#never buying a printer again

[castaawaay]

Printer Hell

I recently bought this: an Epson ET-2810 and it’s been a living hell over these past 2 days. I unboxed, filled up the tank, then I got an error. Epson told me to exchange it. So I did. The printer I got after that I got the same error, but was told to reflash the firmware. $15 later, I now have a working usb cable to do it with. Firmware flash success. Now after 2 days I have a working printer. Yay?

[orcelito]

Gonna also get my license soon. This time for real.

Need to find that sheet of the driving times... hmmm

[peachdoxie]

Gonna murder my grandparents' new printer. Why does it require that you download an app to use it. Fuck off.

[fingertipsmp3]

Swear to god if I was actually a proper reddit user I’d be posting the stupidest AITA posts

[hai7ani]

os ventos do amor ᡣ𐭩 ー haitani rindou

the five times rindou shows you he loves you (tries) & the one time he finally tells you about it.

( the winds of love ) friends with benefits + colleagues au, mdni

一 · in his kitchen (prequel)

The first time Rindou tries showing you he loves you, you're busy slurping noodles in his kitchen, and he's creasing his brows ironing your stupid little blouse in his tiny laundry room.

"Need some help?" You tease from the table after swallowing.

Usually you'd let him do it himself in peace, with no mocking, as per his own request to iron your clothes for you whenever you stay the night. But he's been at it for the past 20 minutes now just ironing one stupid blouse, and you're starting to grow impatient, because he'd promised to share this bowl of ramen with you but it's almost finished now.

Your voice echoes in the living area and he doesn't reply, but you know he heard you. You put down the chopsticks and sigh, "you know, I could've done it myself. No need for the trou-"

"Here."

You cock your head to the side and you see him, finally, out of the laundry room, with some sweat beading on his forehead and he's padding towards you, holding out your white blouse to you by its hanger.

He's still frowning when he stops before you at the dining table and you can feel his deject before he even says his next words:

"It's a stubborn crease, 'n I coulda done better. But I don't wanna burn through your shirt." He hands you your blouse and you immediately soften at it, fingers gently running over the said crease and you can tell he's done his best ー he did a great job, because if it were up to you, you would've chosen to give up halfway through.

"And sorry I ripped your skirt. I'll buy you a new one this weekend." He apologises through a mouthful of ramen and you reach a thumb up to wipe away some soup dripping down his chin.

Your eyes flicker to the said skirt sitting on the edge of his couch ー a black linen pencil skirt with a little slit running up your knee is now a big slit running up your hip, and the sight makes you want to laugh. You'd stripped it off and threw it there upon entering his house ー a little angry and upset that he'd ripped through your favourite skirt to wear for work out of eagerness to fuck you in the backseat of his car without getting you both home first, and he'd offered to iron your shirt for the next day out of guilt.

And now you're left in nothing but your undies, still not yet showered (you're waiting for him together), and you notice it's a little red on the tip of his ears. But your fury has died out long ago and seeing him like this ー somewhat embarrassed and you think he's kind of stupid for apologising because deep down you know he knows you don't mind at all, but he still says it anyway ー makes you want to grab him by his cheeks and place a fat smooch on his lips. But you don't, and you continue to watch as he swiftly finishes up the noodles before turning to wash the dishes.

"...Thank you, Rin." He doesn't see it but you're smiling when you say it to him ー shy, rosy lips a little pursed, the apple of your cheeks rose high, and he resists the urge to turn around and cup your cheeks with soapy hands.

"Whatever. 'N the noodles were disgusting. Remind me to never buy it again."

"Okay."

二 · in the office

The second time is when you catch him in the printer room the next morning.

He's photocopying documents by the printer, the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his elbows and he has one hand manning the machine with the other supporting his body. His fingernails tap beats against the hard surface as he waits for the next batch of documents to finish printing.

Rindou doesn't notice your presence and you don't make yourself known either, choosing to watch him by the door as he makes quick work of counting and organising and stapling together freshly printed documents while making sure they're all in the correct order for the team meeting later ー and you think it's so bad of you to be ogling at his exposed arms with indecent thoughts of doing many things to him floating in your mind as his muscles flex under the light with his every move.

But you don't let your thoughts consume you, and he looks up at you ー now standing beside him with your arms tucked behind your body and a cheeky smile planted on your face.

Rindou focuses back on his work, obviously in a rush to complete everything, but he still acknowledges you nonetheless.

"You're up to something." He sighs while stacking together the stapled documents.

You feint a pout.

"...'M not." (He interpreted this as "I am.")

Rindou has never once told you this but he always thought that you had somewhat of a close resemblance to a cat. A very annoying Siamese cat that behaved like his previous one, constantly following him around and begging him for attention while also pretending like it isn't.

But it's nothing new. Rindou had come to a conclusion a while ago that you like to keep him guessing, and you particularly enjoy acting nonchalant when it's so obvious to him right now that you want something, anything that can keep you going for the day.

"What, you want a kiss or somethin'?"

"...Kinda,"

Bingo.

"But I want to use the machine more than I want a kiss."

He smirks, though he doesn't give it to you just yet, and you begin to count and prepare your own documents in silent when he doesn't reply. (You think he's ignoring you and it's awkward.)

But Rindou doesn't step away even when he's finished and you're confused. And unlike yourself, he doesn't have a knack for keeping you guessing. He speaks before you have the chance to ask.

"How many?" He grabs at your papers and lays them face-down on the machine before closing the shutter. His thumb hovers over the screen, eyes unwavering against your own as he waits for your reply.

"Um, ten copies." Your smile slowly widens when he finally presses 'print' and steps back for you to take over. He doesn't collect his documents to leave, however, and you raise your brows in confusion when he moves to close the door gently (and locking it, too) before shutting the blinds altogether.

"What're you doin'? Aren't you in a rush?" You question.

He shrugs and makes his way over to you.

"I've got time," he says it while trapping you against the machine with his two arms, lips quickly hovering against your own and you can smell a hint of the peppermint gum he likes to chew on from time to time.

"The machine's all yours," he licks at your bottom lip, "and now, for your kiss..."

I've always got time for you.

You think it's a great thing that the printer room doesn't have a CCTV.

三 · at the mall (shopping for your skirt)

Rindou has a good eye for things. You knew it the moment he'd picked out a pair of Daiso's reindeer-printed socks for you as your Secret Santa a few Christmases ago.

(You've always liked reindeers, but Rindou simply bought it for you because he didn't know what you liked.

You'd jumped in happiness the moment you opened your present and Rindou thought you were actually the prettiest girl alive.

You'd pounced on him in excitement, yelling out your gratefulness for everyone in the party to hear.

He'd decided that he wanted you then.)

So you're in Aeon browsing through skirts without him even though you came out here together. You don't know where he is, and you've given up on looking for him after phoning him a few times and wandering around like a lost child looking for its parent.

But you hear a cough behind you and you turn around, only to be greeted by the sight of a really pretty dress hanging from his finger.

You admire it from top to bottom ー a really nice coral pink dress with large hibiscuses printed all over with a little slit running up the thigh ー and Rindou moves it closer to you.

"Whatchu think of this?" He asks, nervous eyes a little dodgy against your mischievous ones, and you smile a little when taking the hook off his finger.

"I wanted a skirt, not a dress." You comment, obviously poking fun at him and Rindou immediately reddens like a tomato. "Forget it, then."

He reaches a hand out to snatch it from your own but you take a step back away, clutching the dress to your chest tight.

"Didn't say I don't want it, though." You jut your chin out and he snorts.

"I need to make a call," he fishes his card out from his wallet and hands it to you. You grip on the flat plastic tight, afraid of losing it while also in shock because why did he hand you his card? He's acting like you're both a married couple now.

"Text me when you're finished." And he shuffles away with his phone pressed to his ear.

四 · during the phone call with his brother

"Yo, Aniki." Rindou greets the moment his brother picks up the phone. After eight rings, what the hell is this idiot even doing?

"What?" The older man answers from the other line, phone tucked between the shoulder and his ear while he's rushing to prepare his daughter's dinner.

"You busy?" The younger boy asks. He shuffles his weight from heel to toe while standing in front of a wall full of different mugs and bowls at the home appliances department.

Pink is nice. She likes pink. Or should I get red? It's almost Valent-

"Uncle Rin-rin!" His niece's voice booms through the speaker, cutting Ran off and Rindou immediately smiles at it. "Hi, sweetie."

And Ran takes over the phone again. "What's up? Speak before I hang up. I'm a very busy man." Rindou resists the urge to snort at it ー he has a favour to ask, after all.

"How do you..." The younger pauses, oddly feeling a little too nervous to continue. Though it is his own brother on the other line that he knows although very annoying, he would still be there to help, Rindou finds it a little embarrassing to be asking him about this. He's never done this before, and he's not very big on asking his brother for favours too, and Ran is surprised at the sudden question shot that's been left hanging.

He looks up at the ceiling and sighs. He knows Ran will never let this go if he asks, but he decides to screw his ego because in the end, it is for you.

"How do you, um," he taps his foot on the ground.

...Fuck it.

"How do you chase a girl? Or something like that. Whatever it is."

"...Chase a girl? What girl- Oh. The one you've been sleeping with."

"What the fuck? Not in front of my niece, dude."

"Relax, I put her down a while ago."

"You're fucking annoying, you know that?"

Ran only laughs boisterously at Rindou's annoyance, but he doesn't leave his brother hanging.

He's always here for him, no matter what.

"So what're you thinking? Any options?" Ran asks. Rindou grabs at a white mug with pink flowers painted on it before replying. "Mugs."

"Mugs? Like for drinking, mugs? You're not serious, Rindou? You're buying mugs to chase a girl, are you insane?"

The younger clicks his tongue and puts the porcelain back on the shelf albeit a little harshly. "Why else do you think I'm asking you, asshole? Just tell me what to buy. I really don't know."

"I can't tell you what to buy for a girl you're chasing, dude. And I don't even know what she likes. What does she like? You tell me."

He ponders for a moment. "Dresses. Pink stuff." His mind travels back to the night you first met, at work, as clerks, when you'd included your hobbies into your introduction and one of it was gardening. "And like, flowers."

"Then just get her flowers, you already have your answer." Ran deadpans from the other line, but Rindou only hisses. "Yeah, but I already got her a pink dress with flowers printed on it. What else?"

"I'm talking about actual flowers. You can get them anywhere, and most importantly, never fails to make a pretty girl smile. She already likes flowers anyway."

"...'Kay, thanks. You're useful for once."

"Fuck off." Ran clicks his tongue. "...And red tulips, if I may suggest. And remember, tell me how it goes-"

"Yeah, yeah, yeah."

五 · aftercare with you

Remember when I said that Rindou wanted you the moment you'd hugged him in excitement after seeing some lame reindeer-printed socks wrapped up nicely in a little box tied with a pink ribbon on top?

Yeah. He'd wanted you since then. But instead of starting off as friends from colleagues before getting to know you better and then asking you out on a date when he feels the time is right ー like a normal, sane person ー the both of you had gotten into a mutual agreement of becoming friends with benefits.

You don't remember exactly when it started, how it started, who initiated it, and neither does he, but you don't really care. Not when he's busy rubbing soft circles on the bruise forming on your hips for some comfort while he pecks you again and again on your forehead as you slowly fall asleep beneath him. He'd lost focus for a bit and gripped you a little harsher than he should've, but you really don't mind, yet he still feels bad.

And Rindou thinks you're prettiest like this ー neck and chest painted in hickeys that he'd sucked (out of adoration), eyelids droopy with your bags a little red from the tears of bliss you'd shed, and the back of yours fingers are gently caressing his left cheek. Your room smells of sex and lemongrass and a quiet 'sleepy?' is all he asks when your eyes finally close.

You hum out a lazy response of 'yes' before moving the same hand down to rest it on his nape, playing with the ends of his mullet a little, and you push him down to rest on your chest.

