#but at the same time i have so many soft sketches

[krenia]

hi my brain has been just these two idiots recently and i can't stop drawing stupid shipart of them

[marvelstoriesepic]

Wear My Heart

Pairing: Tattoo Artist!Bucky x Reader (Soulmate Au)

Summary: Bucky discovers his long-lost match in a client. But is he even meant to have you with the mark erased from his own body?

Word Count: 2k

Warnings: angst; loss of limb (non-graphic); prosthesis; PTSD; lots of self-worth issues; insecurities; mild reference to past violence (non-graphic); mentions of self-isolation; chronic loneliness; Bucky is going through some feels

Author’s Note: We had him as a tattoo artist yesterday and we have him as one today haha. This sweet request comes from my beloved tumblr husband! I hope you'll enjoy ♡

2k Drabble Challenge Masterlist | Masterlist

He sees you before you walk in.

A blur of reflection in the glass door, sunlight making your hair beam, fingers adjusting the strap of your bag.

The door opens.

He doesn’t look up right away.

Steve has booked this appointment under your name, and Sam had dropped too many hints over the past few weeks that you’d be coming in soon. Nat had rolled her eyes and told him flatly, that either he’d speak to you or they’d all die of secondhand tension.

So now you are here.

And he’s pretending not to care. Pretending to hear the buzz of the needle. The only thing that grounds him anymore. Pain turned into art. Wounds etched into skin like a creation. And he’s great at this because he’s better at translating pain than he is at speaking.

He prefers ink to people. Needles to names. He prefers silence.

“Bucky?” You’re saying his name as if it’s a question, like maybe you’re still not sure you’re in the right place.

He looks up.

And the moment your eyes meet, there is something inside him that flickers. Like a lightbulb that hasn’t been touched in years. Dusty. Forgotten. Still warm.

He nods. Just once.

You smile. Small. Polite. Nervous.

He doesn’t return it. Can’t.

Because your smile, although timid, is the kind of thing that stays with you - like smoke in his lungs. It fills the spaces where oxygen used to be.

He’s never properly spoken to you, but he’s seen you before - at Steve’s apartment, at Sam’s cookouts, in Nat’s too-casual Instagram stories where he already acknowledged how beautiful your smile is. How beautiful you are.

He remembers thinking you got a laugh like a sunrise, making darkness irrelevant.

He remembers thinking you’d never look at someone like him.

He remembers looking away.

He never said more than a word to you. Never trusted himself to.

You’re too good. Too light. And he’s not.

He knows you are out of his league. And maybe you didn’t even notice him. Maybe all the times he saw you - laughing in Steve’s kitchen, sitting cross-legged on Sam’s couch, reading some ancient paperback by the window - he was just a background blur in your story.

So he kept his distance.

It’s easier that way.

“Uhm, hey,” you start a little nervously, and he could kick himself. “I have a design I've been working on for a while. Steve said you might be the right artist for it.”

You hand him a sketch. He barely glances at it. His fingers don’t fumble but something in his chest does.

And then you move. Rolling your sleeve up. Exposing skin.

And Bucky stops breathing.

It takes a second for his mind to catch up. Another second to realize what he’s looking at.

But when it hits him - it hits.

Like an avalanche in his throat.

There, inked into the soft skin of your upper arm, is a mark he hasn’t seen in over a decade.

His mark.

The same symbol. The same twisted loops of black that curved into his skin when he was six years old. The same mark he stared at for years like it might offer answers. As though it could explain why he always felt like a half-finished sentence. As though it might lead him to someone whole.

It used to be on his left arm. Right over the muscle. He remembers tracing it absently during lectures, during subway rides, during troubled nights when he couldn’t sleep.

It disappeared the day he lost his arm. Gone. Stolen. Scrubbed clean as if he never had a soulmate at all.

He remembers crying - not for the pain, nor for the loss, but because the one thing that tethered him to hope, to someone, was just gone.

He decided then that he was meant to be alone. That fate had made a mistake. That maybe his soulmate was already dead. Or that she had moved on. Married someone else. Tattooed over the mark. Or worse, that the person meant for him would never find him, spending her life thinking she was alone. Marked for no one.

He wonders if you ever felt that way.

He wonders if you still do.

He keeps his face neutral. Professional. He’s good at this. But inside he is crumbling like never before. Collapsing. Splintering into a thousand broken pieces of before and after.

You are talking. He hears the cadence, the warmth, but the words are fog. All he can focus on is the mark. The one thing he never thought he’d see again.

And now you are standing in front of him. And you are real. And the mark is right there on your arm, the exact shape and size of the one that used to be his.

You don’t know.

You can’t know.

You’re here. You’re real. You’re his.

And he says nothing.

He stares at it as if it’s a hallucination. But it’s not.

His lungs are tight, cold, hollow. He feels his prosthesis twitch, the phantom ghost of muscle memory in the one he lost.

“This is where I was thinking it would go,” you say, pointing gently to the space around the mark - your mark, his mark, both your marks - “I think it’s one of those soulmate mark things. I got it when I was six. My mom said she always believed in them, that one day I’d meet someone with the same mark. You know, something about being made to match.” You laugh a little awkwardly, tugging your hair behind your ear, probably wondering why you told him this.

He doesn’t say anything. Just keeps staring.

You let out another awkward, breathless laugh. “I’ve never actually seen it on anyone else, though. Guess it’s just one of those things.”

Your words bruise him deeply.

He wants to scream. Wants to tell you everything. That you’re walking around unknowingly wearing his heart. That once, when he was a different man, that mark was the only beautiful thing left of him.

But his mouth doesn’t move. It’s dry.

Because how do you tell someone you lost the piece of yourself that was meant to find them?

What do you say to someone who doesn’t know they’ve been saving your life just by existing?

So he nods. Again. Always nodding. Always hiding.

He’s just the weird guy with the metal arm and the bad temper. The broody dude with a shop sitting behind a laundromat and too many shadows in his eyes. You don’t know that he’s been dreaming of you since he was a kid - before he lost everything but the pieces he could still carry in his chest.

You don’t know that he’s already met you in a hundred quiet ways.

Every time you laughed from another room. Every time he caught you humming while helping Steve cook. Every time Sam made a joke and you leaned in toward the warmth of it instead of away.

He almost speaks. Almost. But the words stick.

You don’t push. You sit. You trust.

And he works.

He sets up the station. Puts his gloves on, machine humming. He doesn’t make eye contact again for the rest of the session.

His fingers don’t shake but his soul does. He lets you sit close, lets you talk about what the design means to you and how long you’ve waited.

And all he wants to do is scream.

What do you say to someone who might run, if you told them the truth?

He tattoos the design carefully.

You wince once and his heart jumps like it wants to protect you from everything. He places his metal hand lightly on your shoulder. Usually, he avoids touch, but you don’t flinch.

That alone nearly destroys him.

You’re so close. Your heartbeat. Your breath. And he keeps thinking about the mark, about the fact that it once lived on his body. About how it had to be removed, torn away, for you to finally appear.

Maybe that’s what fate is.

Maybe it’s not a gentle thing.

Maybe it breaks you before it brings you what you need.

He is memorizing you.

Every breath. Every glance. Every shift.

It feels like something long buried is waking up inside of him. Something ancient. Something inevitable.

When it’s over, you thank him. You say it’s perfect. You pay and leave and smile and wave and tell him that you hope to see him at Steve’s soon and he stands there like a ghost.

He can’t tell you.

Maybe he isn’t even meant to tell you. Maybe fate’s hands were clumsy with him. Maybe it’s not that he lost the arm, or the mark, but that he was always meant to. Maybe that’s part of the story.

Maybe the universe never meant for him to find you. Only to know you exist. Only to touch what he could never keep.

Because what if he tells you?

You might look at him with those lovely wide eyes and smile, say finally, say yes.

But you might also tell him no, look at him with disgust, with disbelief, with disappointment that he is the one you get when you could have gotten someone so much better.

He can’t survive that. He knows it. The heart he stitched back together with flayed rope is easily able to snap when pulled too tight. He’s been holding it together with black thread and stubborn silence and ink. Ink. Always ink. The only thing that doesn’t lie.

He breathes as if he’s drowning. He thinks of your hand on his. The way you smiled. The way you trusted him without knowing why.

He didn’t see the way your eyes softened when he touched your arm. As though his hands were made of something other than metal and self-hatred.

He didn’t see how you leaned in a little closer when he spoke, how you tilted your head as if memorizing the sound of his voice.

He doesn’t see your hesitation at the door. The way you linger. The way you open your mouth to say more but then close it again.

He doesn’t see any of it because his mind is too loud. Too cruel. Too consuming.

It’s whispering to him, claiming that he’s not the man you were meant for. He lost his mark. He lost his right. This isn’t his story anymore.

Maybe the universe gave you the mark and took his, on purpose. Maybe it’s symbolic. Maybe it’s a warning.

Maybe you’re supposed to move on.

Maybe he is supposed to stay behind.

So he watches you go.

Only after the door clicks shut does he exhale.

He peels off his gloves with trembling hands. Walks to the back room. Opens the drawer he hasn’t touched in years.

There, under a stack of unused stencils and crumpled paper towels, is a single sheet. A sketch. Faded. Old. Drawn by hand.

The mark.

He lays it flat on the counter.

His chest feels like it’s holding a thunderstorm. Not lightning. No, that would be beautiful. There only are clouds that never break. Rain that never comes.

His eyes close.

And for the first time in years, Bucky lets himself feel it. Everything. Hope. Fear. Longing. Grief. Wonder.

He presses his palm over the place where his mark used to be. Where his flesh used to be.

He found you. It’s you.

And you don’t know.

But he does.

He brushes his thumb over the lines of his sketch and thinks that he could love you.

That he already does.

And then he thinks, that maybe he was never supposed to.

[sizzlingcloudmentality]

blessings

old man!Joel Miller x reader | wc 1.1 k | fluff mdni | ao3

summary: Joel's body is aching and so is his soul, but you make it all better or a domestic moment with Joel and you.

warnings: fluff without plot, no y/n, established relationship, unspecified agegap (think reader being around 30), Joel having bad joints but hey, he is 62 and alive, kisses, Joel being a cute grump, so many feelings, so much love, petnames (baby, darlin', angel)

notes: this is my attempt of making us all feel better. Joel will outlive me, thank you very much. a big kiss and thank you to my partner in crime fluff @guiltyasdave for writing with me today and beta'ing and being the best person 💛💛💛

The damp cold has been hard on him. Joel won't say a single word about it, he won't complain. But his face will twist when he moves, he will huff when the pain shoots through him, he will rub his knees and wrists and fingers without even noticing it. He'll seek the warmth a little more, when he can. Because the days on the construction sites are long, even longer when he only sits crouched over his desk. The wintery cold crawls closer every minute he broods over sketches or some tiny, tricky apparatus he wants to repair but can't, because his fingers are stiff and cold and he isn’t 40 anymore.

His whole body aches when he finally gets home. And all Joel wants now is a warm shower, a warm meal and your warm body against his. He feels like a burden, these days more than usual. This isn’t like it was supposed to be, he thinks when he hears you humming in the living room, some tune from 2003, a tune he was too old for even then. You are too young. Too kind.

“Hi baby,” you whisper into his good ear and wrap your arms around him. He grunts, frowning, a fake offended expression pronouncing some wrinkles on his face and smoothing others out. Baby. He likes that, likes being called that, likes being loved. A late blessing in his life.

“Don’t…” he mumbles when you hug him tight and burrow your nose deep into the collar of his flannel. He smells like fresh cut wood, dust, sweat, home. You inhale him deeply, sighing happily against his skin before you kiss him there. “I need a shower. Get off of me, nasty thing.”

Yet Joel stays put, his big paws and your arms make sure you keep on holding him a little longer. A week or a year, a decade if he dares to dream really big. He'd die a happy man today if the Lord decided that his time has come. But that doesn’t mean he wants to go. But if he had to, he’d know that he had another big love in his life. Lucky, that's what he is.

“Take a shower, then. And eat, there's soup.” You nuzzle a trail up his neck until you reach the grey scruff adorning his jaw and cheeks. It’s scratchy but soft, grey but virile, just like Joel himself. You kiss his cheek and hold your lips there until he groans again. It’s all part of the game, a game called Joel is grumpy, no really, he is when he is nothing but a loving man.

“Yes, ma'am,” he grumbles but there is a smile painting his timbre. “Thank you, darlin’,” he adds and gratefulness joins the smiley tone of his voice.

You sit with him, watch him eat because you already ate with Ellie. You serve him a side of the latest gossip, some youngins fooling around, breaking up in the middle of the street. He laughs and shakes his head, says something about how young love makes you do crazy things and when he looks at you – with your chin propped up on your folded hands, smiling at him – he is reminded that you are the same age as these young fools. You are more than grown up and an adult, you are a whole woman, have a whole story and lived a life before Jackson, but still, there are decades between you.

Young love really makes you do crazy things, loving an old man like him for example.

His stiff muscles and cold bones got a little better in the hot shower, and when he joins you on the edge of the bed he can feel the siren call of your warmth.

You can tell that he hurts. He never says a single word about it. But he hisses and grunts when he thinks you don't hear him. He curses his old bones and you spend your days lifting those curses, one by one, with kisses and caresses. You take the towel from him and continue drying his grey curls, knowing each one of them by name. You move behind him and dab his back dry, taking an inventory of his scars and spots and blemishes. Constellations, you think, and draw an invisible line to mark the Big Dipper he carries below his right shoulder blade.

Joel groans and shifts, both impatient for you to stop and not wanting you to ever stop. He shivers, the cold crawls over the hardwood floor and nips on his ankles.

“Need to lay down now, ‘m cold.” He tugs at the covers and you move to lift them for you and him. With a sigh he leans back, slowly – because his back is protesting – until he feels the mattress beneath welcoming him. The dips his body has carved into the worn material are hugging him but there is no warmth, just the promise of simple and plain sleep. But when your arms loop around him and your hands skim across his chest and arms? There is warmth. And he knows he will rest and recharge and recover.

His feet sneak closer to yours and his hands slip between your legs. You muffle your yelp against his shoulder and Joel sighs contently when the soft heat of your thighs starts seeping into his aching joints. When spring comes around, he'll be able to use his fingers on you again, differently, like he knows you're aching for. For now all he can do is soak up your care and love for him.

“You deserve better, darlin’,” he whispers between placing kisses on your temple, “Deserve someone your age, who can make ya happy and–”

“--still has a life to live and who can give me what I need,” you finish his sentence for him. “I know, I know. Ever considered that you are who I need? And want?”

Joel scoffs but he's smiling. Blessed, that’s what he is.

“Stubborn thing.”

“Just matching your energy, Miller.”

Another scoff and he's pulling one of your legs between his. Tangled, intertwined, not planning on letting you go, as long as he can manage to hold you by his side.

With your head tucked under his chin and your hand slowly rubbing his back, right where a scar sits and always makes his muscles knot, you close your eyes. He still smells like wood and musk, like what you've searched for for so long and found in his arms.

“Love you,” you murmur, tongue already heavy from the looming sleep.

“Love you the most, angel,” Joel answers and nuzzles the top of your head. Counting his blessings before he falls asleep. His daughters, his nephew. His brother and Maria. The people he loved along the way and still loves. And with you on his mind, as his last blessing, he drifts off.

I hope this could make you feel a little better on this Monday, please let me know know your thoughts, comments and especially reblogs are welcome! 🫶

general masterlist here

dividers: @/diviniyae

[prettygrlwrld]

Sins of Desire

Pair: Elias “Stack” Moore x Black female reader

Genre: Sinners, angsty, love/hate relationship, horny teenage

Warning: 18+, mostly background/fluff

Summary: the “Smoke Stack” Twins just did a violent robbed the Clarksdale First National Bank and Stack comes to you to lay low for a couple days until their boat leaves for Chicago.

PART 1

It was a muggy day in the Mississippi Delta for it be February. The sky was swallowed up by thick gray clouds, and though the smell of rain was distant, the air was heavy with promise. I was fixin’ a bit of food for the road—some cornbread, cold chicken, and pickles—for Ma to take on her trip to Memphis. She was headed up there to buy new fabrics for the shop.

Ma’s the seamstress ‘round here. Patches up old field clothes and makes church dresses for trade. Lately she’s been dreamin’ of doin’ her own designs, and I been helpin’ her sketch ‘em out.

But we only had enough money for one bus ticket, so she went on ahead, leavin’ me to mind the house and finish up the work.

“Aight now, girl,” she said, slingin’ her pocketbook over her shoulder. “I’ma be gone till Saturday evenin’, back in time for church. You finish the Jones boy’s shoes and Miss Doris’ skirt, y’hear?”

“Yes, ma’am,” I nodded, “I’ll have it done ‘fore supper.”

⸻

Later that afternoon, I was sittin’ by the back window, hand-stitchin’ Doris’ skirt. The light came in just right at that angle. The hum of cicadas buzzed low, and the wind stirred the tall wheat in the field out back. I thought I heard shufflin’—soft, cautious. Didn’t sound like Mr. Jones. That man walked like he was stompin’ on sin itself.

Maybe it was just my nerves. The house always feel different when you’re alone. I muttered a prayer and bent back over my needle.

Then I heard it.

“You sho’ you gon be safe here?”

My hands froze. That voice—low, smooth like molasses—but it curled in my ear like smoke.

I stood up slow and walked to the corner, picked up my daddy’s shotgun, and backed against the wall near the back door. I kept the barrel pointed straight, sweatin’ like a sinner in church.

And then, creak.

The back steps.

I peered through the mesh screen and there he was—Stack.

Sweaty, bloodied, shirt torn, and lookin’ like the devil just kissed his cheek. Elias “Stack” Moore. Lord help me.

He pushed the screen open careful, lookin’ around like he wasn’t sure if anyone was home.

When the door clicked shut behind him, I stepped out from behind the wall, raised the gun to his back.

“Elias, what you doin’ sneakin’ ‘round here?” I asked flat.

He didn’t flinch. Didn’t even turn ‘round.

A slow grin pulled at his lips.

“Hi darlin’,”he said, voice slicker than church shoes on a wet floor. “I just needa lay low a couple days, ma. Nothin’ more.”

I studied him, tight-jawed. He had that same look in his eye he always had when we were kids—like he already got what he came for and was just waitin’ on you to realize it.

“You bring the law to my doorstep and I swear fo’ God—”

Before I could finish, he spun ‘round, slapped the barrel aside, and pressed me to the wall so fast I barely had time to curse.

“Relax,” he whispered, leanin’ in close. “Heard your mama gon to Memphis… Thought I’d come see ma’ girl.”

My breath caught.

Stack had always been trouble—but the kind you couldn’t stay away from. First kiss, first mistake, first heartbreak. And now he was standin’ there, pressed against me like no time had passed, like the blood on his shirt wasn’t still warm.

I shoulda pushed him off of me, slapped him for even showing up on my doorstep on the run from the law and if I had any good sense I wouldn’t allow him to pull me into his mess.

But all I could do was breathe—slowly taking in his intoxicating scent.

He had my back pressed against the wall staring so deep into my eyes he could see the soul that he’s stolen so many times before. Hovering over me, one hand on the wall above my head, the other lightly applying pressure on my hip as if he was reminding me that he knew my body.

“Why here Stack?” I whispered, not daring to meet his unrelenting gaze. “Why me?”

He leaned in closer, so close I could feel his breath on my neck—sending sinful shivers down my spine.

“��Cause you the only one who ever made me feel like I wasn’t already halfway in hell.”

God, what is this man doing to me?

He knew just what to say to make my knees go soft and my heart stupid. I hated him for that. Hated how his voice made me remember summer nights behind the church, bare feet in red dirt, the way he used to say my name like it was a song he didn’t know all the words to but kept hummin’ anyway.

“You ain’t stayin’ long,” straightening my shoulders, “by sunrise Saturday mornin’ you betta’ be gon and I mean it!” trying to maintain any semblance of control over the situation.

He smiled—half grateful, half smug. “Yes ma’am.”

He lingered for a moment, just staring down at me before he chuckled taking a seat at the table.

“You still got that cot out by the well house?” he asked, eyes driftin’ to the side room.

“It’s dusty,” I muttered.

“I ain’t picky.”

⸻

We didn’t talk much as I fixed him a plate—cold cornbread, beans, and the last of the ham. He watched me move around the kitchen like he used to, like he’d never left, like this wasn’t a damn crime scene waitin’ to happen.

“You still hum when you sew?” he asked after a minute.

I shot him a look. “Don’t start.”

“I ain’t startin’. I’m rememberin’.”

He leaned back in the chair like he owned the place, one leg draped over the other, that same crooked smile that once made me ruin a good Sunday dress behind the tool shed.

I hated how much I wanted to sit on his lap and slap him at the same time.

