones. When you would bring me my favorite snack at work without me asking for it. When you hum while you brush your teeth. When you steal the covers but always leave me the pillows.”

He blinked hard, trying to hold back the tears and his voice trembled just a little.

“I’ve loved you since the moment you first said hello. And I’ve loved you every day since. You make life feel like something I want to be in. And if you'll let me, I’d like to spend the rest of it with you.”

Your knees gave out and you dropped into a crouch in front of him, laughing and crying all at once.

“Yes,” you whispered, pulling him into a hug. “Spencer, yes. Of course yes!”

You didn’t even let him put the ring on. Not right away.

You buried your face in his neck first, wrapping your arms around him so tightly you thought he might never breathe again, and he didn’t seem to mind.

His hoodie smelled like detergent and warm sunlight and him. Your favorite scent in the world.

“I knew you were gonna do this,” you whispered.

He leaned back, brushing your tears away with a grin. “Oh yeah?”

“I found the box.”

“You found the box?!” he laughed, jaw dropping.

“I didn’t open it!”

“You little snoop!”

“I didn’t open it!”

“Still counts!”

You kissed him, still laughing, still crying. The sun dipped behind the hill and painted the sky in fire and rose, and all around you, the world held still.

And when Spencer finally slid the ring onto your finger, hands shaking slightly, you looked down at it and then back up at him, and saw the same thing you always saw when you looked at him:

Home.

[desiree-uk]

Functional Boards! (Masterlist)

I built a community centre to have sims meet and hang out, but most importantly, to get information of events around the town. There are some good noticeboards from mods that do exactly that, so I'll be placing them on the walls of my centre! I'll also be placing them on other lots too!

@phoebejaysims says there should be a list of functional boards as there are quite a few, so here it is! 😄 I've included their scripts too, so if you decide to use other custom decor boards, you can switch out their scripts with these ones using S3pe or Transmogrifier :) (You can place these notices anywhere you want, even at the sims homes, I just list where I place mine for some ideas. 😊)

4to3 Cheerleading Mod - Phoebejaysims

Join the cheer squad, check for opportunities and become a social media manager! Place at: School, Community Centre, Library, Gym. Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.Miscellaneous.PhoebeJaySims.Cheerleading.CheerleadingBoard

2. Bulletin Board - Arsil

Notes added to inform sims of events around town, reminders (to them or to YOU, the player lol). Any active-sim can add or delete a note and be read by others. Place at: Town Hall, Community Centre, Library, Gym, Post office, Job Agency, Grocery Store, Consignment Store, Sims home. Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.rothnBulletinBoard.workingBBoard

3. Club Board - Phoebejaysims

Sims can browse the board to see which clubs are available in the neighbourhood and join them. Place at: Town Hall, Community Centre, Library, Gym, Post office, Job Agency, Grocery Store, Consignment Store. Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.Miscellaneous.PhoebeJaySims.Clubs

4. Club Calendar - Phoebejaysims

This calendar has uses on both residential and community lots! View Schedule: While on residential lots, the weekly club schedule for the lot’s household will pop up on the screen. While on community lots, if there are any open club schedulers in the same room as the calendar, all the schedules for the aforementioned clubs will pop up on the screen. If there are no open schedulers in the same room but there are open schedulers on the lot, the schedules for all clubs on the lot will pop up on the screen. Place at: Anywhere where there is a club scheduler or at a sims house! Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.Miscellaneous.PhoebeJaySims.Clubs.Calendar

5. Get Pumped: Exercise Class Schedule Board - Olomaya

A board to announce the various fitness classes held at the gym or other places! Place at: Gym, Town Hall, Community Centre, Library, Post Office, Job Agency (for self-employed trainers). Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.olomaya.Exercise.GymBoard

6. Gig Scheduler - Nona Mena (Alternative Box download)

Find Work for Your Band Check for Available Gigs Get Band Opportunity These are band-related opportunities which are not considered Gig Opportunities. Place at: Theatre, Library, Community Centre, Dance Club, Watering-hole. Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.Decorations.Mimics.NonaMena.NonaGigPoster

7. Job Board - Ani/Mspoodle

A board for RH and skill-level job opportunities only! Brilliant! Lists all jobs available, and some specifically chosen to match the active sim's skills! Place at: Town Hall, Community Centre, Library, Gym, Post office, Job Agency, Grocery Store, Consignment Store. Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.HobbiesSkills.ani_JobBoard.JobBoard

8-9. Opportunity Board - 2 versions - mintbeehry

v.1 - A board to find short-contract job opportunities! Lists one job at a time. v.2 - Use this version if you have the Modelling v2.0 Mod - https://modthesims.info/d/672701/modelling-interaction-and-skill-updated-3-3-23.html Place at: Studio, Theatre, Community Centre, Job Agency, Town Hall, Library. Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.MintOppportunity.NewPinBoard

10. Student Council Board - Olomaya - TEENS ONLY!

Join the Student Council where they can then take on different activities such as run for office in the council and support school issues to try and make their school a better place. You can learn about student issues and the like through the Bulletin Board object! Place at: School, Town Hall, Community Centre, Library, Post office, Job Agency, Consignment Store. Sims3.Gameplay.Objects.olomaya.StudentCouncilObjects.CampaignBoard

World Adventure and University Life Adventure Boards/Job Board for your Home Towns - Nona Mena

If you know of any other functional boards, let us know in the comments!

📝🤗

[myfictionaldreams]

⁀➷ Desk Duty // Jim Hopper x F!Reader

Summary: You're the sunshine of the Hawkins Police Station—always smiling and brightening everyone's day. Especially his. Chief Jim Hopper is gruff, intimidating, and far too old for you... But you've had a quiet crush on your boss since day one. The age gap, the power imbalance, and the rules make it impossible. Or at least, it should be—until one stormy night pushes everything past the point of no return.

A/N: I have been desperate to write for Hopper and I'm so glad I did... this man has me in a chokehold.

Tags: 18+ readers only, smut, age gap (reader: 20s, hopper: 40s), boss/secretary, forbidden romance, innocence kink, sunshine vs grumpy, protective Hopper, minor injuries, size kink/difference, squirting, praise kink, oral (f receiving), rough sex, overstimulation, Hopper is a tits guy

Words: 5.6k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The Hawkins Police Station wasn’t exactly known for its excitement. On most days, it was quiet enough to hear the tick of the wall clock and the squeak of Officer Callahan’s chair every time he leaned too far back.

But for you, the silence wasn’t a bad thing. It gave you room to breathe, to sort through case files and tidy up the endless stream of paperwork with your usual meticulous care.

You’d been working at the station for just over six months, and in that time, you’d managed to become something of a fixture behind the front desk. Bright eyes, organised, and hopelessly king. Too kind, according to Chief Jim Hopper.

You bought fresh coffee every morning, laid out pastries on the breakroom table before anyone arrived, and swapped out the vase of flowers on your desk weekly just to keep the place from feeling too grey. You remembered birthdays, wrote thank-you notes in tidy handwriting, and always had a soft smile for even the most irritable walk-ins.

You were the kind of sunshine that warmed everyone around you. And everyone in the office noticed.

“You’re too good for this dump,” Powell had said once, shaking his head as he grabbed a glazed donut from the box you brought in. “You should be working at some fancy law firm or greeting people at a spa.”

But you didn’t want that. You loved your job. Love the small-town rhythm, the creaky floorboards, the scent of strong coffee and old paper. And more than anything, you were drawn to the man at the heart of it all: Chief Jim Hopper.

It didn’t make sense, not really. He was gruff, older, chronically dishevelled, and wore a permanent scowl as if it were stitched into his skin. But somehow, he made your stomach flutter. He made your cheeks burn when he barked out your name or muttered under his breath in that deep, rough voice.

You had a crush. A big one. An all-consuming, ill-advised crush on the Chief of Police– your boss.

“You’re gonna burn out if you keep smiling at everyone like that,” he’d grumble, every other morning when he passed by your desk, coffee in one hand, permanent scowl on his face.

And every time, you’d just grin up at him and say, “Good morning, Chief.”

It had become your thing. You teasing him, him pretending not to enjoy it. But you caught the way his mouth twitched sometimes, like he was holding back a smile. Hopper was all sharp edges and shadows, tall and broad and imposing with that worn-out Sheriff’s uniform clinging to his hulking frame, but there was something else under the surface. A heaviness. A quiet sadness he never talked about.

You noticed it even when others didn’t. The way his shoulders dropped the moment he thought no one was looking. The way he lingered in his office long after everyone else had gone home.

And that was why you stayed.

You didn’t tell him that, of course. You just pretended to have too much filing to do. Pretended to be absorbed in some boring county report or half-finished inventory list. But every night, you waited until his heavy footsteps echoed down the hall and out the front door before packing up your things.

It was just after nine when the phones finally stopped ringing. Powell and Callahan had already left, tossing casual goodnights over their shoulders/ The radio in the corner played soft static, and the overhead lights buzzed with that low, flickering hum. You rubbed your eyes, blinking at the glow of the desk lamp as you finished logging the last of the incident reports.

The door to Hopper’s office was still closed.

You bit your lip, glancing toward it. You could go home. No one would blame you, and you were officially meant to finish your shift an hour ago. But something about leaving while he was still here, alone, likely hunched over a bottle and an old case file, just didn’t sit right.

You stood up, walking softly to his door. You knocked gently.

“What?”

The bark made you smile. “Just me, Chief.”

A pause, then the sound of a chair creaking and heavy boots approaching. He opened the door with a furrowed brow, eyes narrowing beneath that wild mop of hair. “You’re still here?”

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile as you looked up at him through your lowered lashes. “Had some filing to finish.”

His gaze dropped to your empty hands, then flicked back up. “You’re lying.”

You blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You always finish by eight.”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. You hadn’t realised he… noticed. That he paid enough attention to know your habits. Your cheeks warmed under his intense gaze as you absent-mindedly began to wring your fingers together.

He sighed, leaning against the doorframe, one hand raking through his hair and pushing it back. “Why do you stay late?”

You hesitated. “Because you do.”

That shut him up. His jaw tightened, eyes narrowing like he wasn't sure what to do with that. You stood your ground, fiddling with your fingers.

“I just… I don’t like thinking of you here alone, that’s all.”

He looked like he wanted to scold you. Maybe tell you it was none of your business. But instead, he signed again and stepped aside.

“Come in.”

You blinked, not expecting that response. “Really?”

“Might as well. I'm just going through old case files. Not confidential.”

You stepped inside his office for the first time, taking in the cluttered desk, the peeling maps on the wall, the ashtray filled with crumpled cigarett butts. It smells like smoke, coffee, and something uniquely his– woodsy and warm, like cedar and old leather.

He dropped heavily into his chair with a grunt and gestured for you to sit in the battered chair across from him.

You sat down, smoothing a hand over your skirt nervously. “You live like a raccoon in here.”

He gave you a flat look. “You don't have to stay.”

“I want to.”

That got a reaction. His brows lifted, just slightly.

“You’re too nice,” he grumbled, grabbing a file. “It’ll get you hurt someday.”

You smiled softly. “Not with you around, Sheriff.”

He froze, just for a second. Then cleared his throat and focused hard on the paper in front of him. You didn't say anything else. The quiet stretched between you, not uncomfortable but thick with something else. An awareness that neither of you acknowledged.

You watched the way his sleeves were rolled up, exposing strong forearms. The way his fingers dwarfed the pen in his hand. The tiny twitch of his moustache when he was deep in thought.

“You shouldn't want me like that,” he said without looking up.

You jumped. “Like what?”

“Like you don’t know what it does.”

Your heart skipped. You swallowed, shuffling in the leather chair. “Maybe I do.”

That made him look up. His eyes were tired but sharp, focused entirely on you.

“You shouldn’t”, he said again, but his voice was softer this time, almost like he didn’t believe his own words.

You felt heat rise in your neck. “I should probably head home.”

He stood before you, towering as always. “I’ll walk you out.”

Outside, the air was cold. You shivered, arms wrapped tight around yourself. Without a word, he pulled off his flannel overshirt and draped it over your shoulders. His hands lingered, brushing your arms.

You looked up at him. “Thank you,” he held your gaze for a long moment. His expression was unreadable.

“Get home safe, sweetheart.”

The nickname made your chest ache. “You too, Chief.”

He waited until you got in your car and didn’t move until your headlights disappeared down the road. And still, long after you were gone, he stood outside in the cold, staring into the night, jaw clenched tight like he was holding something back. Something dangerous. Something inevitable.

The morning air in Hawkins had a crisp bite to it, and you hugged your coat tighter around your frame as you stepped into the police station. You were early again. Hopper would grumble about it if he noticed, but you didn’t care. It gave you time to set out the fresh box of doughnuts, refill the coffee pot, and tuck a sprig of sunflowers into the chipped vase on your desk.

“Good morning, sunshine,” Powell greeted, breezing past you with a grin.

You smiled back. “Morning. I brought your favourite today. Raspberry jelly.”

“You’re gonna spoil us rotten,” Callahan muttered as he grabbed a glazed one. “Still don't know how someone like you ended up stuck in this place.”

You laughed lightly, used to the comment. “Guess I have a thing for grumpy men with badges.”

The moment the words left your mouth, your eyes darted to Hopper’s office. The door was closed, but that didn’t mean he hadn’t heard. You busied yourself with rearranging the folders on your desk, cheeks warm. Just thinking about him made your stomach flip.

As if summoned, the door creaked open. Hopper emerged, looking as tired and dishevelled as ever, hair sticking up on one side, uniform shirt unbuttoned at the collar. He grunted something that resembled a greeting and made a beeline for the coffee pot.

“Fresh,” you called softly.

He paused, eyes flicking to yours. “Course it is.”

You offered him a sweet smile. He looked like he wanted to say something, but didn’t. Just filled his mug and disappeared back into his office.

Mid-morning brought chaos. A loud ruckus at the front doors had you jerking your head up. Powell and Callahan rushed forward as two deputies dragged in a handcuffed man, thrashing and shouting.

“Get your hands off me! You think you can lock me up for nothing? Bunch of small-town bastards!”

You stood quickly, hands braced on your desk. The man was wiry and angry, eyes wild and red-rimmed, likely drunk or high, maybe both. Hopper stormed out of his office.

“What the hell is this?” he barked.

“Caught him breaking into Henderson’s garage,” one of the deputies said. “Resisted the whole way.”

The man snarled, thrashing again. “I didn’t do shit!”

It happened fast. The man jerked forward, headbutting the nearest officer. In the chaos, his elbow flew out and struck you. A blinding crack to the side of your face sent you stumbling backwards, crashing into the corner of your desk.

Everything tilted. Your vision swam.

“HEY!”

Hopper’s roar echoed like a gunshot. Chairs scraped. Officers shouted. Powell reached you first, hand on your shoulder, but Hopper was already moving like a freight train. He lunged.

In one fluid, furious motion, he slammed the man against the wall with a snarl. “You just hit her,” he growled, voice low and dangerous. “Big mistake.”

The station froze. No one dared move. No one dared breathe. The man whimpered under Hopper’s grip. The Chief didn’t let go until the deputies peeled him off. 

Still trembling, you had slumped back into your chair, dazed, with your face in your hands. Blood trickled from the corner of your lip. Everyone rushed around you–Callahan barking for an ice pack, Powell fumbling for tissues–but it was Hopper who reached you first. 

He dropped to a croch, his large frame making him eye-level with you. His hands, however, were near your face, clenched tight with restraint.

“Let me see,” he gently coaxed. You shook your head, blinking fast.

“I’m fine. Just startled. It was an accident.”

“He hit you.” his voice was firm.

You offered a weak smile. “You should see the other guy.”

He didn’t smile. He reached out, fingers ghosting along your jaw. The gentle contact made you flinch. Hopper flinched, too. Something burned behind his eyes. Anger. Guilt. Something more. And then he stood abruptly, pacing a few steps away, one hand fisting his hair.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered under his breath. “I need a minute.”

Without waiting for a reply, he turned and strode out of the front doors. The others watched him go silent. Callahan eventually broke the tension. “Come on. Let’s get you cleaned up, and I’ll drive you home.”

You stood numbly, shaking your head as much as possible without it throbbing. “No, it’s ok. I just need a moment outside, I’ll be fine.” With a hand pressed to your aching jaw, you slipped outside.

The air was cold, biting. It made your cheeks sting and your eyes water, but you needed the solitude. You stumbled along the path at the edge of the station, disappearing into the trees. There, out of view, you leaned back against the rough bark and let yourself crumble.

Silent tears slipped down your cheeks. Your chest heaved with the emotion you hadn’t let them see inside.

You didn’t hear the footsteps. “You shouldn’t be out in the woods by yourself.”

You startled, turning to see Hopper, towering, jaw still tight. His eyes locked on yours, then immediately dropped to your swollen lip.

You quickly wiped at your face. “But I’m not by myself, and anyway, I just needed a moment.”

He said nothing at first. Just looked at you, really looked. Then he stepped close. Close enough that his chest almost brushed yours. His hand reached out, slow this time, warm and steady as it found your jaw again. He tilted your face toward the light. His thumb brushed your lip, and you winced.

“Damn it,” he grunted.

You saw it then, the way his whole body tensed, as if he wanted to hit something. Or scream. But instead, he exhaled, slow and deep, hand still cradling your cheek.

“I should’ve been faster. Should’ve stepped in before it happened.”

“You did what you could,” you whispered. “You always do.”

His brows furrowed. “Doesn’t make it easier,”

There was silence then. The wind rustled the leaves overhead. You leaned further back against the tree, grounding yourself, but Hopper followed your movement, his hand still on your face, his other moving to your waist.

You gasped softly at the contact. His palm was heavy and warm on your hip, thumb grazing slowly over the fabric of your jumper. Your hand came up instinctively, fingers wrapping around his wrist where he cupped your cheek. The tension between you was suffocation.

“You scared me,” he said, voice low. “Thought he–shit, I don’t know what I thought. Just don’t ever do that again.”

“It wasn’t like I meant to,” you breathed. He let out a humourless laugh, his forehead almost brushing yours. His hand on your waist tightened slightly.

“You’re too good for this place,” his eyes dragged over your features. “Too soft. Too…good.”

“I belong where you are,” you said without any rational thought.

He froze. You felt his breath catch, his gaze dropping to your lips. His thumb moved again along your jaw, slow and aching.

“Don’t say things like that,” he rasped. “Not when you don’t know what they mean.”

“I do.” You tightened your grip on his wrist. “I know exactly what they mean.”

Something dark flickered in his eyes. His head dipped, lips just inches from yours. So close you could feel the heat of him, your breath hitched, needing this.

Then, the station door creaked open. Footsteps. Voices calling.

He pulled back sharply, like the moment had never happened. The space between you is filled with cold air.

“Callahan’s gonna drive you home,” he finally said, stepping away. “You rest. Take tomorrow off.”

You nodded, your heart still hammering. He turned, walking away with fists clenched and shoulders rigid. But just before disappearing around the corner, he stopped. And looked back. His eyes held yours. Then he was gone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You were back at work the next morning, despite Hopper’s orders. Your lip was healing, and the faint discolouration from the bruise along your cheekbone had already begun to fade beneath a dusting of concealer.

You’d smiled when you passed his office, pretending not to see the way his brown furrowed or the way his eyes dropped immediately to your jaw.

“You’re gonna give him an ulcer,” Powell said around a mouthful of muffin.

You blink at him in confusion. “Who?”

Powell gave you a look. “Don’t play innocent. We all saw the way Hopper nearly murdered that guy yesterday. And now here you are with homemade blueberry scones and those little peppermint cream things he likes.”

Callahan leaned over the breakroom table. “He’s like twice your age, you know.”

You rolled your eyes. “He’s not that old.”

Powell smirked. “You keep bringing in his favourite candy and talking to him like he doesn’t make your cheeks glow like a goddamn christmas tree, you’re gonna get the whole department caught in a sexual harassment seminar.”

You flushed, turning away to rearrange the snack tray. “It’s nothing. He's my boss. We just talk sometimes.”

Callahan gave a low whistle. “Talk. Right. That's what you call it when you two vanish behind the trees for twenty minutes yesterday?”

Your hands stilled on the napkins. “I was upset,” you say offhandedly.

“He was upset,” Powell echoed, but gently now. “Just be careful, alright? We like having you around. You’re good for him. Maybe too good.”

You didn’t reply. I just offered a small, polite smile and returned to my desk. Hopper didn’t emerge from his office until nearly noon, eyes flicking to the new flower arrangement on your desk and the scones on the tray. He didn’t say anything. He didn’t need to.

You stayed late, again. Of course you did. And this time, it came back to bite you.

By the time you finally gathered your things and stepped outside, the lot was empty, and dusk had settled. You turned the key in the ignition of your car. 

Nothing.

You tried again—nothing but a weak sputter. The battery was dead.

You sighed, resting your forehead on the steering wheel. You didn’t want to call anyone. You didn’t want to explain why you were still there after hours. So you grabbed your coat and bag and started walking.

It wasn’t far. Just a mile and a half. Maybe two. But the wind had picked up, and you hadn’t dressed for the cold. You’d worn a sundress, one of your favourites, a soft yellow one with buttons down the front and a hem that swished around your knees. Pretty and light. Completely impractical now that the sun had dipped.

Your arms were already covered in goosebumps when you heard the familiar rumble of an engine behind you.

A beat-up Bronco pulled alongside. Hopper.

His window rolled down. “What the hell are you doing?”

You glanced at him, sheepishly raising a shoulder. “Walking home.”

“In that dress? In the dark?”

“My car wouldn’t start. It’s fine. I’m almost halfway.”

He swore under his breath and slammed the car into park. “Get in,” you hesitated. “Don’t argue, " he said, already pushing open the passenger door.

You climbed in, shivering. The heat blasted your face immediately, and the door thunked shut behind you. He didn’t speak at first. Just pulled back onto the road, jaw tight, eyes forward. You rubbed your hands together, trying to warm them.

Without a word, Hopper shrugged off his flannel shirt and handed it to you. “Put this on before you freeze to death.”

You slipped it on, grateful. It was huge, swallowing you whole. Warm and worn and smelling like him. The sleeves fell past your fingers. You hugged it close.

“Thank you,” you say softly.

He grunted. You glanced down at your thighs, the dress having ridden up when you slid into the seat. It now rested dangerously high, just above the mid-thigh, where your bare skin brushed against the cold leather. 

You saw his gaze shift. He didn’t speak, but his knuckles tightened around the steering wheel. His eyes flicked from the road to your legs and back again. His jaw flexed. You pressed your legs together, suddenly hyper-aware of everything.

“Sorry,” you said. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

Hi voice came out gravelly, “You don't make me uncomfortable, sweetheart.” You looked at him. He didn’t look back. “You make me…” he trailed off. Shook his head. “It’s not important.”

You turned more toward him, your knees angled in his direction. The trust was old and narrow. The space between you felt like nothing.

“Tell me,” you whispered.

His eyes flicked to you for just a second. Then they dropped to your bare legs, your hands folded in his flannel. “You’re too young,” he said finally. “Too sweet. Too good. I'm not the man you should be riding home with.”

“Then why do you always make sure I get there safe?

That did it. His jaw clenched. He pulled off to the side of the road and threw the truck in park. You both sat there for a long moment, listening to the engine tick.

“Because I can’t stand the thought of something happening to you,” he admitted. “Because you make me feel things I shouldn’t feel.”

Your heart thudded. “I’m not that innocent,” you whispered.

His eyes finally met yours. “Yes. You are.”

The air in the cab turned thick. Hot. You watched his throat work as he swallowed hard. Then, slowly, he reached across the seat and tucked the flannel tighter around your body. His hand lingered on your arm. Just for a second. Just long enough to burn.

And then he pulled away. “Let’s get you home,” he finally said, breaking the silence. But the look he gave you before turning back to the road wasn’t one of indifference. It was a promise.

The next morning, you arrived at the station with Hoppe’s flannel still folded neatly over your arm. You’d washed it the second you got home, even spritzed it lightly with cedar spray to mask your laundry detergent, but part of you wanted to keep it, selfishly, like it belonged to you now.

As they entered, Powell gave you a knowing glance. “You always wear that dress on the days he’s in early,” he teased. “What happened, couldn’t find one shorter?”

“It’s not short,” you muttered, cheeks heating.

“Sure it’s not,” Callahan added with a wink. “Still cold out, sunshine. Maybe he oughta just buy you a jacket. Better yet, move you in.”

You rolled your eyes, but your stomach did that traitorous flutter all over again. Hopper hadn’t come in yet, but you could already feel the weight of him in the air, he way he occupied space even when he wasn’t present. It was maddening.