It's heartwarming. It feels intimate. And despite your abnormal relationship title with the man, you don't reject the sudden swell of your heart and neither does he.

So he presses a soft kiss to the top of your left boob ー right where your beating heart resides ー and you hug your legs a little tighter around his waist. It's nothing sexual and you both know it. It was all just to bring him closer to you, for you to feel more of his warmth in the coldness of your bedroom paired with the chill of February.

"Sleep then." He assures, voice gentle and lulling, and you smile a little at it.

Rindou is always softer at times like this, you realise ー when he'd fucked the life out of you after a particularly long day, when he'd made you moaned out melodies that he swore belonged to heaven, when he'd spent hours between your legs lapping up everything you have to give him.

Though you don't let yourself go at his words, and he watches amusedly as you try your hardest to fight back dear sleep in his arms. You don't think you're ready to sleep yet. Something feels out of place, oddly, even though you're sure you have completed everything that was in your checklist today.

Laundry, washing the dishes, prepping for Monday's meeting... You've done it all, and yet you still can't pinpoint what it is that is missing.

Until he moves up to silently place a warm kiss on your neck ー where your pulse beats against his lips ー and he realises his life hasn't really started until recently, until the day he'd met you and he thought you were such a breathtaking girl. Colours had burst into his world and your smile was the first thing that had lightened up.

And while you're happily drowning in his attention, Rindou silently wonders if the two of you were perhaps lovers in your past lives.

He wonders if you'd be willing to catch him. To be there, holding your arms out and yelling to him that you're here and to not worry; for him to just fall into your arms and he'd be safe ー you'll catch him.

Because he is falling. Hard. And he doesn't know how to tell you about it. He hopes that for the past few days his gestures were enough to tell you a portion of his love...

Just a portion, though. Because he wants to tell you the rest when he finally gets to call you his. Under the moonlight, at dinner with his brother and his family, before his parents at their graves every anniversary, or in front of your dog that's pawing at your door asking to be finally let in... Whatever it is, he wants to show the world that he loves you.

So when you smile sweetly up at him as he grows hard against your thigh ー a silly little love boner that you must've thought was just him getting horny to you massaging his sore backー Rindou's become a little more certain that the two of you must've met one way or another in the previous lifetimes and have fallen in love with each other when you gently trail a finger down his abdomen, before finally wrapping a hand around him.

Rindou wonders what it'd feel like to be yours in this lifetime.

And he gives in to your touches. He buries his head into the crook of your neck and lets you play with him as you please.

He thinks it's kind of cute that even as friends with benefits, you've already engraved a piece of yourself onto him.

Like the extra sets of pencil skirts and blouses that you leave hanging in his wardrobe in case of last minute plans that he swears are a hassle to iron because he can never get the creases right. But he never complains, and he would always offer to iron your clothes each time you stay over at his house. Or even when you don't. Because he would always find your stuff sitting in the basket when he's doing his laundry. And he'd have to iron them neat for you, before hanging it up in his wardrobe for you to wear the next time you stay the night.

Or like your toothbrushes hanging next to each other on the wall in his bathroom ー pink and purple facing each other by their bristles because you'd insisted out of the blue on a random Monday morning, at the start of your "relationship", with foamy toothpaste in your mouth and your hair poking out in every different direction it can go.

And sometimes your shoes bring him joy too, whenever he would get up to check on the door while you're falling asleep in his bed and he'd spot how your black pumps are always somehow scattered messily next to his own neat dress shoes by the entrance, and he'd have to squat down and rearrange them nicely.

He looks back up at you with ragged breaths and a coil in his abdomen that's threatening to break anytime soon. You're still giving him the same smile that drives him nuts every single time, and he leans in closer to give you a little kiss on the lips that you very much love.

And Rindou comes to a sudden realisation that he wants to tell you he loves you now. He needs you to know that he's all yours. You're his sweetheart.

So he does what he thinks is right ー what he feels is right. He reaches over your body, towards the marble vase on your nightstand that your mother had gifted you as a housewarming present, and he picks a fresh flower out of it after careful consideration. You don't move from your spot, only trying to kiss whatever skin of his that your lips can reach from your position ー his shoulder, his bicep, his arm, his neck... And a familiar smaller-sized tulip appears before your eyes. You raise your brows a little at it.

"Pretty fuckin' girl," is all he murmurs before pushing himself into you.

"I'm all yours." He whispers.

A peaceful winter night and Rindou fucks you again in missionary with so much love bubbling in his chest and a red tulip tucked behind your ear.

终 · during breakfast together

"Do you want eggs?"

"Sure."

"Okay."

You kick your feet and watch from the bar as he cooks you both breakfast in your kitchen. You're covered in one of his shirts that he'd left sitting on the back of your chair, your tired eyes scans over his half-tattooed back covered in scratch marks, and you feel oddly proud to be the one to have done all that.

But you know it is not right. And you're not stupid ー you're aware of the things he's been doing these days, and if you were a forgetful fool you would've missed the rule you made with him at the start of your intimacy.

Never catch feelings for each other.

...But you were no forgetful fool, and the ache in your heart is too painful for you to ignore. You'd seen the way he looked at you last night ー the way he'd fucked you like you were the finest thing personally handcrafted by the hands of God. And because you treasure your friendship, you know you shouldn't be doing this to him. You think he's a good person, and you want to remain friends with him.

But you don't want to let him go.

"Hey, Rindou." You call out. He's in the midst of scrambling your eggs with butter when you do so. "Yeah?"

"Rindou," he hums again.

Ever so patient, but I have to break your heart.

"...We should end things, Rindou-kun."

Saturday morning and it feels as though his world is falling apart from your simple sentence. Like you've ripped apart his beating heart that pounds solely for you and threw it on the ground.

You are so cruel.

So much for all that last night, he thinks. So he turns around after hurriedly switching off the gas. The wooden spatula covered in eggs is still in his hands when he faces you in agony and you want to break down and cry.

You feel like a villain. The evilest villain of them all.

"Why? Was I too rough on you last night? I- Or were we too open about it? Tell me." He's worried. He's so worried that it almost makes you want to crumble into pieces.

Purples flicker between your own and your lips wobble. You grip the hem of his shirt tight in your hands and look down.

"Please, tell me." He pushes again, so you decide to tell him truthfully.

Be a big girl, don't cry. You've survived 25 years of life, cutting things off with your FWB should be easy.

"...I've caught feelings."

Except it's not.

A lone tear makes its way down your cheek and you wipe it away quick. "Sorry, I broke the rule. I caught feelings and I- I don't think it's right for us to continue this any further." Your voice cracks with every word you speak and it makes you want to cry even further, because he's not saying anything.

And despite the strong stance you've presented to him, Rindou knows you're putting on an act for him. So he puts down the spatula and shuffles to you. He stops before you and tilts your chin up with his finger.

You'd half-expected him to be upset about this as much as you are, because you know the feeling's mutual, but you respect the rule of your relationship more and you don't think it's right to continue on.

Except he isn't, and he's so fucking smug about it.

Rindou's got a huge grin on his face when you look up at him. Hair a little messy, a hickey on his jaw, and you're sobbing into his arms now.

"You like me." He states.

You kick him a little and continue to cry.

"You like me, huh?" He repeats again.

Rindou has an arm wrapped securely around your waist with the other hand smoothing the back of your head as he shushes you gently, rocking you both side to side and you hit him a little on the chest.

"Do you think this is funny? It's not funny. I'm being serious." So you try pushing him away in hiccups but he only laughs as you struggle against his strength.

"Why do you wanna end things?"

"As I've said, I broke the rule. It's not right anymore."

He snorts at your reasoning. "You know, rules are always meant to be broken."

"So you don't respect me enough to follow my rule?" You're trying to pick a fight but he doesn't quite buy into it, choosing to kiss your forehead instead as you continue to wiggle your way out of his hold.

"I've never been one to follow the rules anyway." Rindou mutters against your hair as he presses another kiss to your crown. You're too endearing to let go, he thinks, and he holds you anymore tighter to himself at that.

"And who said if it's right or wrong? Screw rights and wrongs. We both like each other, the feeling's mutual. There's no point in letting each other go." He wipes your tears away with his palm and cups your cheeks with them. "I know you don't wanna let me go."

You swat his chest again at that and he only laughs harder at your reaction. He thinks you're the most precious thing in life. In his life. In the universe. You're the most precious thing ever.

"I like you a whole lot, you know." Smooch. "More than you'll ever know." Another smooch. "Let me be yours."

You pout as you look into his eyes. Purple orbs sucking you in deep and you have no choice but to fall. Purple orbs that tells you these arms will catch you if you do. And another kiss to your soul that tells you everything you need to know.

"Okay."

You'll catch each other.

"I love you."

You're already catching each other.

😅😅😅😅😅 been mia for so long bc i've been working on this. Its been in my drafts for soooo long LOL and this was supposed to be a valentines day special but i didnt make it in time cus i was bz sleeping.. but i hope you guys like this a lot ^^ listen to the playlist if u have time! And i tried a new layout too i hope it looks nice.

Reblogs are appreciated! Thank you for reading <3

© HAI7ANI ON TUMBLR / DO NOT STEAL

[mooishbeam]

『♡』 Welcome Home, Kento!

♡ featuring: nanami kento x reader

♡ synopsis: nanami can't wait to return home to his wife and kids. little does he know, there's a lot of love waiting for him behind the door.

♡ wc: 2.4k+

♡ tags: nobara and yuji are your children, fanon, domestic fluff, tooth-rotting fluff, salaryman AU

notes: took a break on the capitano fanfic im working on cause domestic kento got me acting unwell i miss him and need him so bad. canon break but idc nobara and yuji are his kids and no one can tell me otherwise. art by getoad on ig! comments and reblogs are appreciated! ♡

Nanami Kento’s work seemingly never ended.  

Caught between meetings and printer jams, the small talk he endured with simple one-word answers, and the folders piling on his cold metal desk in a cramped cubicle, he was exhausted. Air conditioners blew frigid in the office, making small accidents unbearable. 

The only warmth he experienced throughout his shifts was the art exhibit on the back wall and a wooden frame, sitting not too far from his grasp. Next to the bulky outdated computer was a picture frame of you, sweating radiance despite the fluorescent wall lights, hair disheveled with tired eyes in your hospital gown. You’re holding a newborn Yuji, chubby with a soft hint of pink fuzz on his head. A one-year-old Nobara chose to nestle next to you through the blood and amniotic fluid sticking to your hands. Somehow smiling—blearily, but still smiling so hard your eyes practically close. 

The scene was not pretty; it burned into his memory, committing to the wrinkles in his brain so that he’d never forget your screams and undying strength. Even the grip on his hand, imprinting the wedding band into his skin when you forced a final push. He never averted his gaze, stroking your wet hair and kissing your throbbing temple; if he could alleviate some of your struggle for a moment, share in your pain for a second, he’d do it ten times over. You’re the mother of his children, after all, his wife and soulmate. 

He met you at a small bakery on the corner of a forgotten street after a double shift. Back turning in knots, cranky as ever with permanently furrowed brows. And when he’d order his favorite pastry—a chocolate eclair—only for it to disappear in the hands of another customer, he was downright irritated. Turning to the offender, the kinks in his muscles suddenly melted at the sight of your apologetic smile. Your apology dissipated in his ears, not managing to reach his cognition as he studied your stunning glow in the dim yellow lighting of that cafe.  

Before you could finish your offer to buy him double, his mouth moved ahead of his mind; “Would you like to sit together?” 

That was forever ago, though. Prior to him falling in love, to your laugh breathing life and color into him once again. To you becoming the soul reason he clocked in every day at a dead-end job he settled for. He was putty in the palm of your hand, but could you blame him? You were his salvation from the bitter, grey world he walked alone for years, and now even the sun felt warmer with you around. 