When he finished eatin’, I handed him a towel and told him he best get washed up before he bled on the floor. He nodded, unbuckled the gun and holster strapped to his back, and laid it gentle on the kitchen table like it was holy. Then headed out back to the pump, barefoot, leavin’ faint drops of blood behind him on the porch wood

I watched him through the screen door as he stripped off his shirt and poured water over his head, muscles flexin’ like sin itself. The blood ran off him slow, pink in the basin. He winced a little—bullet must’ve grazed him—but not enough to stop him.

I quickly diverted my attention, hummin’ ole hymns to steady myself , hands scrubbin’ dishes that were already clean. The heat between my legs said otherwise, but I wasn’t gonna let him know I noticed.

Not yet.

I pulled out clean linens for the cot, tried to busy my mind, but then I heard the screen door creak and that unmistakable sound of him behind me—barefoot, quiet, intentional.

He came back in with just a tank top and some pants—showing off those strong arms that could take protect you from anything, sculpted by defined veins that could carry any burden—even yours.

Your back was turned, but you could feel the sinister smirk on his face.

“You still him when you nervous?”, he asked lowly, already knowing the answer. But he be wouldn’t be Stack if not for his pompous asshole tendencies—like that of a child who teases a girl instead of telling her he likes her.

“You still get on my nerves?” I retorted, attempting to mask my nervous habits that he painstakingly remembered.

He chuckled darkly—causing you to cautiously glance over your shoulder—and there he was sizin’ you up, like he you were standing naked infront of him although you were fully clothed.

“The cot’s ready”, you muttered as you tried to slip past him—but I didn’t get far before I landed in those big, warm arms.

“Two days,” you warned, but it came out softer than I meant it to.

“That’s all I need,” he murmured, still lookin’ at you like you were his last prayer—searching for a sign that you were still his.

⸻

Note: I wrote this at like 2 AM because I couldn’t sleep. We gone see if it’s worth finishing 😂.

[darkbunnylove]

Task Force 141 finding out Reader has a crush on them

(mainly fluff but also angst because balance)

You thought you were playing it cool. Emphasis on thought. The glances that linger a little too long, the way your body seems to magically gravitate toward them. Barely noticeable, right? Yeah, maybe not so much. Because feelings like that? Oh, they have a way of showing, sweetheart. And once Task Force 141 catches on? Well, let’s just say you’ve got their full attention now.

Soap stays subtle about it for exactly one week. Conveniently, that’s also the same week he figures out you’ve got a soft spot for him. After that, subtlety goes right out the window. Not necessarily because he falls in love easily, but because he’s been working on catching your attention for months now. Laughing a bit too loud at your jokes? Check. Casual hand brushes? Yup. Memorizing the exact creak your boots make when you walk down the hallway? You bet!

So when he finds out you’re actually into him too? This man doubles down immediately. So much you even start finding little sketches of your face tucked into random notebooks. Oh, and of course, Gaz’s in on it too, sending him updates like: “Rec room. Alone. Go.” and “Laundry bay. Casual. Fold something, I don’t know.”

And sure enough, Soap just happens to bump into you. Constantly. Every day. Always asking if you’ve got time for a coffee. A walk. A chat. Already busy? No problem, how about tomorrow? Oh and while he’s at it, what about dinner this weekend? He’s definitely in too deep to pretend it’s casual now.

Gaz would be lying if he said he wasn’t a little smug about knowing you liked him. Not cocky, just very, very pleased. Well, maybe a little unbearable. But how could he not be? A dream like you, being all sweet on him? It’s taking everything in him not to grin like an idiot every time you look his way.

And the idea of you at his side? Of getting to introduce you like “Yeah, I pulled that. Can you believe it?” It makes his chest go so warm he doesn’t know how long he can take it. So he asks for your number through a friend and tries to play it casual. Then he spends too long staring at the message field, debating how many y’s to add to “hey,” or if he should just play it safe with “hi.”

But it’s alright, because soon you’re texting each other every day. Evenings turn into FaceTime calls. He lies on his back in bed, smiling like a fool while you talk about your day. Sometimes you fall asleep mid-call. But he never hangs up first. And during the day? Gaz always seems to show up right when you need a break. Leaning against your office door, telling some ridiculous story that makes you laugh until it hurts. You tell him he’s impossible. He tells you it’s your fault for laughing. Yeah. You’ve got him. Completely.

Ghost, unfortunately, is not so great about it. At least not at first. When he finds out you’ve got a crush on him, his stomach actually drops. Because there is just no fucking way, right? Not someone like you. Not for him. It has to be a mistake. And if he gives in? He’ll ruin it. He knows he will.

So instead of lingering near you, he does the opposite. He avoids you. For weeks. And every time you do bump into each other, he barely says a word. So you’ve already convinced yourself he’s just not interested. And Ghost? Ghost is convincing himself that staying away is the right thing. Until one night. Maybe it’s stupid but fuck, when he sees you on that hookup app, looking good, too good, and open for something casual, he can’t help it. He knows he shouldn’t. But he sends a message anyway. You meet. And a single night slips into hours. Into heat. Into skin against skin...Perfect, right?

No. It eats him alive. Because now he’s sure you think that’s all he wants. That you’ll never know how deep this thing runs for him. He avoids you for another week. Can’t look you in the eye. Until one Saturday morning, he shows up at your door. Apologizing with flowers in hand and everything he can manage to say out loud.

Price doesn’t quite let himself believe you like him. A sweet thing like you? Surely you’ve got admirers. Someone better. Someone not so... worn down. And god, how old were you, anyway?

No, he doesn’t avoid you, but he overcorrects without meaning to. Careful with every word, every glance. Because he refuses to assume. Refuses to risk making you uncomfortable. So everything stays safe. Neutral. Professional. He says things like “Forecast says rain, tonight.” Meanwhile, he’s thinking about the way you laughed at his dumb joke four days ago. Later. Alone. While smoking. Definitely spiraling.

Then, one night at the pub, your people drift off until it’s just the two of you. Maybe you’re sitting a little too close now. Maybe you’ve both had a little too much to drink. He starts to pull away, because he thinks he should. That’s when another man says something. You laugh, just to be polite. Not into it. But still, it stings. So Price moves before he thinks. One step, then he’s there, hand at your lower back. “You alright, love?” he asks. “C’mon, time to go home.” And by home, he means his of course.

[tbaluver]

The Love And DeepSpace Men- Boyfriend Headcanons

parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: fluff fluff a/n: i might make a part two of this i just thought this was a cute idea in my drafts (´｡• ᵕ •｡`) any likes and reblogs are always appreciated! enjoy!

⋆｡‧˚ʚ♡ɞ˚‧｡⋆

Xavier:

He is your weighted blanket whenever you need him. Literally and figuratively. When you sleep, he provides so much warmth. His head could be on your chest as he dozes off when you play with the locks of his hair. His arms would be around your body, occasionally pressing light kisses on your arms.

Your big baby. The warmth and softness of you and hearing the sound of your heartbeat soothes him. Therefore, he loves being the little spoon when cuddling despite the height difference between you two. He leans into your touch a lot so just hold him tight and run your fingers through his hair as he nuzzles his face into your chest.

He has the most confusing food combos he's cooked but you try them anyway. Sometimes it's not shocking to you that it's not your cup of tea so you decide it's best to just get take out instead or that you cook anyway. You both can cook your own plates at the same time in the kitchen or you'll help him cook what he wants even if the food combo is questionable so he doesn't burn the house down.

Will celebrate all of your achievements no matter how small. You were nervous about an exam? "Woot" Will be happy and proud that you got it over with and you'll both find something small or big to do to celebrate it

Cute date ideas would be stargazing or picnics in the park. Packing simple easy foods and treats while you both enjoy the scenery and afternoon. Or having a blanket out at the park while you watch the stars at night but he's looking at you.

Zayne:

The type to kiss you in bed every single night and when you both wake up. He'll kiss you on the lips, or the top of your head while he cups your cheek.

He'll always listen to your problems. He's an amazing listener and he gives logical advice as well as encouragement and praises depending on what the situation is.

He's a busy man but he tries to plan dates with you at least two or three times a week. If he has a busy schedule he'll make it up to you. Some dates include checking out new cafes to try new sweets or bakeries.

He's also a gentleman! He'll hold any door open whether it's a restaurant, yours or his home, or the car door, etc. He always tries to pick you up and drop you off. He'll also wait until your inside your home safely before leaving. He'll always stay on the dangerous side of the road or sidewalk whenever you both are walking together. With him you're never walking on the wrong side of the road whenever he's with you! If you were both in a busy area, he'll let you link your arms together, or intertwine your hands together, or he'll have his hand on your back so he knows your with him.

He'll make the effort to call you whenever he can. During his breaks from work, he'll call to see how you're doing. Or he'll call you at night to wish you a goodnight before he does an operation because he might not make it back home in time.

When he comes home late at night, he's cautious on handling your sleeping form because he does not want to wake up your peaceful sleep. He'll tuck your head in the crook of his neck, his chin resting on the top of your head before pulling up the covers over your body.

Rafayel:

You are his muse. He is so in love with you that you fill up his mind so most of his works would be inspired by you. He would have many sketchbooks filled with sketches of mostly just you and sometimes of you and him. The sketchbook is filled with your side profile, your eyes, your smile, your hands, any parts of you that he has adored for years. One time he planned on drawing the scenery of the beach but he decided to sketch you instead. Or there would be times where you're at a restaurant and he'll doodle you on a napkin. Or when you're both at the beach, he'll grab a stick and draw you on the beach.

Being in a relationship with him basically means you will always have a companion. He'll trail on you wherever you go like you literally cannot get rid of him. When you want to shower by yourself, he'll stay on the other side of the shower talking about anything. He just likes having you by his side. You can sit near him while he paints a new canvas and sometimes he'll ask you your opinions. He'll also want you to travel with him if he had to fly out for exhibitions.

Although he can be very playful and a tease, he'll do anything for you. You just have to ask him. He's wrapped around your finger.

He'll buy matching jewelry for the both of you and he'll buy any dresses or outfits that he thinks you would love or that would look gorgeous on you.

He also loves loves it when you give him words of affirmation. He loves hearing when you compliment him or tell him that you love him and he'll also love doing that to you as well.

Sylus:

He would reprogram Mephisto to like you and not squawk/ claw you. If he was far away from a business situation he would have Mephisto or Luke and Kieran keep you company. The twins will probably tell you any stories you want about Sylus. He'll also make calls or text you to update you on anything while he's far away.

On nights when he's not home, he'll intentionally leave some of his shirts out because he knows you sleep in his shirts as you drift off into sleep. He makes sure that they smell like 'him'.

Loves holding hands anytime he can with you. Or just loves having his hands on you. Always has his hand on your back or intertwined with yours or wrapped around your waist.

Makes time for you anytime he can. He'll literally just give you his card and follow you around while you shop. He's also the type of partner to buy you everything that you touch. If there's a time where you're upset about something that's sold out, he'll be searching for it and buying it overnight with the fastest delivery!

He'll also find your height difference funny. Sometimes he'll place his hand out on your head and tease you. Or sometimes he'll hold things above his head and find your expression funny because it's still impossible for you to reach.

[waywardxrhea]

butterfly effect - Spencer Reid

pairing: Spencer Reid x fem!reader (no use of y/n)

part two of Casual

Spencer and Reader's first meeting is revealed along with how both are feeling in the aftermath of the restaurant debacle in part one.

word count: ~6.4k

content: 18+ minors DNI! language, angst! fluff (oh the fluff in this one is sickly sweet - i told y'all i don't like unhappy endings)! smut (i simply could not help myself because i've had this one line stuck in my head for weeks and it just so happened to transition very well in this piece i'm not sorry): oral [male receiving], unprotected PIV, multiple orgasms mentioned.

dividers by @firefly-graphics

now playing: butterfly effect by Sophie Holohan also a hint of vulnerable by Leanna Firestone <3

Then…

You watched as drops of condensation raced down the side of your iced coffee cup, lost in your own thoughts as you ignored the hustle and bustle on the sidewalk to your left. It was a sunny morning on your day off and you were at your favorite local coffee shop, trying to ignore your work responsibilities for as long as possible. You were doodling in the rustic looking parchment journal you had found at a thrift store when you went shopping with Celeste and Maddie yesterday, and you had become enthralled with butterflies once more. 

You had a hyperfixation on the beautiful creatures when you were younger and in some circles were ashamed to admit how much you knew about them. They were just so fascinating and beautiful, how could you not adore them? You knew that this cafe’s outdoor seating area was teeming with them during April due to their migratory pattern as well as all of the plant life they had blooming within all of the scattered pots seated throughout the patio, so it was the perfect time for catching glimpses of the creatures you had lost touch with for many years. 

A beautiful one with black and white coloring and long trailing wings fluttered by and you quickly snatched your cup and journal up as you went to follow the beautiful creature. If your memory served you right it was a Zebra Swallowtail, one you hadn’t seen since your childhood, and you were determined to capture its beauty in your new journal. 

Your journey following the butterfly was short-lived though, when as you quickly exited the patio’s gate you ran smack into someone! You felt your condensation coated cup leave your grip as it was crushed between your body and the stranger’s and your eyes went wide as the drink spilled down their front, completely soaking through the button up they were wearing. And to add insult to injury, the manilla folder that had been in their hands was now absorbing the liquid on the ground. 

With your now empty hand flying to cover your mouth, you began profusely apologizing, saying, “Oh my gosh I am so, so, so, so sorry! I wasn’t watching where I was going! You see, I saw this really pretty butterfly that I wanted to sketch and I didn’t want it to get away but now it has and I completely ruined your shirt and your file and you were probably on your way to work and now you’re going to be late because of me and smell like coffee the rest of the day and oh my gosh I am so sorry I am mortified right now!” By the end of your rambled on apology you had covered your face with your journal, afraid to look up at the person you had run into, especially after such a rambling and childish apology…

What surprised you was the person letting out a soft laugh in response to your rambling before telling you, “If you were going after something in the name of science I can’t exactly fault you for running into me. I likely would have done the same.” 

“You- What…?” you asked, risking a peek over the top of your journal, only to see the smiling face of a boyishly handsome man around your age with cropped and almost curly hair that fell slightly over his eyes. He was gorgeous. His melodic laugh rang out once more and it prompted you to lower the journal to your side fully, risking a glance at the damage your drink did. 

You cringed as you looked at his once pristine and pressed shirt, but your anxious thoughts were interrupted by him telling you, “You were going after a butterfly that you wanted to make an observation of in its habitat. As a man of science I can’t fault you for doing so.” He bent over to pick up his now thoroughly soaked file and offered a small smile as he came back up and added, “I’m Spencer by the way. I don’t exactly follow the science of lepidopterology, but it’s a fascinating subject. Do you study them for a living?”

You offered your name in turn before saying, “Oh, uh, no I- It’s just a sort of hyperfixation I’ve had on and off since I was a kid,” You felt an intense blush creeping up your neck and onto your cheeks after the admission crossed your lips and you wished that the earth would open up beneath you and save you from yourself. Instead of just keeping your mouth shut though, you rambled on, “And now it’s probably ruined your day and routine and again I am so sorry! Were you heading in? I could buy your drink! It’s the least I can do after ruining…everything.”

“I couldn’t ask you to do that, I’m getting drinks for more than just me,” Spencer replied as he began opening his satchel bag and pulling out a sweater vest which he put on and covered the coffee stain on his front. “See, good as new. I have a change of clothes at the office anyway. Don’t worry about the shirt.” He waved the folder to get the droplets of coffee off and added, “And don’t worry about the file either. I have it memorized. Eidetic memory. Comes in handy for times like this.”

“Right…” you said, making a mental note to look up what that meant rather than assuming. You nodded awkwardly before gesturing toward the door and heading that way, telling him, “Well I’m gonna head back inside to get a drink to replace the one I dropped. We can at least discuss how I could repay you while we wait?”

“If you insist,” Spencer said before following your lead into the small shop, the little bell above the door ringing out to alert the workers that someone had entered. 

As you waited in line, you cleared your throat and asked awkwardly, “So, uh…what do you do for work?”

“I work for the FBI at the Behavioral Analysis Unit. We basically use what’s called profiling to determine why people do what they do, specifically in the realm of killing people,” he told you as if it was a regular old nine to five and not what sounded like the most interesting job in the world. 

“I- Wow! That sounds so cool!” you stuttered out awkwardly. You mentally kicked yourself at the stupid reply, but before you could rectify the situation it was Spencer’s turn to order. You breathed a sigh of relief at the out and began scouring your brain for ways you could repay Spencer for the mishap outside. 

Once you ordered your replacement drink, you cleared your throat and shyly asked Spencer, “How about as an apology I take you to dinner? You choose where. I just feel really, really bad about spilling my drink on you…”

Spencer was silent for a beat before telling you, “I would like that. Thank you.” So before you two parted ways, Spencer wrote his number in your journal beside another butterfly you had been sketching and you sent him off with a warm smile while what felt like a kaleidoscope of butterflies flew around in the pit of your stomach. 

Your dinner with Spencer got delayed when the BAU was requested to work a case in Oregon, but you were fine with that as it gave you more time to grapple with the fact that, no, this wasn’t a date. This was simply a business transaction because you had ruined the man’s clothes and case file. 

When Spencer returned after closing the case, you were finally ready to face the gorgeous man in what you hoped would be a platonic business-like way. That was until you saw his face again and heard his what turned out to be contagious laugh. He told you all kinds of fun facts about butterflies he had learned in preparation to have something to talk with you about and you practically had heart eyes as you listened to him ramble on and on about stuff even you didn’t know about the beautiful creatures. 

The spark you thought was there turned out to be mutual and by the end of the night, Spencer was back to your apartment and between your legs, sending you into the most blissful state you had been in in years. As you learned during your dinner, Spencer had a vast understanding of the human body and mind and it turned out that those skills translated to the bedroom as well. Needless to say, he had completely exhausted you and you fell asleep in his arms under your duvet, your legs entangled as you clung onto him like a koala. 

Waking up the morning after your dinner, Spencer began to come to his senses as he smelled bacon and pancakes being cooked and coffee lingering in the air of your apartment. At first he relaxed into the plush memory foam once more before he sat up with a start. What was he doing? He knew from current and former BAU members’ experiences, relationships while working for the unit were hard. The hours were odd and long, the mental toll of cases could be heavy at best and all consuming at most, and statistically the odds of someone in a relationship with an FBI agent - specifically a member of the BAU - becoming a target of a pissed off unsub was high. What if an unsub took you as a hostage in order to get to him? What if an unsub killed you as some cruel form of punishment for going after them? That wasn’t something he was willing to shoulder onto you, he thought as a shudder shook his whole body. 

But there was no way he wanted to let you go from his life altogether, so when he emerged into the combined dining and kitchen area to see you cooking in just a t-shirt and underwear, Spencer cleared his throat and greeted you with a good morning before asking tentatively, “Hey uh… I was just thinking… With my job with the BAU being what it is, could we…would you mind if we kept this casual? I had an amazing time with you at dinner and in…other places, but it’s historically difficult for an FBI agent to maintain a proper relationship and give their partner the attention they deserve while also giving cases the attention they need. Would…would that be something you would be okay with?” 

Spencer studied your body language as you concentrated on flipping the pancakes in front of you, doing so effortlessly as you nonchalantly replied, “If that’s what is easiest then yeah. I had a really good time last night too.” Relief flooded Spencer’s body at your response and he relaxed into the dining chair a bit more before standing up to pour himself some coffee and prepare it how he liked, content with the new arrangement he found himself in with the gorgeous and thoughtful woman in front of him. 

So that’s how it went on for the following months. Between Spencer’s cases and your shifts at work, the two of you managed to see each other more and more. Sometimes the evenings started at restaurants and some were initiated at either of your apartments when you were feeling particularly needy. 

Even though at first you were truly content with keeping things with Spencer casual, as time went on, you had started to develop feelings for the man. Feelings that sex alone couldn’t tame and that’s when you realized what you knew all along. That those butterflies you felt in your stomach during your first encounter were never a good sign. 

Now…

A knock on your apartment door broke you from your trance of zoning out whatever was playing on Netflix at the moment and you looked up at the clock hanging on the wall to realize it was nearly three o’clock. You had spent most of your day off zoned out in front of the TV lost in your own thoughts when you were supposed to go to lunch with Celeste hours ago. Looking at your phone you noticed all the missed calls and texts and rubbed your tired eyes as you groaned in frustration. 

The knock sounded once again before you heard Celeste’s voice calling out, “Are you in there? Do I need to call the cops for a welfare check?”

You attempted to smooth down your pjs before opening the door and telling her quietly, “No, I’m here. I’m sorry I flaked on lunch I didn’t mean to I just-”

You couldn’t even finish your sentence before Celeste was wrapping you in a hug to end all hugs and asking softly, “What’s wrong?”

This simple question was always your downfall because the second that it was asked the floodgates opened and you began sobbing into Celeste’s shoulder. All of the tears you had denied yourself over the last week and a half finally began to freefall as you clung to your friend like she was a buoy out at sea and she was the only thing keeping you afloat. 