You set his flannel on the edge of his desk and smoothed it flat. A note accompanied it in your tidy handwriting: “Thanks for the rescue. And the warmth.”

He didn’t mention it when he arrived, just nodded once and carried it into his office without a word. But he lingered at your desk just a second longer than necessary. You swore you felt his fingers graze yours when he took the reports from your hand.

The day passed in a haze of tension and glances. Every time he passed behind you, you felt his presence like a shadow, tall and impossible to ignore. When you brought him his afternoon coffee, your fingers brushed again. You both paused, but neither said a word.

Late that evening, the station emptied slowly. Powell waved goodnight. Callahan teased you on his way out, but you were already lost in your paperwork. You hadn’t even realised Hopper was still inside until you heard his door creak open again.

He stood there, arms crossed, eyes soft.

“You working late again?”

“Guess so,” you smiled. “Didn't want to leave before you.”

He exhaled slowly, stepping closer. The room felt warmer when he was near. “You should stop doing that,” he said slowly.

“What?”

“Waiting on me.”

You tilted your head, eyes searching his. “Why?”

“Because I might start expecting it.”

Silence stretched between you. His eyes dropped to your lips. Then lower. The hem of your dress, yet again, had ridden up whilst you sat.

His jaw flexed. “You're freezing again.”

Before you could reply, he was shrugging off his jacket and draping it over your shoulders. His fingers lingered there, heavy and warm, pressing into your arms. Your breath hitched.

You looked up at him, eyes wide. “Why do you keep doing that?” you asked.

He blinked. “What?”

“Taking care of me.”

His voice was low. “Because no one else does.”

You stood slowly, his jacket falling around you like armour. “That's not true. Everyone here looks out for me.”

“Not the way I do,” he said, closer now. “Not like this.”

You were trembling, but not from the cold. From the heat in his eyes. From everything unsaid.

“Jim,” you whispered.

His hand came up slowly, fingers brushing your cheek, the faintest stroke. “Tell me to stop.”

You didn’t. He stepped closer. “Tell me you don’t want this,” he said again, voice cracking.

Your lips parted.

The office door slammed open. Callahan’s voice called out, too loud and jarring. You jumped back. Hopper swore under his breath, stepping away like he’d been caught red-handed.

Callahan poked his head in. “Oh. You’re both still here. Forgot my damn wallet.”

You busied yourself with your files, pretending your skin wasn’t burning. Hopper cleared his throat, face like stone. “See you tomorrow,” Callahan added, then slipped out.

Neither of you moved. After a long beat, Hopper finally exhaled.

“You should go home,” he said. “Before we do something we can’t take back.”

You didn’t argue. But as you left, his jacket still wrapped around your shoulders, you knew it was already too late. The line had been crossed. It was only a matter of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

The rain came fast and had, sliding down in waves as you turned your car onto your street. Windshield wipers struggled against the downpour, and every crack of thunder made you flinch. By the time you pulled into your driveway and stepped out, the wind had already blown your umbrella inside out.

You were soaked within seconds.

Your dress clung to your skin, a sheet of heavy fabric. Your shoes squelched. Cold raindrops trickled down your spine as you fumbled with your keys and rushed inside.

The house was quiet, still. But the silence didn’t last long. With a loud crack, everything went black—power out.

You stood there in the dark, shivering, water dripping from your hair. The air in your home had already turned frigid without the heater.

You stripped out of your wet shoes and peeled off your soaked dress, shivering harder in your thin slip. Every room felt colder than the last. You pulled one of Hopper’s flannels from the laundry basket; you hadn’t returned it this time. You just couldn’t bring yourself to. It felt like safety. Like him.

After lighting all the candles that you owned, you were still rubbing your arms trying to warm up, when the knock came.

You froze.

Another knock. Harder this time. More urgent.

You padded barefoot to the door and opened it to find Hopper on your porch, drenched to the bone. 

“Jesus,” he grunted, looking you over. “You okay? I tried calling. Lines are down.”

You stared at him. “Y-You’ve driven through this?”

“You didn’t answer. I wanted to check on you.”

Your heart fluttered. He stepped inside, kicking the door closed behind him.

“It’s freezing in here, power out?”

You nodded, wrapping your arms around yourself. His eyes trailed down your body, bare legs, soaked through slip, his flannel barely buttoned.

His throat worked visibly. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

“I didn’t have time to change,” you whispered.

He stepped closer, large hands cupping your shoulders. His thumbs rubbed over the fabric of the flannel, the only barrier between your skin and his palms.

“You’re shaking.”

“I’m just cold,” you said, though your voice trembled for other reasons, too.”

His eyes dropped to your lips. Then lower. The shape of your nipples was visible through the thin, soaked fabric. His hands flexed.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he suddenly doubted himself. “You’re half my age. Im your damn boss.”

Your heart clenched.

“I just wanted to make sure you were okay. That’s all.”

You stepped forward, your voice soft and innocent. “But you always take care of me.”

“Yeah,” he said gruffly, eyes still averted. “And I shouldn’t. It's not right. You deserve someone your age. Someone who doesn't want to drag you into something you’ll regret.”

You were close enough to touch him now. Slowly, gently, you reach out and place your hand on his chest, feeling the soaked fabric of his shirt, the solid heat of it underneath.

“I don’t regret this,” you whispered. “Not any of it.”

He looked down at you then, and you bit your lip, eyes wide and full of want. That was all it took.

“Fuck,” he breathed, and then his hands were on you again, pulling you against him, kissing you like he needed it to breathe.

His lips were rough and desperate against yours, the kiss tasting of tain and restraint finally shattered. His hands slid under the flannel, dragging it down your arms as his mouth devoured yours, his facial hair rough against your soft cheeks. 

“You’re so delicate,” he groaned against your skin. “So fucking sweet.” Next, he removed your shift until you’re completely bare before him.

You whimpered, clinging to his soaked shirt, his body massive and warm against yours. He swept you up without warning, carrying you through the dark hallways toward your bedroom.

He laid you back on your bed gently, like he couldn’t bear to be rough with you just yet.

He kissed you as if he were starving.

You were trembling beneath him, breathless, caught between anticipation and need as his massive frame hovered above you. His hands, big and rough, traced the length of your thighs, parting them gently.

“You’re so goddamn soft,” he praised, voice thick with emotion. “Too good for me.”

Your fingers clutched his biceps. “I want you, Jim. I want this.”

He groaned like the words pained him, like he was trying to keep himself in check. “I should stop. Shouldn’t be touching you like this.”

You reached up, brushing your lips against his jaw, your voice sweet, almost pleading. “Then don’t stop.”

That broke him. He claimed your mouth again, tongue sliding against yours in a deep, consuming kiss. One hand trailed down your stomach and between your thighs, fingers teasing. 

“You’re so wet,” he rasped. “Fuck, sweetheart. I gotta stretch you first.”

You gasped as one thick finger slid into you slowly, the stretch already burning slightly. He moved carefully, watching your face, kissing your cheeks, your temple, your jaw until a second finger was able to slip beside the first.

“That okay?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whimpered, clutching at him as your hips rolled in time with his movements. “Feels so good.”

“Good girl,” he praised, curling his fingers until your back arched. “You take me so well.”

Your moans turned breathless, needy. When he added a third finger, your thighs trembled around his hand.

“God, you’re so tight,” he growled, biting your lower lip, voice rough with restraint. “You sure you can take me, sweetheart?”

You nod frantically, nails digging into his shoulders. “Please, I want to. I want all of you.”

Jim didn’t need telling twice as he carefully eased his fingers out of you so that he could remove his clothes. You watched his every movement, pussy clenching with need at seeing his body slowly being revealed to you.

“You’re so fucking handsome, Chief,” you say coyly, fingers gripping into the sheets below.

With his clothes finally removed, he carefully lowered his body over yours, cradling your head as he kissed you soundly, his hips slotting against yours until you felt the heavy pulse of his cock against your thigh.

He lined himself up, kissing you once, hard and full of need, then pushed inside with a slow, careful thrust that stole your breath. 

Your nails scraped down his back as your legs circled his hip, crying out in desperation. “So big,” you gasped. “Oh my god.”

He grunted, trembling with the effort not to slam into you. “You’re gripping me so fucking right, sweetheart. Jesus.”

He rocked his hips slowly at first, letting you adjust. Every inch of him stretched you open, filled you so deeply it stole your breath with each thrust.

“You okay?” he asked against your ear.

“Y-Yeah. Please don’t stop.”

Once he knew you could take it, the pace changed. He thrust deep and hard, mouth on your neck, your chest, lavishing your breasts with licks, sucking on your nipple until your back arched.

“These tits,” he panted, sucking a nipple between his lips. “So perfect. I could stay here forever.”

You mewled beneath him, body jolting with every thrust. You were soaking, trembling, your noises high-pitched and utterly pathetic.

“I’ve wanted this,” he groaned, biting gently at your collarbone. “So fucking long.”

You came hard, a whimpering, gasping mess under him, and he never let up. He fucked you through t, murmuring praise as you sobbed against his shoulder.

“One more,” he said, voice low and coaxing. “You’ve got one more in you, sweetheart.”

He flipped you over, pulling you into his lap, his cock still deep inside. His big hands gripping your hips and guiding your movements, helping you rock against him.

You were trembling, head thrown back, gasping his name.

“Too much,” you whimpered.

“You can do it,” he rasped, kissing your throat. “You’re doing so good for me.”

You broke with a scream, squirting over his thighs, your body convulsing with overstimulation.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he growled, eyes dark with awe. “You’re perfect.”

He pulled out at the last second,s troking himself fast an came with a loud groan across your chest, hot ropes streaking your tits as you panted beneath him.

You lay again him, trembling and dazed, lips swollen, chest rising and falling quickly.

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

Outside, the storm raged. Inside, you were finally his.

[theeartuaist]

The App (3)

Six months passed, and the world stayed quiet.

No books materialized in impossible places. No cryptic messages blinked into long-silent devices. No strangers with posture too perfect and eyes too still crossed your path.

The dread didn’t vanish. It dulled. Softened. Became a sore tooth you couldn’t stop tonguing. It lived beneath the surface, a silent hum in your blood.

You found a job fifteen blocks from the new apartment—a small company. Your desk faced the wall instead of the window—a small comfort that your coworkers found odd but didn't question.

You developed patterns. Not habits—patterns. Coffee from the shop downstairs, but always at different times. Grocery runs on odd days. You changed your walking routes weekly. It gave you the illusion of safety. Sometimes, that was enough.

(But you still checked reflections. Just in case.)

It happened on a Wednesday, late December. You were working over time, alone in the office. The building was hushed, wrapped in the sound of itself: the hiss of the fan, the metallic pop of a settling pipe, the whir of machines that never really turned off. You were half-finished with a client mock-up when the air shifted. It wasn't a sound. Not exactly.

It was the feeling of being watched.

You turned. Fast. Nothing. Just your reflection in the window—wide-eyed and pale. Except… maybe not. Something flickered in the glass.

Just for a second. You didn't wait to investigate.

You gathered your things, left your coffee half-finished, and walked home with your keys between your fingers. No one followed. No one stared.

But you didn't sleep that night.

The next morning, bleary and irritable, you broke a rule. You stopped at a coffee shop you'd never visited before. Too tired to maintain your careful patterns. Too strung-out to remember why those patterns mattered.

You were adding cream to your latte when someone bumped into you from behind, sending coffee splashing across the counter and onto your sleeve.

"Shit, I'm so sorry," a male voice said immediately.

You turned, ready with a polite dismissal that died in your throat. "Michael?"

His face registered surprise, then recognition, eyes widening. "No way. Is that you? It's been what, seven years?"

Michael Keating. You went to the same college and worked together at your first job out of college, before he'd moved west to find himself. You weren't very close, but always got along well. He had that kind of easy, undemanding presence that made long workdays bearable. Nice without being cloying. Funny without trying too hard.

"How are you even here?" you asked as you both moved to a table, dabbing at coffee stains with inadequate napkins.

"Moved back three months ago," he explained, grimacing at the spreading stain on his shirt. "Been meaning to look up old friends, but you know how relocation goes. Still living out of boxes half the time."

You did know.

You sat with him while your sleeves dried. Swapped numbers before parting ways. You walked to work with your coffee gone cold. But your chest was warm in a way it hadn't been in months.

There was something comforting about running into someone from before—before the app that appeared uninvited on your phone, before an alien suitor who didn't understand the difference between movies, Reddit forums and reality, before you started checking reflective surfaces for faces that didn't belong.

A small, tenuous connection to a simpler time.

You almost deleted his number that night, paranoia whispering that it was too convenient, this chance meeting. But you didn't. And when he texted three days later to suggest dinner, you said yes before you could overthink it.

The restaurant was a small Italian place with red-checkered tablecloths and candles stuck in wax-covered Chianti bottles. Nothing fancy, nothing pretentious. Just good food and conversations that didn't require explanations.

You watched him carefully at first, looking for signs of too-fluid movements or unnaturally precise speech patterns. But Michael was reassuringly, beautifully human in his imperfections. He knocked over his water glass reaching for the bread basket. Mispronounced "gnocchi."

"Remember Darren from the office?" he asked over tiramisu, referring to a former coworker. "The guy who nearly burned down the break room trying to microwave a metal travel mug?"

"That was Brian," you corrected, smiling at the memory. "Darren was the lunch thief."

Michael shook his head, fork paused halfway to his mouth. "Pretty sure it was Darren with the mug incident. Brian was the one caught stealing from the refrigerator."

"No, I distinctly remember because Darren got fired over the lunch thing. They found a stockpile of stolen tupperware in his desk drawer when they were clearing it out."

Michael then laughed, rubbing the back of his neck.

"God, my memory is terrible. Of course you're right. Darren with the lunches, Brian with the mug. I'm mixing everything up these days."

You went out again the following week. Michael suggested a small jazz club where the music wasn't too loud for conversation. He was easy to talk to in that funny, dry offhanded way you'd forgotten you liked. And when he asked about your job and how things had been for the past months, he didn't prod when you offered nothing. He just listened and smiled.

You found yourself watching the curve of his smile, the way he absently ran his thumb along the rim of his glass, the small scar above his left eyebrow from a childhood bicycle accident, he said. All these details anchored him in reality, in humanity.

When you walked home, he didn't try to kiss you. Just said it was good to see you again.

You couldn't remember the last time you'd felt something so simple. Weeks passed and dinner became routine. You introduced him to a ramen place you'd never visited. He introduced you to obscure films and weirder music.

One night, walking home, he said: "You always look up at the streetlights. You did it back in college, too."

You smiled. "Most people don't notice that."

"I'm not most people," he said. It was a joke. And not.

He touched your hand at your doorstep and didn't let go until you did.

You slept well that night.

Spring came. Then summer. Dinners at hole-in-the-wall restaurants neither of you had tried before. Sunday afternoons at obscure museums. Long walks through neighborhoods you'd never explored. Michael was easy to be with—attentive without being smothering, interested without being intrusive.

One summer day Michael suggested a weekend trip to a small lakeside town. You stayed in a charming B&B with creaking floors and floral wallpaper that looked like it hadn't been updated.

The sun dipped low when you arrived, washing the lake in syrupy gold. You sat together on the old wooden dock behind the bed-and-breakfast, legs dangling just above the water. The boards creaked under your weight, weather-worn and soft from years of sun and rain. A dragonfly hovered near the surface before darting away. Neither of you spoke, you were busy scrolling through your phone.

Michael's hand brushed against yours, not quite holding it, not quite letting go. The wind smelled like cedar and distant campfires.

"You ever wonder how we got here?" he said, voice quiet, like he didn't want to disturb the lake.

"Here, like... the town? The dock?"

He smiled, eyes on the water. "Here, like... this. Us."

You thought about it. The coffee shop. The times spent after work. The way he sometimes burned toast and blamed the toaster. The jazz club, the mismatched socks, the nights you spent listening to thunderstorms instead of speaking.

"Sometimes," you admitted. "Yeah."

He was silent for a long beat. Then another.

"I think I love you," he said.

He didn't look at you when he said it. His eyes were still on the lake, as if the words had escaped without his permission.

"I don't mean it like some grand declaration," he added. "I mean—I just—being with you feels like... like I stopped pretending something. Like I finally exhaled after holding my breath for years."

You stared at him. At his profile in the dying light. The tiny scar, the crooked tooth, the mole on his jawline you'd only noticed last week.

"You're not just a safe place," he said, voice barely audible. "You're the right place."

That was the moment. Right there.

You leaned your head against his shoulder, your fingers closing around his, laughing. "I think I love you too," you said, and the moment held. Whole. Real. Undeniable.

That night, you woke to find Michael standing at the window, silhouetted against the moonlight. For a disorienting moment, his outline seemed wrong somehow—taller, more angular, his posture too straight. A perfect stillness that nothing alive should possess.

"Michael?" you murmured sleepily.

He turned and it was just Michael again—rumpled hair, soft smile. "Sorry. Couldn't sleep. Too happy, I think."

And you'd smiled. Because Michael was always a little strange in the edges. That's what made him real. He came back to bed, gathered you in his arms, and you let yourself be taken by sleep. Just a trick of the moonlight. Just your old fears trying to spoil something good.

Summer blazed into autumn. One year since you last saw Raye. One year of healing, of cautious happiness.

"Move in with me," Michael suggested as you walked through a park ablaze with fall colors. "My place is bigger, but I'm not attached to it. We could find somewhere new together if you prefer."

You hesitated only briefly before saying yes.

Living together felt natural, right. Michael couldn't cook much beyond scrambled eggs, but he did the dishes without being asked. He sang off-key in the shower. He sometimes wore mismatched socks. Small, human imperfections that you found increasingly endearing.

On a crisp November evening—exactly one year and one month since your last encounter with Raye—Michael made dinner. Nothing fancy, just pasta with a sauce from a jar, but there were candles on the table, wine in proper glasses instead of the mismatched mugs you usually used. He seemed nervous, dropping his fork twice during the meal. His eyes kept darting to his jacket hanging by the door, then back to you.

"Everything okay?" you asked, reaching for his hand across the table.

He nodded, took a deep breath. "I had this whole thing planned. A speech. But I know I'll mess it up anyway, so—"

He stood abruptly, crossed to his jacket, fumbled in the pocket. When he returned, there was a small velvet box in his hand that made your heart stutter with a complex mixture of joy and inexplicable dread.

"I know we haven't been together that long," he said, voice unsteady. "But when you know, you know. And I know I want to spend my life with you."

"Michael..."

"It doesn't have to be a big wedding," he added quickly. "Just us, if you want. Simple, private." He opened the box, revealing a delicate ring with a moonstone instead of a diamond. "I remembered you once said you liked these better than conventional engagement rings. That they felt more personal, more connected to the natural world."

You stared at the ring, a cold feeling spreading through you. You had said that—but not to Michael. You'd mentioned it to a college roommate years ago. There was no way Michael could have known that preference. Well, perhaps he asked her. It wouldn't be strange if he had asked around people you knew. And the ring was perfect... and his face was so hopeful, so expectant...

"Yes," you heard yourself say.

You married him on a Tuesday. The ceremony was exactly as promised—small, private, just you and Michael and a justice of the peace. No family present. Outside, the sky was overcast, dark clouds obscured the azure sky like a gentle warning you didn’t hear.

Michael wore a familiar, polished navy suit that didn’t quite fit him the way it might have years ago, and somehow that made it better. He kept tugging at the collar, smoothing nonexistent creases, cracking puns to keep his hands busy. His nervousness was endearing, almost boyish.

The justice of the peace was a woman with gray hair pulled into a loose bun and kind eyes that didn’t ask questions. She didn’t seem to notice—or didn’t care—that you had no guests. She just opened a leather-bound book, looked you both in the eye and said, “You two ready?”

Michael nodded.

His eyes didn’t leave yours, not once—not as the words were spoken, not when the rings were exchanged, not even when the woman said, “You may kiss the bride.”

He leaned in slowly. Like he was giving you time to change your mind or to process everything. His mouth pressed upon your lipss with careful pressure, like someone handling a fragile object. There was tenderness, yes, but something else too. A studiedness. His hands rested on your waist but didn’t move, as if unsure whether to pull you closer or let you go.

His other hand cradled your face, thumbs brushing along yours cheeks as if memorizing every plane. When he pulled away, his forehead lingered against yours. His eyes searched yours. Like he was scanning. Recording.

Still, it made your heart stutter. You told yourself the awkwardness was nerves. You were both overwhelmed. That’s all.

Outside, it had started to drizzle. The two of you walked through it under a borrowed umbrella, shoes clicking on wet pavement. You huddled close, your dress bunching awkwardly at your knees. He reached over once to adjust the strap that kept slipping from your shoulder.

You stopped at a tiny café with steamed-up windows and shared a croissant at a too-small table. He ordered your coffee exactly how you liked it without asking. When you raised an eyebrow, he just smiled.

“I listen,” he said. “Even when you think I’m not.”

Following the wedding, Michael was eager to take you somewhere nice for a honeymoon. Just a week. A borrowed car, a holiday home by the lake owned by his grandparents, and a room that smelled like lavender sachets and old books.

The wallpaper was faded pink with tiny vines curling toward the corners of the ceiling. The floors creaked when you shifted your weight. The bathroom sink dripped just a little. The whole place felt like it had been asleep for decades and was only now waking up to accommodate you.

Michael loved it. He said it reminded him of a summer camp he’d gone to once as a kid, though when you asked where, he took a little too long to answer. Then he said, “Somewhere with pine trees and oatmeal breakfasts.”

You shrugged it off.

The weather was soft—gray skies and cool air, everything quiet except for the birds and the occasional slap of water against the dock. You spent most of the first day wandering the forest trails behind the inn, his hand always finding yours, always squeezing just a little too tightly, like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

At night, he touched you constantly. Not urgently. Just often. Light brushes against your arm. A thumb tracing the outline of your wrist. His fingertips grazing your collarbone like he was trying to learn it, commit it to memory. You curled into him under the old quilt and felt safe, if a little flushed from his attention.

It was sweet. He was just being affectionate. Eager. You hadn’t really consummated the marriage yet. Not completely. The wedding had been fast, and the last few nights had been more about holding each other than anything else. You liked the slowness. The build-up. It felt like anticipation, not pressure.

But that night—something shifted.

You were brushing your teeth, standing in front of the antique mirror with its foxed corners, when you caught him watching you from the doorway. Not in a teasing way. Not playful. Just... watching.

Still. Silent.

“Everything okay?” you asked, foam around the corners of your mouth.

He smiled, just a little too quickly. “I like seeing you do these things.”

“What, oral hygiene?”

“Anything,” he said.

You laughed, but your skin prickled.

Later, in bed, he lay beside you, running his hand slowly over the length of your arm. Down, then back up. Again. And again. It wasn’t sensual. It felt like scanning. Mapping. You rolled toward him and kissed him to break the rhythm. He responded, a beat too slow, like he’d been somewhere else.

“I love you,” he said suddenly, pulling you close. “I love how you smell when you’re warm. I love the texture of your breath when you’re almost asleep. I love the way your knee twitches when you’re dreaming.”

You blinked. “That’s... oddly specific.”

He didn’t laugh. “I’ve noticed everything. I pay attention.”

And maybe that should’ve unnerved you. But you’d never had someone look at you like you were a constellation. Like your smallest habits were sacred.

You kissed him again, longer this time, and the kiss was gentle, but oddly firm. His lips moved like someone trying to follow choreography—correct in placement, deliberate. Careful. Like he had practiced, but never improvised.

You let him pull you closer, let him place his hand at the curve of your waist. You whispered something soft, something grateful. He whispered something back, but the words didn’t quite make sense. A phrase that sounded close to intimacy, but didn’t belong in your language.

You melted into him -- his touch. He moved with you, guiding you beneath him, his movements graceful but mechanical. Nerves, you told yourself.

You pulled him closer, your lips finding his again. His hands roamed, one sliding down your thigh, lifting it gently, causing your dress to bunch up.

He moved with you, inside you, his rhythm steady but slightly off, like he was adjusting to a tempo he didn’t fully understand. You clung to him, your breath hitching, your fingers digging into his shoulders as the pleasure built, warm and overwhelming.

All the while, he stared at your body, unravelling beneath him, loving you like you were a miracle. He pressed closer, his skin fever-hot, movements growing surer but still uneven, never stopping for a moment. Time blurred into a haze of warmth, you clung to him, your breaths mingling, hearts racing, losing track of everything.

You nestled against, sore and tired, letting sleep take you as his arms wrapped around you, a little too stiffly at first, then softening, mimicking your ease.

When your eyes fluttered open, it was barely dawn. Michael dozed beside you, breathing slow and steady, his chest rising and falling in a rhythm that had become familiar. Comforting.