So, when days become thoroughly tedious such as this one, his eyes tend to wander. Once, twice to his watch, then to the countless drawings from Yuji and Nobara stuck to the cubicle. Yuji and Nobara were two sides of the same coin, regardless of the weekly sibling rivalry where he had to stop them from tearing each other’s hair out. Nanami wasn’t a man who chose sides which usually resulted in him taking both drawings from their art competitions, to the dismay of the sore winners. 

The old Nanami Kento would’ve hunched over the desk, mindlessly typing away past his shift ending, until his buzzing lamp was the sole light left in the office. Currently, he was dying to go home, nearly dreaming of seeing your faces, your “welcome home” as he opened the door. His printed tie is lax around his neck, shirt unbuttoned a little too low with an ankle crossed over the other knee, like nothing matters besides holding you at the end of the day. The digital clock rings, breaking him out of a trance and knocking the pen he’d been fumbling with out of his hands. 

Immediately he starts shoving papers in his briefcase, some crumpling and folding at the edges. He throws his suit jacket on, clocks out with the same vigor and heads for the door. 

“Nanami, wait a second!” his boss hollers from his office. He steps out, and Nanami barely spares him a glance.  

“We’re short-staffed right now, I’ll need you to stay behind-” 

“No.” 

His boss stands dumbfounded, and it takes a few business days for him to register that his demand was denied. He brushes his balding combover and clears his throat, “Excuse me?”   

“I’m going home to my wife.” 

“This isn’t up for discussion-” Suddenly, Nanami shoots a glare that stops him dead in his tracks. His legs are glued to the floor, like the senses of prey in proximity to a vulture. He appears to be his standard nonchalance, but with the way his jaw clenched, and his eyes bore through him, perhaps retracting his words was the best decision for his safety. 

“U-understood. Have a good weekend.” 

The city streets are serene following sundown, a calm breeze picking up rustling leaves that began to fall. He checks his watch again; just in time for dinner. He hurries up the townhouse steps of the brick building and clicks his key into the mahogany door. 

“Ahhh!” 

“Yuji, come here!” 

“Wahhh, black flash!” 

All the lights in the living room and kitchen are on, and blankets are thrown haphazardly around the floor. The television plays an obnoxiously loud cartoon, but it’s evident none of them are watching it based on the army of colorful toys piled on the couch, and a suspicious stuffed wolf plush sitting on the stairs with its head lopsided. An odd lone cookie lays half-eaten on the floor, and the kitchen counters are strewn with crumby flour and sticky batter. The faint aroma of something sweet lingers in the entryway. 

The best part is you, his wife, chasing after Yuji and Nobara in his dirty button up teal shirt with the sleeves rolled up. You’re all dripping in water, trailing sodden footprints around the house. Nobara comes around the kitchen island in a bath robe and towel headband, bunny ears bobbing as she drags a leash toy behind her popping plastic balls of rainbow pigments.  

Yuji, on the other hand, is completely naked minus a comical formation of bubbles around his lower half. He’s chasing her with a toy car foaming with soap and it soars in the air as he laughs and chants sound effects, “bam, black flash!”, pretending to launch it at her. The lot of you are circling the kitchen island, chaotic laughing and shrieking as Nobara’s toy bangs into the stools and cabinets. Just then, a wind-up robot taps Nanami’s foot and falls over. 

“Yuji stop chasing her!”  

“Ahhh!” 

“RAHH!” 

He’s never felt more at home in his life. 

He drops his briefcase, shrugs off his jacket and shoes and joins in. Yuji may be able to evade your grasp, but Nanami was an entirely different beast. You finally manage to intercept Nobara and scoop her in your arms, shaggy robe eclipsing her small cherubic pout. Nanami rushes around the corner and snatches Yuji upside-down, tiny damp feet pressed at his chin with his arms dangling in the air. Amid the chaos you hadn't noticed him, but when your kind eyes meet, a bright smile warms his cheeks, like the first time you met—he's smitten all over again.  

“Daddy!” Nobara screams. 

Yuji squeals and struggles wildly in Nanami’s hold. “I win” he declares. 

“Noo you don’t, not fair!” He tries to escape but Nanami has an iron grip, and you place Nobara on the counter while you get Yuji. He passes him off to you, “Sorry, you’re covered in water now.” He tilts your chin and plants a chaste kiss, skimmed traces of yearning. “Doesn’t matter. I’ve been missing you all day.” 

“Really?” He hates when you ask that, because truthfully, he misses you incessantly. It borders on obsession. The second you leave his sight, he’s wondering when you’ll return, if he could go with you, should it be a family outing, should he follow you? He’ll stir in the thoughts that totally encompass you; you, you, you, until you come back to him. 

“Of course, my love.” Yuji grumbles an annoyed noise and tucks his head in your neck. “Trouble in paradise?” he adds, a tinge of sarcasm. You giggle, brushing the drenched strand of hair from your face, “Yuji really fought the bath today.” 

“Black flash!” he yells, firing his baby fist in the air. Nanami makes a feigned noise of pain to throw his head back and clutch his heart. “C’mon now, let’s finish up” you tell him. As you’re dragging him down the hallway to the bathroom, his defiant wails fade to silence. 

Nanami cleans up the disarray with Nobara’s help. She throws the toys in the toybox, a proud look on her face while Nanami stacks the blankets in a lump on the couch and sweeps the crumbs from the floor. He felt a bit guilty putting a damper on the fun, but winding down the kids for bedtime was most important, and Nobara would gladly change into her dinosaur pajamas if that meant she could spend some time with dad.  

Yuji arrives as a tired, messy-haired but less stinky version of himself, wearing an alien onesie. You’d clearly won the great bath war. 

But a growing scent floods the kitchen, mild smoke emitting from the stove skillet. 

The skillet? 

Shit. 

“Ohh, no no no”, you run to grab a spatula and remove the skillet from the burner. The pancake facing you seems unharmed, perfect even with a nice fluffy texture. You fan the smoke away with a kitchen towel and Nanami approaches you. He looms over the pan, “Pancakes?” 

“Yeah, Yuji wanted pancakes and Nobara wanted chicken nuggets. So, we did both” you say, scraping the underside of it. The crackling of something crispy doesn’t do much to ease your doubts. “Looks good to me-” 

You flip the pancake, and it’s fully burnt.  

Solid black with a thin trail of smoke billowing. You both stare at it in silence. Then you look at each other, and Nanami bursts out laughing. Tears collect at his eyes, and he’s doubled over with his head on your shoulder, a hand around your waist. You sigh in defeat, “Does it still look good to you?” 

“I’ll eat it if it makes you happy.” 

“I’m not trying to kill my husband.” He hums and kisses your cheek. “I’m sorry, I tried to have dinner ready for when you got home. Lost track of time.” 

The last thing he’d want is for you to feel bad about such trivial matters. He hugs you from behind, whispering in your ear, “Don’t worry, it’s enough. Everything you do is enough.” Yuji abruptly hits his leg, and he peers down. “I wanna hug mommy too!” 

“Get in line. She’s my mommy right now” he teases. You giggle when Yuji tries to wedge between your bodies, and Nanami holds his head back like a bull charging at a fence. 

When they’re done eating their chicken nuggets, and he convinces Yuji that celery tastes better than pancakes, you snuggle up for the night. Weekends lasted later into the night, but regardless they had to stay on schedule. It was his favorite part of the week, where you dimmed the lights, he lit the fireplace and crowded on the floor of a striped blanket fort in the middle of the living room. Yuji rested his head on a pillow with his favorite wolf plush while Nobara laid on your stomach. 

“In the light of the moon, a little egg lay on a leaf” you start, holding the book with one hand. Nanami always opts to sit outside of the fort. One, because he’s too tall for it. And two, he likes to see your face reading peacefully in the rare tranquility of a hissing fireplace. You were so gentle and nurturing that at times he found it hard to pull himself away from your face, sinking in pure adoration. 

“One Sunday morning the warm sun came up and”, you wind up your hand and tickle Nobara. “Pop! —out of the egg came a tiny and very. Hungry. Caterpillar.” You tap her nose in line with the words.  

Nanami understood why the kids enjoyed your story time over his monotone one. He couldn’t get past the first page before Yuji started to complain and Nobara began to space out. “He started to look for some food” you dance your fingers down her spine like a caterpillar would, and she faintly smiles. 

Yuji normally falls asleep first, snoring like a grown man as he drools into the pillow. Then Nobara will drift quietly, to the point where you barely realize she’s dreaming. Then you, fighting sleep as you gaze up at Nanami, forcing yourself to make conversation in a half-groggy state. Your hair is jumbled and the shirt you stole from the hamper bunches at your waist. Here, he feels fulfilled. Irrevocably whole. 

“How was your day, sweetheart?” you drawl. His heart flutters at the pet name, caressing your face with his thumb. “The usual” he replies, just as soft and tender, “it felt longer today.” 

“Mm? Why?” He picks up on a croak in your voice, a sign you’ll be sleeping soon. “I couldn’t wait to come home.” 

A pleased noise rumbles at the back of your throat. “Let’s go to the beach. It’ll get too cold soon.” 

“Tomorrow?” 

“Mhm”, you run your hand over his, leaning into his touch, “maybe we could invite Gojo and his kids.” 

“Hell no, that guy’s a nutcase.” You laugh, hushed and weak. He kisses your forehead. “Goodnight, my love.”  

“No, I’m not sleeping yet” you groan in spite of closing your eyes. “Then what are you doing, right now?” 

“Mm. Just resting them.”  

He smirks, aware of what happens right after that. He kisses your nose, then your velvety lips. He can’t shake the fact that he’d found someone like you, someone who’d love him unconditionally, accept his flaws and dry humor and stand by his side under any circumstances. It almost felt undeserved, like that bakery incident should’ve earned him a slap to the face instead of your sweet nature, swelling his heart and pulling him deeper. His only treasures, laid in front of him in a cozy cuddle pile.  

Before he could get up to turn the lights off, a soothing utterance of your voice, words he’d been waiting for since he opened the door. 

“Welcome home, Kento.” 

© mooishbeam - please don't steal, copy, or post my work to other platforms :)

[nerdierholler]

IT'S DONE! I made a book! I never thought I'd ever be able to make a book. Sure mistakes were made but it was still a fun process and I learned so much from making this first one.

This a binding of The Wayhaven Chronicles IF but with my personal Detective's choices included and the resulting text smoothed out to read more like a novel.

Honestly, I thought something like this would be way beyond my skill set but it wasn't as scary as I thought once I got started. Definitely check out @renegadeguild for some book making and typesetting guides and their discord is super friendly and helpful as well.

If you want to learn from my mistakes I'll go into some trials and tribulations under the cut.

I'm not sure how well this book will hold up long term but that's ok! It was more about learning and I'll make some adjustments and try again with the same text probably.

Typsetting

Margins - need to make them bigger. I mostly read paperbacks so I was going for that format with narrower margins but then when I ran into paper problems, I didn't have a ton of room for trimming.

There was an option on the imposer to add dotted lines to the center fold and I clicked that but they're visible still even after binding. Could be that I needed to sew my signatures tighter and that would help but regardless I don't think I need them in the future so I'll be skipping that feature.

The font was intentionally small, along with the margins, because I was trying to minimize the number of signatures I was dealing with for a first project. I'll bump it up in the future.

Paper (so much wrong)

So the grain should run parallel to the spine but I couldn't find short grain paper. I read at some point that someone recommended using sketch books instead because that should be the right grain. It was not, at least not what I bought, so it still ended up going the wrong way.

The sketch note book I bought had perforated pages. It made them easy to get out but I didn't realize that the page widths were inconsistent until everything was printed out. The paper width varied by at least 1/8 of an inch. I wasn't planning on trimming my pages but my top was super uneven because of this so an attempt at trimming was made. It could have gone worse (there was no blood) but the trimming could have been a lot better too.

Should have just used printer paper. The results would have been the same.