Celeste managed to maneuver the two of you back into the apartment and closed the door as you began rambling through your tight and broken voice, “At the restaurant…when we celebrated Adri…Spencer was there. We…we had sex in the bathroom but then he just finished and left me hanging. No explanation. Then I overheard his coworker call me Spencer’s love toy. He…he didn’t shut down the comment. I just thought I meant more to him than that… So I panicked and left. Almost had a panic attack outside when he came to talk with me. I thought he was going to comfort me but then he just reminded me, ‘no attachments.’” This whole spiel took you the greater part of five minutes to get out between sobs and trying to catch your breath, but Celeste being patient as always gave you her attention the whole time. You took a final deep breath before finishing with, “I really, really like him Celeste… I was a fool to think I meant more to him.”

Celeste thought on your words for the few moments it took to lead you toward the couch. She sat down and brought your head to rest on her thigh, gently detangling your hair with her fingers as she said, “I’m sorry that he made you feel that way. And I’m sorry we didn’t notice something was wrong before now. We’re your friends, we should be there for you through stuff like this.”

“It’s nothing you did,” you quickly told her. “Work kept me occupied this week so I tried to just ignore everything but then today I guess it all caught up to me…” Celeste nodded and you relaxed as she continued to mess with your hair. 

Her silence was broken when she finally said, “Not to play Devil’s advocate, because what he did was not okay, but have you thought about why he came out to check on you when you left?”

This question caused you to furrow your eyebrows together and think about it. Why did he come outside? None of the other BAU members were leaving. It was just him… You cleared your throat and admitted, “I uh… I didn’t think about that.” There was a beat of silence before you told her, “I haven’t told you guys much about his job besides that he works for the FBI, but he’s what they call a profiler. He can tell a lot about a person just by reading their body language. Maybe…”

When you trailed off, leaving your sentence unfinished, Celeste offered, “Maybe he knew you were upset from your body language so he came to comfort you?”

You thought about it for a second before telling her, “I mean maybe, but that wouldn’t explain-” Your sentence died in your throat as another knock sounded through the apartment. “Did you text Maddie or Adri?” you asked Celeste. 

“No,” Celeste replied as you began pulling yourself into a sitting position. “I’ll see who it is.”

As she did you started to realize how dehydrated you were, so you slowly made your way to the kitchen to get a glass of water. As you stood, a dizzying feeling filled your head and darkness lined your peripheral vision, but you tried to ignore it as you made your way to the fridge. You vaguely heard the exchange happening at your door, but your attention was caught when Celeste called your name to get your attention. Looking up from your glass and Brita, you saw Spencer in your doorway with a bouquet of flowers and your heart gave an irregular stutter in your chest. “He says he wants to talk to you. Is that okay?” Celeste asked and you could hear the protective nature in her voice that Spencer was no doubt picking up on too. 

“Y-yeah,” you replied, nodding in case she couldn’t hear you across the room. 

“Do you want me to stay?” she asked, eyeing Spencer’s tall form almost suspiciously as she did. 

“I think I’ll be okay,” you told her, offering her a small smile. “Thank you for coming to check on me. I’ll make lunch up to you next weekend.” Celeste nodded hesitantly before grabbing her purse off of the floor where she had dropped it and began making her way out. You were sure she would stay idled in the parking lot of the complex until you texted her that everything was okay, so you made a mental note to do so after this was over. Whatever this was. 

Taking a deep breath, you offered a quiet, “Hi,” to Spencer as he approached your dining area with the rather large bouquet in hand. That couldn’t have been cheap. 

“Hey,” he said, almost as quietly as you did. He cleared his throat and said, “I…I wanted to apologize for what happened last time we saw each other.” 

Nodding, you quickly wiped a stray tear away as you told him, “I was really hurt, Spencer.”

“I know that now. So that’s why I brought you these,” he reiterated as he offered the flowers out to you. “In flower language the white roses symbolize my remorse for what happened, my seeking of forgiveness, and my hope for a new beginning between the two of us. The pink hyacinths represent new love and fresh starts. The white hyacinths represent my wish for healing between us. And the pink tulips represent my asking for forgiveness and the sincerity behind my words.” You tentatively accepted the flowers and took a moment to breathe in their natural fragrance with closed eyes as Spencer rambled on, “Did you know that floriography has been practiced for thousands of years and was even used in theatrical works, most notably Shakespeare? A lot of people take for granted what the flowers they’re giving mean, but the meaning behind each one can offer you a great deal of insight into the mind of the giver.”

You tried to hide the small smile teasing your lips in response to Spencer’s ramblings which you always found endearing by searching your cabinets for a vase to put them in. With your back turned toward him, you cleared your throat and quietly told him, “Thank you. They’re beautiful. I just…” you pulled out a vase and let out a heavy sigh as you brought it to the sink to rinse out and fill with fresh water. “Fucking me in the restroom and just leaving before I got off without an explanation hurt. Hearing what Derek said, calling me your ‘love toy’ and you agreeing to it really hurt. I… I know you said no attachments, but… I’ve spent so much time with you and got to know you and I realized that I can’t do this whole casual thing anymore…” By the time you finished your statement, you had opened the flower food and put it into the water and hugged your arms to your body as you tried to make yourself smaller amidst the palpable tension in the room. 

“I could tell by your body language as you left the restaurant that something was wrong but I didn’t know what but I followed you out regardless because I knew something was wrong and wanted to try and fix it…” Spencer admitted. So Celeste was right about that… You didn’t have time to think about that though as Spencer continued, telling you, “I really messed up by leaving you in there after what I did, and it took me a while to realize what I did wrong because… Gosh now I really sound like an ass saying it out loud.” He scratched the back of his neck as he said, “I had calculated the longest average time an adult male takes in the restroom and was limiting myself to that time limit as we…did what we did in there. I knew that most of the team had seen you pass by and so I didn’t want them to think we were having sex in a restroom of all places. Not that I am ashamed to be with you at all, with you I’ve had the best few months of my life I think, but there are some aspects of my life I would like to keep private from them.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, unable to help the huff of a laugh that escaped your lips at the admission. What a truly Spencer reason to leave you hot and bothered. The bit about ‘the best few months of his life’ made your heart soar once again as you finally looked up to make eye contact with him. 

A smile broke out onto his lips when his eyes met yours and he slowly approached you as he rambled on, saying, “And about the whole response to what Derek said. I panicked. He’s usually the one who has all the girls and is some sort of expert love maker or something, and I’m way less experienced than that. So when he brought it up I didn’t know how to respond so I guess I just blurted out what would make me look cool to him. Which I realized was a mistake far too long after, when the team sort of had to give me a reality check…”

Just the next morning after the restaurant incident left Spencer reeling, trying to make sense of what happened between the two of you, the BAU was called out on a case. After the first two days on the case, JJ approached Spencer as they were packing up for the day and asked, “Spence, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing’s wrong, I-” he tried to say but couldn’t finish as Emily too approached him while putting her hand up and shaking her head. 

“You’ve been moody. You don’t get moody for no reason,” she argued. 

“I’m not moody,” Spencer defended himself. 

“Yes you are, you’ve been off since that night at the Italian place. What happened?” JJ asked. By then more of the team had started to gather around and he noticed that even some of the locals had poked their heads up from their work to listen to what was now looking like an intervention. 

Spencer sighed and threw his hands up exasperatedly as he said, “Fine! You wanna know why I’ve been in a bad mood? It’s because she told me to go to Hell and since then I just…I haven’t been able to concentrate. She’s on my mind all the time and I’ve just been trying to figure out what I did wrong so I can fix it!”

“Oh so it’s a lovers spa-” Derek started to say.

“Don’t you go making more comments,” Spencer snapped, which made Derek freeze, the smile melting off of his mouth. “Your ‘love toy’ comment is one of the things that set her off. I know that for sure.”

“Okay so we know that. What else happened?” JJ asked as she took a seat in a chair nearby, seemingly fully concentrated on the conversation now. 

“I, uh…” Spencer faltered, feeling awkward about being open about his sex life in front of so many people seeing as how Hotch and Rossi had wandered into the space too. He felt heat creeping up into his cheeks as he blurted out, “We had sex in the bathroom and I had calculated how long I had before you guys got suspicious about what was happening so by the time that limit rolled around I had finished but didn’t have time to get her there but I still left because I didn’t want any of you to know what was going on.”

The response reminded him of the time they all found out you existed in the first place and he struggled to hear all of the comments. “Spencer Reid, you did what?!” came from Penelope. Emily groaned in frustration as she said, “We already all knew what was happening in that restroom!” One of the locals chimed in with, “Oh come on man, you can’t just leave her hanging like that!” “Yeah, you messed up big time,” was JJ’s snide remark as she leaned her head back and rolled her eyes. 

The chaotic chorus was interrupted by David clearing his throat to get the room’s attention. When the focus was on him, he wisely pointed out, “I think we can all agree that seeking forgiveness is what you need to do here. Do it right when we get back from the case.” The older man patted Spencer on the shoulder before continuing with, “Life isn’t going to slow down or wait for an ideal opportunity to make things right. If you really want things with this girl to work out, then you’re going to have to accept that there may be obstacles in the way and hurdles you both need to jump over. You have a village behind you, kid. A village that is willing to go to bat to protect both you and those you love. We’ve done it before and we’ll do it again. The unknown shouldn’t be the reason you hold yourself back from what you really want. So go after her.”

Spencer’s large hands gently took yours into his and when you didn’t deny the touch, he squeezed them and told you, “You aren’t just an object or ‘love toy’ to me. I promise you that.” He took a shaking breath and you looked up to see tears rimming his eyes as he said, “I was just so scared of something happening to you because of my job that I denied my feelings for you. I have been targeted and taken by unsubs before, Hotch’s ex wife who was in witsec was tracked and killed, JJ’s family was targeted just a few weeks after we met… I didn’t want any of those things to happen to you. But I also didn’t want to lose you from my life so I made a deal with myself that we would keep things casual, but I never followed up after that first morning if that was okay with you…”

Tears began welling up in your eyes in response to his words. You knew that he said the job was tough on relationships, but you never thought too into what he was protecting you from… It showed that he truly cared in your eyes. That he had thought this through. 

You were too stunned to speak and the dizzy feeling returned in response to all of the new information. Seeming to notice this, he guided you to the couch in your sitting area and asked, “I trust you know what the butterfly effect is?”

“I do,” you confirmed, curious as to where this was going. 

“Well sometimes I get to thinking and I wonder what the probability of us meeting would have been if that butterfly hadn’t made you spill your drink on me. Think of it as an actualization of the theory. I calculated that the odds would have been slim to none considering how far off our lines of work are from each other and it makes me sad to think that in virtually every other reality we never met. Because you’ve changed my life. And yes, the sex is great, but so is the conversation! You are always so genuinely interested in what I have to say and it’s so refreshing because a lot of the people I’m close to have gotten tired of my ramblings over the years. I didn’t realize until I didn’t have you in my life anymore that I wanted to come home early from cases to be with you, and not just intimately. I wanted to come home to you in my apartment - what would be our apartment. To bring you flowers and your favorite chocolates. To cook dinner with you and watch your favorite movies. To show you my favorite books and read yours in return! I’m usually one to look at the statistics and facts of it all, but just this once I would like to believe that the butterfly effect is real and that it brought us together.”

“Spencer, I-” you started, but stopped as a quiet sob left your mouth and you covered it with your hand. When you regained your composure, you nodded and told him, “I want that too. So much. I want to come home to you reading impossibly fast through my entire book collection. I want to take trips to bookstores together. I want to make your favorite meal when you get home from a case no matter what time of day it is. I want to properly meet your teammates from the BAU. I want it all. Because I-” you stopped your rambling once more before too much came out. 

You didn’t have to worry about it though, because Spencer took the words right out of your mouth as he said, “I love you.”

You felt weightless in response to his confession and you felt the biggest smile break out onto your face before you whispered back, “I love you too.” 

“Can I kiss you?” Spencer asked as he leaned his forehead on yours. 

“Always,” you replied, the smile on your lips evident in your voice. 

The kiss was the most gentle one Spencer had ever given you and you felt your heart soar and a kaleidoscope of butterflies explode in your stomach once more, reminding you of the day you met. And this time you were sure that Spencer wouldn’t let your soaring heart fall. 

After a few moments though, gone was the gentle kiss that brought you two back together. Soon the kiss was filled with need and desire as you finally noticed the reaction that your body had been having to the man who was now under your hips as you straddled him. Desire once more guided your actions as you moved your hips on Spencer’s, feeling his arousal starting to grow as you lapped into each others’ mouth. 

A low and muffled groan left Spencer’s mouth as he moved his hands to rest on your ass and began massaging in time with the sway of your hips. At the same time as you began to ask, “Can I-?” Spencer was whispering, “I need-” You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped your mouth before you began moving off of him and down onto the floor between his spread legs, saying, “I take it we’re on the same page then?”

“Yes,” was his instant response as his lust filled eyes looked down at you on your knees between his legs, your hands gliding up his thighs and to his belt buckle. After getting the belt undone you of course took a moment to tease his stiff member, earning a small buck of his hips and a beg of, “Please,” almost whimpered from his lips. 

“How can I no to that?” you asked with a small smile on your lips as you began to unbutton and unzip Spencer’s slacks. When you pulled his slacks and underwear down in one fell swoop, you smiled up at Spencer as you asked, “Have I ever told you how handsome you are?”

“A-a few times. Shit-” he moaned out as you began teasing his head with your tongue, focusing on the spot on the underside just below the head that you knew drove him crazy. When you took him into your mouth fully, one of Spencer’s hands flew right into your hair, lightly tugging as you took as much of him into your mouth as you could. 

You bobbed up and down a few times before hollowing out your cheeks around him and as you did, the grip he had on your hair tightened and you let out a low moan in the back of your throat at the feeling. Spencer’s response was instant, letting out a loud moan into the otherwise quiet room that sounded somewhat like your name. Within seconds though, he was tapping at your temple and whispering, “W-wait. Stop.”

You instantly stopped what you were doing, feeling your heart clench at the words. Wiping the excess spit from your chin, you said quietly, “I-I’m sorry did I do something-?”

“No, no, no you didn’t do anything wrong, I just…” Spencer said as his chest heaved. “I want to do this the right way. I want to make love to you.” 

Your mouth opened slightly in response to the words as you sat back on the floor, shocked at the implication. Before you could come up with a response, Spencer was pulling you up from the floor and coaxing your oversized t-shirt off, revealing that you had not been wearing a bra this whole time which made him groan as he began toying with your now fully exposed breast. He began kissing you once more and a whimper escaped your mouth as he began toying with your hard nipple and you began pushing at his vest and button up, silently telling him to get rid of them. 

During all of this, the two of you began fumbling toward your bedroom, dropping clothes as you went and leaving a trail from the couch to your bed. When the backs of your knees met the edge of the bed, Spencer collapsed on top of you which ended up with you in a fit of giggles as he rolled both you and himself over to be in the bed properly. When you were comfortably on the pillow, you teasingly asked, “So what does love making entail, Doctor?”

“Something more gentle than I usually give you,” he replied as he lined himself up with your entrance. “Something more meaningful,” he added as he pushed in slowly. 

The stretch around Spencer was something you needed a moment to adjust to and he gave you time to do so as he buried his face into your neck and let out what sounded like a relieved sigh. This was already a change of pace. Usually the two of you were so needy, he never gave you time to adjust to his size and you always took the sting in stride with the pounding he usually gave you, but this…this was different. It felt new. It was gentle. 

Wrapping your legs around Spencer’s waist, you sighed contentedly before whispering, “You can move.”

And so he did, starting off with small thrusts that you were sure he was doing so he didn’t lose it right then and there after the oral you had just given him before you started. But then they transitioned into long and languid strokes, almost completely pulling out from you before slowly pushing back in. At one point Spencer grabbed a small throw pillow you had on the bed and lifted your hips to place it under them and from that moment you knew you were a goner. The angle made it easier for him to hit that spongy spot within your walls and you let out an almost pornographic moan when he did. Over and over again. 

“You sound so beautiful,” Spencer grunted out which made you open your eyes to look up at him. You were met with his smile as he reiterated, “You are so beautiful.”

The compliment had your body reeling and you felt the coil in your abdomen tightening as he continued to brush over that spot within you. “Spencer, I-” your words were cut off by a moan when he brought the hand now not supporting his body weight to your clit and began rubbing gentle circles on it. Your breathing began to become labored as the pleasure continued to mount until it was almost too much. “I’m close,” you told him, feeling your core starting to twitch around him as he filled you up so well. 

“Me too, sweet girl,” Spencer panted out, leaning down to place a gentle kiss to your lips. 

As cheesy as it is to say, the tender moment was what broke you. A litany of pleasure filled sounds escaped your mouth that were swallowed by Spencer’s as he picked up his pace just the slightest bit as you began contracting around him, your orgasm ripping through your body in the most intense way possible. Spencer followed behind you quickly, burying his head into your neck once more as he moaned out his pleasure between sloppy kisses placed on your throat. 

Spencer collapsed slightly on top of you, slightly to the side as he slipped out of you, some of his release following suit as you both breathed heavily in the aftermath of what you would deem the most pleasurable sex you had ever had. With hands wandering in mindless shapes over your body, Spencer mumbled into your skin, “I love you. I’m sorry it took me so long to realize.”

“I love you too,” you told him with a smile on your lips. You never wanted to let go of this feeling. 

A few minutes passed of just basking in each other’s warm embrace before Spencer raised his head and kissed your lips, telling you, “Let’s get cleaned up. I’m thinking that after we shower I can take you to dinner? On a proper date?” 

“I would love that,” you replied as he helped you off the bed and into the shower. 

That night after dinner Spencer outdid himself with the love making, somehow managing to drag three more orgasms out of you, each more intense than the last. As you laid there in bed that night with Spencer’s arm draped over you, you silently thanked the world for sending that butterfly into your path that fateful morning.

a/n: thank you all so much for the outpouring of love on Casual! i really hope this lived up to expectations that may have been built after the first part! Derek still hasn't been redeemed and Reader still hasn't properly met the BAU team (especially Rossi who was honestly the MVP here), so i'm thinking we'll see each other again in a potential part three? ;)

part three: Right Person, Right Time

taglist: @spicyspirit @misserabella @lillianacristina @lullvu

those who didn't ask to be tagged but y'all were so kind in the comments so i will anyways to make sure you see this post <3 (apologizes if i am overstepping by tagging)

@lilrios-world @theylovemelody @lea24sposts @espressoparis @crazy4books1 @i-live-in-spite @mega-kittyglitter-1 @rumplereids

[justyelln]

Muse ᯓ ᡣ𐭩

; mydei x reader, reincarnation, modern au, artist!reader, titans are myths, mention of [name] (only once), implied chrysos heir reader, spoiler for story 3.1 (?), not proofread.

wordcount : 1,8k

i am not so proud of this. enjoy, regardless!

reincarnation is but a tale- something distant, unreal. the concept of 'another life' does not fit right to her.

one life was already hard enough. the idea of living again, somewhere else, as someone else-what was the point? what would she carry over? her memories? her regrets? her love?

love.. to who?

memories.. if she were living in her another life, was all her dream are from her past life?

a man.. her muse, one who she paint on her canvas. from the first time she saw him in her dream, he had always been her form of inspiration. over and over again, always the same face, the same quiet expression. a face she never met, yet felt achingly familiar.

her fingers knew the shape of him without needing to think. the structure of his face, his cheekbones, his nose, his mouth. it was like remembering— not creating.

a longing feeling so specific, it scared her. a deep ache. everytime she finished a sculpture, everytime she stepped back to look at what she’d made, one name surfaced.

she reached out, brushing her fingers gently over the sculpture’s face.

“mydeimos…” the name left her lips like a prayer, and it surprised her everytime.

reincarnation is but a tale, it is something she'd like to believe, even if the world gave her hints by her dreams.. reincarnation is but a beautiful story to make one believe in a lie.

and yet, someone so familiar is standing right before her eyes.

the same expression, the same face structure, the same name.

he stood quietly in the middle of her gallery, silent. his gaze fixed on a piece she had always been proud of— his sculpture. the one she always came back to, and one she had spent time perfecting it.

“you must be the artist.” the man said, turning his head to her. for a moment, it felt like time folded in on itself. as if the past and present were no longer two separate things.

she stayed silent, not knowing what to answer. that is the face she saw in her dream, one who she couldn't remember his eyes, no matter how hard she tried. he also got the same tear shaped tattoo under his beautiful eyes.

“ah. forgive my rudeness,” his voice, it felt so real. “my name is mydei— mydeimos.” his name, it is him.

reality took a second to catch up to her. “sir mydeimos.. this is a bit awkward, isn’t it? some of the pieces here have…”

“the same name as mine,” he finished for her. “and my face.”

mydei turned his attention back to the sculpture, and then slowly glanced around at the other artworks. paintings, sketches, small sculptures—each one carrying some trace of him.