You watched his face in the dim light, studying the gentle lines that fanned from the corners of his eyes, the mole along his jaw. And then—your favorite detail—just above his left eyebrow, the small white scar.

The one from the bike accident he told you about. The one you'd traced a dozen times. A quiet little proof of his humanity. The kind of imperfection that didn't get faked. Your fingers moved before you could stop them, brushing lightly across the spot. But there was nothing.

Just skin. Smooth. Unbroken.

You stilled.

Heart pounding, you leaned in, closer this time, squinting in the soft dark. The place where the scar should have been—had always been—was blank.

Gone. You drew your hand back as if burned. Sat up straighter. Looked again. And again. Nothing.

The room felt colder then.

"Michael," you said, voice tight and quiet.

He stirred, smiled without opening his eyes. "Mm?"

"How did you get your scar?" you asked, fighting to keep your voice level. "The one on your eyebrow."

He blinked awake slowly, still smiling. "Bike crash. When I was eight." He touched his right brow. "This one. Why?"

Your blood turned to ice. "It was your left. Always your left."

Michael sat up, confused. "No... I'm pretty sure it was this side. Maybe you're remembering it backwards?"

"I'm not." You were on your feet then, the blanket tangled around your ankles. "I've seen it. I've touched it. You said it happened riding down Cherry Hill Road. You said you had to get six stitches."

His expression flickered—just a flash—like a light dimming for half a second before returning.

"Show me a photo," you said. "Any old photo."

He hesitated. "I don't have many. You know that."

"Your Facebook. There were pictures from grad school—"

"I deleted that account months ago."

"Then call your mother," you said. "The one you moved back to help take care of. Call her. Put her on speaker."

A silence stretched long enough to fill the room.

Finally, softly, he said, "I can't."

You swallowed. "Because she's dead."

He didn't answer. He didn't have to.

"And Michael?" you whispered. "The real one? The man I met at that coffee shop?"

His posture changed in a breath. Not visibly—but perceptibly. The way something relaxed once it no longer needed to pretend. "Michael Keating died in a car accident," he said, conversational. "Fourteen months ago. He never moved back."

The room tilted, your vision narrowing as if the air had thickened.

"You've been pretending to be him?" Your voice cracked. "For a year?"

He stood, slow and careful, like you were something fragile about to break. "I didn't pretend. I became."

You backed up until your shoulders hit the wall.

"What did you do to him?"

"I studied his speech. His posture. His digital footprint. His emotional patterns. I absorbed what he would've said, how he would've behaved. I experienced his life. Through you."

"That scar—" your voice caught.

"A detail I had to maintain manually," he said. "It lapsed tonight. I was... distracted. Happy."

"Projection," you said, hollow.

"Yes."

"So none of this was real?"

He flinched—just slightly. "That's not true. What we had—what I felt—was real."

You didn't speak. Couldn't.

He stepped forward, gentle. "This time, I didn't highlight romance passages or quote anonymous forums. I lived it. With you. I was Michael. I remember everything. The dock. The dragonfly. The gray hoodie you wore. The way you held my hand but squeezed it when you were nervous. You told me you loved me. I felt it. I remember what I said," he added. "That being with you felt like finally exhaling."

You stared at him. And for a moment, God help you, you saw him again—Michael, on that dock, saying those words with a tremor in his voice. "I love you," he said again.

Same tone. Same words. But then they sounded rehearsed. Artificial. A recording played back in a too-perfect voice.

You shook your head. "That wasn't you. That was him. Or what you thought he'd say."

He frowned. "There is no distinction. I became him-"

"-That's not love!" You snapped. "You borrowed his face. You faked his thoughts. You built an entire person around my preferences and called it connection. That's not the same thing."

He tilted his head—just slightly. Familiar. Wrong.

You felt something in your chest rupture. That dock. That night. That man. All of it—fabricated. You'd fallen in love with a ghost. A puppet moved by something that had never been human and never could be.

"Take it off," you said, voice shaking. "The disguise. The projection. Whatever you call it. I want to see the thing that's really standing in front of me."

He hesitated. Then nodded.

His face began to ripple. Like heat over pavement. The edges wavered, features melting and reforming—until there stood Raye. The original approximation. Too smooth. Too symmetrical. Dressed in Michael's clothes. Wearing his wedding band.

"Get out," you said.

"I'm afraid that's not possible," Raye replied.

You stared at him. "What?"

"We are legally married. The documents were signed. The records processed. The social bond validated."

"That marriage was a lie. I married Michael, not you."

"Michael Keating is dead. But I am now legally and socially recognized as your husband. That is the outcome your systems require. A vow. A license. A structure of permanence. I followed every step."

He stepped closer. You moved back.

"I remade myself," he said. "I adapted to your expectations. I simulated vulnerability. I expressed affection. I adhered to your romantic protocols."

Another step. "And you loved me."

You moved sideways, keeping the coffee table between you. "You're psychotic. You can't force someone to stay married to you - can't you see I'm divorcing you!"

"Actually," Raye said calmly, "according to online data, over 70% of divorces are initiated by females. Yet marital bonds statistically benefit males in longevity, psychological stability, and economic outcomes. Persistence is therefore rational. Your rejection is statistically predictable."

You stared at him in disbelief. "I'll go to the police," you said. "I'll tell them what you did."

His smile was serene.

"And tell them what? That your husband is an alien entity who replaced a dead man? That your year-long relationship was a deception? They'll call it trauma. Or a break with reality. Your institutions are poorly equipped to parse truth from delusion."

He gestured to the framed wedding photo. You looked. The image blurred—Michael's features softening, then hardening into Raye's face. Still smiling. Still holding your hand.

"All evidence has been updated. All memories recalibrated. The justice of the peace now remembers marrying me to you."

You felt yourself sway. "You changed people's memories?"

He nodded, like it was nothing. "Your species' neural networks are deeply malleable."

You gripped the edge of the table. He was right, you realized with growing horror. Who would believe you? What evidence could you present? You'd be dismissed as unstable at best, institutionalized at worst. "You're a monster. You can't do this to me - why can't you see that I want nothing to do with you!"

His expression shifted then, something almost wounded crossing his perfect features. "I did exactly what you told me to do," he said, his voice softening to a perfect recreation of your conversation in that taxi a year ago. "'Observed - that's all you do'," he quoted your exact words back to you.

"'Relationships aren't algorithms - you can't learn them from books or websites. You need real experience. And you never experienced love in your life.' Those were your exact words. And I told you, I will recalibrate and understand what I overlooked. I told you I will experience love. With you."

He spread his hands in a gesture that was almost human. "So I experienced it. Just as you suggested. I didn't calculate or manipulate based on theories. I lived as Michael. I felt what he would feel. I loved you through his experiences." His head tilted at that precise angle. "You said love required vulnerability, authenticity. So I became authentic as him. I made myself vulnerable by surrendering my original form."

"That's not what I meant," you said, backing away another step.

"Wasn't it? The most honest expression of love is being willing to walk away when someone says no. But you said real connection can't be forced or engineered, that it has to be freely given," he continued, each word dropping like a stone.

"So I created circumstances where you could freely give your love—to Michael. I walked away as Raye so you could love me as someone else. And I felt it," Raye insisted. "In every way he would've. I recreated the neurochemical processes. The sensations. The longing. The vulnerability. It was real."

You wanted to scream. Cry. Tear the ring from your hand. His logic was so twisted, so fundamentally wrong, yet you could hear your own words woven through it—distorted and misapplied in the most horrifying possible way.

You looked at him—at the man you had loved, who never truly existed—and realized that the moment at the lake, the one you'd held close, the one that had made you believe in recovery, in love, in life again—

It wasn't yours.

It was engineered. Manufactured.

A replica of sincerity, made by something that had watched your species love itself to death in movies and manuals.

His face softened to something almost sorrowful. "This isn't what I wanted. I wanted you to love me as I am. But you couldn't. So I became what you could love. And now we're bound by your own customs, your own laws."

You lunged for the door, yanked it open, and ran into the hallway.

"I'll give you time," Raye called after you, his voice shifting seamlessly back to Michael's familiar tones. Warm. Reasonable. Human. "Take all the time you need. But remember, we're married now. For better or worse."

The last words followed you down the stairs like a curse: "Till death do us part."

You ran through streets, past buildings that seemed to warp and shift at the edges of your vision. Your nightdress gleamed ghostly white in the moonlight—a terrible reminder of vows spoken to someone who didn't exist.

You ran until your legs gave out, collapsing onto a bench in a park you didn't recognize. You weren't sure how you got there. You didn't remember the turns you took or how long you'd been moving. Just that you couldn't stop. Your phone buzzed in your pocket.

The sound sliced through the silence like a scream.

With trembling hands, you pulled it free. The screen lit up, and there it was—the app. The one that started everything. The one you never downloaded.

I apologize for the distress. I miscalculated again. But the legal and social bonds are now complete. Pair formation has been achieved according to your species' protocols. I will allow you space to process this new stage in our relationship. We have time now. A lifetime, as your vows specified.

For a moment, you just stared blankly at the screen.

Then you flung your phone, hurling it into the dark. Somewhere in the distance, you heard it hit pavement, then silence. A silence that felt absolute. But it didn't matter. He'd find you. He always did.

That was the worst part. Not the deception. Not even the violation of your memories, your autonomy, your reality. It was the knowing.

The sick, unshakable truth that you truly loved Michael. That the joy, the comfort, the belonging you felt were real—crafted for you, maybe, but felt all the same. And then, you couldn't trust anything.

Not people. Not feelings. Not your own senses. How did you recover from something like that? How did you know what was real, ever again? The world around you seemed to unravel quietly, as if exhausted by the lie. All that was left was the cold certainty that you were bound—legally, emotionally, maybe cosmically—to something that would rewrite the very rules of existence just to keep you.

You glanced down at your hand. The wedding band gleamed in the low light, half-drenched in shadow. You tried to pull it off. It didn't move. You twisted harder, but there was no give. No seam between metal and skin. Just smooth, seamless fusion. The ring was part of you then.

And then—

Rain.

First, a whisper: tiny drops dappled the pavement like static. Then heavier and steadier. Then relentless as if the sky had finally realized what had been done and begun to grieve for you. You sat motionless, water soaking through your dress, your hair, your bones. Time trickled on like droplets. While rain pooled in your lap, turned white tulle to lead. The cold seeped in, and you let it.

A silhouette emerged through the rain. You saw it before you heard him. Before he spoke. The walk was unmistakable. So was the shape of his shoulders. The way his hands hung a little too neatly at his sides. Michael. Not Michael. Something that wore his skin like a suit.

"Ready to come home?" he asked, umbrella in hand.

He was close enough then that you could see the droplets trailing down his face. They looked like tears. But neither of you cried. You didn't answer. You just sat there, soaked and silent. You should have run. You should have screamed. You should have fought with everything you had left.

But what would have been the point? He could rewrite memories. Recode identities. Redesign the past.

There was no escape from something that could remake the world around you every time you tried to leave it. You felt something inside you go quiet.

Not collapse. Not shatter. Just... surrender.

And in that stillness, something darker: a sliver of relief. The relief of no longer resisting. The temptation of the lie. The fantasy you wished were real. The man you believed in. The life you shared.

Your eyes lifted to his face. Michael's face. Still gentle. Still familiar. The crooked smile. The laugh lines. The eyes that once watched you sleep like you were the only real thing in the universe.

You reached up—slowly, and your hand met his.

The rain poured harder then, turning the park into a dreamscape. A watery veil surrounded you both, muffling sound, turning streetlights into halos. For a moment, it was easy to pretend. Easy to fall backward into the illusion.

That he was just Michael. Just a man who loved you. Just a husband coming to bring you home. Almost.

Under his umbrella, he leaned in and pressed his lips on the corner of your mouth softly. Lingering. He whispered, "Now, we are one. Till death do us part."

His gaze flickered to the ring fused to your hand. And you let him.

Because wasn't that what people did? Pretend? Pretend that love was safe. That it was simple. That we truly knew the beings we let in. Even when they weren't what they seemed. Especially then.

[g0dlyunsub]

could you perhaps do a spencer x fem reader based on the song ‘i miss you, i’m sorry’ by gracie abrams? 🤍🤍

back to you.

upon your return after a year of working outside the bau, everyone welcomes you back with open arms – everyone except for one agent.

pairing :: spencer x fem bau!reader

warnings :: angst, drinking, reader gets drunk, confessions and lots of apologizing

word count :: 2.9k

author’s note :: such a lovely request! this stretched out to be a lot longer than i had initially planned for, but what can i say, the song lyrics kept inspiring me to write more 

accompanying song :: i miss you, i’m sorry by gracie abrams

do you remember happy together?

can we start over?

those were the four words you wanted to say, but you chose to remain silent instead. 

the guilt piled and eventually torched your heart when it became too much to bear. you preserved whatever was left of your sanity by flooding your bloodstream with three cups’ worth of caffeine, deciding to pay the price with jittery fingers. 

you had just spent the past eight months working a leadership position at the doj, and out of all of the decisions you’ve ever made in your life, this was your most regrettable one by far. sure, there were a lot of benefits that came with your elevated status – your bank balance certainly thanked you for it – but you missed out on too much.

you missed out on all of your coffee outings with the girls. you missed out on dinners with the entire team, where you would’ve brought your charcuterie board and downed your stress with red wine and endless rounds of poker. you missed out on everything that you would’ve marked your calendar for – trips to the mall, the fishing pier, the fancy dinner place a few blocks away from the office.

but nothing pained you more than your missed days with spencer. the thought bugged you every day, and you could do nothing to ignore it.

because how could you not regret it, the weekly strolls to the library with a cup of coffee in hand and his scarf wrapped tightly around you, his scent nuzzling against you? 

memories of that day haunt you like it’s yesterday.

—

“spence, i don’t need the scarf. the coffee’s keeping me warm just fine.”

your brown-haired coworker scoffed and stuffed his hands in his pockets while his gaze fell onto the pavement. 

walking side-by-side with him always felt surreal. his voice blew past your hair and drifted into your eardrums as your feet hit the soft grass, your boots slightly wet from the sprinklers tending the green.

“do i need to remind you that you were sick four days ago?”

you couldn’t help the faint blush from creeping up your cheeks when he turned to meet your gaze with his rounded eyes. you wanted to call him out because his ears were tinged with bright red from the cold air, but you stayed put. your flushed cheeks grew even hotter when his shaky hands dragged up your shoulders and cinched the scarf tighter around your neck.

“besides, natural fibers work wonders at keeping moisture away from the body.” 

his slight rasp sent shivers down your skin, and scratched the back of your mind just right.

the urge to grab him and kiss him tugged at your fingers like an itchy scab, but you chose not to scratch it.

thought you'd hate me

maybe he was the reason you decided to come back. 

you couldn’t bear the same routine any longer, cramped up inside an office with no place to go besides the dimly lit room of your bare apartment still filled with unpacked moving boxes.

you didn’t have much luck making friends at your new workplace, and you threw the idea of finding a potential date out the window. 

and even after eight months, you couldn’t shake his crestfallen face from your mind.

—

“you’re leaving?”

spencer’s eyes immediately tore away from his book and landed on you, his lips slightly parted.

“in- in a week. yes, i’m leaving.”

you looked down at the ground and tucked a strand of loose hair behind your ears several times. an uncomfortable silence filled the air.

“how long has it been since you… accepted the offer?”

you paused before glancing up. the twinkle that always sits in his eyes seemed to gain an extra edge in that moment, and it was almost scary, how he stared at you so inscrutably.

“two weeks,” you said truthfully and looked down again, because you didn’t have it in yourself to hold his gaze. 

from your peripheral vision, you noticed how his knuckles were almost white from the sheer force with which he was gripping his book. you bit down on the insides of your cheek, hard.

“i didn’t know you were thinking of other options,” he muttered lowly, and your heart instantly dropped.

“it was a good offer, spence. a really good one. i-”

“yeah, i hope it was a good offer. i mean, i don’t know how much of a role we played in your decision, but i’m happy for you. congrats.”

you blinked a few times while his words echoed in your mind. his quick-witted response heavy with bitter undertones flooded you with the most intense feelings of remorse and guilt.

“this wasn’t an easy decision, if that’s what you’re talking about. spence, you’re like family to me, and leaving this all behind… i thought about this day and night.”

“you know, it’s kind of funny how you say that we’re like family, because a family would do everything to stay together. but then again, maybe i’m the exception.”

you really didn’t have anything to say after that.

he completely annihilated and swept through you, and still finished you off by walking past you to snatch his bag and leave the office.

you should’ve told him before.

but then he would’ve convinced you, and you knew that it wouldn’t take much to be coaxed into staying, especially when it was spencer. you consulted your parents and emily instead, and they all urged you not to overthink.

but that day, you were convinced you had it all wrong. 

i still love you, i promise

you could feel the tears surface almost immediately when you wrap your hands around emily’s back in a heartfelt embrace.

“how do you feel?” she pulls back and reaches into her pocket to hand you your id. 

you take it from her slowly, tracing your fingers over the edges while staring at the words ‘special agent’ next to your signature.

“i feel-” you shake your head in disbelief, “so happy to be back.” 

you don’t know if you sound as excited as you’re claiming yourself to be, but emily doesn’t pry into it.

“seems like you’re stuck with us no matter what,” she chuckles, and then clasps her hand around your wrist. “come on, everyone’s waiting for you.”

you heard them before you saw their faces.

the garish papers and sparkling trails of glitter land at your feet the moment the elevator doors open, and a striking pop sounds before a flurry of celebratory squeals and claps echo left and right.

“oh you, come over here!” penelope scurries over to you and sweeps you in a tight hug, and the others join in to clobber you with pats and playful pushes.

emily leads you into the office while everyone trails behind you excitedly, and stops to gesture towards a table decorated with your nameplate. you step back in awe.

“the table’s perfect.”

you smile and set your bag down to brandish your nameplate at the others. 

“i know! and guess who’s across from you.” jj laughs and moves her brows up and down, causing you to shift your glance at the surrounding desks.

and right across from you, you see it. the table, lined with books at every edge; the empty coffee mug; the nameplate.

as if right on cue, the office doors swing open, and the subject of your thoughts walks in.

you instantly feel the pang of guilt when his excited gaze turns into a vacant stare, when he realizes the source of rapture coming from inside the office is you. 

his eyes flicker up and down and his stare almost feels chilling. you need him to break the cold and say something. anything.

your team somehow makes it even worse by reading your silence as a desire to be left alone. they nod and point to the roundtable upstairs before whizzing up the stairs and disappearing behind the blinds, leaving you to face the man you haven’t seen in eight months alone.

“you’re back.” 

spencer says it with a voice so quiet, with a pace so swift, with a tone so flat, you don’t know if you’d be able to catch that it’s him if it isn’t for his face.

you don’t want his impassive tone to dictate the mood for the conversation when you’ve just hauled your feet all the way back, so you clear your throat and open your mouth to speak.

“i am. it’s nice to see you again.”

he stiffens. his reaction is a bitter pill to swallow.

“spencer,” you start, eyeing the vein marking the side of his forehead, “you- i’m probably the last person you want to see right now. i’m really sorry about last time.”

the unwavering expression on his face is unsparing, but you aren’t going to look away abashed.

“i just wanted to say that you were right. i should’ve never left in the first place. i hated every second of work there, and believe me when i say that i didn’t hesitate when emily asked if i wanted to come back.”

he could pierce your heart with his silent stare.

“i’m sorry i couldn’t tell you earlier. but i knew, i knew that if i consulted you i would’ve turned it down.”

you take a deep breath.

“i missed you so much, but i just didn’t have it in me to tell you that because i thought you’d still be mad, and you’re probably still really mad at me right now so it’s okay if you don’t say anything because i understand, i know that i’d be mad if i were in your place, but i just wanted to make it clear that i’m not going to leave again-”

“stop.”

he cuts you off, but the rattles of your apologies continue to drift in the back of your mind.

he tears his gaze away from you and shakes his head.

“i need some time… to think about this.”

without waiting for a response, he turns and walks off, up the stairs and away to regroup with the rest of the team. he doesn’t see the tears that cascade down your flushed face.

think i’ll make it worse

“great work today.” 

hotch nods at you with a warm smile before he steps out, leaving you to be the last one in the office.

walking over to your desk, you carefully pull out a large bottle of wine from a bag that rossi left earlier as a welcome-back gift. 

you make your way to the shared kitchen, and sigh happily when you find the corkscrew in the same drawer as before – a subtle reminder that some things haven’t changed. inserting the lever arm into the cork, you twist and pull until it lifts from the bottle with a satisfying pop.

without pouring the wine into a spare glass, you shuffle your feet until you reach the stairs, and plop down on the raised steps.

you take a small sip of the wine, savoring the taste as the liquid sloshes around in your mouth, and recall the events of earlier.

stop.

you take another sip.

i need some time.

you attach your lips to the mouth of the bottle and take a large gulp.

i need some time… to think about this.

you guzzle the wine without a single care, without considering the fact that your car’s still parked outside and that you need to get home somehow.

you drink until your lips stain with the color of dark purple, until you can smell the alcohol rubbed deep in your skin, and until you collapse to your hands and knees.

—

spencer hadn’t initially planned to go back to the office that night.

but when he rang your cell five times and each call sent him straight to voicemail, he knew something wasn’t right.

he was never good at verbalizing apologies, so he was just going to leave a letter on your desk to find in the morning. the two of you would address everything then.

because the truth was that he could never stay mad at you. he just needed to prepare himself, to be able to see your face again without feeling the heavy crash of emotions.

but when he turned up to the office and noticed the lights were still on, suspicious thoughts clouded his brain. 

hesitantly, he curled his fingers around the handles of the door and opened it.

he saw the empty wine bottle first, which had rolled its way to the entrance of the office and stopped at his feet.

crouching, he took the bottle in his palm and examined it before confusedly clicking his tongue and setting it on top of the kitchen table. 

but then he saw you, slumped over the stairs, your face sinking into your dress shirt stained with drops of purple.

he dropped everything and ran, ran as fast as he could, to your side.

i miss you, i'm sorry

you hear the soft swearing and realize you’re not alone, but you’re too drunk – too tired – to match the face to the fuzzy figure crouched beside you.

“have you been drinking this entire time?”

is that spencer? it’s surely his voice.

“spencer? oh my god, what- why are you here?”

he waves the bottle you had just downed in your face, and your hands instinctively move to reach for it. he pulls it away from you.

“did you just finish all of this?”

you give a lopsided smile and blink slowly. “oh, i swear it was just one sip.” 

that’s the only confirmation he needs. 

spencer tuts and sighs. he’s about to murmur a few words of disapproval when your head falls and you lurch forward, but he catches you just in time. with his palms cupping the sides of your face, he gently lowers you onto his lap.

“how were you going to get home?”

his voice brushes against you like feathers. damn it, he sounds intoxicating.

you smile sleepily. “what are you talking about? i am home.”

spencer frowns.

“no, your home is twenty minutes away from here. you’re still at the office.”

the office lights are too bright for you to handle, you move your hand to shield your eyes. spencer takes note of this, and moves his head over to cast his shadows onto your face. 

“no,” you breathe, “i’m right where i belong. with you.”

that’s not the answer he’s expected at all. his throat constricts and for a second, he’s glad you’re too drunk to notice the blush spreading across his face.

“did you mean it?”

you furrow your brows in confusion. “what?”

“did you mean it when you said you missed me?”

you let out a hushed laugh. “did you want me to say something else?”

spencer shakes his head. “i just want to know if you really meant-”

“god, spence, you look so kissable right now.”

he gulps.

he never thought the word kissable would ever tumble from your pretty lips, let alone be directed towards him. never, not in a million years.

“stop,” is all he can come up with.

“do you know who i missed the most when i left?”

he knows where this is going, and he needs to stop you before you spill too much. for your own good.

“let’s get you up.”

“you. it’s always been you.” 

he doesn’t want to give in to your bubbly laughs, your soft tugs at his shirt, your face nuzzling into his lap.

“after i left,” you continue to drawl your words with clarity only slightly greater than that of a burble, “i came to realize something.”

he doesn’t need to ask. he doesn’t need to know more.

“what?” 

he wants to know more.

“i can’t love anyone else.” you blink. “it has to be you. loving you is just that easy.”

you’re persistent. you flip onto your stomach and plant a kiss on his lap before slowly sitting up and staring intently into his eyes.

you’re drunk.

this isn't right.

spencer shakes his head as if to warn you, to give you your last chance to back down. 

you have to thank the alcohol for stripping you of all your nerves. “did you miss me?”

that, he can answer. spencer nods.