Making Book Cloth

Used the Heat and Bond method with some spare fabric and it worked pretty well. The problem was when it came to adding backing. I'd read tissue paper or even plain paper so I grabbed some piecing paper that was close at hand. That was a mistake. It was good quality fabric so it was thicker already and the paper backing made it too thick. I could barely fold it over and it kept wanting to flip up. It's the spine fabric and I'm still concern it's going to do this in the future.

Used tissue paper for the marbled looking fabric and it was much easier to work with.

Book Board

Not measuring right was all on me. The rice box worked in a pinch but I think it will be prone to bending. Got me the experience I needed be wouldn't be my go-to material for a project of this size.

Glue

I used Elmer's All Purpose and it got the job done but, again, probably not going to hold up the best long term. However, I'm glad I didn't buy PVA and basically waste it on this project. Elmer's was good and cheap enough for practice. I'll be getting some PVA for future projects.

[luveline]

hi my love <3 happy valentines, im coming over w a kiss rn!! for the event could i req "you got me flowers?" w spence please? maybe reader giving them to him hehe love u

luveline's valentine's mini party ♥︎

happy valentine's my love, thank you for your request! always tired reader x spencer is my new fave pairing of all time!! fem!reader

When Spencer arrives at work that morning you're already sitting down at your desk. It is regrettably far from his, and it's purposefully done. Hotch doesn't care that you're seeing one another, doesn't mind the occasional affection you share in from of the team, but he draws the line at your amazing and incessant chatter. You and Spencer never stop talking. Spencer has a lot to say, and you indulge him. 

Or maybe you don't indulge. Maybe you just love him. He's never had the idea that you might not want to hear what he has to say. 

He doesn't even look at his own desk, beelining straight for you where you're half asleep on your own, your ipod on your desk, an earphone in one ear. You're likely listening to an audio book — Spencer buys you enough of them. 

"Hey," he says, putting his hand on your shoulder, "good morning." 

You tilt your head away from his touch and look at him through your lashes, giving him a tired but pretty smile.

"Well, hello, my love," you say softly. "You look nice today." 

"You say that everyday," he complains. 

"And everyday it's true…" 

He likes how quietly you talk when you're tired —there's a wispy quality to each word, some light teasing— but you're being tired isn't conducive to a good day. He puts the coffee he'd bought for you by your ipod and kisses the top of your head as discreetly as he can. You barely respond. He doesn't take it personally. 

Spencer turns back to his desk and finally recognises the change. There's a rather large bouquet of flowers on the desk, the fancy kind that comes in a box with a ton of added foliage and baby's breath. He thinks for a moment they've been delivered to the wrong desk, after all, Emily's is right beside his, but he knuckles through the soft green stalks of crimson roses, pincushions and white carnations for the card held between. 

It's decorated with a sloping cursive that doesn't belong to anyone he knows. 

Spencer, 

I love you. Thank you for the coffee. 

He smiles at the flowers and saves the card. It'll make a good bookmark. 

"You got me flowers?" he asks, approaching you again. 

The printer beeps loudly and makes you wince. You spin in your chain and beckon for him to come forward until you can rest your face against his stomach. 

"Look at you, my little detective." 

He loves when you make fun of him. It sounds especially cute in your quiet mumbling. He drops his hands to the back of your head and feels very grateful to know that the only people who get here on time are the two of you as he strokes your hair. 

"Can I ask why?" 

"You know, don't you? I wrote it on the card." 

"You got me flowers because I got you a coffee?"

Your laugh is warm against his stomach despite the barrier of his shirt and sweater. "No, smarty-pants." You yawn and snuggle closer. "I love you." 

"Oh," he says. He pulls your face from his front and frames it in his hands. "I love you too, obviously."

"I know," you say, blinking slowly. 

He rubs your cheek with his thumb. You lean into it and shut your eyes like a puppy getting scratches. 

"Do you want flowers?" he asks. 

You hum. He has no idea what it means. 

[cumulo-ghoulll]

Ghoul Pack HC 📱

When Copia introduced the ghouls and ghoulettes to ✨ technology ✨ he learnt very quickly that they needed screen time limits and parental controls.

Dew was hooked within the first 10 minutes of using his laptop and stayed on it for 3 days straight. He hissed and scratched when Copia tried to take it off him. He now has a screen time limit of 2 hours a day.

Rain, after being given access to Copia's Netflix account, locked himself in his room with Mountain, all the snacks in The Kitchen's cupboards, and binge watched Every. Single. Nature documentary they could find. They're both only allowed to watch 2 documentaries a day (providing they can find one they haven't watched yet).

Aether was, thankfully, quite sensible. For about a week. At first, he just used his phone for Google and WhatsApp. Searching up medical conditions and sending a screenshot of the description to the other doctors working in the infirmary to confirm if a patient has that illness or not. One day, he noticed one of the nurses wearing a digital watch that counted their steps. He wanted one desperately and asked how he could get one too. He was then shown how to order things offline and he bought his watch shortly after . . . as well as 87 bananas, banana toothpaste, banana socks, a banana phone case, banana shaped earrings, a matching banana necklace, banana shorts, and a plethora of other banana related items. Copia now has to personally approve of anything Aether wants to buy.

Swiss became addicted to his phone solely for the fact he could listen to music whenever wherever. This was not really a problem until he started complaining that he couldn't hear people when they were talking. Aether checked him out and found that he had partially damaged his ears from blasting music 24/7. He now has to wear kids headphones that cannot be turned up to the max. Swiss is not happy.

Cirrus, Cumulus, and Sunnie are no longer allowed to go on Amazon as they bought at least a dozen cans of silly string each and sprayed Sodo's room as payback for screeching at Aurora when she interrupted him on his laptop.

Aurora refused to use Google ever again after Copia found out she had Googled 'boobies'. He wasn't mad, she was just embarrassed. Swiss has offered to teach her how to delete her search history but she never wants to go on the internet ever again.

Phantom doesn't really know how to use technology, even after being taught by Copia. Rain did show him how to print off pictures and that is, so far, the only thing knows how to do. He is no longer allowed to go anywhere near the printers, however, as he managed to print off 103 baby bat pictures from EVERY PRINTER IN THE MINISTRY. The printer code has since been changed.

[theriverbeyond]

Black Irises in the Sunshine by imalwaysstraight/@nooomagnus

art by @rhywhitefang, @nakji, cosplay by @aborsenkatiel, cover art by @nakji

Nova & Co Private Investigations is the best damn detective agency this side of the River—and strictly a one-woman operation. But when Harrow gets shot (again) while working to expose corruption at City Hall, her so-called friend Palamedes goes behind her back to hire her some muscle. The good news: Harrow only has to work with Gideon until she’s cracked the case. Once she’s busted this thing wide open, they never have to see each other again….right?

Fandom: The Locked Tomb

Pairing: Gideon Nav/Harrowhark Nonagesimus

Title font: Betty Noir

Body font: Garamond

Pages: 256

Size: Quarto letter

Case: Cover art by Nakji (computer paper + Krylon crystal clear), back is Arrestox Bookcloth Black, spine is Skivertex Imitation Leather (with hand embossed gold foil + red copic marker)

This fantastic fic has been on my to-bind list since before it was even posted on AO3, and I'm so excited to finally share it! I tried a lot of new things with this, especially the cover. This is the third and final bind I finished for @renegadeguild's Fanfic Writer's Appreciation Day event!

Progress pics/process rambling under the cut!

MASSIVE massive thank you to @nakji for the INCREDIBLE cover art, and for so graciously allowing me to slap text over it. I was really going for the aesthetic of those pulpy noir detective novels, and I think it turned out really good! This is the first time I ever tried an art cover. I basically formatted it in photoshop, then printed it in black and white a couple times to make sure I had sized the image right for what I wanted before taking it to fedex to print in color.

It is printed in color on normal paper, and then I sprayed the shit out of it with Krylon Crystal Clear. I also bumped the saturation a bit before printing, which I think worked well because in my experience coor printers often desaturate/fade out color prints

I then put the case together as normal. I used gold foil for the spine, and then used a marker to color it red because I didn't want to buy red foil just for this, and honestly it worked out great, 10/10 money saving method!

I really adore how this came out and I'm excited at my new art cover powers... I will be using this in the future!!

[reidsrambles]

Something More and Second Chances

Chapter 2

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader // Second chance

Description: You're stunned when your former friends with benefits shows up at your new job—and nearly a decade after you ghosted him. It turns out, he works in the same building, and he definitely hasn't forgotten about you. Will your apologies be enough? What happens if he does forgive you? Does time truly heal all wounds? (Content/Warnings below the cut)

Content/Warnings: [18+ MDNI], smut, friends with benefits, oral sex (F receiving), PIV sex, condomless sex, IUD birth control, mention of abortion (in the context of being on the same page prior to sex), riding, soft dom M, praise kink F.

This fic is quite emotionally heavy, and both Spencer and Reader delve deep into past traumas. None is current. If any of these topics may be triggering or upsetting to you, please skip this one: child abuse, child abandonment, attachment issues, foster care, adoption, CPS, bullying, trust issues, mental health issues, misunderstandings, ghosting, and Reader mentions that she possibly committed emotional infidelity in the past, thinking about Spencer while with another partner.

Names used: Baby, good girl

Words (this chapter): 4,638

Words (total): 12,462

Spencer… a fed? Law enforcement is the last career you would’ve expected Spencer Reid to end up in. Researcher? Yes. Professor? Yes. He mentioned nothing about the FBI. He never seemed to have an interest in policing. Without the gun at his hip, you would have mistaken him for IT coming to fix that one printer that’s been broken all week. Is he even allowed to shoot that thing? Well, he wouldn’t be in this building with that badge otherwise.

Walking into the quaint coffee shop in the late evening—one of the few non-chain shops in your neighborhood that stays open late—you’re glad that you picked the location. It’s familiar. It’s safe. 

You greet the lone barista as you walk to the table Spencer has secured in the far corner. Steven always works the night shift.

“Hey,” you whisper as you walk up to the table. Any louder would be inappropriate given how silent the cafe is. The only other customers are a group of college kids on their laptops up front.

“I got you a black tea. I hope that’s alright,” he says, gesturing to it. “You used to drink black tea like it was water, so I figured it was a safe bet.” 

“A safe bet, indeed.” 

As you take your seat across from him, you mindlessly dip the tip of your pinky into your tea to check the temperature, finding it to be near perfect. The small bead of tea spreads between your lips as you place the finger against them, sucking it away. Spencer looks at you, biting his cheek to suppress a smirk.

You roll your eyes at him with playful exasperation. “Sorry, I know you always hated when I did that! I know you have your whole germ thing.”He laughs, throwing his hands up to proclaim his innocence. “It’s just funny, all the little habits that haven’t changed over the years. You used to do that with every tea I’d buy you.”

“Well, how else am I supposed to check the temperature!?”

Laughing, he says, “By feeling how much heat is radiating off it, like a normal person? And, I’ll have you know, my ‘whole germ thing’ has gotten a lot better since college!”

With only a few sentences between you, you’ve already fallen into comfortable back-and-forth, again. 

“But a recent study did find that there are an average of over a hundred and fifty bacterial species on the palm of the hand. The underside of the fingernail would presumably harbor even more bacteria.”

“On the plus side, I don’t get sick very often.”

He laughs his adorable, infectious giggle, and for a moment, all is right in the world. For a moment, all you can think about is being under the covers with a 21-year-old Spencer, cuddling and laughing about whatever movie you’re not paying any mind to. He was always more interesting. His mind and body; both, a frequent fascination of yours.

Spencer clears his throat. “So, do you live around here? Is that why you picked this place?”

“Yeah. I moved here after I finished my English Lit degree. I got my MLIS at Strayer. Having my rent grandfathered in is the only reason I can afford to live in Arlington.” You take a sip of your tea, realizing that you’ve already been neglecting it. The temperature is utterly perfect now. A blink lasts a beat too long as you savor the taste and the warmth of it. 

“Do you live in Quantico?” you ask. “I hope the drive wasn’t too bad. I probably should have asked instead of just picking a place. I wasn’t even thinking.”