“miss,” he said gently, “would you mind telling me the stories behind these artworks?”

his tone was soft, familiar. like someone speaking to someone he knew long, the way he talked to her seems familiar, it's not a foreign feeling.

“very well.”

⊹

there were many pieces in the gallery. and one by one, she told him their stories. to a man she had just met today—yet felt like she’d known for lifetimes.

some stories were light, full of warmth and laughter. others were tangled in emotion, too complicated to explain clearly. a few were quiet and deeply sad. but all of them had a shared thread—him. her muse. now standing beside her, real and breathing.

they stopped before another artwork. a large canvas, richly detailed.

in this artwork, it was not just mydei, but other people too, even her. laughing together in what looked like a bathhouse. the mood was bright—carefree, as if time had no hold on them. golden threads shimmered through the water, catching light from somewhere unseen.

"i feel like in this artwork, it is full of someone i've known before. i have no idea how'd i know their faces, but some of them are my actual friends in real life."

some of the figures were familiar to her—faces of her friends, people she had crossed paths with in real life. faces that are not only familiar to her— but also to mydei.

“some people in this painting looks like my friends, too.” mydei said, eyes still on the bathhouse scene.

she only hummed in response, though the quiet tremor in her chest betrayed how much that surprised her.

they moved on. mydei paused in front of another painting. the next artwork, a painting, of a figure just like him— mydeimos. walking away from the viewer's perspective. “then, what about this one?” she looked at the painting he was pointing at.

she stood beside him, eyes locked on the painting. It took a moment before she could speak. “as the title said— ‘the strife’s parting’, it's the last time ‘i’ saw him.” she said quietly

her fingers reached out, gently tracing the familiar tattoo inked on the painted back.

“every one of artwork in this place is connected,” she began, her voice slightly louder. “after mydeimos retrieved nikador's coreflame and became a demigod of strive— he left. he part ways from the city, from everyone, from me.”

her throat tightened. she wasn’t sure if it was from talking so much, or from the weight of those words leaving her.

“he left everything behind. for an endless battlefield.” she lowered her finger from the canvas, the atmosphere here was heavy.

she took a breath, almost too quiet to notice. “the continuation of this piece is not finished yet, and i'd rather not talk about it.” she murmured, her voice barely heard.

it's a painting of the last view she had seen, a white haired man, pierced his sword through her muse. killed the man that is supposedly— immortal. it's a painting, a dream she'd rather not talk about to anyone.

mydei didn’t speak right away. but she felt the quiet understanding in the way he stood beside her.

“you know, it occured to me..” she faced the man beside her, the face she had avoided this whole time. “.. why does he looks like you? his name, his voice that i heard in my dream, even..” her palm unconsciously reached to his face, which she startled herself by doing it.

“my apologize. i don't know what came to me—” her eyes welling up, she didn't dare looking at his face any longer. it hurts. it hurts seeing his face, as if the familiarity makes her feel like she is mourning someone she hadn't even lost or know yet.

“[name].” he called out her name, she looked at him. hesitant.

“would you believe me if i told you that this is not just a dream?” she blinked, a tear ran to her cheek. this is a possibility she'd rather not have. for her dreams, her memories.. are too tragic to be called a memory, a reality.

“we've met before, this— this is not just a dream,” mydei looked to the paintings then back at her again. “would you mind if i explain it to you?” he asked gently as he offered his hand, she nodded.

they walked a little to where the large canvas is, the painting with people in the bathhouse. he looked at it, serious, then sighed heavily.

“you've already known that this timeline— is ancient amphoreus. where titans were the main beliefs at that time.. and myths were written about them.”

“if you know about ancient amphoreus, you must've heard about the flame-chase journey, the chrysos heirs with no names— only described with each coreflame they hold.” mydei's eyes went to a girl right beside of ‘past’ her, a girl with purple themed— butterfly clothes.

“back then, mydeimos– made a deal with thanatos. the deal was, if there were a chance in another life.. he asked for his love to remember her past life, even if it's just mere hints.” he turned his gaze to the previous her, then to the her who was standing by his side.

“though.. it seems like it only makes you suffer, didn't it?” mydei's palm hovered near her cheek. he didn't dare to touch her face, even though he wanted to wipe the track of tear on her cheek.

“i.. have felt empty,” she whispered. “as if losing someone this whole time..”

“i never wanted to forget you,” her voice slowly breaking. “but remembering hurts more than losing ever could."

his lips parted slightly, words forming in the silence but never spoken. instead, he let the moment settle between them, full of things they both knew but couldn’t say out loud.

“it's not like i hated it, but if i could, i would just prefer.. to never have known,” she finally said, almost inaudible. “maybe then, i wouldn’t have felt this hole in my chest for so long.”

mydei is not one for words, he would love to just use actions. he had so much things to say, but never could. mydei’s hand trembled, still hovering near her skin. he let his fingertips gently brush her cheek this time, wiping the tear she couldn’t stop. his touch was warm—familiar. painfully so.

“i was selfish,” he murmured. “i made that deal for me, thinking that if i wanted something for the last time wouldn't hurt anyone. not knowing how heavy it must be for you, to feel love without context. loss without reason.”

“but then, you would've remembered all of this alone.” she replied, her voice soft.

he smiled faintly, an expression that tried to be gentle, but couldn’t hide the guilt behind it. it wasn’t the kind of smile people wore when they were happy. it was the kind that came after regret settled too deep, and all you could do was hold it.

“i would’ve taken that burden,” he said quietly. “without question. if it meant you could live peacefully, without that ache in your chest, i would’ve carried all of it alone.”

she looked at him, this time, it didn't hurt as much. she understood it now, and all has been done.

“were you always been ready to break yourself for the sake of others?” she shook her head with a small smile on her lips, looking at him with acceptance in her eyes, sparkling for one has solved a puzzle in her life.

mydei let out a breath he didn't even realize he was holding this whole time as he smiled back at her, “some things didn't change.”

her hand reached up to his cheeks slowly, cupping them in her hands. cupping them with such care, as if afraid he might disappear if she wasn't gentle enough. the warmth of his skin was real, undeniable. no longer a dream. no longer a memory trying to fade.

mydei leaned slightly into her touch, his hands finally resting on her waist, grounding himself in her presence.

“just like how i'll always remember you, even if i don't understand why.”

their foreheads touched, gently, instinctively. as if their bodies remembered what their minds had long forgotten. the closeness wasn’t rushed; it was comforting, full of weight and meaning.

“and i'll always be there to make you understand.”

[sabertoothwalrus]

hi!! do you have any advice on how to finish projects faster? or at least more efficiently? i take a few days to finish a piece (1 or 2 days at minimum) and i want to learn how to refine my process

that can depend a lot on what kind of look you’re trying to achieve, and what exactly is slowing you down!

things you can do if you take too long doing lineart:

Practice sketching in pen & marker! Do exercises that train your hand to be more efficient. If you can draw the same thing with 5 lines that previously took you 20, you’ll cut down on time.

Try a different brush! Maybe the one you’re using is too soft, and you have to keep going back over the lines to make them dark enough. There might be another brush that gets the same result with less effort.

Zoom out! On paper, a drawing that’s 2 inches tall will take wayyyy less time than a drawing that’s as big as your torso. When you zoom in, you’re essentially making the whole drawing bigger. When I draw, I like to be able to see the whole pose. If you’re worried about it not being perfectly clean, I promise you, no one is paying that close attention.

Skip the lineart entirely! Odds are, your sketches might already be pretty clean. If it takes you 20 minutes to do a sketch and 2 hours to do the lineart, but the lines look almost the same, then why bother doing the lineart?

similar advice for coloring/rendering!

Maybe it’s your art software! I can color 10x faster in CSP than anything else, because CSP makes it really easy to color in flats.

Limit how many types of brushes you use. There ARE certain effects (like convincing digital watercolor) that really do need 5-10 different brushes to get the look Just Right, but going through your tool menus to swap brushes will add time. When I render (which is rare, honestly) I stick to one, maybe two painterly brushes.

other general advice:

Don’t be so hard on yourself! Honestly, 1-2 days is still objectively pretty fast!

If you’re a perfectionist who will arbitrarily spend too much time fiddling and fiddling until it’s justttttt right, try setting timers! Give yourself a predetermined amount of time for the lineart, for the coloring, for the rendering, etc and MOVE ON once that timer goes off. Not everything you do has to be your magnum opus.

Use keyboard shortcuts!!!!!!!! I don’t like using screen tablets, especially if I can’t use shortcuts. If you have a tablet with programmable buttons or some kind of remote, that can work too. I see people use bluetooth xbox controllers sometimes, which is a good option if you already have that. Personally, I use so many shortcuts that there are never enough buttons to program, so I just stick with a keyboard.

JUST KEEP AT IT! The more you draw, the faster you get. I avoided doing paneled comics for nearly 10 years cause they took so much effort, and would only do comics where each panel was its own layer/image. After enough time doing that, I eventually got good enough at everything else to do with comics that the paneling aspect wasn’t that difficult anymore.

[heeology]

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥𝑙𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒 𝑎𝑟𝑡˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ | p.sh

synopsis → after a not-so-well interview for a nearby coffee shop you applied to, you were surprised to see you got the job offer. despite what you may have expected, being a barista isn’t as easy going as you initially thought it would be. your manager isn’t really one to be enthusiastic when lending a helping hand, and no matter how many times you try to get on his good side, you can tell he would much rather sketch in his sketchbook (or even mop the floors) than engage in a conversation with you. one of the only times he does interact with you is to help you not make horrible latte art, but little did you know, being so bad at something could end up paying off so well.

feat. → liz (ive), hyunwoo (xikers)

genre → romance, college au, strangers (and a hint of enemies) to lovers

pairing → barista&artmajor!sunghoon x fem!reader

warnings → none!!

w.c. → 12.7k

a/n → ik it’s been a while since i’ve posted smth, but it’s been hard getting inspiration to actually write. i started this fic a while ago (a little over a month ago) and i planned on having it finished in maybe a week and then i just…gave up. I only got the motivation to finish it today and i’m rlly glad i did. thx for reading and i hope you enjoy(ed) !!

!!DO NOT COPY OR REPOST!!

-

-

-

Do people still bring resumes to interviews? You weren’t exactly sure, but nonetheless, you printed yours out and bought one of those folders with the clear plastic page in the front to put it in. It may be a bit formal, but this coffee shop is quite nice. A mix of a rustic and modern aesthetic, loomed with plants, and open sunlight through big windows; almost as if it was a botanical garden turned into a cafe. Your foot tapped softly against the wood floor, a failed attempt to try and calm your nerves as you look around while in your seat by one of the windows. The smell of coffee brewing, caramel, and pastries serves as a great distraction to your racing mind until you see–who you presume—to be the manager from his professional and stoic demeanor. 

You stand up, thinking he would take you somewhere else for the interview, but are surprised when he just sits in front of you, not even shaking your hand. You slowly sit back down, clearing your throat as he looks at you with one of the most uninterested expressions you’ve ever seen on a person. However, you won’t lie: he’s stunning. Fair skin, moles looking as though they were intricately placed by an angel themself, broad shoulders, even his facial proportions are perfect; is he even real? He crosses his arms, his gaze not wavering.

“Are you here for the interview?” he asks in a tone that sounds as though you are inconveniencing him.

“Yes- Yes, I am.” you say as you sit up straighter, snapping out of your daze. You look away a bit, trying not to get too embarrassed, and you pass him your resume on the table with a smile.

He eyes the resume, looking down at it for a split second before looking back at you. No expression changes whatsoever, which is starting to unsettle you. You shift a bit in your seat, and if it wasn’t for the soft noise of the chair moving a bit, you could have sworn you heard him sigh. He uncrosses his arms, sitting up a bit more in his chair. He pushes your resume back towards you before resting his elbows on the table, clasping his hands together, the sleeves of his white button up pushed up and past his forearms. 

“You didn’t need to bring a copy of your resume, I have it on file. That’s what online applications are for.” he says in the same tone with a hint of scrutiny.

You swallow and laugh nervously, trying to relieve the tension of the atmosphere, while also trying not to let yourself want to curl up and die. “Oh, um…right, of course.” you say, softly.

This time, you do hear his sigh as he takes a pen from his apron and grabs the clipboard that you had failed to notice was on the table. “Your resume says you have customer service experience and that your past job was in retail; how do you plan to adjust to the shift in environments? Or better yet, how will your experience in retail help you with this job in the food industry?” he asks, and you can’t quite tell if he’s just being professional or simply doesn’t care.

“Well, I know the two have different sets of responsibility, but-”

“Yes, which is why I asked the question.”

You sit there for a second, stunned. You haven’t done an interview in a while, but is this how they’re conducted now or is this guy just an ass? You try not to let it bother you as you swallow again. “As I was saying, experience in customer experience-”

“Experience in customer experience?” he raises an eyebrow and clicks his pen as he starts writing. “Not exactly a coherent or well-thought sentence.”

“Regardless,” you say in the most cheerful tone you can manage, “I believe I will be able to apply my knowledge on customer experience to this job, even with the change in responsibilities. I know what is to be expected of the position and have been able to handle tasks, and meet goals, as well as expectations at my previous job wonderfully; my references listed can attest to that. Customer experience is universal, and I am confident that I will be able to provide and accommodate a pleasant experience for the customers here.”

He continues writing, as if he wasn’t even listening in the first place. He is quiet for a moment and then clicks his pen, flipping the page on the clipboard. You sit there awkwardly as you wait for him to ask another question. “Shall I…tell you about myself, perhaps?” you offer, hoping he’ll see this as a sign of initiative or something.

“I don’t believe in asking that question. Or asking what your strengths and weaknesses are. This isn’t your first job, so there’s no need to coddle you with those types of questions, what I would rather know is what your work ethic is like since you have experience. Why are you leaving your previous job?”

You aren’t sure how to respond. Well, you know the answer, but you aren’t sure how to respond to him. Did you do something wrong on your application? Did you sit at the wrong table or something else absolutely mundane to tick him off? Clearly not since this was the one that had the clipboard. “Truthfully, I want to work in a different environment; I want to gain experience from different jobs, and this one is one that I felt I would be able to do well after going over the job description.”

“Doesn’t exactly paint you as a reliable employee.” you hear him mutter. You actually have to hold back from scoffing as he keeps writing on his stupid clipboard. “This position requires you to work behind the register, serving and making some of the pastries, making drinks–of course–, as well as cleaning the tables, displays, floors, etc. Besides working behind the register, what aspects would you say you are confident in or could properly execute?”

You give him a sarcastic smile, trying not to make it too obvious, “I was expected to clean up displays and racks at my previous job; organizing the product, dusting–”

“This isn’t a custodial job, any experience with baking? Drink making? Even if it was volunteer work, as a hobby, anything?” he says without sparing you a glance, reading his clipboard.

Did he not just talk about cleaning as one of the expectations? Seriously, what is his problem? “I’ve made boxed cake, brownies, and cookies from a mix. And when I was in High School, I made coffee from the coffee pot in my kitchen.” you reply, curtly. 

He doesn’t respond, writing some more on his paper. “Reliability?” is all he asks.

“Like, what days I can work?” you ask, not sure what he is specifically asking.

“No.” he says flatly, “How was your reliability at your old job?”

“I wasn’t ever late, I clocked in around ten minutes before my shift, I gave at least a month’s notice on days I would not be able to work, I rarely called out, I always worked my scheduled days, I-”

He holds up his pen, cutting you off, and then continues writing. He doesn’t say anything and you frown, taking a guess that he only did that to stop you from talking. “Your resume says you’re in college, how will this affect your reliability?”

“Well, I only have a year left, and my schedule remains consistent. I will give ample notice on any changes that may be made, but relatively, I like to keep my class schedule the same.”

He doesn’t interrupt or say anything, he just keeps writing. He clicks his pen, tapping it against the clipboard for a second before flipping the page again. Maybe a minute passes before he speaks again, “Do you prefer tasks with teamwork or completing them independently?”

You think for a moment, “Both. I mean that honestly. I know there are going to be certain tasks that are expected to be done independently to show what I am capable of doing, what responsibilities I can handle that way you can determine if I could take on any other challenges–”

“I don’t need you explaining why I ask certain questions, I know why.”

You feel your smile twitch, just slightly, in annoyance. “I don’t mind either. If I feel I can handle a project or assignment on my own, I will complete it. If not, then I have the resources to work with a team and complete the project with help as well as have the opportunity to learn from others.”

He writes, in a much shorter span of time, before clicking his pen and finally looking up at you. “Thank you for coming in.” he says, almost as if he was forced to say it, before standing up and walking away, pushing the chair in before he does. You sit there for a moment, dumbfounded, looking around a bit, wondering if anyone else just bared witness to this fiasco of an interview. You get up, pushing the chair in, taking your resume and walking to the door, throwing it in the trash before you leave.

-

𝐃𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐀𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐚𝐧𝐭, 

𝐖𝐞 𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐢𝐧𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐭𝐨 𝐣𝐨𝐢𝐧 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐭𝐞𝐚𝐦 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐡𝐨𝐩𝐞 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫! 𝐖𝐞 𝐟𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐚 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐚𝐝𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐭𝐨 𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐟𝐟 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐲𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐞. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐚𝐜𝐜𝐞𝐩𝐭, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐰𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐨𝐧 𝐖𝐞𝐝𝐧𝐞𝐬𝐝𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐭 𝟏𝟎 𝐚.𝐦. 𝐈𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐧𝐞𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐡𝐞𝐝𝐮𝐥𝐞 𝐨𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐨𝐟𝐟𝐞𝐫, 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞 𝐞𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐥 𝐮𝐬 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞: 

𝐓𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐤 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐥𝐲𝐢𝐧𝐠!

You had to re-read the email again because you couldn’t believe it the first three times you’ve looked it over. You could’ve sworn the interview was a disaster and now this? You weren’t entirely sure if you were going to accept, afterall, the manager seemed like a dick. But, this job pays four dollars more than your current job, which would honestly help a lot. So, in the end, you decide to give it a try. You respond to the email, accepting the offer and soon enough, Wednesday rolls around.

You step back into the coffee shop, it surprisingly not being too busy, before walking over to the counter. You smile a bit at the girl behind the counter and she smiles back.

“Hi, welcome in, what can I get for you today? We have a new lavender tea and latte with lavender foam art if you are interested in trying either of those this morning.” she greets.

“I’m actually here for training?” you say, not meaning to sound uncertain, “It starts at ten, but I came in a bit early anyway.”

“Oh!” she smiles a bit more, genuinely looking happy to see you. “Sunghoon told us someone new would be starting today. I’m Liz,” she says, pointing to her name tag and laughing softly, “But let me take you to his office.” Liz says as she steps out from behind the counter.

“Thank you.” you say, softly, happy that there is someone so nice here. She leads you towards the back and then stops in front of a door that reads: 𝗠𝗮𝗻𝗮𝗴𝗲𝗿 | 𝗦𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗵𝗼𝗼𝗻 𝗣𝗮𝗿𝗸

“Good luck. He can be a little tough” she whispers before walking away.

You let out a soft sigh, mentally preparing for having to deal with someone so difficult so early in the morning, and then knock on his door. You don’t hear anything, so you knock again, and a long moment of silence passes, so you raise your hand to knock again.

“Are you coming in or just going to continue to knock?” you hear him say from behind the door.

You roll your eyes and open the door, “May I come in?” you ask as you peer inside.

“Obviously.” he says in that same tone. You put on the best smile you can before stepping inside and closing the door behind you. You walk over to take a seat in front of his desk and he looks at you like you have something on your face. “I suppose we should review the dress code first.” he says as though he expected you to know the handbook cover to cover. 

You look down at your outfit, which you thought was appropriate: a nice sweater with some jeans and clean sneakers. This was a barista gig, afterall, so you assumed this was okay. “Is this not appropriate–?”

“The dress code is either button ups or blouses in: white, black, or beige. Slacks or fitted jeans in the same colors. You may wear skirts, in the same colors, and they must be knee length or no shorter than an inch from your knee. Black shoes of any kind; no open toe shoes, however. Hair must be tied up and gloves must be worn when handling or preparing food. I will give you a pass this time since it is your first day, but next time, you will be expected to dress accordingly.” he says as he shuffles through some papers on his desk.

“That is…wow…” you say, kind of surprised by the strictness of the dress code at a coffee shop, well, besides the gloves, of course. 

“Is that going to be a problem?” he peers up at you.

“No– no, not at all.” you say quickly.

“Good. You’ll have to go through the training on the computer, fill out and sign some forms electronically, and then if you finish with some time to spare, we will start some basic training. I will also give you paper copies of the forms to take home as well as your name tag and a copy of the handbook.”