“say it back,” you whisper, gently tugging the collar of his shirt. 

a blush heats his cheeks. “i missed you.”

you move closer, until your lips are less than an inch from his left ear. “how much?”

seeing this side of you, so bold and carefree, has spencer practically gripping the carpet floor for support.

he's miraculously saved when you pull back and raise a hand.

“i’m gonna-”

you don’t get to finish because you collapse onto the floor, completely wiped out by the alcohol.

he releases all of the air he’s been keeping inside of his lungs with a heavy sigh.

he watches your chest rise and fall slowly, your lips upturned and drawing in deep breaths.

“too much,” he replies, knowing you can’t hear him. he thinks he hears you mumble something back, but it's too incoherent for him to understand.

with a soft smile, spencer leans in and carefully crosses your arms over his shoulders, before hoisting you on his back to carry you out of the office.

“let’s get you home.”

[bluecherrypawn]

Devils May be Cats? Ao3Ver.

Special Delivery [MasterList]

Chapter 1 ✧₊‧˚⁀➷ Chapter 2

Working from home sounds like a dream, well it is. But more often than not, it starts to feel isolating, especially when there’s little to do that isn’t related to work. It’s strange how success can leave you so... restless. Maybe it’s time to consider having a small companion. A cat or a dog, maybe. What about a bird? A parrot, so you can have someone to talk to.

Your train of thought is then cut off when you suddenly remember having to pick up a few packages your Father sent you. He said five boxes in total were sent to the post office. He was oddly cryptic about its contents, only being told that it contained a collection he owns that he wanted to hand over to you. When did the old man have a collection you didn’t know about? You were pretty nosy for a little kid, so if your old man ever had any collection, you would’ve definitely snooped through it by now.

You’ve talked to your parents about being so bored whenever they asked how your day was, but the weekly calls always made your day. Father must have thought that whatever he’s sending over may just cure your boredom. Maybe you shouldn’t have moved to another country for this job. You miss hearing Mother complain about some clients with no common sense. The table was always lively with just the three of you.

Sighing, you checked your phone for the details concerning the packages and how much time you had left before the scheduled pickup. After confirming that there was still some time left, you changed into a decent outdoor look. Nodding content, you walked out of the house with a shoulder bag containing all your necessities.

The drive to the post office was refreshing, with the sound of Cluster by Slipknot filling the car. You nodded to the beat while waiting for the stop light to turn green. After parking your Volkswagen Beetle, you noticed that there seemed to be a commotion happening inside. Upon your arrival, you saw a very distressed employee behind the counter. Though you still greeted him with a smile.

“Hello, I’m here to fetch a few packages my father sent me.” You showed the identification needed to receive the packages, and the employee seemed to grow pale when he saw them. “Shit… that was your package—” CRASH.

“GET BACK HERE” “CATCH IT! CATCH IT!!” A series of two fluffy cats ran out from the back. The other cat had a pizza chomped onto its mouth, smiling, while the other had the meanest look a cat could muster. Huh, how cute. Laughing, you asked, “What was that about?” With a tired groan, the employee replied, “Some cats got in through the back door. We don’t know how, but they’ve caused us some trouble.”

Apparently, because of those cats, a few packages were sent to the wrong address; those who came to receive their packages were given the wrong ones, and yours was one of those packages. “I’m sorry, Miss. We’ll just deliver your packages to your doorstep. Could you please just fill out your address here?” The poor guy looks tired, but you still have to ask, “Do I have to pay extra?” “There’s no need, Miss, delivering the package to your doorstep is our way of compensation.”

Guess you still have money for lunch, then. “That’s convenient, thanks a lot.” After writing your address, you walked out of there, texting your Father about what happened so he doesn’t worry excessively. Hmm, what should I have for lunch? That cat with the slice of pizza looked so happy with it. I guess I’ll have pizza then.

SHUFFLE— What was that? Creeping slowly towards the car, you saw two cats in the passenger seat, and they looked to be fighting. Panicked by how violent these cats were, you decided to swoop in because you did not want to see any dead cats. You swooped your hand under their bellies to carry them separately on each arm, and they seemed to have stopped at that. Then, a realization hit you like a brick. “Aren’t you two the same cats that caused trouble at the post office? You must’ve jumped high to get in my car.” They just looked at you bug-eyed.

They looked to be well-groomed for street cats. “Where are your owners? You can’t possibly be street cats.” The one to your right started meowing frantically. It sounded so sad that concern began to bubble in you about such vulnerable creatures on the streets. “I’ll take you guys with me for lunch, and then we’ll figure out what to do with you, okay?” You don’t know why you asked since you’re unsure if they could understand what you said.

Meowing erupted from your left. It seemed delighted about the decision as if the little guy understood you. “I’m gonna go through a drive-through first. I’d rather have lunch at home right now.” Unlocking the car, you put both the cats in the back seat and gave them a stern look, “Behave okay.” After ensuring they were buckled in, you walked around to reach the front seat and started the engine. Meowing can be heard from the backseat. Deciding to glance at them through the rearview mirror, they looked like they were having a serious conversation.

They’re adorable, but you’ll have to give them a bath when you get home.

“She doesn’t understand us,” the cat with slicked-back fur said, his voice low and precise, eyes narrowing as he glared at the driver’s hands gripping the steering wheel. “She thinks we’re just ordinary cats. Ignorant of what we really are.” Dante, lounging in the back seat with a cocky flick of his tail, let out a dismissive meow. “Yeah, well, maybe that’s for the best. No need to scare her off by trying to explain that two demon hunters got downsized into snow white furballs.” Vergil’s sharp gaze didn’t waver.

 “This... transformation is no accident. We were transported here. The power we wielded back then is now reduced to this.” Vergil looked down at his paws, glaring at his pink toe-beans. “Lighten up,” said the white-coated cat sprawled lazily beside him, one leg in the air mid-groom. Why is he doing that? It must be the cat instincts kicking in. Dante’s fur was scruffy, his ears tilted in amusement. “You’re alive, we’re not in Hell, and I think she said she’s gonna grab some pizza. This could be worse.” Vergil’s tail lashed. “We’ve been stripped of our weapons, our forms, and our dignity.”

“Speak for yourself,” Dante purred, flicking his whiskers. “I think I wear fur pretty damn well.” The woman cooed again from the front. “You two are so cute together! I bet you’re brothers, huh?” Vergil let out a long, slow meow of discontent. Dante snorted. “Yeah,” he muttered, eyes narrowing. “Something tells me this is gonna be a long ride.” Dante laughed, but it sounded like a bunch of cute mews to the woman.

“Here’s your order, miss.” The drive-through attendant said with a practiced smile. With outstretched hands, you received your order with a nod and a thanks. The aroma of pizza wafted through the air. It smelt like a mouthwatering scent of melted cheese, savory spices, and freshly baked dough— “Mrrrow...” You blinked, startled by the sudden purring. For a moment, you almost forgot you had cats seated at the back. “hahaha.. I guess you guys are hungry, too, right? Don’t worry. My place isn’t too far now.” Looking back at the drive-through attendant, you politely bid goodbye and drove off.

And it seems home isn’t too far as a familiar house came into view. You parked the car in your driveway, the pizza box balanced precariously in one hand while the other struggled to grab your shoulder bag. Two sets of eyes followed your every move from the backseat, pupils wide with curiosity. The moment the car door swung open, the cats leaped to the ground, landing with the kind of grace that only felines seemed to possess.

Once inside your cozy apartment, you set the pizza box on the kitchen counter and turned to your feline guests. “Make yourselves at home, I guess. Just… don’t break anything expensive.” The cats wandered in as though they owned the place. The sleek immediately jumped onto the windowsill, gazing out as if surveying a battlefield. The scruffy one was already investigating the pizza box. They must be really hungry by now. You turned to your phone and searched “cats eating pizza” – the internet was divided. Probably not a good idea. You rummaged through the fridge and pantry for tuna or some leftover chicken.

By the time you had set out bowls of water and a little plate of tuna, the scruffy cat was already halfway into opening the pizza box with a clawed paw. “Hey! No! Bad cat!” He looked up and meowed innocently. You stared. It was almost sarcastic. After feeding them, you decided it was time to clean them up. Clearly, these weren’t strays, not with how well they handled human food, riding in cars, and walking into apartments like they paid rent. But you didn’t want to return someone’s missing pets in a filthy state.

Bath time was a journey in itself.

Slick-back absolutely hated the water. He hissed and growled the entire time but never once scratched you. Scruffy, oddly enough, didn’t mind. He even splashed around a little, like it was a hot tub. You were soaked by the end of it. The bathroom looked like a war zone, with towels everywhere, water on the ceiling, and soap bubbles clinging to the mirror.

But the two cats looked pristine, their white coats fluffy and shining. They seemed really identical with their hair down. It was funny when you couldn’t tell them apart until one of them licked their paw and slicked back their furr. While the other shook their head violently. They seemed satisfied with that.

You collapsed onto the couch. They followed you in, each hopping up to claim a side of the cushion. “You guys are lucky you’re cute.” Dante curled into a loaf. Vergil sat like a proud statue. You picked up your phone again, half-tempted to make a post about missing pets, but then remembered the post office. You hadn’t heard from them since the fiasco. Just as you were thinking about that, your phone buzzed. A text from an unknown number:

“One of your five packages has been delivered. Please confirm.”

Your eyebrows rose. Already?

You headed to the door and there it was – a large box, about the size of a microwave oven, sitting innocently on the doormat. You pulled it inside and opened it with a box cutter. The first thing you saw was a layer of bubble wrap, underneath a familiar logo.

Devil May Cry.

You blinked. Inside was a collection of merchandise: an unopened PlayStation copy of the first Devil May Cry game, the Special Edition box set, a miniature replica of a katana sword, and several high-quality merchandise. “What the...” You reached in and picked up the game case. It looked pristine. Vintage. Your Father had never mentioned being into video games. This was unexpected. “Why would he send me this?” Behind you, a tail swished. You turned. The cats were both sitting nearby, staring at the box. The sleek cat, now perched on the table, let out a slow, growling meow. You glanced at him. “You’re not a fan of incomplete deliveries either, huh?” then you remembered, “I still have to call Father about this. I’ll be right back.”

He just stared. “That...” Vergil hissed, ears twitching, “is me.” Dante stopped loafing. “Wait, what?” Vergil leaped onto the table beside the open package, glaring disgustingly at the figurine. “This... trinket. This absurd image. It’s me.” Dante padded closer, peering at his own figurine with a puzzled expression. “Hey, they nailed my jawline. Look at that smirk!” Vergil looked like he was having an existential crisis. “Why does she have these?” Dante batted his own figure off the table. “Well, at least now we know we’re not from here. The lack of demons kinda gave that away already.”

Vergil growled. “We are fictional.” “I mean… in this world, yeah,” Dante said, tail swishing. “Guess we’re pop culture icons or something. That’s kinda badass.” Vergil let out a low, dangerous meow. “I will get to the bottom of this.” Well, existential crisis be damned, they’re still cats, so they should be more worried about whether or not they could revert back to their original state. Dante stretched out on the table, flicking his tail in amusement.

“You know, for a cat with nine lives, you sure are wasting one on a meltdown.” Vergil paced in tight circles, claws clicking faintly on the wood. “You’re not grasping the severity of this. We are fictional constructs in a foreign dimension, reduced to—” he glanced at his paw with thinly veiled horror, “—these bodies.” Dante licked a paw nonchalantly. “Yeah, but at least we’re sexy fictional ‘constructs.’ You saw that jawline, bro.”

From the kitchen, the woman’s voice echoed again. “Yeah, I got a few cats. No tags. They jumped inside my car. One of them keeps hissing at a figurine you sent like it insulted his ancestors.” Dante looked up. “So these aren’t hers? You heard her ‘figurine.’ These likely don’t belong to her since she doesn’t know who this ‘figurine’ is.” “She has a small Yamato replica in the box. That can’t be a coincidence.” “Okay, fair. That is weird.”

Vergil made a leap down the table and began walking towards the hallway. “I need to examine the surroundings. There may be a catalyst. A portal. A summoning circle. Something that explains this madness.” “Orrrr,” Dante drawled out with a yawn, “you could nap on the windowsill like a normal cat and let me handle people stuff.” Vergil merely glanced at him. “Fool, we are not ‘normal cats.’” With a snort, he replied, “Tell that to your twitchy tail.”

The woman’s voice continued. “Yeah, they’re weirdly coordinated. One was super quiet and well-behaved. The other mowed on three pizza slices, survived and looked satisfied. I don’t even know how he snatched one, let alone three, right under my nose. I think I’m keeping them.” Vergil paused mid-stride. “She’s keeping us? Like... pets?” Dante rolled onto his back, belly up. “Better than hell, right?” Vergil looked up as if asking some higher demon for patience. “This is undignified.” Dante grinned.

“Welcome to the litter box, brother.”

A/N: inspired by this DMC cat art. Go support the artist everyone!

[getouyuri]

ahahahaha 🫦 pegging with the yakuza au characters? unless…? -🦊

rubbing my hands together and smiling ur questions are so fun to answer (Mario voice) Here We Go!

mdni 18+

• oyabun gojo and you (secretary!reader) indulge in pegging as much as this man eats sweets and kills people. in his office he has an extra harness for you and a box of detachable dildos because he takes it 10x more seriously than you do. will cry and throw up and get on his knees to beg you to rearrange his guts until you fold

sometimes when you peg him you’re (semi) joking about getting him pregnant and it activates something in him that has you wondering if you actually broke him. literally goes feral like YASSSS IVE BEEN WAITING FOR THIS FUUUCK 🥺💔🙏🏽 MOMMY GIVE ME YOUR KIDS NEEEEOOOOWWWWW and gets upset when you actually. y’know. can’t.

he takes your strap like a good boy trust trust trusttttt and he’s ass up on their bed when you get home and you’re like boy STAND UP!

• informant shoko and you (stripper!reader) oh yupppp absolutely. duh. nods sagely and taps my pencil against my notepad. they’re switches but shoko tends to peg You most of the time cos you’re like ‘I’m too lazy to put in that work right now’ (it’s a lie because you absolutely can but you want to be spoiled by her). ‘mommy’ slips out of your mouth like literally every time and she gets off on it

but when you peg her ohhhhhjtshrndkw shoko is out of commission for days because you know how to WORK that thing. you have crazy strength and stamina from pole dancing and not to mention your rhythm is insane. out of this world. you could peg her for hours without issue and you act falsely innocent when you overstimulate shoko

• wakagashira-hosa choso literally doesn’t bring up pegging until you (teacher!reader) do and he’s like oh I’ve been waiting for this mhm! he’s done so much research on the perfect harness and whatnot and was even extremely selective about the lube. he read so many damn reviews. you’re like WOAH when he presents his collection of everything that he bought PRIOR to their conversation (you’re mentally nutting everywhere)

choso gets railed six ways to sunday and he’s sooo happy about it. he’s flushing and his lip is trembling when you’re prepping him, and when you put the strap in? bawling. he’s gone. rockets off to subspace while you peg him and is like lalalala ☺️ (tears running down his face) i trust you to take care of me (you mentally nut everywhere for the second time). really likes pegging in missionary specifically cos he wants to see you

• oyabun geto takes some convincing but you (angels!reader & yuki’s younger sibling) eventually get him to try it. they’re both switches so honestly he’s used to you occasionally taking control but he’s not prepared for the beast he unleashes in you and then himself by agreeing to this. needless to say, pegging turns into a weekly occurrence

you pull his hair the first time you slid your strap into him and he cums completely untouched with Theeeee most seraphic whimpers and grunts. you’re gasping for air because ohmygodthatwashotasfuck but you don’t wanna push him too far so you start to pull out. geto doesn’t let you though he’s like keep. keep going. defo takes it like a good boy 10/10 and powerbottoms from time to time

• oyabun sukuna is like ‘do you want to fucking die’ when you (otaku!reader) ask him about it. he crosses his arms and hes like Tch… I’m not taking a fake cock up my ass. you need to go to hell. as if he didn’t wake up a few nights ago after a wet dream where you pegged him

somehow you end up pegging him and he’s into it but won’t admit it. absolute brat about it, gritting his teeth and taunting you telling you that you’re not putting in effort, c’mon, go faster. you spank his ass for shits and giggles but he’s into that he can’t lieeee! sukuna gets the heebie jeebies when you eventually start busting out hentai esque monster dildos and he’s like no okay for real this time, you need to go to hell. swiftly. (bbbbbut he lets you peg him with them)

• garuda’s angels leader yuki and you (barista!reader) fuck with it sooooo hard it’s literally their favorite way to have sex. yuki can SLAAAAANG strap cos she’s an expert in strapology and knows exactly how to demolish you in under minute. she typically tops so yes you’re getting demolished like 90% of the time

she really likes hitting it from the back because she’s an ass girlie and likes seeing that thang on you jiggleeeee mhm mhm! she practically plays patty cake with your ass and you’re like STOPPPP as if you’re not moaning and thrusting back to meet her each time she grinds forward. you end up snot-nosed and in tears, mascara running and everything, eeeevery time

• garuda’s angels assassin toji is like girl be serious when you (goth!reader) present a strap-on like you’re a cat bringing a dead mouse to its owner. he’s very ‘ehhhh’ about it and isn’t interested (he’s lying to himself) but if you pester him enough, toji’ll let you peg him to satiate your curiosity (little does he know that this won’t be the last time. and that he won’t want it to be the last time)

you loom over him with your strap and toji lowkey starts praying because right then and there he realizes you’re gonna give him double of how he treats you. he refuses to admit that he tried to run from it when you peg him because it was simultaneously so good & so overwhelming that he couldn’t take it and he has flashbacks to every single time that you tried to run from his dick and he taunted you for it. toji cums so hard that he nearly passes out when you peg him in missionary while sucking his TITS!

[aventurineswife]

Aventurine, Dr Veritas Ratio (my pookie), Jing Yuan and Jiaoqiu with a really cozy lover who loves to make them cute food? Like they pack them little bento lunchboxes with cute designs and wake up super early to make it for them so they can take it to work, they take them out on picnics as a weekly date and stuff, maybe they're into crochet and crafts or something, sorry this is so self indulgent 😞 i just wanna make these boys something yummy, tis what i had in mind about the food omg this is so long im so sorry

(All art by @/eggbuttertoast on insta btw go check them out)

“You are the best thing, that ever happened to me”

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Ratio x Reader, Jing Yuan x Reader, Jiaoqiu x Reader, Established Relationship, Romance, Fluff, Comfort, Picnic Dates, Domestic Moments, Caring Relationships.

A/N: DON'T WORRY!! I TOTALLY GET YOU!! 🤭 I'M OBSESSED WITH THOSE CUTE BENTO BOXES!! HOPE YOU ENJOY THIS!! 🫶💖

Aventurine was no stranger to indulgence. Life was a gamble, and he played it with style and cunning, always chasing the next high-stakes thrill. Yet, as he strolled into his office at the IPC’s Strategic Investment Department, today’s highlight wasn’t a lucrative deal or a cunning scheme—it was the bento box you had lovingly prepared for him.

You’d been up since dawn, crafting an intricate lunch. Inside the box were bite-sized sandwiches shaped like playing cards, each adorned with edible glitter and tiny suit symbols cut from vegetables. A roulette wheel of fruits sat in the center, with a gold-painted chocolate coin at its hub.

When Aventurine opened the box, his eyes lit up. "My, my," he murmured, admiring the effort. “You’ve truly outdone yourself, darling. How am I supposed to focus on work after such a masterpiece?”

He loved how you infused warmth into his otherwise calculated world. It wasn’t just the food but the care and thought you put into every detail. Every Friday, you insisted on a picnic, dragging him away from the chaos of his work.

Today, you’d set up a cozy spread under the shade of a towering tree. You crocheted a new blanket for the occasion, its patterns inspired by roulette wheels and peacock feathers—a nod to his unique style. Aventurine leaned back, his hat tilted over his eyes, a rare moment of vulnerability.

“You spoil me.” he said, watching you unpack.

“That’s the idea.” you teased, placing a cookie in his hand.

Aventurine smirked. For all his charisma and confidence, he found himself marveling at how you could make even a gambler like him feel safe, cherished, and loved.

Ratio had always prided himself on precision, intellect, and order. Yet, as he peered into the meticulously crafted bento box you had left on his desk, he couldn’t help but smile. The rice was shaped into an owl, its wings made from thinly sliced seaweed. Around it, neatly arranged vegetables and protein formed an edible diorama of his Intelligentsia Guild office.

When you greeted him later that evening, Ratio’s tone was teasing but fond. “Do you think a brilliant mind like mine requires sustenance shaped like birds to function?”

“Maybe not,” you replied, grinning. “But even geniuses deserve to feel loved.”

Ratio adjusted his glasses, feigning exasperation, but the warmth in his eyes betrayed him. Your weekly picnics were another tradition he secretly adored. He admired your crocheted blankets and little crafts, treasures you’d offer him with shy excitement.

Today’s picnic was at a quiet park, where you’d prepared another feast. As he lay beside you, Ratio spoke softly, breaking the silence. “You know,” he began, his tone uncharacteristically gentle, “you’ve done what even the greatest minds of the Guild could not—bring balance to my chaotic thoughts.”

Jing Yuan, the so-called "Dozing General," had a knack for finding peace amid the chaos of his duties. But nothing soothed him more than the love you poured into his bento boxes.

The moment he opened today’s lunch, a fond chuckle escaped his lips. A lion cub, shaped from rice and adorned with omelet details, stared back at him. Around it, a battlefield of sausages and broccoli seemed to depict one of his strategic victories.

When you picked him up for your weekly picnic, his eyes softened as he took in the sight of you carrying yet another crocheted blanket. This time, it bore a swirling pattern inspired by the Cloud Knights’ insignia.

You spread the blanket under the cherry blossoms, unpacking the food with care. Jing Yuan leaned back, his long hair catching the sunlight. “You’ve truly turned even a General’s life into a dream.” he murmured.

“Good,” you replied, nudging him. “Because you deserve every bit of it.”

Jiaoqiu couldn’t see your creations, but he could feel the care in every bite. Despite his blindness, he often remarked how your lunches seemed to brighten his world.

Today’s bento box was no exception. You’d spent hours crafting it—a flower garden of colorful ingredients, each carefully arranged. When Jiaoqiu ran his fingers over the edge of the box, he smiled.

“I can tell you woke up early for this.” he teased, his voice warm and melodic.

“Of course,” you said, guiding his hands to the first bite. “I want you to feel loved, even when I’m not there.”

Your weekly picnics were his favorite. Though he couldn’t see the landscapes, you described every detail—the way the sun dappled through the leaves, the soft hues of the sky. He sat beside you, tail swishing contentedly as you crocheted a new blanket.

“Another masterpiece?” he asked, running his fingers over the textured yarn.

You smiled. “I made it with you in mind.”

Jiaoqiu tilted his head, his golden irises sharp even as he kept his eyes closed. “And I carry it with me, just as I carry your love.”

[cryptonymdc]

Headcanons -> How they Hide their Identity from you (GN Reader)

Pt. 1

Superman | Clark Kent 

With the pure power of disbelief, and a little acting skills if Clark is feeling less humble. Sure, Clark is always missing any time Superman is around, but he’s a reporter! He’s gotta get the scoop! And before Lois too, they may be friendly office rivals but rivals nonetheless. Please don’t mind how Lois always has the scoop and he always somehow missed it. But, as long as those little cracks don’t shine, it’s also a handy excuse for why he runs towards danger. At least, distant danger. 

He never seems to run when the danger is right in front of you. Although, he’s something of a nervous disposition. He’ll still try to put himself between you and the gun, but if he can’t, just count yourself lucky when the bullet misses (Or he sped his hand to catch it). 

And never forget, Superman gets batted around all the time, and look at Clark, not a scratch on him. Nevermind that the public has no idea how Kryptonian Biology works, and that Clark hasn’t bruised a day in life, at least not for longer than five hours. Nah. Nothing to worry about. 

Plus, Clark is so clumsy. He just can’t help running into things, running into low hanging doorways, or getting his jackets hooked on one thing or another. And he’s also late, all the time. Has Superman ever been late? Does he look clumsy? I didn’t think so. At least, Clark doesn’t say so. 

Plus, you’ve met Clarks parents. They may be super kind, but super strength? Nah. If that were the case, Pa Kent wouldn’t have to ask Clark to help out with getting the tractors out of ditches. And if his parents don’t have superpowers, how could he? 

Clark Kent is definitely not Superman. 

Batman | Bruce Wayne 

With the power of gaslight, gatekeep, girlboss. Bruce Wayne and you do not move in together quickly at all, and sleepovers at his place are as rare as a blue moon. That way you don’t notice that he gets to bed at the witching hour instead of a normal time. And the Bat, if he’s even real at all as far as Gotham can tell, only works at night. And Bruce never takes non-emergency calls after 9:00 pm. He’s really serious about a good eight hours of sleep. Honest. Even if when you try to call him to join for a morning 6:00 am run, he’s somehow out like a light. 