“I live in the East End of D.C., actually,” he winces. “The long commute isn’t ideal, but it was only a 14 minute drive here, at least.”

“Oh, good. That’s not too bad.”

You should say more. You should start apologizing. Just say anything of any substance. But staring down at your tea, you just want to take a long sip to avoid having to say anything for even a few seconds longer.

Spencer shifts in his seat. Your lips feel so dry. Would it make it even more awkward if you ruffled around in your purse for your lip chap? 

You throw your head back, closing your eyes and taking a deep breath to gather the strength to have this conversation, as if you haven’t had it a million times already in your head over the years. 

“Sorry,” you breathe “I know what I need to say, but I’m just procrastinating.”

“Do you want me to…?”

Spencer’s always been rather direct. You aren’t even sure what he could be alluding to, but you don’t give it more than a second’s thought before you start.

“Where to begin?” you ask yourself aloud, trying to maintain your poise. “Let’s start with my mom, I guess. Remember when you met my mom, because she came into town for the weekend as a surprise?”

He nods. “She showed up that one evening while we were eating dinner.”

By that point, a few months after meeting him, the lines of your relationship with Spencer were already pretty blurred, and he was staying the night more regularly. It was just more convenient that way, you’d told yourself. You didn’t want to kick him out in the middle of the night after fucking him, and it wasn’t like you absolutely hated having him around, or anything.

“So, you met one of my moms. I have two.” You rapid-fire, wanting to get as much as possible out at once. “They’re married. Neither of them is a biological parent, though. I don’t remember either of my biological parents. I was adopted when I was 7, but I was in foster care for 3 years before that. Apparently, CPS workers didn’t find me in the best environment when they came to pick me up.”

The building you survived in for the first years of your life wasn’t a home; Calling it a house would’ve been a stretch too. The situation was downright neglectful. It was abusive. You were only a child, dirtied by the filth of your environment. Marks in shades of red and yellow and purple dotted your body. 

Every sentence is difficult to get out, but you’ve worked to unbury the details of your early life for years. It's not like you'll ever completely heal from that, but you’re more at peace with your origin story than you’ve ever been. Still, every time you’ve shared the stories of your childhood, you’ve had to fight the icky feelings that arise.

You swallow hard, looking down at your hands as you mindlessly pick at the skin around your nails. “Okay, it was really bad. My biological parents were really, really abusive, and my foster mom said it amazed her that I survived it.”

In your peripheral vision, you can see that he’s resting his chin against clasped hands, subtly nodding as he processes the bomb you just dropped. You’ll look anywhere except directly at him. You’ve gotten a lot better at opening up, but you feel like crawling out of your own skin when someone gives you a pitying look. 

“Do you know what my job is at the FBI?” Spencer asks.

“No, but I know you carry a gun, so that limits the possibilities.”

“I’m a profiler in the Behavioral Analysis Unit.” 

Now it’s your turn to nod and listen.

“I’ve combed through every memory that I have from those eight months more times than I probably should have. Y/N, I know that I don’t need to tell you what childhood attachment trauma is.” 

Spencer leans back slightly in his chair, his mug clutched between his hands. Though nobody is in the vicinity, he speaks in a hushed voice as he continues. 

“We had a case in recent years where a young girl was murdering the parents of her school bullies.” He tips his head to the side, his raised eyebrows emphasizing his words. “And she had a number of bullies.”

Spencer’s soft, warm tone contrasts his story.

“The local PD probably should have made the connections sooner, but it was a small town. Everyone went to the same elementary, middle, and high schools, so all the victims having kids at the same school wasn’t a factor they even considered until we brought it up. It was one of the first things I noticed when I read the case file.”

“Spencer, are you judging their detective work?”

Your face quickly falls flat. Why the hell would you crack a joke when he’s detailing such a horrific case? Shit.

“It’s hard not to when the patterns they miss are so clear and lives are lost due to their incompetence.”

You can’t even begin to imagine what Spencer sees and deals with at work. You notice—whether because of that realization or to the cafe’s dim lighting, you aren’t sure—that Spencer’s skin is rougher than it used to be. Small, barely noticeable scars mark his body. His boyish glow has faded, replaced by an air of perpetual exhaustion. 

“Anyway,” he says, “as we profiled and uncovered more about this girl’s life, I kept being reminded of little things you did or said that I never paid any mind to.” He brings the mug to his lips, drawing back a sip. He licks the moisture from his lips. “Her parents were fully cooperative. When we brought them in, they described how horrifically abusive her childhood was before her adoption. Her birth parents were in jail for the neglect.”

You push down the memory of the time your biological mother tried to call you from federal prison. How she got that call approved, you’ll never know, but you can only imagine that she paid someone off or slept with them. 

“Her mom said she’d always had trust issues,” Spencer continues. “She used to hide anything that was meaningful to her, even from her own parents. She would wake up in the middle of the night in a panic at least a few times a week. When she’d make a friend at school, she’d sabotage the relationship. As soon as she’d start succeeding academically, her grades would worsen.” 

He could keep listing things, but when his eyes meet yours, the deer-in-headlights look you must have going on makes your recognition clear to him.

“So during that case, you realized that away from you because of my attachment trauma?”

“Well, I didn’t know for sure, obviously, but it became the top contender of my theories.”

A pang of guilt rings through your chest that Spencer has wasted any thought for you since you left, let alone to the extent of multiple theories as to your disappearance. It’s hypocritical to feel guilty, though, when you’ve regularly wondered how he is, stopping short of looking him up or reaching out. You knew he’d be accomplishing exceptional things, but digging into his life would have just made the guilt even worse. It took years before you didn’t feel nauseous anytime he entered your thoughts. 

“Well, now you know, I guess.”

The sense of feeling wholly too well-read is bringing your inner younger, vulnerable self out, causing a prickling heat to bite behind your eyes. You take a moment to practice your calming strategies, mentally repeating your affirmations of safety, and taking deep belly breaths to calm yourself. The pressure in your chest subsides. The warmth drains from your face.

Again, Spencer waits, altogether unphased. You aren’t sure how many seconds pass, but you know from experience that your tone and body language would have clearly read as guarded and closed-off to the layperson, let alone a profiler.

“Sorry about that.”

Sternly, but absent of anger, he says, “There’s nothing to apologize for, and you know that.”

You do.

“I almost forgot that you were never one for forced pleasantries,” you joke.

He simply lifts the corner of his mouth in a half-smile, re-searing the memory of tracing that one dimple into your brain.

“Can you tell me what you felt when you began to shut down?” he asks. “Only if you feel comfortable, of course.”

Without missing a beat, you say, “I felt like I needed to crawl into a shell; like my chest was hardening into a plate of steel to protect myself.” 

You didn’t need to reflect on what you felt, because you’ve felt it so many times and used those exact descriptors with numerous doctors and therapists.

“But I’m sure you already know that,” you say.

Spencer sets his mug down on the table again, not letting go of it as he adjusts to sit forward, forearms against the table.

“Thank you for sharing all of that with me,” he says softly. 

“I mean, I kind of owe it to you after what I did.”

He looks up at you from the table, a twinge of concern painting his face. “First, you never owe anyone that information. Secondly, you do know that how things ended between us isn’t entirely on you, right?”

When you just sit there, growing more confused as to what he could be referring to, he continues. 

“You had a lot going on in your head at that time—that, I was well aware of—and instead of just asking you about it, I clung onto you like a leech. Are you forgetting how many times in a day I’d call you? How many emails I sent you? How often I bugged you to come over?”

Honestly, you had forgotten, until now; until he spelled out those exact memories again. For so long, you didn’t want to think about that time in your life at all. Every memory of Spencer was thrown into a box and locked away in some corner of your head. 

“Y/N, neither of us knew how to effectively communicate our feelings. We were friends first, and then we started hooking up. When you proposed a,” he air quotes with his fingers “‘friends with benefits arrangement’, I agreed, knowing that I was going to fall for you. I knew I wouldn’t be able to shut my feelings off, so I chose to shove them down instead because I didn’t want to lose you being a part of my life.”

“And then I left…” you nod.

He lowers his head. “I just assumed that I had pushed you away.”

“Spencer, I’m so sorry that I made you feel that.”

“I’ve come to realize over the years that there are many reasons, most of them having nothing to do with you, that I jumped to that conclusion. I’ve always been made to feel like an annoyance or an inconvenience. Teachers, peers, coworkers. You were the first person in my life, besides my mom, who asked me to talk more. To share more. You listened to me, Y/N.” His eyes soften and the corner of his mouth upturns into a forlorn smile. “I’m sure that my dad leaving so early in my life didn’t help my clinginess and sensitivity to rejection, either.” 

He blows out a long sigh, as if deflating his lungs will soothe the emotional wound he just jabbed.

He’s so much more confident and mature now. It’s oddly comforting to know that he’s still fighting his own insecurities and self-doubt. 

“Spencer, I was never annoyed by you. Not once. In my mind, everything that went wrong between us was because I realized that I was in love with you, too. I self-sabotaged because I didn’t know how to have a secure relationship with anyone, not even my own moms. 

“When I was a teenager, I was downright verbally abusive towards them. I was a horrible child, angry at everything and everyone. My parents never wavered, though. They truly loved me unconditionally and always told me so. And I still treated them like shit because I was terrified that if I let myself feel entirely safe with them, they’d leave me. If my own flesh and blood couldn’t love me, how could they?”

This is the most you’ve opened up to anyone, let alone all at once. 

“I truly apologized to them for the first time at 24 years old, and that was only after I got myself into therapy. The therapy I had as a kid didn’t do much. I was too volatile; downright hostile sometimes. I’m amazed my parents never institutionalized me,” you quip. 

Spencer doesn’t laugh or smile or at all react to your half-assed self-deprecation. 

He removes his hands from his mug and slides them ever-so-slightly forward on the small table. Subtle enough that an onlooker wouldn’t notice, but you do. 

You want to touch him again. That much, you know for sure. With your tea gone, your hands feel frigid, and, though it’s probably in your head, you can feel the warmth radiating from him.

Before you can think yourself into a spiral, you push the fear of rejection down and embrace the trust in him that you’ve found tonight. Sliding forward a few inches, Spencer’s waiting hands take yours. 

Your eyes flutter a moment—from the soothing heat of his hands wrapped around yours or the shock of the contact, you aren’t sure.

He doesn’t comment on the temperature of your hands. He just softly rubs them, the gesture causing your brain to go blank. It feels so right.

“What’s going through your head?” he asks.

Your hands tense with a jerk at his question, and he loosens his grasp, allowing you to pull them back if you need to.

Looking into his eyes, you still don’t sense any judgement or hesitation. No apprehension or alarm at your jumpiness. 

As you relax again, Spencer resumes the soothing rubs.

“Did you know that this is the most I’ve opened up to anyone in a long time?” Your chin dips with a wistful smile, and Spencer lightly squeezes your hands in response.

You continue with another question that doesn’t require a response. “Did you also know that you were my only friend in college?” 

Spencer smiles softly and laughs. “Ditto.”

“I actually have a really good group of friends now, and it’s something I’m really proud of. It took a lot of self-reflection and a lot of inner work to allow myself to be honest with them. I got really lucky, and I found some incredible people who supported me, knowing how difficult it is for me to share. They embraced me with open arms whenever I opened up, a little at a time.”

Your voice, a mixture of hope and sadness, thickens as you speak. “I’ve thought a lot about what my life could have looked like if I had been able to trust you; if I could have let you in and not shut you out.”

Spencer responds, “I studied psychology, and it wasn’t until working with the BAU that I actually started to really understand people’s behavior. Even still, being personally involved in a situation blinds us to the things that are easily observed in hindsight. You couldn’t have fully trusted me back then, regardless of how much you wanted to, and we both know that.”

“I just want you to know that I do take responsibility for the way I left you. I don’t want this to come across as some sob-story excuse,” you frown.

Spencer huffs out a soft laugh.