You nod a bit, staying quiet; honestly not wanting to somehow tick him off in any way. He stops rummaging through the papers on his desk and looks at you. He just…stares at you for a long moment. Not looking you up and down, just looking into your eyes, meeting your gaze. Surprisingly, you don’t find yourself shifting uncomfortably in your seat. It helps a little that he’s attractive and his eyes are pretty, but still, you can feel how cold his gaze is despite it.

“Nothing to add?” he asks.

You open your mouth a bit to answer, but then find yourself stumped. “I look forward to it.” is what you feel is most appropriate to say. 

Silence and a stern gaze, that’s all he responds with. Then, he gives a short nod and looks back at his papers. “Aprons are also a part of the uniform, we don’t have specific ones, you just grab one and use it, but I know the others have their preferences.” he says, the last part somewhat under his breath.

You nod in response. “I’ve talked to Liz, she seems sweet.”

“She’s often late.”

You’re not sure how to respond to that. “Oh…” is all you say in response.

He pauses, “But, yes, the customers like her.” he says, sounding as though he isn’t even sure he wants to admit that he knows that (or acknowledges it). He rummages some more and then finally looks up before standing from his seat. “Alright, I’ll take you to the computer in the backroom and you can fill out the forms there.” And to your surprise, you see him extend his hand, “Welcome.” he says plainly.

You smile a bit, maybe starting to think he’s warming up to you, and you take his hand in yours, shaking it. His hand is soft despite the calluses on his upper palm. He continues to look you in the eye, and yet somehow, this time it looks a bit softer, as if having your hand in his allowed a wave of calm to wash over him. But, it’s gone just as quickly as it comes, almost like once he realized how he felt, he had to stop it. He lets go of your hand and clears his throat.

“Happy to be here.” you say, softly.

He only nods in response, and you swear you see the tips of his ears turn a light shade of pink, but you brush it off, figuring that maybe it’s just the lighting making it look that way.

-

It hasn’t exactly been an easy adjustment, to say the least. You mainly do closings on the days you can work, since Sunghoon has said that the openings are full. You don’t mind, but he has used this as an opportunity to criticize you on your cleaning techniques. To be fair, he trained you on what was expected, and yet, you can never seem to do it right. You warm the scones wrong, you make the matcha too strong, you burn the coffee beans, you don’t clean the utensils properly, you don’t mop the floors correctly. Anything and everything. 

You keep asking him how to do it correctly, and when he shows you (begrudgingly), you always have a confused look on your face because you could’ve sworn that’s how you were doing it in the first place. “Don’t act so surprised.” is all he would say whenever he saw you with that expression each and every time he would correct you. Which, to your dismay, was every single one of your shifts since he’s had to work closings with you to make sure you are fitting in just fine.

“He’s just like that,” one of your co-workers–Hyunwoo–says to you whenever Sunghoon has particularly been on your ass (which is almost every shift). “Although, I will say, you’ve gotten the hang of a lot of it so far. Just don’t take it to heart, it’s only been a month since you started.” he tries to reassure you while he steams some milk for a customer’s order.

You scoff softly, “And a long month it’s been.” you mutter as you put a lid on a tea, calling out the customer’s name at the counter, and telling them to have a good day. You go back to the register, him finishing the order with a soft laugh at your comment.

“He’s not a terrible boss.” he says before calling out the order and handing the cup and saucer to the customer with a smile.

“He’s just a terrible person.” you mumble under your breath.

He just smiles a bit and goes to stand at the register next to you. He shrugs, “He’s just that type of person, you know, tough exterior.”

“I think he’s just a douche–”

“Anyone in particular you’re talking about?” you hear Sunghoon ask behind you. You close your eyes, hoping you were just hearing things or maybe even that he’ll just go away if you pretend he’s not there. “Since you want to have ‘potty language’ on the floor, maybe you could take it to the actual restroom.” he says before rolling over a mop and bucket to you. 

You look at him, kind of an almost pleading look, but he just crosses his arms and looks back at you with that same unamused expression. You sigh, taking the handle of the mop and turning to roll it over to the bathroom. Hyunwoo looks at you sympathetically with a small smile as you walk away.

“She was talking about this guy in her class–” Hyunwoo tries to say to him.

“I know who she was talking about.” Sunghoon cuts him off before starting to walk back to his office, telling another employee to fill your spot while you clean the bathrooms.

-

The soft slosh of the mop and occasional sound of you ringing it out in the bucket fills the empty space of the coffee shop. The lights are dimmed and the usual bustle of customers and sounds of the coffee maker are done for the night as you and Sunghoon close. You can’t help but look at him occasionally; you feel you should apologize, but you’re not sure how. Afterall, it doesn’t always bode well when your manager overhears you calling them a douche. 

You slide the mop back and forth on the floor, just watching him sit at one of the tables with his sketchbook on the table as he scribbles with his pencil. So, each time you stop mopping to try and say something, you instead hear the scratch of his pencil against the paper, disrupting your thoughts entirely. That’s all he’s been doing since the shop closed and he’s left you to do all of the cleaning thus far. You finish mopping, putting it away in the storage closet before wiping down the tables. You were two tables away from where he was sitting before he closed his sketchbook and stood up; as if your nearby presence is more than enough to annoy him. You watch him as you wipe down the table and he looks at the floor before pointing to a spot.

“You need to make sure you’re mopping under the tables entirely; customers sometimes spill or leave crumbs on the floor and ants are the last thing we need.” he critiques.

You look at the spot he was pointing to. “I did mop under all of the tables–”

“And I’m telling you to do it again.” he says before going to sit back at the table and continuing to sketch.

You bite the inside of your cheek, mumbling a string of insults as quietly as you can, while you go to the storage closet to get the mop. You mop the floor, again, before putting it back. Meanwhile, he wasn’t even paying attention to make sure you were doing what he said, just simply working on whatever he was doing in his sketchbook.

“Better?” you ask, trying not to sound as annoyed as you were.

He doesn’t even glance up at you, “Much.” he replies shortly while closing his sketchbook. He gets up to finish wiping down the other tables you didn’t get to.

You start taking the chairs and flipping them upside down before resting them on the tabletops. He starts to do the same until you both meet in the middle. You want to say something, an apology might be the way to go, and you figure this is your only chance to possibly have him listen to you.

“You draw a lot.” is what you end up saying. Not exactly what you had in mind, but maybe some casual conversation is a good way to start out and then you can work your way up to an apology once the mood lightens.

He doesn’t answer at first. “How perceptive.” is all he mutters back.

You bite your tongue, “Is that your major? Art? Or maybe Art History–?”

“Yes.” is all he says back, cutting your questions short.

You nod a bit and he quickly finishes his side of cleaning up the chairs. “My major is English.” you say, trying to get him to say something more back. He just grunts in response. “Some people say it’s boring or a major that doesn’t lead to anything, but I love some of the courses I take. Like, World Literature, for example. I loved reading some of Li Po’s poetry and some Epics, like the Odyssey–”

“Did you make sure to clean the dishes in the sink? Did you clean out the pastry warmer?” he asks as though you weren’t saying anything in the first place. “Any excess crumbs could just heat up and smoke during the next use.”

“Yes, I cleaned it.” you reply in the same astute tone he uses, sighing softly as you finish putting the chairs on the tables. You walk to the registers, starting to close one of them. He says to leave the registers for last since he considers it to be the easiest task to finish. As you count the money, you figure he went back to his office–like usual–and you would be closing both registers yourself. You finish closing them after a short while and then go to his office to turn in the money. 

He checks your count, writing it down and putting the money into a locked box. “You may clock out.” is all he says before sitting at his desk.

You don’t need to be told twice before leaving his office, taking off your apron, and hanging it in the backroom where the others are. You grab your stuff and hesitate while walking towards the door. You decide to walk back to his office, knocking twice, before opening the door. He doesn’t look up at you.

“Goodnight.” you say quietly, not wanting to startle him or anything.

“Is that what you came to say?” he asks, not paying any attention.

“Yes.” you say as if it was obvious. He stops and looks up at you. It’s quiet, and you feel like his gaze is on you for hours, as if he has you trapped. “And I want to say I’m sorry.” you add, wondering if that is what he was waiting to hear from you.

“Ah.” he says before looking back at whatever he was doing on his desk. “So that is what you really came to do; clear your conscience. Well, no need to worry, I’ve heard some former employees call me worse.”

“Former?” you ask, suddenly a little worried about the future of your job (if he lets you keep it).

“Yes, former. As in: people who used to work here. Past tense–”

“I know.” you say, this time, cutting him off. This makes him look up at you, and you swear you can see the tiniest flicker of surprise cross his face. “I wanted to apologize because I felt bad. Yes, it was incredibly unprofessional of me to say that, especially while on the floor, and I apologize for that. But I also wanted to apologize because I didn’t want to upset you; I didn’t mean to. I was just upset and I let it get the better of me. So, sure, I came here to clear my conscience if that’s the pessimistic way you want to look at it, but at least I can say I tried. And I also came to say goodnight because of common courtesy.” you say before leaving his office and closing the door behind you. As you walk towards the front door, you expect him to maybe come out and say something, but to no surprise at all: he doesn’t.

-

“Why do you keep doing it like that?” Sunghoon asks as though he is genuinely dumbfounded by your actions. 

He’s teaching you the basics on latte art since that’s the area you’ve been struggling with the most since you’ve started. You figured each time a customer asks for a latte with one of the specific designs the baristas are supposed to learn, that you could just bribe Hyunwoo to do it with the promise of sneaking him some chocolate chips from the kitchen. You knew that couldn’t last forever, but you were hoping. You try again, moving the pitcher to try and aerate the milk with the steam wand.

“No. Not like that.” he comes over to you and takes the pitcher from you, pouring the failed attempt down the drain. He pours more milk into the pitcher and hands it back to you. “Don’t submerge the wand first, you need to introduce the heat to the milk and create a thin layer of foam, first.” 

You take the pitcher, doing as he says, but the wand has gotten too hot, making a hissing sound, startling you. Before you can, he reacts quickly, taking your hand with the pitcher in his as he moves it away from the machine. You look at him, but his focus is on the machine, letting go of your hand as he tries to fix it. It was short-lived, but you felt the tingle of excitement in your stomach from his touch. You feel a small smile creep onto your lips as you chuckle softly. He looks at you from the corner of his eyes before finishing with the machine.

“You find this funny?” he asks, sounding a bit exasperated.

You shrug as you dump out the milk. “I guess I’m just trying to find the joy in making mistakes.”

“What a ridiculous mindset.” he mutters. “The milk needs to reach around one hundred and fifty degrees fahrenheit and expands about twenty to thirty percent–”

“Am I supposed to figure out how to measure that off of the top of my head? Is there a chart with a frowny face to a smiley face on what the milk should look like that I need to follow?”

He turns to look at you, utterly unamused. You smile a bit, slightly laughing at your own joke, and he turns to look away from you. “Yes,” he mutters quietly, “It’s actually a coffee cup.” he says, sounding as though he wasn’t even making a joke at all. This makes you smile wider.

“Oh, okay, got it.” you say, trying to contain your excitement that he even responded to your joke with a joke. He hands you another pitcher and you take it, following through with the instructions he gave you. You try to create a thin layer of foam as you carefully watch the pitcher. “Am I doing it right? Is this good enough?” you ask, still watching the milk.

He doesn’t respond at first, which doesn’t seem off to you, you figure he’s just coming up with another critique to give you. Instead, however, he is lost in watching you concentrate. The way your gaze flicks a little between the wand and the milk, how you grip and hold the pitcher, just the way you seem so interested in what you’re doing; it captivates him entirely. You feel his hand softly move over yours, your breath hitching softly, while he guides the pitcher up a bit, submerging the wand. You can’t help but simply stare at his hand on top of yours, how he softly grips it, delicately directing your movements, and you swear, his thumb gently rubs back and forth over the side of your hand.

“You usually want to wait three to five seconds for the milk to aerate. That’s usually for lattes. Five to ten seconds for a cappuccino. Then, eight seconds for the milk to steam, like so.” he says softly, his body close beside you while he moves your hand just a bit more before letting go, his touch lingering on your hand. He clears his throat and you take the milk away from the wand. “Then,” he grabs the cup with the latte ready and you hand him the pitcher, “hold it just slightly above the latte at a slightly elevated position,” you watch as he demonstrates each action following what he is saying, “lowering it slightly while it starts to fill and be sure to keep the tip close, making sure it remains smooth and…there.” he finishes the design of the leaf. You nod your head. “Understand?” he asks as he sets the cup and pitcher down.

“I’ll definitely have to practice, but yes, I think I understand the basic concept.”

“Okay,” he motions to the machine, “Practice.” he crosses his arm and leans against the counter behind him.

You let out a short breath and start, making sure to remember his instructions. Once he doesn’t make any comments about the way you prepare the milk, you take that as a good sign. You try to make a tulip, having seen Hyunwoo do it, you felt it might be the easiest for you to try. You bite the bottom corner of your cheek as you concentrate, your eyebrows knitting together just slightly. The warm glow from the lights above the register casts down upon you delicately, almost as if it’s a spotlight, mimicking your soft and careful movements. He finds himself knitting his eyebrows together a bit, as well, confused as to what he should be focusing on: your work or you. It doesn’t turn out how you expect, not even close, and you set down the pitcher and the cup, looking up at him.

“Done?” you say, not sounding sure considering it’s not very good.

He comes over to look at it more closely. “It’s not a completely terrible leaf.” he says.

This, you will gladly take considering it is the nicest thing he’s said to you since you’ve started working here. “Yes, a leaf.” you say, trying to convince yourself (and him) that it was the choice of design you were going for.

“We can work on this more some other time; we’re out of this milk.” he says as he rinses and recycles the milk jug. You nod a bit, grateful he gave you this lesson anyway, which he said was only because your latte art skills were ‘below adequate’ and that the milk was expiring tomorrow, anyway. “You may go, I will close the registers.”

Your eyebrows raise a bit in surprise. “Really?” you ask, a small smile on your face.

He glances at you before clearing his throat and looking back at the register. He gives a soft hum in response and you go to grab your stuff. You walk over to the door and open it a bit before looking back at him. “Thank you, for the lessons and letting me go…” you look at the clock, “Three minutes early.”

He just hums again. You nod a bit and open the door more to leave.

“Goodnight.” he says in a flat tone.

You smile, “Goodnight.” you say back before leaving, the bell above the door chiming on your way out.

-

“Does he always come in on his days off?” you whisper to Liz as you both wash some of the mugs while the morning rush subsides. 

Today was one of the rare days he schedules you to work the opening shift, which you were happy about because now you can work a shift with Liz, who you’ve become close to. She shrugs her shoulders.

“Is he sitting in the right corner table by the flowers?” she whispers back.

You quickly peer over your shoulder and then turn back to the sink. “Yeah.”

“He’s probably just working on something for his art school, he sometimes comes here to do that. And so he can keep an eye on everyone.”

“Why not work on it at home or something?”

She shrugs, “I guess he likes to take the opportunity to get his free drink and pastry. He’s just been doing that since before I started working here, so don’t worry if you think he’s doing it to watch you.” You nod and finish washing the mugs and other utensils, drying your hands. “Although, I will say, he usually comes later when it’s less busy, so I was a little surprised to see he was here during the rush.”

You hum softly in response. “What does he usually order?”

“Just an iced americano and croissant. He’s quite plain–” she starts, but you don’t pay much attention, already preparing his order. She dries her hands and laughs softly, a hint of nervousness in her tone. “Um, I know you might be wanting to get on his good side, but trust me when I say: he doesn’t like to be disturbed, especially when he’s working on his art.”

“It’s not disturbing if I bring him something he’s going to get.” Possibly.

“Well, maybe, but–” she starts, but you already make your way over to him with the coffee and the croissant on a plate.

You set the coffee and plate down gently onto the table, accidentally peeking to see what he’s drawing. You barely make out what could possibly be a portrait of someone before he closes his sketchbook.

“What are you doing?” he asks, irritated.

“Oh, I just came to bring you your coffee and croissant. Liz told me what you usually get–”

“Did she also tell you I don’t like being bothered? I figured that would come across as something you would have picked up on by now, but perhaps I was too generous with what to assume in regards to what you can and can’t figure out.”

You just look at him, “I made it so you wouldn’t have to stop working and just have it readily available, but I forgot, you’re allergic to acts of kindness.”

He glances at the coffee and croissant, then back up at you. He’s quiet for a long moment and you worry you may have been too snarky with your boss. “Thank you.” he mumbles before taking a sip of his coffee.

You beam proudly, a bit. “You’re welcome.” you say as your eye catches the flowers around where he sits. “Are these marigolds?”

“Yes.” he mutters, “May I continue my work or are there more questions you would like to waste my time with?”

“How come you always sit here? Liz says you do.”

He sighs, “I suppose you have more questions to bother me with.” he mutters, annoyed. “It’s private and quiet. That’s why. And if you have more unnecessary questions to ask me, consider this eating into your break.”

“Right, well, good luck with your work.” you say before turning to head back towards the registers. He’s quiet for the few steps you take, and then you hear him sigh.

“The color suggests they represent creativity.” he says quickly, not wanting to say anything at all.

You turn around to look at the flowers and him, but he’s already focused on working in his sketchbook again. “Superstitious?”

“Not in the slightest.” he says in his usual tone, his pencil scratching against the paper.

“And yet you sit in the corner with the flowers that represent creativity?” you say with a hint of teasing.

“Among other things.” he mumbles, but you notice the tips of his ears turning pink, and you smile softly.

“Well, hopefully it works.” you say before going back over to Liz. She looks at you in complete shock.

“You still work here?” she asks, and you know she’s joking, but a part of her sounds actually surprised.

“Ha, ha.” you say as you stand behind the register, her next to you.

“No, no, seriously. He never talks to anyone, especially when he’s working on his art.”

You shrug, “To be honest, I’m surprised, too. Although, he did insult my intelligence.”

“Well, he does that to everyone.” she says, laughing softly, and you laugh as well.

As you laugh, you glance over at him, thinking maybe you saw him already looking at you. But, he just sits up straighter, and continues to draw.

-

“This is the third customer today that has wanted their latte remade because the art ‘didn’t look good’. You’ve been here for three months, you honestly mean to tell me you haven’t improved on any of the designs?” Sunghoon asks, crossing his arms as he watches you working on the decorations for some of the Belgium waffles.

You sigh and continue to dip a corner of the waffles into the chocolate. “I’ve been practicing. I’ve even had Hyunwoo help me–”

“You’ve been bothering a co-worker to help you with something you should be at least decent at by now?”

“Well, you’re not exactly the easiest person to approach for help.” you mumble.

He doesn’t say anything before letting out a sigh. “Are there any designs in particular you’re not confident in? Are there any that you are?”

“Not…particularly.”

He sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. You think you hear him mutter the word ‘hopeless’ before you feel him ushering you over to the latte machine.

“Alright, I am going to teach you some of the basic designs: a leaf, a heart, and a tulip.”

“Sure, seems easy enough.” you say, somewhat sarcastic.

“If you prefer, you can find another job if this one is too complicated for you.” he replies, and you can’t tell whether or not he’s joking. Your eyes widen a bit and you stand a bit straighter.

“Alright, fine, message received.”

He lets out a hum and starts making a latte and steaming milk. “A leaf: This one is probably the easiest one to master first; a good base design. Once you learn how this one works, you can apply it to the other designs.” You walk over to watch as he holds the pitcher over the cup. “You’re going to start with making a circle near the base of the latte, just slowly pouring the crema. Then bring the spout a little closer as you gently zig-zag the design towards the top, and then,” he trails off as you watch him bring the spout down in a line, finishing the leaf. “Done.” he says simply.

You nod a bit and watch him scoop out the design with a spoon. “There’s still enough milk left in the pitcher, so you may try.” he says as he hands it to you.

You take the pitcher and do as he said. You pour enough to make a circle, following by doing a zig-zag motion going up to the top of the cup. He watches closely, gently placing his hand over yours as he slows your zig-zag motion.

“A little slower, and,” he gently pushes your hand to lower the spout a bit. “Just a little lower.” he keeps his hand over yours to make sure you’re doing it right, but he stops applying pressure, his hand simply resting on top of yours. You make the line down the middle, and the leaf is a little awkward, but it’s much better than any of your previous attempts. You look up a bit, seeing a small smile on his face and your hand suddenly feels warm from his touch.

“Better?” you ask and watch the smile disappear before he looks up at you, taking away his hand.

“To an extent, yes.” he replies, taking the cup and pitcher. He prepares another latte and some more milk in order to show you the other design. “So, the heart,” he clears his throat a bit as he hands you the pitcher once he steams the milk. “This one is a little trickier and will be much easier if I just help you directly.”

You nod and he places hand over yours that holds the cup and his other hand over yours that holds the pitcher. Your breath hitches softly, and he hears it, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “So…what, um, what do we do?” you ask softly.