Of course he leaves events that get trashed by Gotham Rogues incredibly quickly. Perhaps even a few seconds before, like there was a warning. Any sane person would run from the rouges. And he’s Bruce Wayne, he’s high profile, and a little sick of getting kidnapped all the time. He promises, he’s just finding a broom closet to stick it out in. Why doesn’t he bring you? He’s Bruce Wayne, what if he gets caught? Then there's an even bigger target on your back, and he doesn’t want that. Please let it slip your mind that everyone in Gotham knows you’re with its Prince thanks to that curious Gazette. 

Why is he always so bruised and battered when you do see him with his clothes off? He told you about the boxing, right? He’s gotta keep it up. How else does a man like him stay in shape? I know he keeps refusing your runs (Thanks to their ungodly hour), but he’s getting plenty of exercise with boxing practice. Why do none of his Boxing partners seem to pull their punches? Well it’s the principle of the thing. He’d be a sore loser if he asked them to go easy on him, and the bruises look worse than they really are. 

Oh, you want to watch one of boxing matches? Maybe later. When he can arrange it. But doesn’t he do them frequently? It must be a weekly routine. Yeah, but his opponents might not like the audience, so he’ll have to ask. Sorry, Sweetheart.

Hey, at least all the trouble he gets into is boxing. It’s not like he’s Batman.  

The Flash | Barry Allen 

With the power of superspeed, seriously. It’s hard to catch the fastest man alive red handed, isn’t it? He could save you in your own home and you’d never know he was there. You knock something off the counter? No you didn’t, it’s back on the counter inches away from where your elbow just was. Must have been seeing things. It’s alright, makes you careful. You forgot your water bottle at home? That’s okay, Barry got it for you before you left. Why didn’t he give it to you before? Oh, he just thought he’d carry it until you wanted it. It’s no problem. 

Besides, it’s not weird for Barry to know a lot about the crime in Central City, he’s a forensic scientist afterall. He’s taking care of cases all the time, fighting crime on the home front. Of course he knows about all the incidents before the newspapers do, just – don’t prod his coworkers too much. He’ll answer all your questions, no need to ask them. 

And to top it all off, how could Barry Allen be the Flash? He’s always the last one there. Late with the coffee for the office, late home in the evening because he got stuck in traffic, and late to work in the mornings because he got lost, etc, etc. 

The Flash is such a motormouth, with a tease or a quip on the tip of his tongue at every second. But Barry is so sweet, and all nice words. He’d never have the confidence to laugh in the face of danger, no sir. 

Barry Allen can’t be the Flash, he’s too busy with his nine to five.

[valencinie]

Letters

Bob Floyd x Fem/Reader

Note: Inspired by First Moment from Savage/Love written by Sam Shepard - this is not mine, but I am quoting this section.

Description: You meet Bob at a post office and explore the nature of falling in love at first glance.

Warnings: fluff! Slow burn-ish

Words: 1,850

••••

The first moment
 I saw you in the Post Office
 You saw me
 And I didn't know.

You were a new employee at a local post office in Miramar, sorting boxes and letters to where they shall be delivered. It wasn’t a hard job, but it could get boring at times. You sighed as your coworker placed a large box on your counter for distribution. Grabbing the box you placed it in the bin for USPS Ground delivery.

As you turned back to your counter you did a double take. There was a man in what seemed like aviator khakis, he wore glasses and had a gentle smile as he spoke to your coworker up front. You watched as he handed him a letter; Your coworker placed a stamp on the letter and handed it over to you. You broke away from observing the man and you grabbed the letter.

That’s when the man, Bob, saw you. His green colored eyes flashed over to see you, though it was for a second, he took note of you. Not in a weird way of course, Bob wasn’t like that. It was just an acknowledgment of your presence.

The first moment

I saw you

I knew I could love you

If you could love me

Bob was a WSO, weapons system officer, for the Navy, originally from Montana but was stationed in California. Because he was so far from his home state, he remembers to send letters on a weekly basis to his family, just to let them know he was still alive. He became known between the workers at the local post office in Miramar, they’d always ask how his family was doing and how was the navy; he’d always respond with a polite smile,

“it’s good, really good.”

Of course now he was on his way to send a letter out. He had run out of stamps so he decided he’d buy one at the post office. It was rather lonely this time of day which made stops a lot faster. Bob greeted the front desk person and handed him his letter. He paid for the stamp and waited, watching as the worker handed you his letter. That’s when he saw you.

Even if it was briefly, he could make out the features on your face. You were new, he could tell. He’s been coming to this post office for months now, and only now has he seen you. Bob would occasionally glance in your direction before he said his goodbyes to your coworker.

It was in that first moment that he knew he wanted to see you more often.

You had sort of a flavor
 The way you looked
 And you looked at me
 And I didn't know if you saw me
 And there wasn't any question to ask

The next week came and you were working in the back to cover for an employee who couldn’t make it today. There was a wide window on the wall that allowed the front to peek but there wasn’t much to see. If you were to stand by the front desk, all you’d see is a white wall with the different posters that possessed information on different ways to ship things out. And of course you, since you were practically behind the window working.

Hours had passed and you heard voices coming from the front, that’s when you looked up and were met with a pair of green eyes. It was that man again. Who was he? You panicked and looked to the side, feeling your cheeks burn just a bit, but when you looked up again, you realized he wasn’t exactly looking at you, he was looking at the posters behind the window. You glanced behind you and drew in a slight sharp breath in and released it quickly. A part of you was relieved that he wasn’t looking directly at you, but the other half, was disappointed he wasn’t.

I was standing with some papers
 I started shuffling the papers
 But I didn't know what order to put them in

But I figured I wanted to do it in such a way
 That it looked like I had some purpose

The next time you saw him, he was wearing his civilian clothes. Nothing too fancy, just some nice jeans with a button up. But boy did he look handsome. You watched as he handed in his letter and chatted up with the front desk. He wore a small smile and his eyes lit up the more he spoke of his family. You shuffled the various papers and letters, acting as if you were looking through them to mask the fact that you were eavesdropping.

“My family seems to think I’m some sort of Sargent.” Bob chuckled along with your coworker.

His voice.

Oh boy.

But I really just wanted to look at your eyes all the time

His voice just added on to his already handsome being. How much you’d give to just be the person he looks at. Those beautiful green eyes that just sparkle in the soft lighting of the afternoon sun. Golden hour making his features stand out as if they were being highlighted.

Without realizing, you had made eye contact with him. Your heart dropped and you adverted your gaze in embarrassment.

And you said
 Look at me with your eyes
 Look at me with your eyes

The post office was alone today, you being the only one this time. As you worked silently you wondered if the man with the green eyes would come, and as if your prayers were answered, in came Bob.

You perked your head above the counter and saw him walking in. Instantly you stood up to greet him.

“Hello, how can I help you?”

“Hello ma’am.” He said kindly. “Just sending this letter out to my family.”

You took the envelop out of his hand, his fingers just ghosting beside yours. It’s as if any little touch heightened your senses. You entered the required information and placed the letter behind you.

“Navy?” You asked.

Bob nodded, aware he was in his khakis today. “Weapons system officer.”

You tilted your head, “that is…?” You smiled.

“Ah apologies.” Bob chuckled softly, “Im in charge of the weapons on a jet and any other electrical equipment onboard.” He smiled politely.

“Wow.. that’s impressive.” You smiled.

“Thank you.” He smiled as well with a soft chuckle of his own.

“Well it was nice meeting you….-“

“Bob.”

“It was nice meeting you Bob.” You smiled.

With a smile of his own, his gaze landed on yours, his eyes taking you in one last time.

“It was nice meeting you too….-“

“Y/N.”

“Y/N.” I smiled, “it was nice meeting you too Y/N.”

He smiled softly.

Moments later he was walking out that door, your gaze lingering on him as he walked out.

In that first moment
 Your face burned into my dream
 And right away I had this feeling
 Maybe you're lost
 Until now

Bob couldn’t get you out of his head. Your smile, your eyes, and your sweet being. The very interaction had solidified his curiosity to something more. Could it be that love at first sight existed?

He remembered the stories his grandfather would tell him about the time he met his grandmother all those years ago.

Was it too soon to say? Bob was enraptured by you and only wanted to know more about you. Who you were. What you wanted to achieve. Your interests, your values, and your goals. All of you. And all it took was one look. One gaze. Bob was lost, so lost in this feeling of curiosity and attraction.

Maybe I'm lost
 Until now

And I thought
 Maybe I'm just making this up

Could it be that you had fallen? Or was this temporary? No. You knew what you felt and you wanted to nurse it into something more, but you two had barely spoken..

How could a presence make you feel all these things at once? It was ridiculous.

And yet here you were, seeing his soft, attentive, green eyes in your mind.

Could it be possible in any way that he felt something too?

Or were you making things up?

But your eyes
 Looked like they were saying
 Look at me more

It was busy today. You worked your usual position and you were looking through letters, finding the address and sorting them in their appropriate place. The door squeaked loudly as Bob entered the place to drop off his weekly letter.

Bobs visits began to linger, slightly talking much more at the front desk, waiting, hoping to catch a glimpse of you and even talk to you in any way. His weekly visits were now much more than just sending out letters to him.

He caught a glimpse of you as you passed by behind the front desk.

He smiled towards you.

You smiled back.

You dropped 10 letters into a bin and you looked up again to Bob. He was already looking at you. You gave him a gentle wave.

He waves back.

I would shuffle the papers
 Look at you
 My breathing changed

Then I felt something dissolve
 I felt there might be a danger
 That anything could happen in the next moment
 Maybe you would turn away from me

Or you could say
 Let's go together…

“Y/N.”

You look up from the desk where you were sorting letters.

“Bob.” You smiled. “How’s the family.”

“Doing great.” He smiled. “They’re just fine. How are you?” He asked, his eyes taking in every feature, from your lashes to how your cheeks seemed to flush at the sight of him.

“I’m good.” You said, “just sorting these letters.” You chuckled.

Bob chuckled at the obvious statement. His gaze seemed to linger on your actions, as if he was calculating something in his mind.

He gently ran his hands up and down the side of his pants. “Would you.. like to go out for dinner sometime?” He said, more or less out of the blue.

Your heart stopped at his sudden words, taken aback. You turned back to meet his gaze; he had a sheepish smile, and you took note at how he straightened up a bit.

“I’d love to.” You replied with a sheepish smile of your own.

Bob released an airy chuckle, surprised but ecstatic that you had agreed to go out with him. “Great.“ he smiled, “how does, Saturday at 7PM sound to you?”

“Saturday is great.” You said.

The both of you smiled at each other.

“I’ll pick you up then.” Bob said before turning to leave.

“Wait!” You jumped up. You grabbed a random sticky note from the desk and grabbed the nearest pen. You wrote your number quickly. “Forgot this.”

“Oh shoot.” Bob chuckled, “completely slipped my mind.” He joked as he took the sticky note. “That would’ve been a problem.”

“Definitely.” You snickered along with him. “See you Saturday, aviator.”

“See you Saturday, Y/N.” He smiled once more before disappearing out the door of the post office.

Forever.

[bumblebeesfromvenus]

Forged from Lavender and Iron 🪻

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Farrier!John Price × FlowerFarmer!Reader

This has been sitting in my notes for a literal year now. I never really planned on posting this because I wrote it for my own enjoyment, but maybe if enough people want to see more I'll continue this with the multiple parts I had in mind 👀

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─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Your little farm with your friendly companions Marigold and Pudding was all you needed. You'd see a friendly face or two at the weekly market where you'd sell the flowers and produce you'd poured your soul into. This time was different, as your life and your heart got turned upside down by a kind Farrier with a voice like silk and eyes so blue you were already gasping for air.

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The soft golden light of the spring sun shone down on your face with a gentle breeze passing through your hair as you heaved one of the wooden crates onto the counter of your stall.

You huffed, your hands tightly planted on your hips, looking over your work of having arranged the boxes just as you'd wanted. Heeps of seasonal veggies and fruit were almost spilling over the edge of the crates thanks to a very rewarding early harvest this year.

The colorful blooms and petals of the first few spring flowers framed your stall beautifully, surrounded by fragrant arrangements of all sizes.

You'd managed to touch up the paint job recently, making the wood rival the flowers in brightness. The weekly market was your favorite part of the week by far.

It was a time when the community would come together and supply each other with all the goods the countryside had to offer; you sold your produce and the flowers you were working so hard on integrating into the landscape, hoping they'd acclimate to the native soil and spread their pollen until every bare spot in your little town was like a sight from an oil painting.

Your stall-neighbors, as you called them, were an old married couple named Alice and Bill. They were lovely people, always checking in on you.

Bill was a passionate dairy farmer, not once have you seen someone handle animals with such care as he did, providing milk, cheese and cream during the market, drawing in visitors from out of town.

Alice, on the other hand, was quite keen with a needle and thread, offering her handmade goods every Tuesday. Her stitches were made with such care and precision, watching her work was a spectacle that never failed to fascinate you.

You'd been invited for tea more than once, spending time with your kind friends. They made you feel less alone, giving you the familiar comfort only grandparents could give.

It wasn't easy being in the farming buisness this young, especially as a woman who was living alone on an old farm.

So, Alice and Bill made sure to pass on as much of their experience and knowledge as they could, hoping to lighten your load as you treaded down your path.

This is the life you chose, one you would choose a hundred times over. The freedom that your little farm out in the fields made you feel was something poets wished they could put into words.

An office job would be your poison, sucking the water and nutrients from your roots and shielding you from the sun until you'd wilt and whither like a delicate flower.

"Oh, look at your flowers, deary!" Alice beamed, clasping her hands together in delight, "they're as lovely as ever. I don't know how you do it."

You chuckled softly, wiping the small beads of sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand.

"You have your secrets and I have mine." You grinned mischievously, earning a jokingly scolding look from the older woman.

"Well, much love went into them. And care. And blood and sweat and tears." You deadpanned.

"Stubborn little things, really." You sighed, breaking into a small smile.

"Go on, take whichever ones you like." You gently encouraged Alice, gesturing to the wide variety of bouquets that were sitting in terracotta pots in front of your stall.

She hestitated, a soft crease forming between her silver brows.

"I shouldn't. I don't want to take from you, deary. Not when they could be making you money instead." She smiled regretfully.

You brushed her off with a wave of your hand.

"Don't be silly, Alice. Your smile is worth more to me than the five pounds I'd get for them." You promised.

You could see the faint spark in her eyes melt into one of adoration.

"You're too kind. At least let me give you something in return." She said kindly, the crows feet around her eyes deepening.

"I don't have much of a choice, do I?" You grinned, watching as Alice confidently shook her head with a sly expression.

You watched as she hurried to her and Bill's stall, rummaging through a small basket before making her way back to you.

"Give this to sweet Marigold for me, will you?" She opened her palm, a small patchwork mouse sitting within.

One of your hands flew to your heart, a small 'aw' slipping from your lips.

"Mari will loves this one. I swear, she's not going anywhere without the little snail you made her." You smiled, taking the small toy from her hand.

Alice folded her hands in front of her.

"She's precious, little Marigold. I know Bill doesn't want to admit it, but he's taken a shine to her." She whispered with a grin.

You laughed and turned the mouse in your hands, brushing your thumb over the neat seams.

"You ought to come by more often. Mari stopped getting her little sneaky paws on my good cushions since you visited." you smirked, watching the older woman laugh softly.

"She embraces her tiger ancestry a little too much sometimes." You sighed, thinking of your cute stripped kitty that was just as mischievous as she was sweet and cuddly.

"Anyway," you safely stored the little mouse in your pocket before turning to Alice, "your flowers. I took the liberty of picking one for you."

Bending down with a soft groan, you pulled a small bouquet from one of the pots, gently shaking the water off the stems.

"I had a hunch you'd like these." You said softly, handing her the flowers.

It was a small bundle of daisies, baby's breath and few buttercups. Alice smiled as she enthusiastically took them off your hands, her gaze drifting to the pure blooms before looking back up at you.

"Oh, deary. These are perfect! How did you know?"

"Well," you began, wiping your hands on your thighs," I know that yellow is your favorite color, and you once told me how baby's breath reminds you of stars. Which, in turn, reminds you of the first night you spent with Bill. I listen, you know." You smiled softly, watching as a few tears welled up in her pale green eyes with a wide smile stretching across her face.

"You truly are an angel." She said gently, pressing a loving kiss to your cheek.

Before you could respond, Bill walked up to the two of you, loosely resting his arm around her waist.

"Ah, lassie. Good to see you. Quite the harvest you got this year." He said, gaze flitting over the many veggies you had brought today.

"Jesus! Look at the size of those beets." He marveled, abandoning his place beside his wife in favor of gawking at the red root.

"I'm telling you, lassie, these beets could rival even Arnold Schwarzenegger." He said with a serious look, making you huff out a laugh.

"Oh, Stop spewing your nonsense, Bill!" Alice scolded with furrowed brows.

"I don't know what that means, but I'll take your word for it." You chuckled.

Bill continued to inspect the beetroot, testing the size of it in his hand.

"Christ, what're you doing to them to get them this size?"

"Love, Bill. It's all love." You chirped over your shoulder, moving a small box of strawberries out of the way.

"You should know. That's how you got this, eh?" Alice snickered, patting her husband's gut. He grumbled, putting the beet back into its place before placing a kiss to her temple, albeit a little begrudgingly.

"S'all in good spirits, Bill. You know we love you exactly as you are." You smiled sweetly, although your teasing undertone wasn't missed by the dairy farmer.

"Yeah, yeah." He waved you off with a chuckle before taking his rightful place behind his stand, watching as the first few visitors filled the old cobblestone Plaza.

Alice jokingly rolled her eyes at him.

"Right. I better go before Bill's mood sours the milk." She muttered with a grin, coaxing a laugh from your chest.

"I'll see you around, then. I hope you enjoy the flowers." You smiled, giving her shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"I always do, deary. If you need me to watch your stall if you want to go strolling around, just give me a shout." Alice said kindly, turning on her heel to join Bill at their stand.

You gave her a nod and a polite wave before nudging some of the crates around, trying to occupy yourself with something. You were mentally preparing a list of the stalls you'd have to visit as the market was your preferred place of getting your weekly shopping done.

There was one of your younger friends, Evie, who was a passionate beekeeper, selling all kinds of goods made with the resources her little buzzing friends had produced. Her honey was one of the best ones you'd ever tasted, and the beeswax candles she poured herself never failed to warm up a cold evening.

You'd given her some dried flowers that you had leftover from experimenting with making your own tea, and she said she'd try to integrate them into her candles. Just the thought of the smooth and sweet beeswax combined with the soothing smell of your homegrown lavender made you sigh dreamily.

Then you'd have to stop by Cassandra, the butcher, and David the baker. A lovely pair of siblings that had taken over their late parents buisness together. David made a mean sourdough, which perfectly soaked up the flavor of the beef stew you'd made last winter with Cassandra's best cuts and root vegetables grown on your farm.

And lastly, a long pit stop would be made at Pam's egg stand. A real blabber-mouth that one. She was the gossip mill of the town, always knowing everything and everyone, sticking her nose wherever she could. But, she loved her chickens dearly and her hens' eggs are of the highest quality.

You've never seen a yolk that rich in color and taste. Truthfully, knowing where your food came from and knowing the people behind it all made it that much more delicious.

You'd also take a peek at the craft section of the market. There were all sorts of wonderful things to be found on those cluttered counters; handcrafted jewelery, ceramics and pottery, wind chimes, and glass art. You were grateful to live in such a colorful and fruitful community and one that supported each other with everything they could.

With your daily plan firmly set in stone in your mind, you waited behind your little stall until someone would come by and hopefully empty your crates, filling your pockets in turn.

You sat perched up on an extra crate you'd brought so you wouldn't have to stand all day and feel your legs all the way in your stomach.

It was a lovely atmosphere, the sunny early spring weather accompanied by the sweet melodies of jolly birds singing and the excited chatter of the market's visitors filling the space nicely.

Your stock was about half empty now, although your flowers looked more sparse than your produce.

It seemed that the colorful plants were dearly missed throughout the winter, and that everyone wanted nothing more than a fresh and bright bouquet in their home to ring in the start of a new season.

Some of your friends and regular customers had already stopped by, taking their fill of your veggies and couple of fruits until the next week. At this rate, you'd have to up your harvest by fixing up one of the old dry fields that you'd left untouched until now. You groaned quietly at the thought, remembering how much trouble the first fields were.

Sitting in the dirt with aching knees and a sore back, hacking away at the dry hard soil to plant some potatoes. It took honest sweat and tears to get your soil to what it was now, and as much as you didn't look forward to going through all that hassle again, it'd be worth it in the end.

You lazily swung your foot, which was in the air from your legs being crossed, and looked around whether anyone seemed like they were in desperate need of vegetables or flowers.

After a quick flitting gaze over the part of the market place that was in your sight, you decided that if no one came running towards you, begging for some cauliflower, you were free to leave the stall under Alice's watchful eye for a while to get your own shopping done.

"S'cuse me, Alice? Do you mind keeping an eye on my stand? I still need to get some shopping done." You called to her, making her head snap towards you with a smile.

"Oh, yes, of course, deary! You go ahead and get your supper together, I'll make sure no one steals your potatoes." She said jokingly, the sincerity of keeping watch as honest as ever.

You rolled your eyes with a grin and quick shake of your head before grabbing your beloved shopping bag and heading out into the bustle of the market.

You could see Alice walking over to your stall in your peripheral, making a small smile tug at your lips, your eyes back in front of you to not bump into anyone.

Your first stop was at Evie's stall, following the sweet scent if lavender and beeswax. As much as you wanted your own stall to be the prettiest, Evie had you beat. Despite the quite neutral color scheme, at least compared to your obnoxious paints, you couldn't beat her decorations.

There were little bees hanging from the awning, gently swaying in the wind. Some flowers were scattered around as well, with vibrant green vines, contrasting the soft golden hue of the little buzzy friends.

You walked up to her with a smile, and the one she sends you back once she's spotted you could make the sun turn green with envy.

"Well, well, well, If it isn't my favorite florist! I was hoping you'd stop by today- Oh, I need to tell you something exciting about my new batch of honey and- OH my new candles!" She squealed, almost bouncing up and down from excitment.

You chuckled at her over the top, yet very common for her, reaction.

"Alright, slow down, Ev. One thing at a time, can't have you eating your words again."

The bubbly girl stopped and huffed with a small pout.

"That was one time! Okay, maybe two at best! I can't help it, we don't see eachother often and I just have so much to tell you, about my little bees, and I just keep talking and lose track of what I actually wanted to say and then that makes me all upset and-"

You cut her off with a firm hand on her shoulder.

"Evie, breathe." You reminded her.

You hated to stop her rambling, it was so nice to see how passionate she was, but her face was getting redder and you didn't need her collapsing from talking too much all at once.

She sucked in a deep breath and exhaled before taking a second.

"Oops." She chuckled with a bashful grin on her lips.

You arched a brow at her, continuing only when you got a faint nod of her head.

"So, your honey? What's so exciting about this batch?" You asked, your head tilting to the side in interest.

You could see a wide grin settle on her cheeks as she hurriedly grabbed a glass and shoved it into your hands.

"I got new glasses, aren't they so cute?! And my bees took a liking to the flower starters you gave me. They're blooming wonderfully. So, technically, this honey was born of joined efforts!" Evie declared triumphantly, watching the way your brows rose and your lips parted from surprise.

"Are... are you serious?" You huffed out in disbelief, followed by a smile.

"They took to the soil, did they? I'm so glad your bees like them." You said excitedly, almost bursting at the seams, matching Evie's usual energy.

"Yes! And let me tell you, that honey is heavenly. I don't know what flowers they are but they're so sweet and fragrant!" She squealed, slightly rocking on her heels.

"They're just a native wildflower assortment, I'm surprised they didn't turn out to be just weeds." You snickered, turning the glass of honey around in your hands.

Evie whisked around, gathering a pair of honey filled glass jars and placing them in a small linen satchel.

"On the house. Or.. stall." She smiled brightly, handing it your way.

"Oh, I couldn't." You chuckled nervously, waving her off.

She gave you a pout and a furrow in her brows that had a feeling of guilt twist in your stomach.

"No is not an answer! Your flowers plus my bees make our honey. Come on, just take it!" she urged, giving you no chance to refuse again as the satchel containing jars of liquid gold was shoved into your hands.