“Isn’t it kind of ironic that we both thought that we were the reason things ended between us? Y/N, if it helps to hear it, then I forgive you for anything you did back then. But I don’t think you need forgiving. At least, not from me. We were both 21. Of course, we’d do things differently if we could go back. We often tell victims suffering from survivor’s guilt that they did the best that they could with the resources they had at the time.”

That sentiment resonates with you a lot. It’s also applicable to basically every guilt-laden memory from your youth. You were dealing with a lot. You were surviving, but you never hurt anyone on purpose. 

“Thank you, Spencer.”

“Thank you, Y/N.”

You fight the urge to ask what for, choosing to accept his gratitude instead.

The kids have gone home for the night; when, you don’t know. You don’t glance at your watch, but it must be about ten. Usually, you’d be crawling into bed around this time. With the lights dimmed, you’d be flipping through a book, occasionally getting so absorbed in it that you forget about the tea to your side. 

You’re familiar with how quiet it gets in here at this time of night, especially on a weeknight. In college, you were downing so much late-night coffee in here, especially around exam season, that they started to regularly slide you an extra one, on the house. But this silence is heavy. 

The weight of the guilt you’ve carried for so many years is gone, and everything that you came here to say has been said. This silence should be calming, but it’s crushing. 

Speaking now is like taking a sledgehammer to a sheet of plate glass, but the longer you wait, the worse it’ll get. “Are you—” you blurt out.

At the same time, Spencer says something that you don’t make out, before he cuts himself off with a fumble.

You apologize, wishing you had never even started, but Spencer insists.

“No, please. You go first.”

You pull your hands from his, crossing your arms in front of your body.

Again, unable to meet his eyes, you ask, “I just figured I’d shift to a lighter topic and ask if you were seeing anyone these days? That’s all it was.” 

When he doesn’t immediately respond, you add, “Sorry, that was probably way too forward—”

“Y/N, I’ve been single for a long time,” he laughs. “One-night stands aren’t a particularly desirable concept. I went on some dates, but none of them developed into anything.”

“Really?”

“You act surprised.”

“I am.”

“What about you?” Spencer asks. “Are you seeing anyone?”

His voice is slightly huskier and free of any gaiety. You haven’t heard his voice like this since… probably since that morning you left. It stirs you at your core. The conversation is innocuous enough, but your body says otherwise.

"I’ve, uh, been single for about three years now? I just haven’t had the energy to put into going out and meeting people. I’m not 21 anymore. Bars and clubs aren’t really my scene. I did one speed-dating event, but it was a disaster.”

“How so?”

“I was the youngest one there, and all the guys were over 40. As you’d expect, none of them had any tact about it, even if I had been considering a fifteen year, plus age-gap relationship. Which, to be clear, I wasn’t.”

Spencer tries to suppress a laugh, and you follow suit. 

“Maybe I just picked the wrong event,” you add, “but it definitely turned me off of ever doing a speed-dating event again. I wore a low-cut top and a push-up bra that day, and the percentage of men who commented on my ‘nice rack’ was above half.”

It’s nice to be joking and laughing with him again. Even though you’re wearing the same modest long-sleeve turtleneck you wore to work and Spencer’s firmly keeping his eyes above shoulder-height, you can sense the attention you’ve drawn to your chest. But you want him to look. You want him to touch you again. 

Memories of sleeping with Spencer have faded with time, but having him in front of you, in the flesh, again has brought some clarity back.

Memories of his soft, hot mouth sucking at one nipple while his fingers pinched and rolled the other one. His hands are rougher now, but you can remember that hand trailing down your bare stomach, the featherlight touch of his fingers causing you to ache with anticipation. Those eyes. Seeing that hazel brings back memories of Spencer’s face, begging you to let him cum. It was your favorite way to see him; feeling so good that he was pleading for a release. 

“Y/N? Everything okay?”

Well, that’s fucking embarrassing.

“Sorry, yeah. I was just a bit distracted.”

A smirk crawls up his face. “Oh, am I boring you!?”

“No, of course not!” you quickly spit out. “I’m sorry. That was so rude to just check out like that.”

The glimmer of laughter in his eyes and the grin lighting up his face only add fuel to the fire of your desire. 

Shit. You actually want to fuck him again, don’t you?

 “No, I’m sorry,” he says. “I shouldn’t have teased you about it. What was on your mind?”

Are you really going to do this? This is probably your best shot, right? 

With a slightly lowered voice, eyes locked on his, you say, “You, Spencer.”

He seems… surprised? A bit startled, maybe? 

You grasp on to the fleeting bravado, trying to avoid letting any embarrassment cross your face. The ball is in his court now. A blush blooms beneath your skin, heating your cheeks and chest. The hand in your lap is shaking, so you clasp your hands together under the table, squeezing as tight as you can.

You’ve come onto guys for hookups before, but this isn’t just flirting with a random guy at some bar to try to take him home. This is saying, “II’ve shown you all the ugly parts of me and of my life. Do you still want me? Because I want you.”

When the initial shock wears off, Spencer blows out a puff of air and runs a hand through his hair.

His eyes aren’t returning to yours yet, though, and he hasn’t said a word. Have you been reading him wrong? Maybe he was just being friendly? Is he unattracted to you now? Maybe it’s deeper than any of that. You already broke his heart once, and then, while apologizing, you explained just how messy your life is. Not exactly boner material.

Trying to keep your tone steady and failing, you add, “It’s totally cool if you don’t feel the same way, just so you know. My feelings won’t be hurt.” Lie. “I literally just dumped all of my trauma on you, so this was probably poor timing on my part. I just thought you should know that I’m still very much attracted to you.”

This turtleneck feels like it’s choking you. You bring your hand up to the collar and scratch underneath the fabric, trying to free yourself of at least one excruciatingly uncomfortable sensation.

You shake your head. Unable to bear it any longer, you say, “I’m sorry. We can just talk about—”

“Y/N…”

Your heart stops and every muscle in your body freezes in place. You catch his knuckles white, then flushed pink as he releases a clenched fist on the tabletop. He straightens again and leans closer to you, over the table. 

His face is closer to yours than it has been all day. His gaze finally lifts from the table; first to your lips, then to your eyes, before falling back to your lips.

His lip quivers as he opens his mouth. Speaking barely above a whisper, pain tinges his voice. “I need to touch you.”

Besides being more turned on than you thought possible while sitting in a cafe, the sheer relief of not being rejected further emboldens you, fueling your next question. 

“Do you want to come home with me?”

Not taking his eyes off of your lips, he asks, “Just to clarify, you mean—”

Leaning in, you cut him off and whisper, “Yes, Spencer, for sex.”

He swallows hard and nods dumbly, eyes still firmly planted on your mouth. 

“Yeah, I’d like that a lot.”

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2 | Chapter 3

AO3 | Tumblr | Masterlist

[joonieskinks]

"office romance" ksj - m

reader x coworker!seokjin | fluff and pining and smut hehe | 2.1k

summary: you’ve daydreamed about your gorgeous coworker for months now, you never thought anything would come of it though, but what happens when he corners you in the printer room and asks to make you his?

warnings: swearing, office romance (obvs), seggsual fantasies, eating out (female receiving), praise

Damn it. Fourth time today. You thought and mentally clocked, that's how many times you've happened to make eye contact with him yet again this afternoon.

Him being the handsomest, most drop-dead gorgeous thing you've ever seen in your life - and Seokjin was only ever looking right back at you. Frankly, it made your heart skip several beats. It gave you hope, but sometimes you wonder if you're simply mistaken and he's just staring back at you cause he catches you in the act.

See, at the office here, you get the option to have a sitting or a standing desk of your own, in which there is an electronic button that you press to make the desk move up or down. Down is for sitting, below your cubicle walls, rather hidden and private. But for standing, when you move your desk up, you can see above said cubicle walls. And when Seokjin does the same, you end up being diagonal from each other, only a few feet away, right in the corner of each others' eyes. Always slightly just out of focus, but never too far out of mind.

This made is impossible not to notice him, ogle him and fantasize as you stared. Sure, maybe it's a little creepy looking if you were a third party looking onwards, but your chest swells, your head spins and you can't seem to tear yourself away. Seokjin is just it for you.

He's so kind, cordial and broad... So broad, that you find yourself fantasizing about his bare shoulders, your legs locked on either side of them, Seokjin ramming into you over and over until he pushes you over the edge and-

"Y/N?" Seokjin calls, interrupting your rather vivid daydream.

"Uh, yes?" You shake your head in the slightest, trying to shoo the naughty vision away and offer a small smile to try and cover up.

"I just sent you a copy of tomorrow's meeting checklist that I'm printing now, will you come help me staple all the pages together? After all, you're the one who is so brilliantly organized here." Seokjin chuckles a little, his gorgeous smile settling in on his cheeks before making his way to the printer room down the hall.

"Oh- yes. Sure! Coming!" You assure, departing from your desk, but not before you glanced around to make sure the coast was clear, adjusted your underwear beneath your skirt, desperately trying to get the fabric to stop sticking to your dripping core.

Did he just compliment you? You and your organizational skills. It may not be an outright declaration of attraction like you've dreamed of, but hey, it's lovely knowing he's thought about you and your capabilities. The feeling gives you butterflies as you walk down the hall to meet him in the printer room. Only, when you come into the room, your broad-shouldered colleague is nowhere to be found.

You take a step or two into the room, eyes scanning for his frame, however the room is rather small with two printers and a few cabinets. Where could he have really gone?

You turn around to go look elsewhere for him, however the door shuts suddenly in front of your face, Seokjin emerging from behind it. He locks the door, trapping the two of you in. Your eyes move from his fingers on the lock to his eyes, already gazing back into yours.

"This should buy us a few minutes, I'll start the printer machine and so if you make any noises, it'll be sure to conceal them." He slowly moves towards you, until your chests meet and his nose is in line with yours.

"Seok-Seokjin..." You stutter out, stunned by his initiative and the entire gravity of the situation around you rapidly unfolding.

"I've seen how you look at me, you must have seen how I look at you." He states, his warm hands coming to rest on your hips after loosening up his tie by his throat. Seokjin then looks into your eyes scanning for approval, his eyebrows raising upwards slightly as to ask for permission. You simply nod, hesitating to put your hands up to his big, broad shoulders while you manage to mutter a soft “yes”.

Oh, how you've dreamed of this.

"Y/N, if I am wrong and alone in wanting this, tell me now. Please." He hums, eyes closing shut, his nose pressing against yours, lips hovering. You inhale his scent up close for the first time and suddenly you feel hypnotized, your nails digging into his collared shirt. You have wanted nothing more than this for months, of course you want him. Yes. Yes, you want Kim Seokjin.

"No, you're not alone. I thought I was too obvious actually with my want for you." You admit bashfully, cheeks burning a hot red and you want to bury your face in his chest to hide. He only chuckles that sweet, sweet laugh and brings a hand to your chin. Seokjin tilts your head back up to meet his eyes.

"I think it was sweet."

He hesitates for a moment, admiring your face and features, and you admire him right back. He's just as gorgeous and perfect up front as he is from a distance.

"Y/N, Can I kiss yo-?" "Please, yes." You blurt out, not wanting to waste a single second more. Seokjin's head immediately whips to the right and his hand presses a button on the printer, "print". As the machine loudly pipes up and begins printing its 200-something pages, he finally attaches his lips to yours. His firm hands grip your waist, yours up to his neck, desperate to pull him closer. You could care less who sees or hears you at this point, you're too wrapped up in him to care. He's actually kissing you and he actually wants you back... it feels like a fantasy come to life. Perhaps it is.

"I've wanted you so bad," Seokjin mumbles against your lips, teeth gently pulling on yours to tease you. "Want to make you mine". He purrs and you can feel the slick gliding down your legs. You whine as you automatically go to rub your thighs together to ease your ever growing desire. Seokjin notices instantly, his gaze drops down to your skirt, back up to your eyes then onto the nearest counter. You can physically see his train of thought.