“First, you’ll start pouring in the crema until the cup becomes fuller. Then,” he tips your hand with the cup a bit while he brings the spout a bit closer to the cup. “It will naturally start to move the crema once you tip the cup at an angle and once it circulates enough while the cup becomes fuller, just pull the spout away a bit to thin the stream and pull it down.” he says as he moves your hands gently, his grip firm yet delicate. His touch lingers as he continues to hold your hands and you look up at him, just realizing you weren’t entirely paying attention to what he was saying.

“Mhm.” is all you manage to reply with and he nods a bit, letting go.

A customer comes over to order and Sunghoon turns to them before looking over his shoulder. “Practice that one and I’ll see how you do after I help them.” he says before walking away. 

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding and try your best to focus on practicing what he just taught you. Well, what you were at least paying attention to. He glances at you every so often while making the customer’s order, watching as you concentrate and work carefully. He looks away, poking his tongue in the side of his cheek to stop himself from smiling, before returning to his usual demeanor and giving the customer their drink. He walks back over to you and you look up at him, smiling proudly.

“It looks good, right?” you ask. 

Your heart was decent, not a terrible first attempt (but not great), and he was about to say so. However, your smile makes him hesitate and he swallows before nodding. “Yes. …good.” he chokes out the compliment, but you’re too proud to notice. “Alright, last design: the tulip.” he says, shaking his head before taking the cup and pitcher from your hands and preparing to teach you the last design.

“This one isn’t too hard, it’s just a few circles on top of each other. So,” he holds the latte and pitcher, filling it with the milk before bringing the spout closer to the lip of the cup that he tilts. “Just make one circle, pull back slightly and make another on top of it, this thins the previous circle, and do this a few more times, making the next one smaller and then pull through it to make the tulips.” he says before setting them down. “Easy enough, yes?”

“Actually, yes.” you say with a slight nod. Before he can tell you to, you start prepping in order to practice the design, but as you make your first circle, he softly puts his hands over yours again.

“Tilt the cup a little more and make sure both hands are steady; you’re shaking a bit.” he says softly, almost like a whisper.

You suddenly become aware of how close he’s standing to you. You try to focus on making the design, but as you become hyper aware of his proximity, it’s almost as if you can feel his soft breath scatter along your face.

“These latte art lessons kind of feel like an excuse for you to hold my hands.” you say, trying to ease your racing heart by making a light-hearted joke (even if you aren’t currently aware of who you’re making the joke to). His hands tense before letting go of yours. You finish the design and set the cup down. “Is it okay…?” you ask, looking up at him and realizing he has a slight flush over his cheeks.

It was actually the best design you’ve done thus far, but his mind is too occupied with what you said and it shows. 

“I’m sorry, I was making a joke. I didn’t mean to misinterpret you helping me. I was just…It was a stupid thing to say.”

He clears his throat, his cheeks turning a bit pinker. “This is the best design you’ve done out of the three.” he says, acting as if you didn’t make the joke at all.

You look at him, slightly stunned. “Oh…great.”

He nods a bit. “Right. Well. Hopefully this has helped.” he says before making his way back to his office, moving quickly as his face flushes even more.

-

You’ve become used to the quiet during closings with Sunghoon, but this time, it felt different. He hasn’t made an effort to talk to you since the joke you made, and although he never really went out of his way to talk to you at all, this time seemed off. He still sat at one of the tables, working in his sketchbook, while you mopped the floor. As you mop, you try to think of something to say, and every time you look up at him, he looks back down at his sketchbook. 

“You’re not sitting at the table with the marigolds.” you say, trying to at least break the ice.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, but he doesn’t look annoyed by you talking like he normally does, he looks as though he doesn’t want to reveal something. “It’s dark in that corner, so, I can’t really see my work.” he replies nonchalantly.

You nod a bit and then raise an eyebrow. “Couldn’t you just turn on the lights over the table in the back?”

“That would be a waste of electricity.”

Well, you couldn’t really argue with that. “But, you don’t pay the electricity bill, would the owner really notice?”

He stops drawing. “Are you really suggesting I turn on the light at the table with the marigolds for my own selfish benefit simply because you assume that it would go unnoticed?”

You shrug. “I mean, I know it’s not a big deal–”

“That it is not.”

“But I was just curious as to why you sit there during the day and then at that table,” you say as you point at the one he is currently sitting at–the one you just realized he sits at every night during closing–right in the center of the shop, “During closing?”

“Are you telling me you pay attention to where I sit?”

“I’m telling you I’ve noticed where you’ve sat.”

He grins a bit, but then quickly hides it. He goes back to drawing. “I told you: I’m not superstitious.”

“And yet you sit at the two same tables.”

He lets out a scoff, which almost sounds like it was about to be a laugh, before looking back up at you. “I am just sitting at a table, working on pieces for my class exhibit.”

“A class exhibit?” you ask with intrigue. “Like, an art showing at your school or just specifically your class?”

“It’s just for our class, but it’s being held at my school.” he quickly stops talking and goes back to drawing. “It’s not important.” he clears his throat. “Finish mopping.”

“Woah, woah, wait. You’re having a school event, which I’m assuming you’ve been working on since I’ve started here, and you’re not promoting it?”

“What exactly is there to promote?” he looks up at you. “It’s an event that my class is expected to invite friends or family to, not some charity event.”

“Have you invited any of your friends?”

He looks away. “It’s not important.”

“The event’s not important or the fact that you may or may not have invited your friends is not important?”

“Would you like the answer to that question or would you like to keep your job?”

You go back to mopping. “Point taken.”

-

“Shit.” you mutter to yourself. Liz offered to give you a ride home tonight since the bus gave notice that it was going to be having last stops earlier this week. Unfortunately, she just texted you that she won’t be able to make it tonight. It was almost ten, and even though you lived a few minutes away (if traveling in a vehicle), the nights during fall were starting to get cooler and you didn’t prepare for a walk home. You sigh, grabbing your bag, and as you walk to the door: you see the few drops of rain fall against the windows of the coffee shop. “No fucking wa-”, but you’re cut off by the sudden downpour of rain. You groan, an instant frown appearing on your face.

“You’re still here?” he asks in a tone that doesn’t sound as though he actually cares.

“It’s raining.” you reply solemnly.

“What gave that away?” he asks sarcastically as he grabs his things, slinging his backpack over his back and grabbing his umbrella.

You glare back at him and sigh. “Well, I wish I was given a heads up that the universe hates me, that way, I could’ve brought an umbrella.” 

“Is Liz not picking you up?” he asks, genuinely sounding curious this time.

“No.” you answer, slightly wondering how he knew she has been picking you up this week since he typically leaves after you. “She said she couldn’t make it tonight. And the last bus left at eight.”

“How unfortunate. Well, after you.” he says as he opens the door.

You roll your eyes, walking outside, shoving your bag under your shirt so it won’t get as wet from the rain. You hear him lock the door and you let out another annoyed sigh before stepping out from under the awning. To your surprise, no rain was falling onto you. You look up, confused considering it was still pouring and you see the rain instead falling onto a clear umbrella. You turn your head, seeing Sunghoon standing under the umbrella beside you. You open your mouth to speak, but he beats you to it.

“I’m not letting you walk home alone in the rain.” he says simply.

You feel your breath hitch softly as you swallow a lump in your throat, your gaze lingering on him. He was standing close, considering the umbrella wasn’t that big, and you felt his knuckles brush against your shoulder. Your heart was beating out of your chest, and you wondered if he could hear it over the rain hitting the umbrella and sidewalk. He was standing there as though your proximity didn’t matter, but truthfully, he was wondering the same thing as you all while holding his breath.

“You don’t have to.” you say so softly, you almost barely hear yourself say it. 

His jaw clenches, knees almost buckling at your tone. “Uh-huh.” he chokes out. He clears his throat, facing forward. “Lead the way.” he says quickly.

You nod and start walking, him following beside you. Neither of you speak for a while, not sure what to say. 

“Do you live nearby?” you both end up asking at the same time. You laugh softly and he grips the handle of the umbrella tighter.

“I live about fifteen blocks away. Not too far, but–”

“Not exactly close.” he mutters. “So, around a thirty minute walk ahead of us?”

“It takes about seven minutes for a bus ride.”

“Are we on a bus?” he asks rhetorically.

You keep your mouth shut. Then, you let out a huff and cross your arms. “I never asked you to walk with me.” you (slightly) snap. A part of you was annoyed with him. Annoyed he made you close this week even though you explained the situation with the bus schedule. Annoyed he was throwing a fit about walking you home when you didn’t ask him to. Annoyed that he was being so annoying and you kind of wanted to kiss him. What?! “You know what? I’ll walk home by myself.” you mutter, walking faster and stepping out from under the umbrella, the rain falling harshly onto you, starting to soak your clothes and hair. 

You feel him tug you back to him, back under the safety of the umbrella, and you look up at him. Your wet self pressed against his chest, his hand on the small of your back, and he meets your gaze, looking down at you. His nose barely brushes against yours as he stands quiet, however, his gaze says it all. You don’t speak, worried that if you do, then the moment will end. You aren’t sure how much time passes before he finally speaks.

“I’ll walk with you.” he says simply, as if he isn’t holding back the urge to pull you just a bit closer for his lips to meet yours.

“Okay.” you say, giving in easily.

He swallows and you move a bit, standing beside him again as you both continue the walk to your home. It grows quiet again, the rain letting up only slightly. You shiver a bit, the cold from the rain that soaked you feeling as though it’s seeping into your bones, he notices, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. 

“Hold this.” he says, handing you the umbrella. You raise an eyebrow and he maneuvers his backpack so he can take off his jacket. He drapes his jacket over your shoulders and takes back the umbrella as he puts back on his backpack. “Put it on.” he directs.

You were about to protest, but oblige nonetheless, enjoying the warmth it instantly brings. You hear him sigh and he hands you the umbrella again before zipping up the jacket for you. You become flustered and unable to meet his gaze.

“Thanks.” you say softly, but he doesn’t look at you, him knowing if he does, he won’t be able to stop from kissing you. He nods curtly and takes back the umbrella before you both continue walking.

The rest of the walk is silent, but not the typical silence that normally occurs between the two of you. This felt different, more comforting. As you approach your apartment building after the somewhat pleasant thirty minute walk, you step under the awning, him closing the umbrella and standing under it with you.

“Thank you.” you say again.

He doesn’t respond for a moment, and if you weren’t paying such close attention, you wouldn’t have noticed his eyes flitting softly over the features of your face. The way your hair curves over your face, barely dried from being soaked by the rain earlier. How you look in his jacket.

“I don’t regret it.” he says.

You’re taken aback a bit from his response, expecting a ‘you’re welcome’ or a sarcastic ‘no problem’ before him walking away and leaving at that. You nod a bit in response and give him a small smile.

“Goodnight.” you whisper.

He shivers, and you can’t tell if it’s from the way you said it or the cold.

“Goodnight.” he replies, softly. He doesn’t say any more, turning and opening his umbrella before walking away.

You forgot about giving him back his jacket or even bringing up when he wants you to give it back to him. And lucky for him, you forgot he owns a car.

-

“Were you able to get home okay? I am so sorry, I didn’t know it was going to rain last night.” Liz says apologetically as she puts on her apron after clocking in.

You shake your head. “It’s not your fault. And yes, I did.”

“That’s good, and I’m still really sorry.” she says apologetically, gently touching your arm.

“Really, Liz, it’s okay. I…had an umbrella.”

“Oh, that’s good. At least you were prepared.” You nodded in response, finishing an order before calling out the customer’s name at the counter. “Oh, and Sunghoon wanted you to go to the kitchen and finish prepping the next batch of croissants.” she says as she takes over your spot at the register. 

You walk back into the kitchen, re-tying back your hair before putting on your gloves. You grab the slabs of croissant dough from the refrigerator, it now being ready to cut and shape. As you unwrap the plastic covering the dough, you hear the door open. You glance up, seeing Sunghoon walk in. He doesn’t say anything, putting on gloves and walking over to the counter you are working on, grabbing a slab of the dough and unwrapping it as well.

“Good afternoon.” he says before he starts cutting the dough, not glancing at you at all.

“Good…afternoon.” you reply, looking at his hands. Not because they’re pretty (which you would be a fool to deny), but rather because you wanted to mimic what he was doing. You cut the dough like he does, albeit, much slower than him. He takes a piece, holding it in the air as his other hand softly stretches it by dragging the piece down, the dough becoming longer. He sets it back down once satisfied and starts to roll it into a croissant. “You make it look easy.” you say, holding the dough up, trying to stretch it.

He finally glances at you, watching how you work the dough. “You get used to it.” he says, keeping focus on what you’re doing. You hear him let out a tut before he stands behind you, wrapping his arms around for his hand to meet yours. “You have to work a little quickly while being gentle. You don’t want the butter to melt from the dough, and even the heat from your hands, no matter if they’re warm or not, all works against you.” He engulfs your hands in his, one hand helping you keep the dough steady in the air, the other slowly guiding your hand to gently stretch the dough.

He’s quiet, his breath softly grazing along your ear. “See? It is easy.” he whispers, sending chills down your spine. He moves away, grabbing the other slabs you got from the fridge, putting them back inside. “And don’t take out any that you aren’t currently working on. They’ll melt and ruin all of the preparation that went into kneading and folding the butter into the dough.” he says in a somewhat strict tone, completely contrasting from his gentle whispers just moments before. He continues to work on his pieces and you work on yours in silence for a bit.

“Do they look okay?” you ask, finishing your first batch. He glances at it, before grabbing another slab from a fridge and then placing the trays with the ones you just shaped into the oven.

“They weren’t exponentially terrible.” he mutters with a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“They were that good?” you ask, excitedly. “How sweet.”

He laughs softly and cuts the next slab. “Here, stretch this piece like I showed you and then I can help you shape it.”

You nod, working the dough like he demonstrated before. The lingering feeling of his hands on yours sending tingles along your fingers and skin. You set the piece down, and look over at him. He tries to hide the smile that creeps onto his face, looking down as pink softly tints his ears. He walks to be behind you, taking your hands in his again.

“Just roll the dough tightly from this end, not the pointed end first, like this,” he says softly, moving your hands with his as he speaks. “Then, make sure you tuck the tip under, curve the ends a bit so it makes a crescent. That’s optional, it’s okay not to do that every time, but just for the sake of showing you, that’s how you do it.” Or, for the sake of holding your hands more. “Done. See?” he lets go and steps back a bit. “Finish the rest of that one and I’ll work on a different one.”

“Thanks.” you say with a small smile as you look at him over your shoulder before placing the finished croissant on the baking tray and moving on to shape the next one. He smiles back, although you don’t notice, as he sets another slab on the counter. “Do you…teach everyone like that?” you ask, hesitantly.

He doesn’t answer for a moment, a small smirk on his face, “If it’s helpful and produces the proper result, maybe I will.” he replies.

“So I’m just the guinea pig?”

He laughs softly and shakes his head. “I don’t think anyone will be as good a student as you.”

You smile at that, feeling somewhat proud. “So, you haven’t taught anyone like this?”

He looks up at you and you turn your head to look back at him. “Only you.”

-

Closing with Sunghoon hasn’t been miserable since he walked you home that night. He still tends to quietly sketch at the same table each night, but he hasn’t made you do mundane tasks each night like he used to. Besides, he was quieter than usual, and Hyunwoo said it was because his class exhibit was coming up. You wondered why he didn’t tell you, but he was taking the next few days off, so instead, you were closing with another co-worker, to which Sunghoon (begrudgingly) left you in charge.

However, on one of the nights you were supposed to close, Liz switched her shift with you so you could open. You asked her why, to which she responded with: “You deserve a break”. As odd as you may have found it, you didn’t want to pass up a free night off.

“Later!” you call out to Hyunwoo, who was finishing warming a pastry for a customer.

“Enjoy your night!” he calls back, taking the pastry out and putting it on a plate. “Have fun!” he says before walking to the counter, out of earshot. 

You furrow your eyebrows a bit, assuming he most likely just meant have fun with the rest of your night. You take off your apron, hanging it up, before grabbing your things from your cubby. A slip of paper falls to the floor and you crouch down to pick it, flipping it over to read: Art Exhibition: Wednesday November 3rd @ 5 p.m. | Academy of Arts Lecture Hall D, Classroom 502 on a sheet of crumpled pale yellow paper. 

Originally, you were planning on simply staying in, just watching mindless content as you lazily lounged around, but you found yourself on the bus heading downtown to the college campus to attend an art exhibition. As you stepped off of the bus and walked the block to the school, you walked in circles for about the first fifteen minutes after five, then asked for directions, got lost a little more, and finally, twenty-five minutes later, you found the lecture hall and classroom. 

You walked inside, expecting it to be fairly empty, but saw many (who you presumed to be) friends and family of the students in the class. It looked much more professional than you originally thought it would be: light classical music playing in the background to set the mood, food catered and being passed out to the guests, works of art littering the classroom on nice displays, hands holding champagne flutes as people discuss and share their work. Your eyes scan the room until they land on Sunghoon who is dressed nicely with a black ribbed knit half-zip sweater, black slacks, and black dress shoes to match. It even seems he trimmed his hair, it styled with a small part that exposes his forehead, him smiling and laughing softly as he pushes his rimless glasses up the bridge of his nose a bit. 

You feel yourself shiver, his voice sounding rich and deep as he talks, even if he is across the room from you. You make your way over to him, feeling underdressed in your work clothes, it not occurring to you to go home and change into something nicer; the only thought running through your mind at the time that you had to be here. He sees you, his eyes lingering on you as if you aren’t wearing a white blouse, black pants, and black flats. Your hair may be down, but it’s not like he hasn’t seen you wear something like this a hundred times since you started working at the coffee shop almost a year ago. And yet, to him, you were the best dressed person there.

“Hi.” he whispers.

“Hey.” you whisper back with a small smile.

“How did you…?” You hold out the flyer that was in your cubby. He takes it, his fingers brushing against your knuckles (possibly on purpose) as he takes the paper. He smiles a bit and sets it on the desk behind him. “I didn’t leave this for you.”

“I didn’t figure that you did.” you reply, not once your gaze wavering from each other.

“I scheduled you to close.”

“Did you not want me to come?”

“I didn’t think you would.”

“Is that why you didn’t invite me?”

“That’s not why.”

“How come?”

“Is anyone at the shop?”

“Liz switched shifts with me.”

“I see.”

“Are you going to show me what you’ve been working on since I started working there?”

“Did you come straight from work?”

“Sunghoon.” 

“Fine.”

He lets out a reluctant sigh before turning to the side a bit. You look at the wall, seeing a few paintings hanging from the wall along with some sketches hanging beside them. The collection is titled Heliotrope with a scripture below it: My eyes follow no matter where you lead, body turned towards you like a heliotrope in the sun; at first afraid to touch, expecting to burn, yet brave enough to endure the pain just to feel you beneath my fingertips; instead, I was met with warmth and softness unlike any other; you, my sun, may I be doomed to an eternity of bathing in your warmth, prepared to gaze at nothing more, damned for all eternity; I shall except it with open arms.

As you look up at his work, you see heliotropes, varying in vibrant purples, shaped as a person, highlights adorning the silhouette, making it seem as though the figure glows. One sketch includes a hand shape made from heliotropes intertwining fingers with a thick and rough hand colored in with charcoal. You gaze at them all, smiling to yourself as you see one with the heliotrope figure holding a leaf, another of it being watered by rain, and another of it sitting across a table with the rest of the background in complete darkness with something resting on the table.

“Heliotropes?” you ask, still looking at his art.

“Yes.” he replies, not exactly answering your question, but knowing he understands what you’re asking, just choosing not to answer it.

“How come?” you ask, trying to coax a more specific answer from him.

“Did you read the scripture?”

“I did.”

“Then you should know.” he replies directly.

His hands are behind his back as he looks at his work with you, occasionally glancing at you from the corner of his eye.

“Beautiful.” you say, simply, honestly meaning it.

“Thank you.” he accepts the compliment.

“What inspired you?” you ask, finally turning to look at him.

He looks at his work for a moment longer before finally turning to face you. “My sun.” he replies softly.

“Your sun?”

“In Greek mythology, a water nymph–whose name was Clytie–fell in love with the Sun God, Helios. She loved him passionately, but he fell in love with a princess, thus not reciprocating her feelings. Rejected and envious, Clytie informed Leucothoe’s, the princess’s, father and enraged by the information, he buried the princess alive. Clytie was now hopeful that with Leucothoe gone, Helios would reciprocate her love, but her actions only drove him further away. She spent her last days, sitting on the ground, gazing up at the sun until she withered away. The Gods pitied her, reincarnating her into a heliotrope, a flower that always faces towards the sun, letting her always gaze upon her love, no matter him not loving her back.”

“So, you used heliotropes to symbolize your ‘sun’?”

“Yes.”

“Do you feel she doesn’t reciprocate your love?”

“She?”

“He?”

“She.” he corrects.

You nudge his shoulder, laughing softly. “She doesn’t feel the same?”