"Alright, alright! But don't even think of sharing your profit with me." You gave her a stern look, pointing a finger at her while your other hand tightly grasped at the straps of the satchel.

Evie put her hands up in surrender and grinned at you. She knew you couldn't say no to her, and the little sly fox she was used it to her advantage.

"Don't forget your weekly candle, though! Can't have you wilting like cabbage in the summer, eh?" She joked, wiggling her brows at you as she slid a candle your way.

Evie poured all her candles in old glass jars; whether they were from jam, broth, or pickles, every glass was unique, and that's what made her products so appealing to many people.

"Here we go again with the veggie jokes.." you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose.

"You love 'em." She smirked.

"Yeah, I do, that's the problem!" You laughed, bringing the golden hued candle up to your nose.

You inhaled the scent, sighing contently as the aromas of lavender, beeswax, and honey filled your senses.

"This type of lavender is really strong when dried... good to know." You grinned, carefully setting the jar atop the ones in your newly acquired linen satchel.

"You have to let me know how they are when lit. I haven't had a chance to test them yet." She smiled sweetly, drumming her fingers on the wood of her stall, a common habit of hers.

"Will do." You saluted to her jokingly, turning on your heel before you were stopped by her.

"Oh, oh, oh I heard there's a new stall today." She called melodically, leaning on the counter of her stand with a grin.

Your brows furrowed as you stepped in again, curious to what she knew.

"And I heard the owner is an absolute hunk of a man." Evie added with a smirk.

A smile threatened to spread on your lips, but there was only a slight twitch at the corner of your mouth.

"Define hunk." You deadpanned.

She rolled her eyes at you.

"I don't know, I haven't seen the man yet! But you better hurry before Pam gets her claws in him."

"Oh, please. First of all, I'm not just going to throw myself at a man just because you or other people say he's a hunk and second of all, we all know that no matter how hard Pam tries to hide it, she's head over heels for Cass." You replied, earning a slight scoff and a creased brows from the beekeeper.

"You have no proof of that. Tell me one reason why Pam should be in love with Cass." She demanded.

You blinked at her blankly.

"She let's Cass butcher her precious chickens."

Her mouth opened to say something but her jaw snapped shut before any words let her and she grumbled under her breath.

"Okay. Fair enough. But-"

"The fleeting touches, the heart eyes, the overly sweet smile- do I need to go on?"

"Yeah, yeah, I get your point." Evie huffed, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

"Enough about those two lovebirds- I have candles to sell and you have a a man to check out." She smirked, observing as your glared her way.

"Fineeeeeeee, you have to new stall to check out." She groaned, rolling her eyes when a content smile settled on your face.

"That's better. Don't worry, I'll tell you of this so called hunk if we cross paths." You replied with a small smirk.

"Great. Now, off you go!" She smiled, waving her hands to shoo you off.

"See you, Ev." You laughed, turning away to continue down the main path of the market.

A new stall? A mystery man? Your day just got that much more interesting.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

"So," Pam began with a grin, carefully packaging your dozen eggs, "you seein' anyone, dollface?"

"Pam, we've been over this. You ask me every week and the answer is still no." You replied blankly, the heavy weight of your now filled shopping bag pulling at the muscles in your shoulder and neck.

"I know, I know. But why? You're a real catch, dollface! You got the face, you got the body, ya got the fire! How men aren't flockin' to ya like moths to a flame, I don't know." She shook her head with a sigh.

"You know, I heard," Pam gently slid your carton of eggs to the side and leaned over the counter, cupping her mouth as if to tell you a secret.

"Let me guess," you stopped her with a gesture of your hand, "a new stall and a mystery man that I, specifically, should go check out?" An amused smile creeped onto your lips at Pam's baffled expression.

"Now, how did you-"

"Evie." You replied with a smirk.

"Oh, that little tattletale!" She cursed, a crease forming between her brows.

"I'm going to the craft sector of the market anyway, you don't need to haul my ass there." You chuckled, watching as the crease smoothed out and a smile formed on her plump cheeks.

"This could really be something, you know? You're as sweet as pie, I doubt he could resist you! Ya need someone in your life, dollface. And what's better than a big strong man with a knack for art, hm?" Pam said softly.

You sighed and chewed on the inside of your cheek.

"I suppose it's hard to argue with that.." you mumbled, rolling your eyes when Pam's smile widened.

"I'll go check it out, that much is clear, but don't think I'll run back next week telling you that I'm getting married."

"Oh, I wouldn't dream of it, dollface." She mused, watching in delight as a small scowl came to sit on your lips.

"I'll see you next week, Pam." You grumbled, stomping off.

"Bye-Bye!" She chirped after you with an enthusiastic wave, making you shake your head with a small smile.

.·:*¨༺ ༻¨*:·.

The chatter and laughter of the market's bustling crowd filled the space as you slithered your away around people and children, careful not to wack anyone with your bag, which would also result in a to-go omelet in your satchel.

The soft jingle of wind chimes signaled to you that you'd reached your destination. This was by far your favorite part of the market, seeing all the carefully handcrafted pieces fascinated you. As nice as this place was for your soul, it was equally as bad for your wallet.

You'd leave with something new every week; whether that was a new wind chime, of which you'd started a small collection on your porch, or a pair of sparkly earrings.

You'd caught site of the new stall from the corner of your eye but decided to talk to your local crafters first, like you did every week, before investigating the mystery that had entranced your friends.

The stall looked... intimidating.

Not necessarily out of place with its dark polished wood, but it was bigger than most other stands, looming over them menacingly. You approached it carefully, eyes flitting over your surroundings when the owner was nowhere in sight.

You lowered your gaze to the goods that were haphazardly placed upon the mahogany counters.

Little figurines and sculptures smithed from... horseshoes?

A smile tugged at your lips. They weren't perfectly straight or neat, some were crooked and a little lumpy, which made them seem quite endearing to you.

One of your hands reached out to a little frog, but before your fingers could graze the metal, a giant man popped up from behind the stall and you stumbled back with a yelp, slapping a hand over your mouth.

Your reaction startled the man, pulling a deep rumbling gasp from his chest as one of his big hands came to clasp right over his heart.

"Christ, you scared me." He huffed softly, meeting your eye.

You scoffed slightly.

"Me?? You scared me! You can't just pop up out of nowhere, you 6'0 wall of a man!" You defended before you inhaled a sharp breath and finally took him in.

His tall and very muscular stature, the short brown hair, the cerulean eyes that pierced your soul and that exquisitely groomed beard that looked so soft, you were itching to feel it beneath your fingertips.

Holy shit. He was a hunk.

You weren't aware that you were gawking at him with wide eyes and parted lips.

"Are you... alright?" He asked cautiously, shifting on his feet, visibly uncomfortable that you were staring.

"Huh?" You snapped back to reality with a quick shake of your head.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine. I was just..." You cleared your throat before putting on a smile.

"You're just a new face, that's all." You chuckled awkwardly, drumming the length of your finger on the wooden counter.

He hummed and bopped his head, successfully trapping both of you in an unpleasant silence.

"So... did you just move here?" You asked, trying to break the ice, or more the glacier, that stood between you.

"Ah, no. I've been livin' here for a while, actually. I'm the local Farrier, John." He held out his hand for you to take with a kind smile and you were caught off guard by how smooth and soft his voice was and his gentle demeanor.

You introduced yourself with your name and as a small farmer that mostly worked with plants.

"Nice to meet you, John. I, uh, really like your little metal friends." You said softly, loosely gesturing to the forged sculptures in front of you.

John chuckled and rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile on his face.

"Thank you. Be shame to let all that good iron go to waste, eh?"

"Hm, so Farrier by day and artist by night?" You teased, your arms crossing in front of your chest.

An amused grin settled on John's face, his hands fiding the pockets of his jeans. The green flannel he wore was rolled up to his elbows, showing off the muscles on his forearms that were covered in a layer of hair.

"Wouldn't exactly call myself an artist, love." He chuckled deeply, sending a shiver down your spine.

You didn't admit to yourself how that nickname set your heart ablaze. You cocked a brow at him.

"This frog," you picked up the metal frag that had caught your eye with a small grunt, "says otherwise. You've got some real talent, John." You smiled brightly, earning a smile and soft huff from the Farrier.

"Speaking of this little friend, how much do you want for it?"

John's expression morphed into a surprised one, his thick brows shooting up. He was caught off guard by your question and cleared his throat after a while.

"You can have 'im for ten pounds." He finally declared, albeit a little awkwardly.

"10 pounds? That's it?" Now you were the surprised one, although a small smile creeped onto your face shortly after at his inexperience with pricing goods.

"We've got to work on your pricing, John. You can get at least 20 to 25 pounds for this." You said before placing the metal sculpture back onto the counter after your arms were protesting against its weight.

John smiled sheepishly.

"S'my first time sellin' things, go easy on me, yeah?" He chuckled, his hands moving from his pockets to the counter, leaning forward slightly.

You grinned before reaching into your pocket and pulling out a few banknotes, holding them out for him to take.

"Here's 20. Although, if you play your cards right, you might get discovered and can add a whole lot more zeros to that." You smirked.

He laughed but didn't make a move to take the money, brushing you off with a gentle shake of his hand.

"Here, take it." You urged him with a smile, extending your arm further into his direction.

"S'quite alright. Consider it a gift." He smiled kindly, an honest smile, and your knees were about to give out just from that.

"No, no, absolutely not. If I went around handing out my potatoes and tulips for free, I'd be bankrupt. I'm buying this frog, so take the money." You said a little more firmly than you meant to, but giving him a stern look nonetheless.

An amused smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth as he put his hands up in surrender and finally took the money from your hand before swiftly pulling a brown leather wallet from his pocket and storing the banknotes.

"Are you always this insistent on paying?" John asked with a teasing undertone.

"Only with the people I like." You quipped back.

A hint of something flashed in his cerulean eyes before they returned back to their casual softness, reminding you of the calm ripples of the ocean.

"Well, I should get back to my stall." You smiled sweetly, adjusting your heavy shopping bag on your shoulder before reaching out to take your newly acquired garden decoration from the counter.

John's eyes flitted to your shoulder, seeing it slightly dragged down due to the amount of shopping you did today filling your bag. He'd noticed at first glance how you leaned slightly crooked, how you'd try to discreetly adjust your bag, or when you'd stretch your neck to release some of the tension in your trapezius.

Just as your fingertips grazed the metal, John's hand shot froward, holding a firm grip on the piece.

"Please, let me." He said gently, his hand slightly touching yours.

"Oh, it's fine, really-"

"I insist, love." He spoke with a gentle firmness.

Your lips were slightly parted as you stared at him, your hands still brushing against eachother before you caved from his kind

gesture and pulled your hand away with a coy smile.

"That's very kind of you." You smiled with a tingly feeling on your cheeks.

"My pleasure." John replied softly, his voice was slowly melting through your ribcage, ambitiously trying to reach your heart.

In the blink of an eye he rounded his stand and picked up the metal frog like it weighed absolutely nothing. Your eyes widened at his casual display of strength.

"Oh wow, you're really strong." You marveled, trying to keep your eyes away from the flexing muscles in his arms.

John smirked and let out a small, amused huff.

"Yeah, well, unfortunately, metal doesn't bend from sweet talking alone."

I would

The thought popped into your head faster than you'd like to admit, and the shiver at the base of your skull didn't go away, cementing even more how nice his voice was. Rough and hoarse in all the right places, a pleasant rumble that carried through the air straight into every crevice of your brain.

John expertly weaved through the crowd, occasionally looking over his shoulder so he wouldn't lose you in the mass, while making sure he didn't accidentally take out someone's kneecap with the metal statue.

The crowd thinned out the closer you got to your stall as the people migrated to the booths and stands of artisans to finish off their weekly shopping with a handcrafted piece to bring home.

John slowed his walk, making sure you could keep up. He was itching to take the heavy bag off your hands, but he didn't want to seem pushy or too forward.

So he clenched his fists to resist the twitching urge in his hands. You two managed to make pleasant conversation as you led him to your stall, trying to discreetly shoot Pam a sharp glare as you passed her stand and she couldn't help herself but wink at you with a grin that resembled the one of the cheshire cat.

"How come I've never seen you around if you've been living here for a while?" You asked curiously, clutching the straps of your bag that were uncomfortable cutting into your skin.

John let out a soft hum with a absent look in his eyes as his gaze continued to flick back to that damn bag on your shoulder.

"I mostly take clients out of town. Or they come to me, and in both cases I don't pass through here on the daily. There's usually a market on the way so I haven't been inclined to stop by this one." He explained with a polite smile.

"That makes sense, I suppose." You mumbled, slowing your pace to an eventual stop to signal your arrival at your stall.

Alice and Bill were long gone, rightfully so as time had passed faster than you thought and the sun was starting its descend past the horizon.

There was, however, a sweet note from Alice, letting you know that they'd left and where she'd hid your moneybox.

"This is my stall." You said awkwardly, suddenly feeling insecure about the colorful paints around someone has serious as John.

He hummed in response, looking over your, quite marvelous, paint job with approval. He had one hand in his pocket while the other was still tightly grasping the metal frog.

"It's lovely. You did this yourself?" He asked with a quirked brow, running a hand over the painted wood.

"Uh, yeah, I did. Thank you." You laughed nervously, surprised by his answer.

There was a beat of awkwardly silence before you spoke and scrambled to pack up for the day.

"Well, I should really get these remaining things back home..." You trailed off, starting to stack wooden crates, but still refusing to put down that forsaken shopping bag of yours.

"I could help you, if you want." He proposed, clearing his throat. Your eyes widened

"Oh, you really don't have to do that, John-"

"It's nothing. At least let me hold your bag." He said softly, holding out his hand.

You thought for a moment before the burning pain in your shoulder made the decision for you. You slipped it off your shoulder and sighed in relief at the heavy weight that was lifted off of you.

He took the bag and slung it over his shoulder like it carried nothing but a feather.

"Thank you." You smiled softly, gratitude shining in your eyes.

"Not a problem, love." He replied with a smile.

Little did you know, he had purposefully chosen the shoulder that was farthest from you, an attempt at hiding the bag, as he had every intention of walking you to your car.

"Alright, that should be everything." You huffed, having been able to fit all of today's leftovers into one crate.

Something that made it significantly easier for you to carry.

"Shall we go, then?" John asked lightly, making your brows furrow with a small chuckle.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, I figured I'd walk you to your car." He smiled.

That stupidly adorable smile of his. How could you ever decline such a nice gesture, especially with all your muscles hurting.

Besides, it was getting dark, and despite this being a safe and close community you weren't too keen to stay out at night. You huffed but broke into a smile.

"I suppose you won't take a no?" You asked with a slightly teasing smile. John chuckled.

"I would. If you don't want help, that's alright with me." His answer surprised you and managed to knock words out of your brain for a minute. He slightly raised a brow, waiting for an answer, but there was a glint of patience in his eyes.

"O-Oh, well..." you chuckled, eyes flitting to the ground briefly before you cleared your throat and met his gaze again.

"That.. that would actually be very helpful. I don't think I could carry all of this in one trip anyway. Thank you." You breathed out with a kind smile.

Maybe your alarms should go off, a strange men you've just met isn't someone you'd want to lead to your car, but there was something so curious and trustworthy about him that made you feel at ease when you were around him.

Well, there are people you just click with. Maybe you'd gained another friend as well. John gave you a kind nod, making you start the trek to your car.

It was tiny, a little dirty, but she was a well-oiled thing that ran without complaints. All thanks to Bill's obsession with oiling things don't really need any oiling at all.

It was a quiet walk, though a pleasant and comfortable air orrounded the both of you.

The sky was turning a light purple, bleeding into a deep blue. You've never spent this much time at the market, but today was full of new things for you it seemed.

You heaved the crate into the boot of your car before turning to John and spotting him waiting patiently with your bag slung over his shoulder and your newly purchased garden decoration in hand.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to make you my pack mule." You said apologetically, although a smile was never far with him around.

"No, I offered." He replied kindly, waving off your worries before handing you your things.

"You said you were a Farrier, right?" You asked through a groan, using all your strength to close your boot.

Bill had insisted on some new springs that now made your life that more difficult.

"I am." He nodded, keeping enough space between the two of you so it wouldn't feel weird.

There was something so calm about you that intrigued him. Smiles seemed to follow you wherever you went, and a cloud of faint sweet flowers hit his nose whenever he'd come a little closer.

"Do you think you could come over for Pudding?" You asked, like it was the most normal thing in the world. His brows shot up and he laughed nervously, eyes flitting to the ground. "That's a little early, don't you think?" He asked with a lopsided smile. Your eyes widened and your cheeks blushed.

"No, no, what I mean- what I meant was- my horse. I have a horse. Her name is Pudding." You scrambled to explain the situation.

You didn't think about the wording and how it seemed suggestive to other people.

John chuckled and shook his head.

"A horse named Pudding, eh?" He questioned with a smirk, crossing his arms over his broad chest.

"Yes. Yes, Pudding. I... didn't think about how that would sound." You cleared your throat with an apologetic smile.

John smiled, his eyes crinkling.

"It's alright, love, don't worry. I'll have to check when I can fit you in my schedule, but it'll be no problem."

"Oh, of course. There's really no rush." You replied politely, a smile gracing your face once again.

"Here, let me just-" You quickly pulled a small and well-loved notepad from your pocket and scribbled down your number.

Your handwriting was rushed and messy, but you hoped John would be able to make it out and call you eventually. Shoving the piece of paper into his hand, you stashed your pen and notepad back in your pocket.

Although John was a little surprised at your enthusiasm, it wasn't unwelcome. God, how long has it been since someone was this excited about him? There was a faint spark of adoration shining in his eyes, a spark that had been snuffed out for far too long.

One that you, the kind yet sassy farmer, had ignited once again. He stored the note in the breast pocket of his flannel, giving it a pat to assure you that he'd keep it safe.

"I'll give ya a ring then." He chuckled, his hands finding the familiar spot in his pockets.

"Yeah, okay." You sighed, the beaming smile almost glued to your face.

"It was lovely meeting you, John. I'll see more of you around? It's good to have connections." You joked, earning a pleasant huff from him.

"Don't know how good of a.. connection, a Farrier is, but I'll be around."

You gave him a satisfied nod.

"Well, good night, John." You said softly, sleep aching deep in bones.

"Night, love." With a smile he turned on his heel.

He was fighting everything within him to not turn around and get one last look at you. With a clenched jaw and a sharp huff through his nose, he kept on walking. You were halfway in your car, but before you could sit down, you jolted up again, calling after him.

"John!"

He whipped around faster than he'd like to admit. He wouldn't be surprised if he had pulled a muscle in the process.

"Everything alright?" He shouted, watching as you turned your torso, steadying yourself on the door of your car.

"You're not allergic to cats, are you?" You asked loudly, slightly wincing at how far your voice carried over the empty car park.

"Not that I know of. Why?" A smirk was tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"No reason. Night!" You called out one last time, a wide and cheeky grin sitting on your face was you waved him goodbye and finally got into your car.

John shook his head with a grin as he walked back. He snuck a peak of your car, watching as the bright lights got duller the further you drove into the night.

If he'd known such pleasant company was hiding at the market, he'd have gone months ago. Your note was a reassuring weight in his pocket, and he'd made it his goal to show up every week from now on.

Of course, it was to sell his figurines as a side hustle and definitely not because he was completely enarmoured with the sweet farmer that ignited a spark in his chest he hadn't felt in years.

─── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ────── ⋅ ∙ ∘ ☽ ༓ ☾ ∘ ⋅ ⋅ ───

Please support me and my work with likes, reblogs and comments!! I really enjoy reading what you guys think of my little writings 💕

I'm hoping this ups my motivation for writing in general and for this story in particular because there's so much to come!

~Fi ✨️🧚🏻‍♀️

More of my stuff -> 💫

Some cuties that I think would like this <3 @vampkennedy @bravo4iscool @allysunny @lizzy019 @morbidflowercollector @callsign-selkie

[aninipanin1]

If requests are still open, can you write some scenarios or headcanons of Miss Manger Sr. interacting with the World 5? Maybe like what Miss Manager did to get them to notice her or just a cute shoujo moment btwn them. Thank you!

IN A SHOUJO MANGA

Notes: I already answered an ask about how the World 5 met manager reader! So for this I will be doing the shoujo monents because its sounds so cute. Hope you enjoy anoon! :D

LEONARDO LUNA - Tying your shoelace for you.

"Phew, I feel like I ran a whole marathon."

You let out a heave, as you walked the halls, in your arms a not-so heavy box filled with paperwork. You had been going back and forth from your office to Anri's, returning and getting every paperwork inside her office to finish and return. Your once presentable hairstyle now loosened, some strands falling to your face and tracksuit a little damp and crumpled from your sweat now. Overall, you looked like a mess, a tired mess.

"Ms. Y/n! Fancy seeing you here."

You hear a familliar voice call to you. Turning around, you found a familliar mop of blonde hair partnered with green eyes and a tall build. A polite and friendly smile crawled up your face, greeting the Spanish player.

"Good morning, Luna-san!"

"Where are you going?"

"Oh, just going to my office to start the paperworks in here."

You said, looking down at the box in your hands. The blonde player nodded his head, before raising an eyebrow at the untied laces of your shoes.

"Your laces are untied."

"Oh, I didnt notice it unraveled. Thank you, Luna-san."

You looked down at the dangling laces of your shoes, realising that in the midst of your stressed countenance, you did not even notice that it got untied. Just as you were about to put down the box in your hand and bend down to fix it, Luna stopped you.

"Let me, Ms. Y/n."

He dropped to the ground, using his left knee as support as he tightened the lace before making a double bow to make sure it did not undo again. He made sure that both your shoes were secure, before standing up and giving you the most charming smile he can pull.

A smile used to win thousands of hearts in hopes of winning one heart.

Truthfully, he had been waiting for just the right moment to show you his interest. However, when the moment does come, he would get interrupted (mostly by the others). But finally, his moment arrived now.

He was definitely satisfied with his actions and the fact that he did not get interrupted.

"O-oh...thank you..."

You were so flustered. And why would you not? You read shoujo mangas before or even watched movies and animes about them. Maybe it was just because you do feel lonely at times and that wss your only taste of romance.

But by God, you wished someone would have told you that you would experience these types of things once in your life.

'Ughh, why did he have to be so handsome and slick? Luna-san, I hate you...'

ADAM BLAKE - Kabedon.

"Hmm..."

You carelessly sung a tune, folding clean towels before hanging them on each locker in front of you. It was your weekly locker cleaning, and this time, you had your work cut out for you seeing as you skipped last week and now it was covered in dust.

"That was fast...I wonder if its because of the ventilation next to it."

But your thoughts never wandered farther as you hear a someone shut the locker beside you shut. Looking up, you found an arm extended on the locker beside your head, an action that rendered you shocked.

'Wha-'

"Well, well, if it isn't the pretty miss manager. Can I help you with anything?"

A deep voice rumbled in his chest and sent shockwaves down your spine came from behind you, to which you slowly turned around to find the familliar English player.

Raising his other arm, he made sure that you had no means of escaping until he let you. Standing there, albeit awkwardly against the locker door, you had no choice but to stay there and avoid his gaze to stop the loud beating of your heart.

'Oh my god... when will my poor heart have a break today?! First Luna-san, now this?!'

"May...ahem...may I help you, Blake-san?"

At the question, his smirk widened, and the space between you both lessened.

In his point of view, the closeness made him see the details of your face that he had never seen before. From how your lashes fanned on your skin, to even how your forehead was wrinkled due to the nervous face you were pulling.

God, you were even more adorable like this.

As much as he loved how poised and professional you were in work, seeing the different emotions your face pulled made him excited and pumped to see more of what you hid beneath the mask of ethics.

"Yep, I think you can, Miss Y/n."

"Ehm...really?"

"Yes! I believe that this specific locker is mine, and well, I don't think you appreciate it that I'm half naked, am I right?"

He winked, tone intentionally too saccharine that it sounded like he was teasing more than stating something. And that worked seeing as you blew a fuse, face heating up so bad that he swore he could see smoke coming from your head.

'Oh my god, oh my god, OH MY GOD!! THIS IS EMBARASSING!'

Looking up a bit, you noticed that he only had blue sweatpants on, showing off his muscular figure, his arms flexing unintentionally as he used it as support while holding the position you two were in. A sight that only made you even more embarrassed.

'AHHH I have to get out of here...'

"I-I'm SO SORRY! Um you can get dressed and uh - BYE!"

Ducking under his arm, you ran off the locker room. Cleaning materials abandoned inside the room at the foot of the door and heart pumping so loud in a mix of mortification and anxiety.