The smirk settles onto his cheeks, and before you know it, you're whisked away. Hands go to your ass, encouraging you to jump, and when you do, Seokjin mutters something under his breath. Something resembling, "always wanting to grab this ass...". He gently places your aching body down on the cold counter, his body coming to stand between your legs. He bunches up your skirt, allowing your clothed core to rub against his own clothed length. You reach for his collar and reunite your lips once more, adding your tongues into the mix. He's moaning into your mouth and you do the same, hands touching and exploring each others body as the printer's noises continue to fill the room.

"Seokjin, we don't have much time..." You attempt to mutter out as he continues to press kisses onto your mouth. It feels like you're drowning in him, but in the best way possible.

"Can I taste you?" He abruptly asks, not even hesitating in the slightest. He knows exactly what he wants. Immediately, you're nodding and he springs into action. He pulls back from your body and glances down to your dripping core. He moans at the sight, and you spot the damp, dark mark you've left on his pants. You start to blurt out an apology when he cuts you off- "You're the hottest fucking woman I've ever seen in my life."

Your jaw falls slightly open at the confession, your office fantasies literally springing to life. You feel like you could cry, sing, smile and scream all at once. However all that comes out is the moan of his name, begging him to release your bodily aches for him.

"I got you, baby. I got you." Seokjin coos, getting onto his knees, desperately trying to ignore his raging hard-on for you. Right now, he just wanted to taste your soaked core that ached for him so badly. There would be plenty of time later to satisfy his own needs - but right now, he just wanted to make you cum while he had the chance.

Seokjin's face is now level with your panties - if you were anything else but horny for the man in front of you, you'd be embarrassed. However not this time, all you could think of was his tongue finally pressed against you, allowing him to pleasure you like this.

"Seokjin, please." You beg, sliding your ruined panties off to expose yourself before him, your clenching cunt now dripping onto the counter.

"Fuck me, you're so wet." He can't bring himself to look away from you and immediately grabs your legs and swipes them onto his shoulders. Your head falls backwards, eyes closing as you cherish the feeling. Then your eyes are all over him again, taking in the beautiful image of your thighs locked around his head. He looks up at you for approval once more and you nod your head rapidly. The printer would be done soon, and you really don't think you'll be able to contain your moans for this. He'd better hurry up.

"You're so beautiful like this, Y/N." He purrs as his lips attach themselves to your sensitive clit. Your whole body jolts as the sensation works its way up your spine. Your back arches and your hole clenches repeatedly, desperate to be filled. He takes the hint and as his tongue laps up your juices, he inserts two fingers into you. You already feel full as his long digits curl upward into that spot that makes you see stars. You can't help but wonder what his length will feel like filling you up too...

"Seokjin! Right there, right there, please!" You moan out, unaware of your volume at this rate. You can only think about him and coming undone before him. His fingers enter in and out of you, hitting your g-spot over and over until you're approaching your end. His tongue dances on your clit, he sucks and together the actions have you seeing white. The orgasm takes over your body and you cling to him for some stability.

"There you go, there you go, I got you. You look so good when you cum for me, baby." Seokjin reassures, gently cleaning you up with his tongue. He moans into your pussy and jolt a little as you come down from your high. Seokjin stands, fixes your legs, skirt and hands you your now utterly ruined panties. He smiles down at you and leans into kiss you once more, just as the printer ends its loud sounds and completes the job. You hold his body close to yours, tasting yourself on his lips.

"Thank you," you say against his mouth. "I've wanted you for so long, I never thought you would feel the same way." His hands come up to your cheeks, holding you endearingly.

"Of course I do, I thought I made it obvious at all the office parties and looking back at you too. But I guess today was just the last straw for me, I could practically see how badly you wanted to be fucked by me in that head of yours". Seokjin teases you. His mouth coming to your ear, nipping at your earlobe and then kissing behind. "We can continue this tonight".

A knock on the door disturbs you two, Jimin asking you to 'open up already'. Immediately you begin to try and slip your panties back on and jump down from the counter, but Seokjin blocks you.

"Seokjin!" You whisper desperately. He kisses you one last time before you must depart for a little bit.

"Think about it, okay? I meant it when I said it, I want you. Please let me have you?" You just giggle in response.

"I want you too. Come to mine at 6, okay? I'll give you my address." You kiss his nose, hopping down and adjusting your outfit before the knock grows louder.

"Hey! Open the door guys! I got shit to do!" Jimin yells.

You two give each other a nod when you're ready - you gather the papers, handing some to him and then Seokjin opens the door. He goes to exit, but turns to you once more, he offers a little wink too. It makes you smile and melt that much more.

"See you tonight then." And off he goes back to his desk with the papers.

Jimin glances around, from Seokjin to you to the printer. "Awe, you guys didn't even staple everything together. Don't make me do it just because I'm new" Jimin points out, and you ponder. "You heard that?"

"Yeah, the whole office did. And you two fucking or whatever that was. The printers are loud but not that loud." Jimin scoffs, taking over the printer. Embarrassment washes over you and briefly you wonder how you'll ever recover from this. But at the same time, you just got the man of your dreams, he ate you out and now you'll be finally fucking him tonight.

So - today was a win in your books nonetheless.

[quantomeno]

"Today we play it my way!"

I like Klavier a lot. I have not played Apollo Justice in several years, so my memories of what he's like in game is not great, but he's a fun character and I welcome more of him.

I also ship him with Apollo. The way I like to imagine their relationship is that Klavier noticed Apollo seemed really interested in him and sort of assumed Apollo was gay and had a crush on him (and he's vain enough to assume anyone who likes men would be attracted to him). So he teases Apollo (with his 'Herr Forehead' comments etc) to fluster him, not overly maliciously but because Apollo can be so uptight and serious that he enjoys ruffling his feathers. But then, Klavier starts to become fond of Apollo and starts to wonder if maybe he has feelings for Apollo too.

The thing is: Apollo is an idiot (I mean this in an endearing way) and has no idea any of this is happening. He doesn't really even register that he's attracted to Klavier (which he is). He just thinks he's obsessed with Klavier out of competitiveness and because he's jealous he's so cool.

(I like to think they're both bi, by the way. There's no particular reason except that it makes it easier to explain why they both take some time to realise their feelings because they had assumed they were straight up till now.)

So Apollo keeps trying to impress Klavier, which Klavier takes as him flirting with him, so he teases Apollo more, which causes Apollo to try harder etc etc non-non-stop.

It ends up being a weird thing where Apollo doesn't realise he's dating Klavier until they've been together for months. Everyone else knows but him. Even the Judge thinks they're together. Apollo just assumed Klavier was his really cool best friend who would buy him dinner a lot.

Notes about the art: this is a linocut print. The design is nothing special because I just traced over official art of Klavier and transferred it to the lino. The carving took skill though (the necklace and the eye were both a pain). Also carving letters is a pain. I keep telling myself I'll never carve letters or buildings again, but I keep doing it.

I'm sure I made other prints of this but I don't have them on hand; this one was done on a scrap of printer paper. I think I may have turned one of the prints into a card for someone and the rest may be in storage.

[papersnakepress]

I had a message the other day asking (among other things) what kind of tools and equipment I use in making books, and as it's something I like to go into detail on, I realized I couldn't fit everything I had to say in a message so it's getting its own post. With photos!

Disclaimer that I'm not a professional bookbinder, I'm entirely self-taught and probably have habits and practices that would drive a pro nuts. I'm no authority, but these are the things that have worked for me, and maybe you can adapt them to work for you too.

This post will not cover: storage options, materials like board and glue, or equipment specific to one narrower aspect of the hobby like embossing or gilding. It is also not a tutorial on how to make a book, though I am covering things in more-or-less the order I use them in during the book-making process.

This post will cover: What I've found useful, what I've regretted buying, and some things you can co-opt from other, more common hobbies. A lot of it you may already have in your house. Some of it is for beginners, some is nicer equipment you might want as you get further into making books. They are not separated, it's just a list and some description.

Keep reading below the cut; this is gonna be a very long one and there are a lot of photos of everything.

If you want to make books you will need access to a printer. I'm not going to go into detail on this part and I didn't take a photo of my HP (not the best brand, but that's a long discussion in and of itself). Once you've got your pages printed and it's time to fold it into signatures, it helps to have a folding tool like these:

Folding tools can be anything as long as they're smooth and flat. The one on the left here is an actual bone folder from an art supply shop, but the center one is a plastic leatherworking tool that I got at Hobby Lobby, and the one on the right is an agate burnisher that I got from Amazon. None of these cost more than $10, and you can also use the edge of a pen (as long as it has no rubber grip or cap/clip) or the back of a spoon. Or your fingers, but the tools make it faster and the folds are more precise. I once worked a job where I had to fold maps, and all my coworkers were wondering how I did them so much faster and why mine were flatter than everyone else's, and it was because I'd grabbed a sharpie and started using the back end like a bone folder.

Once it's folded, you'll need to poke holes for sewing. I use one of these:

Left is, again, an actual bookbinding awl from an art supply store, while the center one is a paper quilling tool and the right one is a beadwork awl, both of which came from a big chain craft store. The bead one is my favorite; it's a good size and very stable. The quilling thing has too long and thin of a blade and it's wobbly, and I don't like the tapering on the bookbinding awl. It tends to make the holes in the middle page too big, and the outer ones too small. Again, these were cheap, about $10 each, but you can also use a sewing needle stuck in a cork, or a thumbtack or pushpin. If it's pointy and rigid, it'll work.

This isn't a requirement by any means, but I've found I like having a punching cradle for the hole-poking step. I got this 3d printed one from a fellow bookbinder, who was designing their own and made this one as a prototype. There are a lot of tutorials on how to make a punching cradle, or you can buy them online from several different vendors. They don's all look like this, and you can make them from wood or cardboard (though those don't usually have guide holes). If you're just starting out or this doesn't appeal, you can just use a paper template like the one on the far right. The cradle helps get the holes lined up and evenly spaced, and I've never liked this step so anything that makes it faster and less fussy is a win. If you use this kind, check that your hole-poking tool fits in the guide holes--the binding awl pictured above doesn't, but the other two do.

We've made holes, so let's stitch them up. These are just regular sewing needles and beeswax, to make your thread less prone to tangling. You can get both of them in any store that has a sewing department. There are dedicated bookbinding needles, like curved needles, and some binders like them, but I've never gotten the hang of the curved ones and they aren't necessary, especially when you're just starting out. If it fits through the holes you made, it will work.

Once it's sewn, you probably want to squish your new text block so it's flat. I've got a laying press that I bought a couple of years ago when I was first getting started. It was marketed as a book and flower press, and it's honestly not the best. I would probably not have bought it if I had known that it wasn't essential to the process, and I mainly use it now when I'm squishing a text block and still want to use my work space, because once it's tight I can move it somewhere else. You can really use almost anything for squishing as long as it's heavy and flat and rigid on one side, like the stack of books in the right-hand photo. Textbooks, encyclopedias, art and photo books, and comic book omnibuses are all great. I've seen people use all kinds of things, like paper-wrapped bricks and doorstops, and there are tutorials out there to make your own press out of cutting boards if you do want one.

If you like your books to have smooth, flat page edges you're going to have to trim them. This is a book plow from Affordable Binding Equipment, and it was the first piece of actual expensive equipment that I bought. Not all plows look like this; I think the design is unique to ABE, but I've never used the traditional kind. In the interest of full disclosure, you can also trim edges with a sharpened chisel, which is much cheaper and can be bought at any hardware store, and some binders love this method. I do not love this method and have had zero regrets about caving and getting the plow. Very easy to use but does require some grip strength. Not pictured: the setup for sharpening the blade, which isn't hard but requires a bit of space and a small sheet of plate glass that you have to source yourself. Even with that, I still prefer it to the chisel. That said, this is not an essential step and you can leave your books with a "sawtooth" or deckled edge. Most of my early books have them, and some people just like them better than the flat ones and never learn to trim them. As another side note, some tutorials will say that you can trim your edges flat with a knife. You can't. Maybe on a pamphlet you can, but if it's more than 10 or 20 pages you just can't. It will look terrible.