“I doubt she does.”

“Do you love her?”

“It’s not about whether or not I love her or whether or not she loves me back.”

“Why is she always seen from a distance in your paintings and sketches?”

“That is how I see her.”

“You feel she is unattainable.”

“Not necessarily.”

“Then why are you never with her?”

“I am, just from afar.”

“Stalker?”

He laughs softly, “No. I don’t need to be close to her to feel happy.”

“She just needs to be nearby?”

“As long as I face her, no matter how far from me she is, I feel her warmth; like a sun.”

“That’s why she’s your sun? Because she makes you feel warm, not because you feel she doesn’t reciprocate your love?”

“It doesn’t matter whether or not I love her or whether or not she loves me back.”

“You’ve said that twice: ‘whether or not she loves me back’. So, you do love her.”

He grins a bit and looks back at his work. “It’s too early to tell.”

“You feel this strongly for her that you based such important work on her.”

“It’s not about the grade I receive on my work for this project.” he turns to face you, “I was in a rut, I couldn’t think of what to do for this assignment. I felt an immense amount of pressure that I unnecessarily put on myself that I almost wanted to quit; I was more afraid of failing than trying at all. But then, she inspired me. From the moment I saw her, she made all of that go away. So, any chance I got, I would sketch her, and then the idea came to me and so,” he gestures to his work, “I made these.”

“I thought it wasn’t about the grade.”

“It’s not.”

“Then what is it about?”

“Figuring out how I feel.”

“How do you feel?”

“The same.”

“The same as…?”

He faces you again. “The first day I saw her.”

You stare at him for a moment. “Has she seen it yet?”

“I didn’t plan for her to.”

“Has she?”

“Perhaps.”

“Is she here tonight?”

“I didn’t invite her.”

“So, she hasn’t seen it.”

“She has.”

Silence.

“And?”

Silence.

“And?” you repeat.

Silence.

“And…I want to kiss her.”

Silence.

“Does she want to kiss me?”

“Perhaps.” you whisper.

Silence.

“Are you going to?”

“Perhaps.” he whispers.

You didn’t even notice his hand softly caressing your cheek with his knuckles, gently brushing over your skin, sending tingles down your neck through your chest, erupting butterflies in your stomach. He leans in, parting his lips just barely, his eyes flitting between your own slightly parted lips and your half-lidded eyes. His thumb tenderly strokes your cheek and as you part your lips more to speak, he gently presses his lips to yours.

Your bottom lip slots between his, him tugging you closer, his grip on your cheek tightening just a bit while his lips move with yours. Your fingers find their way to his sweater, tugging and gripping it softly while you suck and release his top lip and he does the same with your bottom one. He tilts his head to the side, his breath scattering over your lips as he exhales a gentle breath before latching his lips to yours again. You both move in tandem, slowly, taking your time to let your lips linger on each other before barely parting them and connecting them together again. 

He breaks the kiss slowly, letting your bottom lip stay between his for a moment as both of your eyes flutter open. His glasses are fogged a bit and you laugh. His cheeks blush pink as he wipes them clean and adjusts them on the bridge of his nose.

“So…heliotropes represent unrequited love?”

He laughs a bit at your change in topic. “Eternal love and devotion.”

“For a girl you’ve known for almost a year?”

“For a girl I’ve known for almost a year.”

-

Normally, sitting by the window on a particularly sunny day wouldn’t be your first choice for when taking your break. However, for some reason, it didn’t bother you as much anymore. Having the light shining softly on your face, it warming your body slightly, enveloping you in a rich softness. You feel a presence beside you, turning your head to see Sunghoon. He sets a book on the table. You look at it and smile.

“The Odyssey?”

“You mentioned you liked it.”

“Yeah, around the time I first started here.”

“So?”

“So, you remembered?”

“Of course.”

‘Of course.’ You smile at that. You hear him set something else on the table and you look to see what it is.

“A latte?” you ask, looking at the cup, smiling with your gaze locked on the foam heart on the top.

“For you to drink while you read on your break.”

You look back at him. “Thank you.” you whisper.

He leans in, just about to kiss your lips, looking down at them with such temptation before his eyelashes flutter and he meets your gaze just as you look up from his lips yourself.

“See you in fifteen.” he says with a wink as he pulls away and walks back over to the counter. Jerk, you think as you open your book, inside: a pressed heliotrope along with a written message saying ‘For my sun: to an eternity of looking’. You try to hold back a lovesick smile, glancing over your shoulder to look back at him, only to find him already looking at you, the same lovesick smile proudly on his face.

[noemilivv]

hi, I hope you’re having a good day, I’d love to leave a request for Hazbin Hotel.

Could I request Alastor, Angel Dust, Lucifer, Vox and Lucifer (feel free not to do them all if they’re too many) and how they would react when their s/o finds them crying and comforts them and gives them a hug? I’d love some reverse comfort for them they’re my favs, also gn reader pls!

hello!! i’m having a good day, i hope you are as well!! this was a very interesting concept to think about, especially for alastor haha, it may be a bit out of character but i tried my best lol

Warnings: Potentially OOC Alastor, S1 Finale Spoilers, Swear Words, Mentions of Valentino, Mentions of Physical Abuse, Mentions of Injury (Scars, Bruises, Blood, Ect), Mentions of Depression, Mentions of Sex (No Smut)

Alastor, Angel Dust, Lucifer, Vox x Reader (Reverse Comfort)

Alastor

Alastor wasn’t one to express much emotion - other than his signature smile, let alone cry, but you caught him - even if it was barely

He felt like he was on the edge of pure insanity and psychotic, and he, the almighty Radio Demon, would’ve never expected something so little to give him his final push

After the fight between Adam and Alastor, he had lost his cane, his cane gave him almost every ounce of power and control his soul had gained since entering Hell, and he was going insane without it

You watched Alastor silently drift away from the crowded hotel lobby after Lucifer made some petty comment about losing his staff.

Despite that small part of you trying to convince you against it, you followed him.

You trickled behind him slowly to his room, all the way on the other side of the hotel.

He left his door open a crack, and you opened it slightly and stood in the doorway, and there he was.

Alastor’s usually neat and tidy hotel room was now a disaster with blueprints on the floor, you took a glance at them, some looking relatively old and some looked quite fresh, they were sketches and plans for a new staff - although you knew Alastor no longer had the magic the make it.

You hid as he came into your view, he was pacing the room, a very strained smile present on his face as tears pricked in his eyes, as he ran his fingers through his hair, tossing around blueprints and plans and other papers that seemed to be plans for a new staff, searching for a solution to his despair.

Slowly, you approached Alastor, patting him on the back softly before retracting your hand, remembering he doesn’t like to be touched.

He shook his head and sighed, the same drained smile was still present on his face, he looked down at you, and you never noticed the bags under his eyes until now… I mean, you knew he wasn’t one to typically sleep, but he never had bags before…

“I’m sorry, my dear.” He said, fixing his posture, and straightening up his suit. “One might say I’m a bit distraught at the moment. What is it you need?”

“Well.. uh, Al, you looked a bit sad recently, especially after what Lucifer said about your cane, and I just wanted to make sure you were okay.” You said, providing a bashful smile, at the fact that you’d be caught snooping.

“Ah, well, how awfully kind of you, my little doe. Just know, that I’m doing quite alright-” Before Alastor could finish his sentence you engulfed him in a hug, he paused for a moment, before slowly wrapping his arms around the small of your back.

His face was in the crook of your neck, as he sighed, you couldn’t see his face, but you could feel him give a soft smile onto your neck, not a grin, but a smile.

Angel Dust

You knew Angel’s job at the studio was far from easy, and shifts could last several hours at a time, but now? You were starting to worry…

He hadn’t been home in nearly two days. And it was starting to freak you out.

You sat in Angel’s bed in the hotel, snuggled next to Fat Nuggets, he let out a small snort as you cradled him in your arms. “I miss him too, baby.” You muttered, kissing his forehead, tearing up at the thought of all possibilities of what could’ve happened to him.

“Papa will be back home soon.” You nearly whispered, your voice cracking softly, you just wanted to see your boyfriend. The movie that was on in the background began to fade away as you fell to sleep.

You woke up again at about 1am from a slam of the bathroom door that was connected to Angel’s room. You blinked your eyes a few times, groggily, not entirely aware of what was going on until you heard sobbing coming from the bathroom.

You rushed the warm, pink comforter off of you, leaving Fat Nuggets on the bed asleep, urgently swinging open the bathroom door, finding Angel wailing, clinging onto the sink, halfway on the floor.

His shirt was off, and a few bruises and scars were visible. He let go of the sink, and slid down the floor, cradling his body.

“Handsome, shit..” You murmured, kneeling down to his level, you put a comforting hand on his knee. “Baby, look at me.”

You requested softly, now using your hand to comb through Angel’s hair, when you didn’t get a response, you used your free hand to tilt his face up to you, and the sight broke you.

His eyes stared into yours, afraid and hurt, there was smeared eyeliner under his eyes that traveled a bit down his face, there was blood coming from his mouth.

You felt tears prick in your eyes, you hated seeing him like this, “My love, can I hold you?”

Angel nodded as his body fell into your arms, you rocked him slowly, shushing his sobs, turning them into a small sniffles.

You pulled away from him to look at him, you wiped the smudged makeup off his face with your thumb, and looked at him. “Wanna talk about it, Angie?”

“You already know the deal by now, it’s just Val..” He said, wiping his eyes, hiccuping before continuing, “I had a rough week, and I wasn’t off-script, and he just said to improv it, and I just fucked it up.. and he, well..” He gestured to the bruises and scars on his body, referencing what happened, giving a dry chuckle, you tensed above him.

“Baby.” You started, cupping his cheeks, pulling him to look at you, “I don’t know how yet, but I will fucking get you out of this, I don’t care who or what I have to go through, but I will fucking get you out of this. No one gets to hurt you and expect to get away with it.” You vowed, as your foreheads connected,

“Sugar, there’s no way out.” Angel murmured. “He’ll find me..” He said barely above a whisper, his voice cracking in fear, your heart ached for him.

“I’ll figure it out, handsome.” You said, pecking his forehead, “Let’s get you cleaned up, okay?”

Lucifer

You’ve known since before you even started dating that Lucifer had depression, and you knew it hit hard, but you had never really been around to experience that before.

Whenever you could, you always tried to help him out with it, which was a bit hard since he had a tendency to brush it off a lot

It wasn’t until you came home to Luci having a depressive episode where you really got a grip on his depression

You came back to you and Lucifer’s shared home, you had just gotten out of work, and Lucifer was supposed to be at a meeting, key word, supposed to.

As you walked down the hall you heard sniffles coming from your shared bedroom.

You opened the door, it let out a small creak, and you noticed Lucifer curled up on the end of the bed.

There were tissues scattered on the floor on his side of the bed and on his night stand, his clothes that he would’ve worn to his meeting were in a messy pile on the floor, he was in boxers and no shirt, his hair messy, as he sniffled into the pillows, curled up in a thin but fuzzy duck blanket.

“Sweetie, what happened?” You asked sweetly, sitting down next to him at the edge of the bed, rubbing his scalp.

“I-I was gonna go to my m-meeting today, but when I went to get out of bed everything it just felt like I couldn’t do it.. and I started spiraling and I called Charlie and told her to go instead..” Luci explained through sniffles, clutching the blanket closer to his chest.

“Aww, darling.” You cooed lovingly, caressing his cheek, “How about this; I go run a nice, hot bath for the two of us, and then we can cuddle and take a nap, and then try to clean everything up. You can even bring in a few ducks if you want.” Lucifer perked up at your offer, nodding eagerly.

“Okay.” You smiled, chuckling softly, “Just keep your pretty little self here while I go run the water.” You said, getting up to leave, but you turned around as you got to the doorway. “Bubbles or no bubbles?” You asked with a knowing smile.

“…Bubbles, please.”

Velvette had sent you off to go check on Vox, normally he comes out of his security room to check on either her or Valentino, or you, and surprisingly he hadn’t today

You worked for the Vee’s but you were also friends, you were important enough to be basically considered an honorary Vee member, but you were unimportant enough to be cut from big social events and have a fair amount of work dumped on you last minute — And you were an assistant (as well as partner) to Vox

You knocked on the door to Vox’s office room, when no response came from the other side you slowly opened the door, and you saw a very stressed Vox.

His screen was in his hands, letting out small sniffles, but he would glitch here and there as the watery tears shocked his chords.

“Baby, you good?” You asked, standing behind him.

He whipped around, scrambling to wipe away any remaining tears, “Oh- Uh- Yeah- I’m fine.” He muttered, turning back around.

“Were you crying?” You asked, hesitantly, you’d never seen him cry before, other than sex, you both had only been together a few months.

“What? No! I don’t do that shit.” He scoffed, it was clear he was getting defensive, he didn’t like to be caught like this, but he’d rather it be you than someone else.

“Vox…” You pushed, maybe you shouldn’t have, but you did anyway. “Fine. Rough day, okay? Work is stressful as fuck.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck from behind, “Do you wanna lay down? Maybe take a nap? And you come back in an hour or two?” You suggested softly, Vox could be stubborn as hell at times, and you weren’t trying to push your luck.

Vox hesitates momentarily, before muttering a small, “I guess…”

[aventurineswife]

I have a hc that ratio sketches in his sketchbook of his new ideas for sculptures he'll create later on. While he does, he absentmindedly drew you.

AAKWISYDVEUWJAAYHHHHHOHMYIGGDSGSVK I NEED THIS AS A SHORT FIC SO BAD

“To know, to be known, and to understand; that is the ultimate goal”

Summary: Ratio is deep in thought as he sketches new ideas for sculptures. While absorbed in his work, he absentmindedly draws you—capturing your likeness with an unexpected softness. Surprised by this, Ratio reflects on the unintentional inspiration you've become in his creative process, leading him to contemplate incorporating you into his future artistic endeavors.

Tags: Ratio x Reader, Unintentional Affection, Art, Soft Moments.

A/N: I couldn't come up with anything more so this very short...🧍‍♀️

Ratio sat at his desk in the quiet study room, his wavy hair falling loosely over his eyes as he leaned intently over his sketchbook. His hand moved fluidly, drawing lines and curves that seemed to blend into one another with an ease that only someone of his intelligence could manage. The sketches were of sculptures, intricate designs that were far beyond what any ordinary artist could conceive. He was always looking ahead, thinking of new ways to express knowledge through art.

As the hours passed, his mind remained focused on the shapes and forms forming on the pages. His hand continued to work mechanically, almost absentmindedly, until he paused. A curious expression crossed his face as he looked down at the paper. There, amid the flowing lines and geometric designs, was a figure—a likeness that, though not intentional, was undeniably you.

Your image was captured with the same precision and detail that characterized all of Ratio's work, yet something about it felt different. Perhaps it was the way his sharp strokes softened around the contours of your face, or how your posture seemed to convey a certain serenity in contrast to his usual intense energy. You had unknowingly become part of his creative process, a subject in his study without having posed or even been aware of it.

Ratio’s brow furrowed slightly, a mix of surprise and intrigue flickering in his eyes. He could be dismissive of the way the mundane often interfered with his intellectual pursuits, but this... this felt different. He set his pencil down for a moment, considering the unintended addition to his work.

“You,” he muttered to himself, “seem to have infiltrated my thoughts without my permission.” His voice was low but not unkind, as though he were speaking to himself more than to you.

He sat back, glancing at you for the first time since the drawing had started. You were in the room with him, absorbed in your own tasks, unaware of the way his focus had shifted.

Perhaps, he thought, he could create something new—something inspired by you, not as an object, but as a concept. Knowledge, after all, came in many forms. And sometimes, it was found in the most unexpected of places.

He smiled to himself, picking up his pencil again, eager to see what this new direction in his art would bring.

[meinkatzchen]

Can you tell us some interesting facts about your oc?ฅ⁠^⁠•⁠ﻌ⁠•⁠^⁠ฅ

I'm a little sick…again- so I don't have any new art, I'll answer questions!

I don't know which facts are interesting and which are not, but here are some about Mist! (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) I mixed up all the facts from different stages of her life at once. ♡ If you divide her story into 3 periods (btd, btd2, tpof), which would correspond to tarot cards, then she would have: Death, Chariot, Moon; ♡ She doesn't like/is afraid of mirrors:

Mirrors show objective reality, and not an illusion created by the human mind. And Mist doesn't like to see the results of her mistakes, which she can see in the mirror. She doesn't like to see scars on her body, she considers them ugly.

♡ Her nickname(Mist) was chosen because of her full name and because of her demeanor + appearance. Initially, I chose it because of the light milky haze that is present in the scarlet pupils. She had friends who affectionately nicknamed her like this. On the Internet, she often signs herself as "Mooncat"; ♡ She's almost immortal but can really be killed completely if you really try; ♡ If the sins were carved into her skin like in FC5, they would be Pride and Lust;

♡ She doesn't have the magical ability to hide her ears and tail, so in everyday life she often uses special hairpins/hats for her cat ears/harness for her tail to hide them; ♡ Between btd2 and tpof, she had a red Toyota GT 86. But Mist is such a bad driver that the car once couldn't handle such a shitty ride; ♡ It seems that she has developed good intuition, or insights that helped her foresee something bad, but because of this, she is a little paranoid; ♡ Her favorite color is scarlet/red; ♡ Her voice is high-pitched and soft at the same time, purrs when she feels good and calm (voice example: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yKy4INHSERQ&ab_channel=Monetochka-Topic); ♡ Has an increased appetite and accelerated metabolism, eats any meat, does not disdain to eat even human flesh. She especially likes the rich metallic taste of liver; ♡ This is more of a headcanon from other people, but I really like it: she has an average mental intelligence, but a high emotional one, which makes her a good manipulator and observer, but a bad strategist; ♡ Studying at the University of Law helped her find holes in the law so that many of her cult's actions were legal; ♡ She is very tactile! She loves to touch others, quickly closes the distance if she wants to gain trust or trusts the interlocutor. She loves to touch different objects and smell them, feeling the texture, temperature, shape, smell, exploring the world through touch and smell; ♡ Very talkative, ready to support absolutely any conversation and talk about all sorts of topics; ♡ Of all possible hobbies, her favorite is: playing games, computer and real (like hide and seek). Sometimes she conducts streams in which she plays in videogames, communicates with the audience, fools around; ♡ Despite her bloodthirstiness and cruelty, she is very sensitive and protective of children, teenagers and women who cannot protect themselves. In such, she sees a reflection of her past self and can become their protector herself; ♡ She doesn't mind becoming a mother :3 but in that case, she will be very protective, overprotective;

♡ Her unique melee weapon: balisong (butterfly knife).

In addition to what I wrote above, I have this small sketch with information

[cranberryjuice-posts]

ARLT GIRL I HAVE A REQUEST FOR CLARISEE‼️

OK SO CAN YOU DO LIKE A ATHENA!DAUGHTER!READER WHERE MOST PEOPLE ASSUME THE ENTIRE ATHENA CABIN IS JS BORING ITS ALL NATIONAL GEOGRAPHIC AND BOOKS

AND THEN WHEN THE READER AND CLARISSE JS LIKE KINDA STUMBLE APON EACHOTHER, CLARISSE JS ASSUMES THE READER IS VERY FUCKING BORIJG BECAUSE THEYRE A CHILD OF ATHENA

AND RHE READER TRIES TO KIND OF CONVICE HER THAT SHE ISNT BORING AND ALL

(and pls a lil make out im begging you😔)

(also i love your work stay strong girl‼️🔥)

RAHHHH‼️‼️‼️

Let’s give this thing a try

Pairings - Clarisse La Rue x Fem! daughter of Athena! Reader

Pt 1 — pt 2

The big house was quiet. Quiet was something you had to fight for, being a demigod your life was always chaotic and well noisy— so when you wanted to actually spend some time reading you would make arrangements to spend time in the big houses libary.

That’s how you now found yourself sitting in the library’s floor with multiple astrology books open around you and a note book filled to the brim with your findings

You heard the door open behind you, you looked back and saw clarisse standing in the door way with a few books in hand. Confused you raised an eyebrow studying the beautiful girls collected face. “What’s with the books?” You asked.

At first she didn’t respond, only setting them down on a chair. “Chiron asked me to leave some books here.” Her tone flat and uninterested, in the pile however you noticed a book about the stars that you had been searching for for hours.

You practically ran across the room grabbing the book like it was going to disappear. You looked down smiling at the cover— your excitement was innerupted as clarisse scoffed.

“I swear only Athena kids get off on this shit.” She rolled her eyes while turning to leave.

“Excuse me?” You spoke harshly.

Clarisse let out an irritated sigh. “What?— did I stutter I said Athena kids are the only people I know who can actually enjoy crap like this” she gestured her head towards the mess you had made earlier. “All you guys are the same boring blueprint of your mom”

“I’m not boring” you let out a scoff like laugh. Setting the book down on a table you crossed your arms not wanting to stand down from where you were.