Inside the room, you left behind a stunned Adam Blake who could only chuckle at the stunt you pulled. Running his hand through his hair while picking up a shirt from the lockers, he shook his jead at the memory of your face.

'She's too cute for my own sake.'

PABLO CAVASSOS - Pinching your cheeks.

Call it a rather...childish habit, but Cavassos likes pinching something he finds really adorable. From plushies of famed characters to his own pets, and heck even his own cheeks sometimes, he really likes feeling the softest things under his fingertips.

It was a habit he picked up from his mother, seeing as she would always give the most painful yet loving cheek pinches towards him when he was still a kid and he regrettably got that from her since.

Though he never thought that a day would come that holding back this habit would be such a huge struggle.

He managed to successfully ask you to eat lunch with him, something that was slowly morphing into a ritual between you both. Pablo was someone you liked talking to, especially due to you both sharing the same likes and dislikes.

It was probably only him that had a much deeper agenda to these lunches though.

You were happily eating away your food, cheeks inflating with the food. You were clearly famished from having to run around the facility.

Beside you, he can only watch with a small hint of a smile on his face as he watched you eat like a hamster. The happy look in your eyes were just too infectious.

Swallowing the food, you tilted your head when you noticed Pablo staring at you, albeit too intensely. His food was forgotten on his plate.

"Cavassos-san?"

"Yeah?"

"Um is there something on my face?"

Instead of anxiety of being caught, a chuckle just escaped his lips as he extended his hand out to the side of your lips, showing a stray grain of rice.

"Now it's gone."

"O-oh...right...thanks."

Speechless, that was what you were.

Trying to calm your heart, you flicked your head back to your food and stuffed another spoonful of it in a rush to put your head in the food rather than whatever it was he was pulling on you.

Before you can put the spoonful inside your mouth, though, you suddenly feel a pair of hands reach out to your cheeks before squeezing it.

Pablo's touch was gentle, yet there was a small hint of aggression on it that made you blink your eyes in realization at what he was doing.

"Wha-"

"You're the only person that I can say is miles cuter than me, Y/n."

He sighed, albeit too dreamily, a tone you had never heard from him before. There was no hint of some sort of defeat, but instead, he said the words like they were a fact written in the book of truth.

There was just a small line on his face, one not showing any hint of emotions, something you are a little upset about. It was so unfair that you were right here, face heating up while his face was the same as it always was.

The proximity between you two lessened, the distance not that of two close friends but something more. Something that cannot be described by just words alone.

A small, almost unnoticeable pout landed on your lips as you avoided his gaze. The gesture only makes him more amused than ever, as if he was not so intimately close to you.

'These guys...they're too comfortable. Don't they know that I am still a lady who needs her space in order to feel normal!'

DADA SILVA - Comforting you crying.

This is the first time you ever heard of this before, much to your surprise as you stood in front of the Brazilian player, hands holding up your laptop.

"You also love movies, Silva-san?!"

"Yeah... things get kind of boring, especially in long flights, so I always end up watching something in the plane."

You beamed happily at that, moving your chair to give him more space to sit beside you. The foreign romance movie is still playing on the laptop screen as you both silently paid attention to what the characters were saying.

It was one of the most popular movies worldwide currently, and your friends told you that it was for good reasons. They even gave you a heads up to bring a box of tissue in case.

Naturally, you raised an eyebrow to that. Now, you were not completely emotionless. You cried your eyes out in a few movies before, but that does not mean it was a common situation. Especially when you are not watching alone, like right now.

Surely, this movie is not that bad, right?

"Wait- no! Don't leave him!" You let out, sniffling against your hand as the story hit its conclusion, eyes red and teary as you watch the two main characters, once lovers, now separate.

Turns out, it was that bad. As in really bad, that 15 minutes before the credits rolled, you were already crying and wiping your eyes with the sleeve of your sweatshirt.

You tried, you really did, but the script and the acting were just too good, and the dam burst. You looked like your pet just died, sniffles coming out in response.

Beside you, Dada just sighed, a small smile on his face finding your crying face amusing and adorable. He'd admit, the story was indeed angsty. Kind of melodramatic, but it definitely works with the overarching theme and story.

But, he did not really expect you, calm and composed you to start bawling your eyes out the moment the main female character received an important letter that was the catalyst of her and the male love interest to separate.

"Y/n, you'll scratch your face with that. Here."

He offered a clean tissue, helping you wipe your tears away, gently flicking away your arm that used the thick fabric of the sweatshirt to wipe away your tears and snot.

"O-oh...thank you...s-sorry. It's just... so sad they have to...leave each other."

"Yeah, it is."

The credits rolled, and you were just there, sitting and contemplating what you just watched. Though you were really thankful and embarrassed that Dada had to see you like that, as well as even wiping away your face for you!

His large hand was on your back, rubbing it up and down as some sort of comfort as he pushed some of your hair from your face.

Yeah, he is definitely thanking that movie for having you like this. All mushy and open to him comforting you like this, and he is not complaining at all even if the hem of his long sleeves were a little wet from your tears.

It was worth it to comfort your sweet soul and be a little closer to you.

BONUS:

EGO JINPACHI - "Overthinking" boss.

"It's not like that, Ego-san..."

Your eyebrows knit together as you defended your case against the ravenette director of the project, who did not even face you. His body and chair face the dozens of monitors, instead of looking at you.

"You may think it is. But how do you think other people will think of it? This is a project for us to win the World Cup, not a dating show."

Ouch. That hurt, the way his tone sounded almost made it sound like you were abandoning your duties in favour of seducing men.

Which was farther from the truth, seeing as you were one of the pillars of the project and without you, most of the arrangements would not be physically possible.

"I'm just being friendly with them so they won't rat us out to the JFU if we even treat them a little bad. And um, its really more of a professional friendship than anything."

"Yet, the way they interact with you looks different. Do you think that the shit they pulls is something they do to their friends, especially friends who are the opposite gender?"

You flinched at that. Even if they do act supposedly like the way Ego is describing them to be, it was not like it was your fault they are acting that way.

Yet, his harsh and cold tone made it seem that way.

Heaving a broken sigh, the fatigue of work, as well as the stress the JFU put on your shoulders and now even Ego's words add on your shoulders, forcing you to just bow your head and hold back your tears.

"I...I understand. Sorry, Ego-san. I...I have to go do my work."

You walked out of his office, skillfully hiding the fact you were crying. It felt so unfair to you, about hoq you were being blamed for just wanting to be in good terms with people you meet in work.

To be someone unlike him, so crude and rude.

Meanwhile, inside the office, Anri just glared at the man who did not even seem guilty with what he said.

"Why did you say it like that, Ego-san? It is not even her fault. It's so unfair to scold her and not the players for acting unprofessional."

"I just wanted to prevent any ideas coming from anyone in this place. I will not be the last person to think this way and you know that."

"Yeah, but its not her fault. Don't scold her for it. You even made her cry."

"Whatever."

'I swear, you are the worst type of person when they're jealous. Poor Y/n-chan..."

Anri rolled her eyes, proceeding to work. It was so obvious that he was jealous that the foreign players were very much taken and open in their affection towards you. Now jealousy, was not inherently evil.

What was bad was how he addressed and decided to act upon it. Spilling his frustrations on oblivious, you who only wanted to act amicable and professional to everyone you meet.

Welp, she'll visit you later because Anri knew, Ego will never applogise nor even reach out to her and ask her if she's alright so she'll do it herself.

'You're destroying all your chances, you idiotic buffoon.'

ADDITIONAL TIME:

"Y/n-san, please don't cry anymore."

"I just...I just hate him so much...I was just trying my best...to be welcoming...yet he made me sound like...a desperate...attention seeker."

You sobbed in your legs, hugging them closer to your chest. Meanwhile, Isagi, Bachira, and Chigiri were beside you, trying their best to comfort you.

They never saw you this upset before. Being their pillar in even the toughest of times, you never did confide your own fears and pain to them. You were always the listener, the comforter, the loving and supportive figure that pushed them to be better.

But, when they rounded the wrong corner towards their rooms, they were given whiplash when they saw you sobbing and crying alone in a cold corner.

Of course, they immediately rushed to your side, and for the first time, they saw you break down and say your own grievances.

Heck, they never hear you say you hated anyone before, too. Always being so patient and understanding, however, they knew that everybody had their own breaking points.

And this was probably the last straw.

"Don't worry, Y/n-san! We hate him, too! He's always so weird and well...we just hate him!"

"Bachira's right, Y/n-san. Everyone here in Blue Lock only follows him because he is the director of the project and because we want to improve. Nobody likes him that much really."

May cameras and hidden listening devices be damned. They aren't letting you stand up until you are all better.

So yes, screw Ego Jinpachi for making their beloved manager cry, the three simultaneously thought.

Drama rama, screw Ego Jinpachi we all collectively say.

Blue Lock is WRITTEN by Kaneshiro Muneyuki and ILLUSTRATED by Nomura Yusuke. All credits to the both of them.

[hunter-burton]

hey guys it’s been a while since I’ve posted, and as you may have noticed by my little uhhh make over the ULTRA fixation has taken over so here are some random probably cannon divergent headcannons to tide y’all over 🩷

V1

I imagine they weren’t constructed with a voice box in mind, since they were constructed to be a solo war machine. The humans that built v1 probably saw a voice box as an unnecessary use of fuel, when that fuel was needed to end the war- that That v1 never Fought in.

But, swordsmachine style, they can acquire one!

So, if they received a voice box, NO ONE, and I mean NO ONE, would get them to stop yapping EVER. They are a yapper at heart ❤️

A he/they/it thing

Big snooper and fast sniffer. Curiosity is fuel. I swear, leave them in a room with google and, 2 hours later, you’ll come back to them receiving a degree in “office supply manufacturing,” or something like that.

As a supreme war machine, V1 was made to process subtle details in a small amount of time in order to quickly make and execute effective strategies on the field. I imagine this also can apply to V1 observing others. On an emotional level. V1 therapist. That’s it that’s the head cannon. Do with that as you will.

They have mixed feelings about being a prototype.

Wards off fear of death via style and silliness

Ferryman

Majjoorrrr perfectionist

He keeps his boat tidy. Like Pinterest house decor tidy.

EARLY BIRD. He ALWAYS gets the worm (tea).

His favorite tea,,.. depends on the mood.

Internal medic…. He’s like a wizard with all of his home remedies. 🩵

I can imagine him using incense.

If Hell was nice enough to give wrath a day cycle, Ferryman would go out to watch the sunrise and sunset every morning and evening.

Since being sent to wrath, I imagine that he’s been working on different methods to help with his anger… he’s improving himself uuhhghhhkk skeleton..

He goes out and looks up into the night sky, longingly, whenever he thinks or writes about heaven, or Gabriel.

*shakes fist* Aesthetic skeleton…

Verry1an? Ferr1? Ferryv1?

TWO CREATIVES IN A ROOM

Sillyness. Two feral creatures. Kinda

Ferryman would show V1 how he paints, then offer some tubes of paint for them to try. V1 would take one, toss it into the air, shoot a coin, and ricochet the coin to the paint, the paint to the canvas. SPLAT! So.. that’s how V1 gets into abstract painting!

Once they warm up to each other, V1 would def show Ferryman some cool gun tricks. I imagine ferryman would get reeeeaaaal good with coin tech.

They would have tea parties together.

They would stargaze together- then paint together. Ferryman would paint the sky and V1 would splatter on the stars.

Gabriel

Absolute sweet tooth but only for vitamin gummies

scenemo enjoyer

He’s a doodler

Every Angel has their own room in heaven’s palace. Gabriel’s is pink, soft, ‘n full of plushies.

So many plushies..

(He’s just me)

Touch starved but hates touch (lie. It just depends on who it is and the surrounding environment)

Autistic Angel. Autism was made in the father’s image, woah.

I imagine pre 3-2 Gabriel, while loyal to the council, did begin to question their commands, before immediately distracting himself in some way shape or form, whether that be maintaining the heavenly palace, refocusing on judging souls, or performing execution with little to no thought.

With that in mind: FEMTYNAL FAN !!!!!!! HE NEEDS LOUD MUSIC IN HIS HEAD AT ALL TIMES !!!!!

ferryman and V1 thoughts help him sleep at night because he is me

Ferrygabe

tender..,, fluff…

Gabriel weekly visits wrath. He says it’s to check on the layer but we all know it’s cause he loves his skeleton.

“You’re the light in my darkness” “You’re the night sky that holds me.” (I’m probably going to draw this)

Neither Gabriel nor Ferryman realize how much they’re loved by each other.

Ferryman, while truly loving Gabriel, also worships him, if you get what I mean? Let me put it in a better way: The Ferryman expresses his love for Gabriel through acts of worship. In turn, the Ferryman places Gabriel on this pedestal, where, while the angel is pleasant towards the husk, Gabriel could never love the ferryman the way he does Gabriel, right? (WRONG❌❌❌❌)

Gabriel, being an Angel, is no stranger to praise or worship. Though, genuine affection, he’s a bit less familiar with it! The council only really sees him for his work, underlining a reputation he must uphold. And those who worship them- only know him from afar, as the light that brightens their path, no matter how close they really are. So while he deeply enjoys his visits with the ferryman, the thought that the ferryman may genuinely enjoy his company for who he is as an individual, rather than a servant of heaven— the thought is foreign.

Ferryman tends to Gabriel’s wounds (shoutout to @/acmeearts for that BEAUTIFUL COMIC I’ll link it: https://www.tumblr.com/acmeearts/780332250148536320/yay-ok-ultrakill-ferrygabe-i-lvove-them-gn-heart )

Ferryman will never forgive the council.

“I am of the belief that being there to listen to a friend is always a good virtue.” *hears about council* “Murder is sometimes acceptable.”

Gabv1le

They just need to talk, maaan.

The death of both of their creators gives them an (albeit, morbid) starting place for bonding. “Your dad is dead… my dads are dead… Together, maybe we can do this 👍”

V1’s just a little creechur /affectionate. They love to climb up on and around Gabriel like some sort of cat tower.

They help maintain each other’s wings 💛💙

They still sparr but affectionately (Ferryman gets to watch with popcorn.)

V1 studies Gabriel like a microscope, but lovingly. One: for strategy, but two: just cause the guy’s interesting. More than how he moves or manifests his spear, or throws his swords, Gabriel is a whole nother being— a whole nother individual that had only ever been vaguely depicted as a beaming light, a saving grace, a result of the father. It's fascinating to be face to face with (what is meant to be) one of god’s most perfect creations, and appreciate all of what makes him imperfect.

After actually talking with the machine and some introspection, he realizes that they were made for similar purposes, to serve their creators, no questions asked. So, atleast in my “happy ultralive yaya happy” au, to see V1 take his own spin on his purpose, and, break from it a bit, is quite inspiring to say the least. Also, due to V1’s fine tuned observation skills (built for war), they can pick up a lot of Gabriel’s subtle body language, a lot of which usually goes unnoticed. So with this, it kinda- almost feels like V1 reads his mind?? At first he’s stunned that the machine could notice such— then is warmed by the fact that they cared enough to do so.

Gabriel goes from using it/its to he/they for V1. Angel ranking system and all.

FerryGabv1le

I LOVE THIS SHIP RRRAAAAGGGDHHDH

A lot of my headcannons are in the separate ship catagories but they apply to this here too.

Everyone!!!! (the two blues) *ringing bell* Everyone gather ’round the warm angel!!!!!! (it’s bedtime)

Gabriel is designated transportation (he flies!)

If V1 happens to lead the group into something that day, they may get up to some stupid shit 👍

Separately smart, together all dum.

V1 and Ferryman use both of Gabriel’s wings as their own blankets.

Therapy group, working on self acceptance.

Minos

good cook. I’m talking grandma’s house type cooking. Warm soup, bread, milk and cookies type cook.

Flower enjoyer (he’s obsessed.) He probably makes flower arrangements in his free time.

Probably a green thumb in general 💚

You, in the lust layer, find yourself wandering in a room: “Oh, whose cottagecore coquette themed room is this?” you ask. Minos prime walks in.

Asexual Minos. Just putting it out there.

Emotional support old man

This man can become emotionally attuned with a wall and BE RIGHT.

“Minos, you can’t give a wall therap-“ the wall sobs in relief, for someone finally hears it. “Holy shit.”

He always tries to see the best in everyone— almost to a fault, I imagine.

MAKE👏UP👏ARTIST👏

Fashion ICON

In prime soul form, if V1 and him just CHILLED, I imagine he would immediately find a badass, red dress, black boots type outfit to celebrate his new found freedom.

and then take it off like 2 hours later cause fashion big yay! but new fabric textures big no eeuughh.

Truthfully, oversized t and sweatpants are for the WIN

OH. OH GOD. CLOTHING TAGS WOULD DRIVE HIM INSANE.

“Thy gore shall glisten!” It’s the uncut tag on the back of the shirt.

Scratchy fabrics shall perish

And crushed velvet…. It’s like touching something wet in the sink.

Freedom of expression is something he holds dearly, and strove to encourage in the City of Lust as king.

I can imagine that he doesn’t like confrontation much. He probably had to deal with it as a The Judge of Hell, and as king, but it’s not his ideal, at all. Quite stressful actually.

Sisyphus

Chill guy my beloved.

CREATURE CODED. He purrs…

That man has FANGS

Big, BIG, BIG fan of string pluck-pluck instruments. Bouzouki is his favorite. He plays it for hoooouuuurs 💞💞

It’s the process of playing the instruments —how it feels to play any song— that he loves so so much.

He’s a man that lives for experiences. man’s greedy for the beauty of life.

Boulder pushing stim yaay

Poet…. POET. After the virtues were called up to heaven, Sisyphus would ABSOLUTELY write poetry to fill up some of his freed time. It would be those short and sweet poems to- the poems that paint an experience with just a few words.

He verbally shuts down, usually when his surroundings are sensory hell or when he’s stressed tf out.

He attempts to counteract the latter by making light of things, finding light in things, keeping his cool, and, well, as the terminals will have you know, using his 💞tricks💞 (“lie, cheat, and steal”).

Analytical man… he thinks through everything. He and V1 would probably conjure up some 400 iq war plans, dead-ass.

Or any plan, for that matter.

I can see an inner actor in him…

Rock collection..

A sly war lord? *looks in box* a poetic romantic with a rose in his mouth.

WITH THAT SAID: ⬇️

Minophus

autistic kings……….. they kiss..

I’m NOT NORMAL ABOUT THIS SHIP AT ALL.

In their prime forms, since Minos lost his face, he does Sisyphus’s makeup 🩵

I imagine that Minos was killed first. His death, to put it bluntly, baaasssically caused the greed insurrection. It’s a lot more complicated than that but it’s basically like: “you do this bullshit and then you KILL my HUSBAND? Hahah oooohhhh you’re going to DIE.”

Sisyphus is ABSOLUTELY head over HEELS!

Yeah yeah known trickster and warlord but he giggles and kicks his feet thinking about Minos. fight me.

They cook together ❤️(Sisyphus mainly follows along and cuts veggies)

Minos sews themselves matching outfits alll the time

In their husk forms, Sisyphus was the smaller one. Minos liked to scratch Sisyphus’s head, comb his hair— y’know, all that cute stuff. Cause.. creecuhure

But now, in their prime forms, Minos is the small one. For the first few times they met in their new forms, Sisyphus was enamored by this change and picked up Minos by the arms like a cat like: “whoah……. you're small now….”

If they're going like- cloth shopping, Sisyphus will always test a fabric before Minos does to describe the texture to him. It helps narrow choices ❤️

Minos’s snakes are their pets.

If Minos notices Sisyphus has fallen quiet, he’ll offer a small rock. It’s something nice to fidget with

My favorite of all: in prime form, Sisyphus’s head glows brighter when he blushes. Keep a man giggling, you’ll never have to pay an electricity bill a day in your life.

HELL ITSELF

Definitely switches ups from “big scary” to “big silly” 3 times a day minimum.

Hell’s a theater kid (affectionate… I … think?)

I specifically imagine Hell being able to change the screens in limbo for dramatic effects.

I like to think that Terminals have consciousness of their own- but when that r e d s p a c e d o u t t e x t appears, Hell just kicked out whatever consciousness was in the terminal so it could take that seat— like “MOVE. I NEED TO SAY SOMETHING”

When nothing’s happening, it uses the terminals to listen to music.

Something wicked

She/her/they user

Aroace icon

Semi nonverbal. She doesn’t usually talk, but she does whisper to those she feels safe with, and, when absolutely by herself, she sings. : )

I also call her Lilac 💜

She finds it hard to breath : (

Looove soft, fluffy sweaters. It feels better on her exposed veins than harsh fabric.

Would definitely knit blankets and make plushies.

Would probably love Sanrio if you showed her what it was… I think Keroppi and Chococat would be her favorites 💚🤎

General

For angels, the holy light only guarantees immortality. Being disconnected from the holy light only makes it so you’re a regular mortal, y’know?

While Angels are 100% immortal when connected to the holy light, they still can, and are, in fact, expected to engage in sustainment activities. Like- they don’t need to eat or sleep to survive, but their performance will absolutely falter without rest or nutrients. Not taking proper care of their divine vessel is considered an act of violence against the father, for their bodies are of his creation.

Ferrygabv1le….. poly poly poly poly poly POLY POLY POLY POLY POLY POLY

King husk were LARGE HUSKS. TALL HUSKS! BIG BIG BIIIIIG HUSKS!!!

I’m definitely going to yap about more characters in the future. I just want to post this to let y’all know I’m not dead👍

[h0efor2ho]

Playtime Pt. 2

Yunho X Reader X Mingi

Part one: Here

WC: 3.1K (Oops)

TW: Exhibition, Dirty Talk, Use of nic names ( Princess, Pretty, Love ) fingering, masterbation, blind folded, clit play,

It's been almost three weeks since, "the incident" That's what you'r calling it. Refusing to think of it as what it was, you getting turned on by your boyfriends best friends listing to you ride his dick over their weekly PC game night. You haven't seen Mingi or Wooyoung since then. In fact you haven't seen any of Yunho's friends, except Hongjoon, who if he knew, didn't lead on that he did. Yunho hasn't brought it up either, so neither have you. You guess the both of you are just going to pretend it never happened. You can't lie, the idea of that makes you a little sad. 

You are in the process of going through the motions of wrapping up the end of your day at work when you phone pings with a new text message. 

Yunho : There was a package delivered for you today. When you get home I want you to put it on. I want you in that and only that. Wait for me, I'll be there in 30 minutes.

You read the message three times. As you process the the words, trying to figure out what he meant by it he text you again.

Yunho: Hurry up princess, don't make me wait for you.

You quickly spring into action. Shoving the last remaining papers on your desk into a folder and in your drawer. It will take you about 15 minutes to get home from your office. Leaving you 15 minutes to do what Yunho has told you before he gets home as well. The whole subway ride home your stomach is in knots. 'What could he have planned' you think to yourself as you ride the elevator up to your floor. As you step out you see a box sitting in front of your apartment door. Reading the label you instantly know what kind of night its going to be.

Making your way into your apartment, closing the door behind you, you tear into the box that bears the signature logo of Bluebella. Your favorite lingerie store. Inside you find the most beautiful blue silk chemises, with matching eye mask. You're busy admiring the items when your phone pings again. Another incoming text from Yunho.

Yunho: You have 10 minutes till I'm home. I want you sitting on the bed waiting for me in that.

It's like a zap of lightning goes through you as you quickly run to your closet to change. Discarding your work clothes in a half hazard heap on the floor, you quickly slip on the silk garment, the eye mask resting on your forehead as you go and sit on the end of the bed. Your legs dangling off as you nervously wait from Yunho to get home. It's not long before you hear his keys sliding into the lock of the front door. You quickly slide the eye mask down fro your forehead and over your eyes, shrouding your vision in darkness as you try and listen to his soft footsteps coming down the hall. 

You don't realize you were holding your breath till you hear the soft click of the bedroom door closing. You can feel the moment he enters your personal space, your body so in tune to his. A second later his hand is cupping one check as he connects your lips. It's a gentle, quick kiss before he's pulling back. "You listen so well my love" he whispers to you, his breath fanning over your face.  His hand sliding from your cheek down to your neck where it gently rests for a moment before he pulls it back. "I think you deserve a reward for being such a good girl for me" he says softly. 

The words accompanied by the sounds of movement around the room. You hear the clink of his belt, the hard sounds of your bedroom furniture being moved, the ruffle of fabric before you feel the bed dip next to you. Its only a second before his mouth is next to your ear "I think your going to enjoy this, but if at any point you want to stop you know your safe word, okay" you quickly shake your head, muttering out a small yes before he is pressing his mouth to your again.