Clarisse raised an eyebrow, it was clear she didn’t believe you. “Know what fine” you walked towards her. “Come here tomorrow midnight and I’ll show you that I’m not boring”

“And why would I do that?”

“Because I can get you out of whatever trouble your in with Chiron”

There was silence for a moment until clarisse rolled her eyes once more, threatening you to make it worth her time before actually leaving

———

You laid face down in your bed with Annabeth standing near by. You screamed into your pillow fustrated “and who does she think she is! I’m not boring she’s suc—“ you continued to complain until annabeth stopped you

“And Why do You Care what she thinks?” Annabeth sighed while sketching on a map of the forest, making plans for the upcoming capture the flag game.

You kept quiet.. annabeth turned in her seat looking over at you, her sharp grey eyes analyzed you until you knew the secret was you. You groaned in you pillow while annabeth sighed. “Her?! Really.. y/n there’s so many better options here but her your really gonna go with her?” She scolded you.

“Look, It’s.. fuck ok she’s really pretty and her being a bitch is attractive sue me” you rolled over in your bed embarrassed. Annabeth shook her head in disapproval. “Besides your not so innocent I see how you look at the son of Poseidon, uh Percy right? Yeah how does mom feel again about you fraternizing with the man she hates son”

She threw a pillow at your head in response. You just held the soft fabric close wondering how the hell you were gonna survive clarisse, you didn’t even like her that much

…

..

You did like her that much.. fuck

———

You sat in the big house looking out the wall length window admiring the stars. You had a telescope set up propped outside the window with a few books opened around you. Annabeth so graciously and forced helped you set up a cosy scene with some blankets and pillows.

You wore a cute form fitting black jumper dress with a light blue camp sweater underneath and a white ribbion in the back of your half pulled up hair. But this wasn’t a date. You had to constantly remind yourself that you were just proving you weren’t boring.

In mid thought you heard the libary door open, stepping in clarisse wearing some red plaid pj pants and her normal orange camp shirt. You felt your voice get stuck in your throat.

Clearing your throat you patted beside you. “Common”

“This looks boring I’m going back to my cabin”

“Dude”

Clarisse rolled her eyes and sat down— only there because you could get her out of cleaning the big house which you found out was because she may or may not of broke a kids jaw.

There was uncomfortable silence, it clear she was just trying to psyc you out so you would call quits but being the stuborn girl you were you refused.

You saw a shine in the corner of you eye making your face light up. “Look” you smiled. Clarisse groaned as she moved over and looked into the telescope. “It’s a meteor shower”

“I’ve been studying the stars for years but recently I’ve noticed a shift in some of the stars usual locations, see a meteor shower happens when the Earth passes through the trail of debris left by a comet or asteroid, As a comet gets closer to the sun, some of its icy surface boils off, releasing lots of particles of dust and rock—“

You had to stop yourself from continuing, proving you weren’t boring didn’t include you yapping about stars. The shower ended quickly and which was normal for a small storm like that one. While clarisse continued to look at the sky however You put a hand on the tool.

“Right here” you shifted it, you showed her the Aries constellation. “There’s Aries, and that red circle underneath it is mars” shifting the telescope some more you continued to talk “and there is the great square of Pegasus”

It was still quite the only round being the creaking from the telescope. You pulled away fiddling with your hands. “I—“

“It’s cool” clarisse mumbled “i guess” she looked over at you from where she was laying. Your cheeks flushed from the sudden compliment. “I still think your boring though spending all your time reading in here, but this” she titled her head more toward the window “this is all right”

You rolled your eyes. “I’m not boring”

“Mmhm” she sat up stretching as she did.

The two just sat there looking at eachother. You now taking the chance to really admire the girls features with the only source of light being the moon. “Your hair.. I like it, the way you style it and keep your curls in such good condition… it’s pretty”

“You can touch them if you want” her offer took you back, but you didn’t deny her. You reached out and touch her soft hair wrapping a curl around your finger. “Your hair smells like fruit punch” you giggled.

“Thanks?” She laughed softly, her hand now tracing gentle circles on your thigh. You could tell she liked the jumper dress on you, making your heart beat faster.

You leaned closer to clarisse nervous you read the situation wrong. Your lips were close just barley brushing against eachother.

You felt your heart start to race, you’ve kissed girls before but something about clarisse made you nervous, nervous like you wanted to run away but excited like you needed more.

Clarisses hand trailed up your body and found its way to your waist, she gently pulled you forward finally kissing you. The kiss was short repeating a few times adding a sense of hesitation.

You felt clarisses Hands squeeze you lightly as you both looked into each others eyes. Your left arm was now around the girls shoulder with your other hand keeping you up for balance.

You moved you hand to her hair before leading her in for a more passionate kiss. It was immature and inexperienced but needy. Clarisse Bit You bottom lip making you moan allowing her to move her tongue into the mix, you moved while kissing her to sit on the girls waist.

You both fell now with clarisse laying on her back and you pinning her down, both panting while looking deeply into each others eyes. You kissed her again with a sense of urgency.

Whines and soft moans filled the air as you kissed. Clarisses hands finding themselves under your tight jumper dress resting on the sides of your thighs while you had your hands held the girls face.

Pulling away you hid you face in the crook of clarisses neck allowing her to shift positions around now with her on top, trailing kisses down your cheek jaw and neck.

She pulled back panting. “How far are we going” her eyes meeting yours.

“Only.. only this” You whispered, clarisse nodded before kissing your neck again while softly nipping leaving dark hickeys.

——

The following morning you had to hear a long lecture from annabeth about the marks on your neck and the new found relationship between you and the daughter of ares

Annabeth - shes a terrible Person

Y/n - now it’s suddenly a crime for a woman to have a personality?

—

Go look at this persons post about Palestine and aid links

[moodymisty]

Please please please PLEASE produce some nsfw with female reader Alexis Polux Propaganda. I need some Imperial Fist content.

Author's note: HMNGNGNGGGGG POLUX TIME

Relationships: Alexis Polux/Fem!Reader

Warnings: NSFW, Size difference, Praise kink, Polux is a good boy™, Rough-ish sex

"I'm surprised to see someone so young here,"

A voice speaks, and you don't entirely realize they're talking to you until they come up on your left side with an expectant look on their face.

"You look a bit too well dressed to be someones servant," You aren't quite a fan of the way he seems to examine you like a painting, but you assume he just isn't familiar with social gatherings. Many of the people in these circles are always examining for weaknesses, valuable information, so the feeling isn't entirely new. You just aren't used to it.

With a soft smile you nod to say hello despite him not giving you the same courtesy, holding your parchment close to your chest.

Your drawings had been going well, documenting the progress of the Palace has been no small feat, and the few picts you've taken will go along will with the various sketches you've been working on.

"Well, I'm usually not on Terra, But right now I'm here on business. Imp-"

The man cuts you off, letting out a noise. You're not sure if he's a commissar out of his regalia or a lord, not that it matters in the end.

"Ohhh! That's surprising."

You wonder why he thinks that.

"You don't seem like a young lady who would be part of the fortifications of the Sol system," It takes a lot in you to keep your place- to not roll your eyes - and just smile and nod.

"Well, looks are deceiving sometimes."

The man smiles and nods, seemingly amused your answer.

"Indeed they are."

You look away from him and over the massive and ornate railing at the view below you, spires and twisting paths of gold weaved between endless construction. Your primarch has been hard at work, and the pict you decide to take will serve as a useful thing to add to your ever growing documentation.

The man looks at you amusingly as you do it, but oddly enough doesn't ask why.

"How long have you been out here all alone?" He looks at you curiously, his chin tilted upward just slightly as he casually crosses his arms.

You think on it for a moment. You aren't meant to be here for the current meeting, it just happens to be going on in tandem to your arrival. You also haven't been alone for most of it, though your guardian- you can't think of any other word to call him, even if guardian doesn't quite fit - has been absent as he left to give orders briefly.

"No more than an hour, I think." The man throws out a hand, gesturing it vaguely in your direction.

"An hour out here? how about you come and get a drink with me? At least take a break and warm up before you come back out here." You politely shake your head and take a step back, still holding your parchments close to your chest.

"Oh, no thank you, I don't have the time to take a break, I'm quite busy."

He waves off your refusal. "Nonsense, have you even been to a Terran gathering? There's plenty of things I'm sure you've never seen before. Have you tried wine?"

You haven't, but your interest to do so is nonexistent under this context. Desires aside, you have work to do; Dorn and his men hold your work to a high bar and won't be fond to see you slacking off.

"I haven't but I really need to get back to my work, or my Pri-"

The man reaches for you hand and while he grasps it gently, the gesture is unwelcome.

You notice two Imperial Fists passing by as you tug your hand out of his own and back away, scowling at him. The closer Fist that passes you by looks at you, and moments later you hear the distinctive crackle of the vox device in his helmet turning on as he continues by. It's a soft sound you've gotten used to, in your time close to astartes.

"Surely your work isn't important enough to not enjoy some company. I am far too bored of the people who only seem to chat because they want something."

Despite his lament seemingly authentic he seems to want something from you, hence his forcefulness. he reaches forward once again to put a hand on your arm and you back away, but you accidentally back yourself between him and the railing- cornering yourself.

"I told you, I am here on business and I am really not interested in-"

You hear something to your left, the thundering of heavy footsteps - and the both of you turn to see the source.

A wide surface of bright yellow armor is what you see, spanning far wider than you and far taller, as well. It makes you overjoyed, you know who he is- while the man looses all the blood in his face at once.

“Let go of her.”

Polux doesn’t need to do much more than speak and the man removes his hand, as now it's suddenly as if you're on fire.

Polux stands in the same realm as the primarchs in height in his armor, and even someone used to being around space marines would find themself more than a bit intimidated by him by just his presence, let alone being the object of his displeasure.

You know he's far kinder than his off-putting visage implies, but both you and Polux are fine with not letting anyone know about it.

"Thank you, Polux."

The man seems surprised by you saying the marine's name so casually, and the way he looks down at you. He looks at you as if he knows you, which given how rare it is for astartes to interact with baseline humans, is more than a bit unusual. His short, cropped blonde hair is stuck to his head in weird ways, after so long underneath his helmet.

You turn to him, fingers flexing around your notebook as you take one side step in Polux's direction.

"I was trying to say I am here on Imperial Fist business. I am one of the remembrancers for The Fists documenting their fortification of Terra." Polux stares at the man, and his neutral face accidentally serves to frighten him more. Despite you knowing the astartes is almost what you would dare consider shy, his stalwart, wrinkled face does not imply that in the slightest.

"And I am quite busy doing so."

The man swallows, playing with his teeth while shifting his jaw nervously.

"Oh I am, so so sorry. I never meant to intrude on Fists business, I was only trying to offer a nice lady a d-" Polux ignores the man; Looking down at you.

"Are you alright?"

You know if you say you aren't Polux will more than likely drag the man somewhere to be punished for his misdeeds. But you're fine, and find the whole idea a bit too time consuming to deal with. It's not as if he did anything horrific, besides being far too pushy and irritating. Given your status as remembrancer mouthing off to someone who might possibly be a high lord wasn't something you can do either, less you risk getting your head rent from your shoulders.

"Yes, I'm ok. Just a little handsy."

Polux only needs to take one look in his direction and gesture, almost as if the man is a wild animal, to dismiss him, and he walks off with a briskness in his step.

Now alone with Polux you soften significantly; While he doesn't do the same visibly, you can tell in his tone of voice and eyes that he is somewhat less aggravated.

You give him a sweet smile, ignoring the chilly breeze penetrating your clothes. He must've gotten the vox that the Fist sent when he walked by, probably knowing a fight was brewing. He looks down at you with that stoic but soft expression.

Even as battle hardened and massive as he is, something about Polux is almost, gentle.

"Thank you so much for saving me, Polux. I needed that."

His face changes just the slightest bit. You don't know why, and you can only assume he finds your thank you thoughtful. You don't imagine he hears the words that often.

Reaching forward he grasps your shoulder with his wide gauntlet, and starts to push you along. You nearly stumble over with how much ground he expects you to cover in one step, almost loosing hold of your parchments.

"We should return to the Eternal Crusader."

When you returned to the ship, it had taken Polux 45 minutes to remove himself from his armor.

Record time; Given his size he wears custom armor that takes more effort- and thus time - to remove.

It had taken only fifteen more to return to his quarters, dragging you along. Once you got there, there was only roughly 40 seconds before the sound of the door locking, and Polux picking you up, and throwing you onto his cot.

Your clothes didn’t survive the minutes after- they became tattered ribbons on the floor as Polux made a strategic path to his target.

He had such a logistical way about it; his bred traits cause him to treat every scenario with stoic and almost taciturn attitude.

He thrusts into you, the slap of skin on skin echoing in the room with an embarrassing loudness.

“Thank you for saving me, Alexis,”

The sentence goads him on hitting a deep part of him, and you feel the way he drives his cock even deeper into you. He’s pressing you into the cot, laying on your stomach back arched to present yourself to him. Polux is almost uncomfortably wide at his hips and torso, you can barely spread your thighs enough to allow him close enough, unless he puts your knees by your ears.

“Why must you find yourself in trouble every time I turn away from you,”

You let out a sharp moan as he drives himself into your particularly deep, and the thick base of his cock stretches you even wider.

“It just finds me, I don’t know what I’d do without you,”

He lets out a soft groan and you swear your feel his cock throb inside of you at the praise.

Polux has always had trouble recognizing his own skill among the other Imperial Fists. His skill is never enough, and he always doubts his place as belonging to his late brother. Your words fan a fire inside of him that only fuels with the acknowledgement that he has done his duty to the utmost of perfectionism, and never once faltered.

“More, please more,”

He grunts with effort as his massive forearms cage your body, his hips slapping against your ass. You know you're going to be covered in bruises that you'll have to cover, find excuses for, but you couldn't care less. You nearly squeal as the head of his cock bullies his way deeper inside of you, feeling like it’s at your belly button. His cot isn’t meant for this kind of abuse and creaks unhappily, threatening to crumble under the weight and strength of nearly 400 kilos of muscle and fat.

Why did you have to pick the biggest Imperial Fist that’s ever lived? Polux swallows your entire body in his shadow, and the overwhelming heat he exudes stifles the air with the hot smell of sweat and sex, combined with the odd chemical smell of an Astartes.

In an odd way it’s begun to stir something in you, and at times you at the way your body betrays you and begins to get hot at the worst of times.

Your hands desperately attempt to reach for anything to hold on to, one gripping his forearm and feeling his hair on your palm. You can feel the almost painful tightness in your lower stomach as you get closer and closer, gritting your teeth.

You have to be loud enough that it can be heard in the halls. You dread the idea of the serfs hearing their newest, brightest and shiniest remembrancer getting getting absolutely fucked out of her mind by one of the Imperial Fist's most stalwart and immovable men. But you can’t find the ability to be quiet- not when the Astartes is trying to force his cock impossibly deeper with each thrust as his balls slap against your cunt.

His brow furrows tight as he fucks you like it’s a singular goal, giving no mercy or gentleness.

The painful twisting vice in your stomach finally snaps when you cum, what little strength you had to keep your hips tilted upwards fails. You go nearly limp, and Polux is forced to move a hand to grab your hip and hold you up to continue trying to drive himself closer and closer to your cervix.

The way your soft walls clench around him almost stops the marine dead, and you can hear the hiss he lets out through his teeth.

This is only the third time he’s fucked you, and the first time he’s initiated it. The feeling of nerves and neurons unused being stimulated in such a way is almost overwhelming to him, and he isn’t sure if he enjoys the way his body almost takes control from him in that desperate, primal effort to finish.

He grips your hip tighter and fucks you harder with little regard to your limp and well fucked body, cumming inside of you not a few moments later. Buried to the hilt you feel the hot pooling of cum inside of you, and the way his cock twitches with each spurt.

When he pulls out, you whimper at the feeling of your abused cunt fluttering around nothing, and beads of his cum leaking from you.

You feel the back of your thighs ache in pain, and you’re sure they’ll be bruised wonderfully in a few hours.

“…Are you well?”

Polux says with an almost out of place concern as you lay limp on his cot. You nod and try to turn on your side beneath him.

“I’ll, I’ll be ok.” You don’t know if you will be right away; Your lower stomach aches as your cunt tries to recover from his abuse, and you’re sure sitting down or doing anything strenuous is going to be painful the next few days.

Polux furrows his brow, shifting his thin lips.

“I, do not like how unclear my mind gets during my… time, with you.”

You wish you could explain to him that’s normal, but to a man who’s known nothing but the machinations of a crusade, of standing stalwart and logical in the face of unknowns- desireless - you don’t know if you ever could.

“Do you want me to leave?” You look up at him, and he shakes his head.

“No.”

You attempt to adjust, but the motion puts tension on your aching muscles and causes you to grimace.

“You’re hurt? You lied?” Polux looks at you sternly, and you shake your head.

“I’m just really, sore. And bruised.” Polux shifts and moves to stand, further motivated when you hiss in pain again.

“You need the Medicae.” You quickly speak up. “Would you like to explain to them how you, an Astartes, fucked me so hard I can’t walk, or should I?”

Polux stares at you stone faced, a thinking expression that would be funny, if not for the embarrassment you implied.

“I… I will go to the apothecary and say you injured yourself and need salve.” Polux shifts his jaw, and you can see some of his more shy personality come through. “I will, forgo the details.”

You can’t help but smile a bit before he leaves, watching as the man storms off task at hand, and leaves you to wait.

[formosusiniquis]

A ficlet i posted to bluesky last night inspired by @morganbritton132 and this post

Steve has been a science fiction fan since before he even knew what it was.

When he was little, and his Mom didn't have to travel with his Dad to make sure he wasn't getting another secretary pregnant, she would lay beside him in bed and tell him stories of Captain Kirk and Commander Spock.

His Mom had the best voice. Soft, rasping, passionate.

She made up a cast of fantastic characters he got to meet each night, listening to their adventures through space and time until he was too tired to ask for just one more.

And at the end of each one Kirk and Spock lived happily ever after.

That was his favorite part. The happy ending. Sure they would have to go on a new adventure the next night, that was the fun, but at the end of the story the danger would be gone and they would be safe in their room (or the medbay) once more.

He was embarrassingly old when he caught a rerun of Star Trek and realized the characters his Mom had told him about were on his TV.

Some of their adventures were even the same.

But the one undeniable difference: Kirk wasn't quite so handsy with his Lieutenant Commander as he was in her stories.

He can't resist asking her about it on his phone call that week.

"How many of my bedtime stories were just you remembering last week's episode?" And "did you change the ending because bedtime stories were supposed to end with a happily ever after."

"Check the hatbox in the back of the guest closet and call me back tomorrow." Is all she says. A tease because 15 had somehow been the magic number that transformed him from son to friend.

He goes to the closet.

And inside he finds papers. Dozens, hundreds, stapled and folded and spiral bound.

They're like magazines but as he flips through one and then another and another and another, Steve realizes the one thing they have in common.

They're stories. Just like his mother used to tell him.

Well, not just. He finds himself opening to one that has an artistic rendering of poses he has his doubts Captain Kirk could actually achieve and doesn't really want to imagine his Mom reading.

But the others, okay and that one too, he spends hours that night pouring over in his bed.

And then he finds one he /knows/ he's heard before. Going back to the title page he finds in neat typewritten print. By Lucille Matthews.

His Mom, her maiden name sure but with the content and the times he can think of dozens of reasons why she'd want that safety net.

When the time comes for their next phone call he doesn't ask Why or How. He asks, "Did you workshop your stories with me or did you tell them from memory?"

Then later, "If I drew something from your story, could I send it to you?"

It goes on like that, and a little like how it did when he was a kid. Only instead of having his Mom curled up beside him, she's on the phone telling him stories from the apartment they keep in the city.

Steve has always been a better artist than writer, with the phone at his ear he sketches.

He mails the pictures to her. Mimeographed copies of the originals. Some are scenes he though sounded badass, some character portraits, but his favorites are the happily ever afters.

Soft close up moments of Kirk and Spock after the adventure. Moments together, pictures of hands or soft looks.

He doesn't tell her why those soft after moments are so important to him now. He's never told her of his own dangerous adventures.

But some days he wonders if she knows. If there's some mother's intuition that makes the ends of her stories longer, gentler than they were when he was a kid.

Later, when she's home so they can go to a convention a friend wrote to her about, she gives him a gift.

Wrapped carefully, he can still tell it's a booklet. Thin, probably stapled together. He's even more careful when he opens it.

Before he has time to appreciate that it's a zine. She's taking it from his hands flipping to a page she already knows, but their shared particular nature wouldn't let her mark.

He sees the title, familiar because it's one he had pitched. He squirrels that away for later to focus on what is beneath.

In blocky, type face he traces his fingers over the Xeroxed words.

By Lucille Matthews with art by her son Steve.