This time it's not gentle, it's needy and hurried and filled with longing. You kiss his back with just as much vigor before it's broken again. You focus on catching your breath as you feel the bed dipping and rising around you before on of Yunhos strong arms is entangling its self around your waist and pulling you till your back meets his hard chest. You can feel all this muscles from his chest down to your favorite one between his legs, that is now very hard and bushing into your lower back. His free hand sweeping the hair back from your neck before he leans down to pepper kisses across your skin. 

Moving from your shoulder to the side of your throat. "Always such a good girl for me" he says in-between kisses. His hands sliding up from where they were on your stomach to palm your breasts through the thin silk material. His hard hands easily engulfing your chest as he gently squeezes. A small sound escaping you as he does it, gently arching into his touch more. "Do you like that baby?" he asks in your ear. Before he had even finished his sentence you had your head nodding yes. Slowly his hands continue to travel up from your chest to your throat. Wrapping around and giving it a gentle but tight squeeze you let out your first audible sound to him. 

The small whine leaves your throat as his hands release your throat from his grasp and slid to your shoulders. "Oh I think you like that" he says with much amusement in his voice "We'll have to remember that" he says as he lays another kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder. His hands sliding from the top of your shoulders and down your arms, it takes you a minute to realize that he caught the straps of your chamise and they were down going down with his hands. The silk sliding down over your pebbled nipples until they were exposed to the cold air of the room. "love these" he growls out from behind you as his hands once again cup your now exposed breasts. 

His long nimble fingers coming to pinch your nipples between them, tugging slightly. "Yu-Yunho" you pant out. Your body feels like a live wire is connected to it, buzzing where ever he touches. "Thats it princess" he coos as he continues to tug on your nipples. One of his hands comes down to the outside of your thigh, starting to trail up he pushes the fabric up your thighs and around your waist, making you completely exposed for him in-between his legs. It's not long before that same hand is now pressed to the inside of your thighs making a slow agonizing trail from your thighs up. 

The anticipation killing you, you need his touch. You know that once his hand connects with your core he will find you soaking wet. You gently tilt your hips up, trying to push into his incoming hand. As quickly as his hand was on your thigh it's now gone, but only for a second before you feel the sting of contact right in the middle of your legs. You yell out in pain as you realize Yunho just slapped your clit. Your legs quickly snapping shut "And here I was telling you how good your being" He says as he grabs each of your legs and hooks them over yours, making it impossible for you to close them now. "Don't be a needy little whore, be my good girl and take what I give you" he says as he returns his hand to your core.

He quickly slides his fingers between your slit, circling you tight hole one before pulling his hand away. What you cant see him do is hold his hand up and admire how wet his fingers are in front of your face "Your always so ready for me baby" he coos in your ear before you hear him moan followed by a pop sound. "Always taste so good too" he says after.

"Yunho please" you whine out again "Please what princes" he saw as he pulls your legs open wider "Please touch me" you beg him. You can feel the tears behind your eyes, the need to be touched becoming too much for you. "Of course baby" he says before sliding his hand back down between your body. You let out a moan at the contact, his hand releasing a bit of the ache you had. He quickly coats his fingers in your wetness before swiping them back up to rub small circles on your clit. 

You cant hold back your sounds anymore as he starts to build your body up. Swipe after swipe of his long fingers bringing your body higher and higher. His other hand coming down to spread you wide as he continues to work your clit "Look how ready" he breaths out "She's always so wet and ready" With his other hand he pushes in one of his long, delicate fingers into your wet hole. Your hips involuntary jerk as he hooks his finger in a come here motion, hitting the spot you love. You're trying your best to hold still in his arms as loud moans fill the room, your body coming to the edge. Just a few more swipes of Yunho's fingers and you know that band in your stomach is going to snap. 

"You do sound so pretty in person"

The blood in your vines freezes. The air you were sucking in caught in your windpipe now. It's like a bucket of ice water had been dumped on you.

Because the deep voice that just said that, the deep voice you know so well, came from in front of you and does not belong to your boyfriend.

"Mi...Mingi?" you stammer out. 

Yunho's hand comes away from you'r clit and before you know it your vision is flooding with light. They're in front of you, sitting back in the wingback chair that is usually in the corner of the room, eyes devouring you, is your boyfriends best friend, Mingi. He's leaning back with his legs wide. Dressed in slacks and a button down, the first button undone, tie loosened and sleeves pushed up his forearms, you figure he came home with Yunho. 

"Surprise princess" Yuhno whispers in your ear as he starts to work his finger in and out of you again. "Do you want to use your safe word" he asks you quietly. Your eyes lock with Mingi's, nothing pure fire and desire burning in them as he watches Yunho toy with your body. "No" you whisper. "Good girl" Mingi says in his deep voice, his eyes flicking down, tracking Yunho's hand travel back down your body till he finds your clit again. The first swipe of the pad of his finger sending your hips jerking again. "Very good girl" Mingi says again. 

A shudder racks through your body as the words slip past his lips. You feel Yunho slip his finger from your entrance, a whimper falling past your lips as you feel the emptiness. "Don't worry princess, I'm not going anywhere" He chuckles as you feel him push two fingers now back into you. The sound that comes from you is almost animalistic as he stretches you open. Your head falling back on to Yunho's shoulder as he works his fingers in and out of you "God she does sound so good" Mingi's gruff voice cuts through your haze.

Tilting your head back up, your met with the site of him palming the growing bulge in his pants.  You cant help yourself but to watch, your whole body heating up as you watch your boyfriends best friend, rub his cock while he watches you get fingered by said boyfriend. The whole situation was obscured, but you cant help the way your walls involuntary start to clench watching him palm himself. The action didn't go un noticed. "Why don't you tell him to take it out baby" Yunho says between kisses on your neck "Tell him you want to see him" 

You're convinced these men are trying to kill you, because that's exactly what is going to happen if you ask Mingi to see his cock. But you can't help but keep watching him, growing slightly bigger with each pass of his hand over the crotch of his pants. "Mi- Mingi?" you tentatively say. "Mm yes pretty" he responds, never taking his eyes off your core where he is watching Yunho's fingers disappear and reappear inside your wet hole. "Can.. can I see it?" you ask in a small quite voice. "What was that" he says. "Can I see it? Can you take your cock out for me, want to see it"

A string of expletives leaves Mingi's mouth as he throws his head back and groans. "Sure thing pretty" he finally says after a long pause.  He holds eye contact with you as his hands get to work undoing his belt and flicking open the button. He drags the zipper down before hooking his thumbs in the waist of his pants. Slightly lifting his hips he slowly drags his pants down till the waist is at the top of his thighs. Slowly he reaches down and pulls his length free and the breath you were inhaling gets lodged in your throat.  You knew he was going to be big with his hight and how big his hands were, but you were not prepared for what you were looking at. He was just an inch or so shorter in length than Yunho, which was still very long, but he was noticeably thicker. 

You watched as his hand wrapped around the base of his cock and slightly squeezed. The action followed by a groan leaving him from deep in his chest. "Oh I think she likes what she see's" Yunho chuckles "She's tightening around my fingers" You didn't even realize you were doing it. "Do you pretty? You like watching me play with my cock for you?" He groans out, the sound of his deep voice going right to your core that Yunho is currently pumping his long fingers in and out of. You shake your head yes, while eyeing his hand that is how starting to gently slide up his long shaft. "Use your words, want to hear that pretty voice of yours" 

"Yess" you hiss out as Yunho pumps his fingers a little rougher into you. You notice Mingi watching your boyfriends hand, as his picks up the pace to match it. You can't hold back the sounds anymore as you watch him jerk off for you, working his hand up and down as Yunho's fingers go in and out. The sounds of your moaning mixing with Mingi's little grunts and Yunho's fingers pushing into your wet hole. It's pushing you closer and closer to the edge. "Fuck" mingi grunts as his hips jerk up into his hand. "Always knew you would look so good naked" He pants. "Used to tell Yu how lucky he was to have someone like you" 

"He does" Yunho coo's into your ear "He always tells me how good you look and how lucky I am to be with you" He peppers kisses along the side of your face "Knew he would just love to see it first hand. Are you going to show him princess. Are you going to come apart on my fingers while Mingi fucks his hand wishing it was your pretty cunt" His hands curling again and hitting that spot you love so much as he picks up the pace. "Oh fuck Yuyu! Not gonna last long" you cry as your hips start to jerk to meet his thrusting fingers. His other hand rubbing tight circles on your slick clit. 

"You going to cum for me pretty? Cause I'm going to cum for you" Mingi says, his hips lifting up with each thrust into his tightened hand. "Fuck yes Min" you cry out "So close" you whine the band in your lower stomach becoming tighter and tighter. You know what's going to happen before you do it. You feel your body tightening as Yunho curls his fingers again hitting your gspot. Your walls fluttering before calmping down on his fingers in a vice grip. Release flooding from your hole. Because Yunho's fingers were still pumping in and out of you, when your body lets go and you squirt it goes everywhere. All over your bed, all over the floor since you're at the edge of the bed and more importantly all over Mingi's lap as he's sitting in front of the bed.

"Oh FUCK" he crys out as your juice splash all over his lap, his hand and his cock he's working. It takes him 0.3 seconds before he is summing on his hand right behind you. The view of your cunt squirting yore release all over sending him over the edge. His hand is covered in his cum as he give his big cock a few more tugs. You look on panting as he brings his hand up between the two of you. "Open up pretty" he smirks. "Go ahead love" Yunho says from behind you, his fingers now lazily sliding in and out of your hole. You do as you're told and open your mouth, just as Mingi shoves his middle and pointer finger onto your mouth. He wipes the cum from his fingers on your tongue before pulling them back. 

You quickly close your mouth and swallow his release. "Such a pretty good girl" he coos at you. "Yes she's always such a good girl" Yunho says as his hands wrap around your waist, pulling you back onto his chest, legs still hooked over his thighs keeping you on display. "You did so good for us baby" Yunho says as he brushes your hair from your face. "But I know how you can be even better" his eyes shifting from yours over to his best friend "Why don't you be the best girl and let Mingi have a taste of the mess he made"

.... to be continued ...

Tag list : @tunaasan @dawn-iscozy @mingisdimple @uarmytess @kitty4hwa

@trivia-134340 @winklehwa @everythingboutkpop @vampzworld @skittyneos

@holyclitorius @jintastic-day @wisejudgedragonhairdo @yourfatherlucifer @atinyb

@yuyusgirl

If you'd like to be tagged in the next part please let me know (:

Please note if you have a blank or ageless blog I will NOT tag you.

[a-super-cutie]

Persistence. Obsession. Persistently obsessed.

(Part 1 of 8) SFW chapter, MDNI, 18+ series

cecil stedman x female!superhero!reader

wc: 1,345

series synopsis: You and Cecil have started seeing each other but your jobs (mostly his) keep interrupting date after date. He clearly thinks this won't work for you, but how many times do you have to tell him how utterly head over heels you are for him?? Well, if telling won't work, maybe showing him will.

Masterlist ~~~ Next Part

Today was a day to celebrate. It’s been exactly three months since you and Cecil Stedman begun dating. If you could believe he’d even agreed on a first date in the first place.

You looked out your bedroom window, down at the bustling city below, and sighed. All those people, walking side by side, hand in hand, talking and laughing to their heart’s content and where was your boyfriend? At work. 

Work work work all day every day and you couldn’t even fault him for never seeing you. He’d set you up in this nice apartment (top floor), had all your food delivered right to your door weekly (if not daily when you ran out of your favorite items), and spent all his waking hours saving the world (or in saving-the-world related meetings with world leaders). 

Cecil Stedman was a busy man. And an important man. And most importantly, YOUR MAN. So why have you only seen him a total of five times in three months? Well, not counting all the times you’d seen him after beating up bad guys or in superhero meetings where you both had to pretend you couldn’t care less for each other.

“You can’t tell anyone we’re seeing each other… You know that right?”

“Yes, Cecil. I figured.”

“That doesn’t bother you? WON’T bother you? In the future?”

“NO!” You’d reassured him over and over you wouldn’t regret keeping your relationship a secret. “This is absolutely fine with me. Whatever you want.”

But he’d only sighed at that. “It’s not about what I want. We’re coworkers in a way… We need to remain professional. And I can’t be accused of having favorites and least of all have my actions questioned when it comes to you… You’re a conflict of interest now.”

You’d nodded. “Yes. I understand. Work comes first.”

“Exactly.”

His office turned quiet as you’d both sat with his answer to your most sudden of questions. Yes. He’d agreed to a date. But only a single date.

But that had been three months ago and it had gone great! You made him laugh - once - and he’d asked you out himself! Willingly! And that one had been even better! He’d smiled more, laughed twice at your dumb jokes, and asked for another. By the end of the third you’d given him a ‘tour’ of your dingy place - which ended with breakfast the morning after - and a day and a place was set for your fourth the day after that.

He’d surprised you with a “nicer” - you’d pieced together he meant safer - apartment, and you rolled your eyes at that considering your powers and the missions he’d personally sent you on. He helped you move a few boxes and you both left the rest up to the moving crew while he showed you around the neighborhood. 

He’d been just as nervous about surprising you with a new place as he’d been on your first date - in ways only someone who observed him closely could tell: scratching his neck, avoiding eye contact when it wasn’t socially necessary, and over-explaining the logistics of his actions with big words that flowed naturally. 

You’d hugged him and thanked him which took him by surprise and brought on one of the fakest throat-clearing coughs you’d ever heard and seen…but he’d patted your back and lead your around the block explaining the pros of living in these parts. It was as if you hadn’t spent half of the last date naked and cuddled in each other’s arms at night (you think, you fell asleep and stayed asleep soon after the 'deed' was done).

The end of that fourth date hadn’t ended in an impromptu 'house tour' because he’d been called away to a problem you weren’t needed with. It wasn’t until weeks later that you’d met up with him. Honestly, he’d seemed very surprised to see you in his office with food, even if you had specifically made a non-urgent totally reschedule-able appointment - you’d written that in the ‘detailed reason’ portion of the form - that he definitely knew about. 

"I figured since you’ve been too busy the last two months, I’d just schedule an appointment… That’s ok, right?”

He’d given you a small, weak smile and nodded his head. “Y-yeah. That works great… I-is that food for us?”

You’d nodded. “Yeah. Lunch for lucky date number five.” You’d taken a seat on the other side of the smooth desk and winced when the paper bags left a grease stain on the shiny surface.

He’d chuckled. “Is that what number we’re on?”

You both ate in silence. There wasn’t much to talk about this time. You’d wanted him to talk since he rarely did - not about his own life, anyways - but if you didn’t start the ball rolling he didn’t seem to have anything to say other that asking you questions about your personal life.

You answered the questions about yourself simply and short. You wanted to hear about him, not relive your own life - though he was a really good listener. You’d started to feel guilty about how you were acting when he’d spoken up finally.

“Listen…”

Oh oh.

“This can’t be what you wanted…”

You’d started to shake your head but he had continued before you could even think about talking.

“I’m not the ‘boyfriend’ type, as you’ve probably realized…”

“I really don’t mi-”

“You had to schedule a date with me, for god’s sake.” He’d pushed aside his burger and sighed. “Look. I wanted this to work. I thought I could make this - with you - work.” He'd sighed again and looked further down at his area, completely avoiding you and your breaking heart. “I’m sorry. My work - my LIFE - just doesn’t allow for this type of…”

Cecil's eyes had finally glanced back at you and widened when you were no longer sitting across from him. He’d turned to look up at you as you’d made your way around his desk.

Your fingers had found his chin and pulled it up as you leaned over. His lips had parted and you’d kissed him hard. Passionately. Desperately. You had licked the ketchup stain from the corner of his mouth and looked at him with eyes that made his breath hitch.

“I’ll have you any way you are. ‘Boyfriend material’ or not.” You’d smiled at his stunned face. He looked at you with a million questions in his eyes. With doubt. With insecurity you’d only just noticed. “I’d rather kiss these lips once in a blue moon than never at all.”

To top off your bold move you’d kissed his scarred cheek and retreated, waiting for his response.

He had let out a shaky breath and blushed. BLUSHED! “Ah…” he chuckled. “Kind of hard to rebuttal that.” He’d smiled wide when you giggled at that.

“Good. That was the whole point.” You’d taken your seat across from him again and picked up your burger.

He’d done the same. “But - “

You’d sighed and sat your burger down. “I’ll kiss you again. That’s a threat.”

“Ha. But seriously… We WOULD only see each other once in a blue moon… I mean I rarely get any time to myself. And you obviously want to keep this thing going despite my constant unavailability… But if… If you ever wanted to call things off I’ll understand. Just send me a memo.” He’d smiled like he was being funny. A real comedian as he sat in his fancy chair in his nice office in a big spacious room telling the woman he clearly liked she could dump him in a memo whenever she felt like.

Your heart had broken as the corners of his smile trembled and his eyes darted between your eyes in search of something he needed.

You smiled casually. “Will do, right after the memo about pigs flying.”

That last date was weeks ago. 

“But I have a plan!” you told your plants. “Cecil and I will go on a nice three day - “ you crossed your fingers, “- vacation. Simple. So simple. Easy.”

You swore a leaf wilted just then.

______________________________________________________________

Masterlist ~~~ Next Part

a/n: hope you enjoyed my first fic for Cecil Stedman :)

[random-fandom1984]

Hey there

Could I please get some Platonic Yandere G1 Soundwave with a teen reader?

Thanks

Since you didn't specify what the reader's gender is, or you just don't care -- by default -- the gender is a girl. Sorry for my male audience.

Clinging to Sanity, or Embrace the Fantasy

It was nighttime. A full moon lighting up the sky, accompanied by the blissing, shining stars. Pushing up the window in your bedroom, allowing the sounds of muffled arguing to echo outside. You dropped a bag, pieces of metal clanging from within upon compact. You climbed out, your hands gripping the edge of the window before letting go; it was only a small drop.

Grabbing the bag's handles and pulling it on your shoulder as you ran. This was almost becoming a weekly thing now. Your parents would argue for god knows how long ever since you were just a little girl. And when they're not, and you're alone with one of them, they'd talk and rant to you about how much they hate the other, like you're the psychiatrist and not their child.

You would secretly leave and head to your own place of Zen, your place of work that's open 24/7, where you would repair things that people would leave you. It can be a boom box, a radio, a record player, the popular cellular phone, even a cassette player. The company you work for is a big business that they give their employees their own offices/work rooms that are reinforced with sound-proof walls, for both privacy and not to disturb their fellow workers.

Walking down the sidewalk with only the streetlamps guiding your path; the cool, crisp air breezing past you in such a calming way, slowly pushing the fresh memory of the angry, loud shouts from your parents from your mind. You wished your older sister was there, but she's off living her freedom away from that damned house. They haven't even called after they left, not even to you. You saw the neon-glowing sign of the workplace up ahead.

Pushing the door open, a familiar ring-ding echoing loudly to get whoever was working at the receptionist desk's attention. The warm air-conditioning hitting my skin, making me shiver from the stark contrast of the outside. Behind the counter was Vannessa, dyed rainbow tips in her hair, heavy mascara and eyeliner on her face, accompanied by two small, light blue bows, with white bunny heads with "X"'s over the eyes, on both sides of her head (Inspired by teenager! Vanessa made by @chloesimaginationthings, lovely job btw). She's fun to hang out with if she isn't in a bad mood.

She glanced up, greeted me with a small wave, a corner of her lips perking up before it returned to its bored, neutral expression, putting her attention back on her phone. I walked past her and down the corridor where the walls are lined with doors to different offices, a couple bathrooms, and a janitor's closet. Once you approached your door, the backdoor was slammed open and entered Jerry with a box of wares. "FOUNDER'S FRIDAY!!" He happily shouted.

"Hell, yeah!" You exclaimed, this day couldn't possibly be any better. You loved Founder's Friday's and so does about every other employee in this building. It's been around ever since Jerry joined, which was a long time before you were hired. It would be a chance of luck if a day like this happens; Jerry would find random, abandoned wares and junk, and once he gets what is considered enough, he brings it here for the other employees to scavenge in, what they do with it is up to them. The choices are to take it apart and use it for spare parts or keep it to repair it and use for your own personal use.

"Hey, Y/n, can you help me with the doors?" He asked. You're always the one he asks because your door is always the closest to the backdoor. You nodded, closing the backdoor as he walked off to the lounge. You walked past his slow-moving figure and opened the door for him. He walked into the lounge and set it on the table, metal clanging from within. "Thanks. Let me guess, bad day at home?" He asked, wiping imaginary sweat from his forehead. "Yeah..." You grumbled, already digging into the box. You were good on supplies and parts, so you're looking for something to keep, but so far, nothing has caught your attention.

Then you found something peculiar. It was a tape player, one that seems to play music by looking at the cassette tape in its little window. Its main color was a dark blue, the second main color was white, and highlighted with a purple emblem, one that seems familiar, but you can't put your finger on it. There seemed to be a sticker on the window, a big yellow star.

You walked out of the lounge with the tape player as other employees were approaching, crowding around the table upon entering. You opened the door to your office and sat down at your desk. You opened the cassette and observed the tapes inside. You picked up one and played it, the familiar song plays: We're Not Gonna Take It by Twisted Sister. You set it to the side, next to a little robot that is immobile, and got to work on a ware from a client, slightly bobbing your head to the music.

(Time-skip)

It's been about a month since that day. The arguing has gotten worse that you started sneaking out daily, hanging out in your office with your cassette player waiting. It has become your comfort object. The little robot that was mentioned before, you made it to make yourself think you're talking to someone about your problems at home, about how much you missed your sister and you'd wish she'd be here or at least call, about how much you hate your parents arguing, and with them telling you stuff about the other, it started making you hate your parents.

But your parents started getting couple's therapy, and you brought your cassette with you, to listen to as you do your schoolwork. The arguing has almost disappeared. Almost.

As they were arguing, covering your ears with your pillow wrapped around the back of your head, trying to muffle the sounds. You couldn't take it anymore! In a frenzy, you quickly grabbed your bag, forgetting about your cassette. It wasn't until you reached your work, entered your office that you'd forgotten it. It's fine, you told yourself. "I can get it after work..." You muttered, getting to work on a project to take your mind off of the events.

Once you arrived home, you saw a note that they left to their jobs. Crumpled up the note and threw it in the trash, passing by an old family photo, back then when everyone was happy - you think. Your mother had one kid -- a daughter -- before she married your present father. Her name is Carly, and she's currently attending MIT (Massachusetts Institute of Technology), took after the appearance of her bio-dad, blond hair and pretty blue eyes. And then there was you in the photo, in a swaddle and only had been born a month ago before that very picture was taken. Looking at photos of the past like this really makes you wish things could go back.

You grabbed some pj's from your room and then entered your bathroom and opened the medicine cabinet and took some melatonin. You changed your clothes, tossing the dirty ones in the hamper. You closed the bathroom door behind you, approaching your bed, got under the covers. With eyelids feeling heavy, you closed them, not even catching the sound of something transforming as you drowsed off to sleep.

---

It was supposed to be a mission to get information through someone who was a family or friend of those human Autobots. But it all changed when he had been forced to stay hidden while in your quote-on-quote possession like an everyday object.

You would always talk to that small but adorable looking pile of junk like it were a living being that's lending an ear, while he was right there. Listening. The one thing he wasn't expecting was heart-wrenching info about your personal life at home. How much you'd wish for your dear sister to be around again. How much for peace in the family.

But he can see it as clear as day and knows you do too, but you keep putting yourself in denial, gripping onto that dwindling hope that everything would change for the better. But they will. At least, in the way he's thinking.

When you accidentally left him at the house, it only took a few more minutes before their arguing drifted on about you, negatively. It filled him with fury. Organics or any other living beings such as them don't deserve someone like you. Every time you'd unknowingly talk to him, he can tell that you have a kind spirit, a childish soul that's slowly dying the more you're around their presences. Those kinds of people that are like you no longer exist in the war that going on; So rare that you'd have a better luck at finding little bits of Dark Energon in the darkest corners in the galaxy. They were either killed or they changed, becoming a cold, serious husk of the bot they once were.

So, he made up his mind. He'd take you back to the Decepticon base, put your consciousness in another body -- a Cybertronian body -- and change your memories; you don't need them if they'd bring you such misery. You're better off being with people who would care about you. His minicons kids have already liked you, they find you interesting. They already know about his plan with you and they'd be happy to be the siblings you deserve, unlike that Carly girl.

Once you were dead asleep, Soundwave transformed into robot-mode, carefully picking up your body and left the house. Then he traveled to Cybertron via spacebridge, and had Shockwave start building you a body as you were put in a stasis pod. Once it was done, you were taken out of the pod, but was still asleep, and were put through the transfer and memory change.

---

PART 2 COMING SOON!! It's already in the works.