If you're going to use a plow, you've got to have the right kind of press. The one I talked about further up the thread is the wrong kind (full disclosure: I did use it with that press turned on its side, before I bought this one. But it's harder, more time-consuming, less comfortable, and less safe. Don't be like me). So here's a photo of my finishing press (also from Affordable Binding Equipment). I bought it so I could make backed books, but I use it for trimming too. The top part here has a narrow tapered section for backing, but if you flip it over it's totally flat, which is what you need for trimming. Not pictured: the stand that it came with for backing, or the c-clamps that I use to attach it to the desk for trimming. Again, though--this isn't a requirement for bookbinding. This is a later stage that's entirely optional. On the subject of backing, though:

You don't need special equipment to round the spines of your books, but you do for backing. Left image is the set of backing boards I got from, once again, Affordable Binding Equipment, and on the right is a backing hammer from Hollander's. Neither of these are essential. Even if you get the boards (which have to be used in a press with a tapered edge, like the one directly above) you can actually use a regular hammer as long as the front part has no scratches or gouges. This one is a backing hammer, the primary difference being that it has a wider, convex head than a regular household hammer, to make the kind of glancing blows needed for backing a little easier. Honestly, I'm still learning how to use these and I'm not very good with them yet. Comes of being self-taught, probably. I don't think youtube is the best vehicle for learning this part, but it's what I have and I'm making do. Not every book is going to benefit from backing, either; it's primarily for helping mitigate spine swell.

Okay, time for my favorite repurposed equipment hack.

It's bookends. Regular bookends that I've had for ages and that probably came from Ross or some other place that doesn't even sell craft supplies.

Want to keep the text block upright while you glue it? Bookends. Want to sew some custom end bands but your text block keeps falling over? Bookends. They won't provide pressure for squishing, but if you just need to hold something upright while you work on it, bookends are the answer. They hold up books, it's right there in the name. Having said that, you want some with a little weight to them, like these agate slices, so they won't slide around. And you want something with a smooth finished edge like these, so they won't scratch up your text block or leave dents. I have other sets but these are the only ones I use for this purpose, and they're better for it than anything else I've got.

Moving on from making the text block, let's look at what I use to make covers.

It's appeared in the background of most of the other photos, but here's a photo of just the desk surface covered in cutting mats. I really recommend a mat to protect the surface of your furniture and keep your knives from going immediately dull. I've got a big one that covers almost the full surface, and a small one for when I want to be more mobile. I started with just the small one and it was good until I started working with larger sheets of paper. The big one was bought largely for convenience but I have no regrets about it. They're self-healing, non-slip, and you can get them in the sewing section of any big craft store.

I'll be honest, I am not big on knives. I've got a regular box cutter for trimming board, and a razor knife for paper and cloth, and that's it. There are a lot of kinds and really all you need is one sharp blade for board. Paper and cloth can be cut with scissors if you want, though I find I get more consistently straight lines with the knives. Also pictured: Metal rulers and a T-square. You want a metal ruler for this. Plastic will flex and wood won't lay flat. Ideally you want one without a cork backing (my 18" one has this problem) and with the tick marks etched in rather than printed (my 12" one has this problem). For larger sheets of paper and cloth, the 18" one is great, but you can get by with the smaller one. The T-square is for making right angles; mine is plastic and only 12", and I really wish I had a longer one that was metal. These are drafting tools and you'll find them in the section of the craft store that has easels and sketch pads and they're usually pretty cheap.

This is an adjustable compass. You can probably get these at craft stores but I got mine on Amazon. It's for measuring hinge gaps and the width of spines, both essential for making sure your cover fits your text block and your hinges open the way they should. Both of those are incredibly frustrating situations, and this thing makes it so much easier to avoid them.

Things to spread glue with! Any old paintbrush will do, though I like to have a few different sizes and textures on hand to choose from. I like the big one for cover boards and casing in, the mid-size ones for doing turn-ins, and the little fellow for details and touch-ups. I don't care for foam brushes because I find them hard to clean when glue is involved, but if you like you can use those. The metal thing on the left is a micro-spatula, and I did have to special order it from an art supply place but it was cheap and it's very helpful to have on hand for when the brushes are too thick, for doing turn-ins on rounded spines, and for separating pages if you decide to learn edge foiling. Not essential, but recommended.

One thing I neglected to take a photo of is my crepe eraser. Despite the best intentions, no matter how careful you are, you will at some point get glue where you don't want it, where it will be visible on the finished book. This is where the crepe eraser comes in; you can use it to remove dried glue from cloth or (to a lesser extent) paper. Very annoyingly, none of the craft or art supply places I went to had even heard of these and I had to get mine from Amazon. It was cheap (under $10) and I strongly recommend getting one.

Once your cover is made, you have some options. You can leave it blank, hand-letter or draw an image, stamp it with ink or embossing powder, use a stencil, or do what I usually do these days and make a cover graphic from HTV. I've got a cricut for this (though they're not the only kind of cutting machine; it pays to research other brands) and a mini heat press (I want a bigger one, but I got this one cheap because the box is messed up). A lot of libraries have cricuts you can use, and you can use a regular iron to apply the HTV. Getting it to stick is a bit tricky, but that's true no matter which tools you use. Not pictured: a cutting mat, different than the kind shown above, necessary with most materials you can cut (mine came with one, they're about $20 at most craft stores, and they're lightly sticky to keep your materials in place while it's being cut). I don't know if other brands require them, but cricut does unless you're using their Smart Materials (I have never used these). If your library has a cutting machine, they will also have the appropriate cutting mats. Also not pictured: weeding tools. Weeding is when you remove the bits of HTV that you don't want in the final image, usually the spaces between letters and such. The negative space, if you want to get artsy. The special tools cricut sells aren't necessary, you can use an awl or needle and the dull edge of your knife blade, but I have a set of theirs and I like mine.

I didn't take a photo of it, but sometimes I use embossing inks and powder to make cover designs and text. You only need a heat gun for embossing powder, it takes up way less space than the cricut does, and it's cheaper. I got mine free from a family member so I don't know what it cost initially, but cutting machines are a really big expense; the cricut is my third most expensive piece of equipment, after the finishing press and the plow.

Good god I think that's everything. It sounds intimidating, I know. And it sounds like it takes up tons of space in your home, and to be honest it can, but it doesn't have to. The first dozen or so books I made, I made completely to my satisfaction with tools and materials that fit in one 12x16" moving box. If you love the hobby and can make the space, the bulkier items might be worth it down the line, but especially when you're first getting started it's smart to keep things low-cost and compact. Most of the basics are simple and your fellow bookbinders are delighted to share their shortcuts and substitutions if you ask.

The end! I hope it was helpful, @cardassianexpats! I did warn you it would be wordy, lol.

[haveyouseenthisskeleton]

Underswap Sans & Papyrus character sheets (Updated version)

BLUE (Underswap Sans)

Backstory: Blue grew up happy and lacking nothing until his parents tragically died in a Core accident, leaving him to take care of his six-year-old brother all by himself at only fifteen. Hard worker, he still accepted the challenge, finding new creative ways to gain money, not all of them legal, but at the cost of his relationship with his brother. Blue never wanted to be a parent figure for Honey, and got overwhelmed quickly, which led his brother to meet the wrong people and, eventually, to be addicted to alcohol and cigarettes. Blue still feels guilty about this, even though Honey never considered him responsible, and it deeply affected his relationship with children. He doesn't want to be a father ever again, he's not good for it, and he doesn't want to be responsible for someone else again. Unfortunately, fate laughed at his face and threw Chara on the road. It didn't go well. Chara reset a lot of times, toying with the brothers and trying to manipulate them against each other, which Blue quickly understood. Most of the time though, he didn't have the opportunity to warn his brother since Chara killed him first… He knows that because he read it in a notebook Honey managed to save it from timeline to timeline. That's also in this notebook he realized Honey is actually really not doing well. The brothers managed to get out of there eventually, but they never forgave Chara. They don't remember what happened between timelines, but that notebook is kinda their guarantee Chara won't come and mess up their relationship again. On the surface, Blue engaged as the first monster police officer, with Alphys' approval, who continued to train him. It was a rough start though as the police officers really didn't want monsters around at first. But his energy and friendly face eventually won them over. He's trying to reach high ranks in the police hierarchy now.

Personality: Accessible - Active - Athletic - Caring - Challenging - Charismatic - Cheerful - Confident - Conscientious - Courageous - Creative - Curious - Daring - Dedicated - Dynamic - Efficient - Faithful - Friendly - Hardworking - Helpful - Heroic - Honest - Independent - Leaderly - Very loyal - Objective - Perfectionist - Playful - Protective - Reliable - Spontaneous - Ambitious - Competitive - Moralistic - Proud - Stubborn - Argumentative - Arogant - Fiery - Impulsive - Pretentious - Resentful - Research of adrenaline - Tendencies to put himself in danger - Hyperactive

Job: Police officer

Hobbies: All sorts of sports, hanging out with his friends, working for the Queen, solving neighborhood problems, trapping the house so Honey stops emptying the fridge during the nights.

Loves: Running, screaming, being loud, puzzles, his brother, competing with Alphys, promotions, people giving him high responsibilities, when people come to him to find ideas of fun activities to do, bitching on Karens, sweets, sugary foods, well-thought puns and jokes, messing with his brother's romantic life, gossiping with Toriel, driving BIG cars, drama movies.

Hates: Sitting for more than ten minutes, people who baby him, being in charge of children, Honey asking him to buy something when he's ten meters away from home and had the entire day to ask him, the office printer, pigs and all their relatives, having to chase criminals in dirty places, people picking him up because they can't resist his small size, being sick.

The S/O of his dreams: Someone active who can keep up with his energy, which is rare. Someone who is honest and has time to argue with him because he will argue on a lot of subjects.

Dealbreaker: Saying he's a bad father when he clearly said he wasn't feeling comfortable with being a dad, hurting his brother, baby him.

Contacts :

Family: Honey.

Best friends: Papyrus, US Alphys, US Undyne.

Close friends: Sans, UT Toriel, UT Undyne, UT Alphys, Pumpkin, Coffee, Salsa, Ink.

Friends: UT Mettaton, UT Grillby, UT Asriel/Flowey, Oak, Willow, Nugget, Copper, Chief, Nox, Moon, Sun, Rambo, Rumba, Sam, Ben, Delta.

OK/Neutral: UT Asgore, UT Muffet, UT Burgerpants, UT Gerson, Rus, Demon, Error.

Would better avoid: UT Frisk, UT Chara, UT Gaster, Red, Tango, Creeper, Fang, Killer, Dune.

Absolutely hates: Edge, Wine, Torpedo.

________________________________________

HONEY (Underswap Papyrus)

Backstory: Honey doesn't have many memories of his early childhood, he pretty much remembers only losing his parents and then Blue taking care of him the best he could. Unfortunately, fate wasn't nice to Honey as it gave him a hyper empathy that caused him troubles growing up. He cares for others so much that he struggled a lot to see the people he considered his friends during his teenage years were mainly with him because he could be easily manipulated. When he noticed, it was far too late as he fell into the hell of addictions and depression as no one really understood his way of seeing the world. Honey felt terribly lonely all the time he was Underground, to the point he developed tendencies to self-destruction, sabotaging himself because he had no self-confidence. It got worse after Chara fell as he had the brilliant idea to write his thoughts in a notebook he passed to himself through the timelines. It just led him to develop, added to everything, high anxiety that he couldn't get rid of, even after reaching the surface. The first thing he did once out of this hell was to find help for his addictions. His mind got blown the day he discovered what neurodivergent means and since he's slowly learning to understand himself better with his therapist. What really helped him though is finally finding people he could call friends and that actually cares about him. Honey is a very loyal friend and he's one of the most caring people ever, so he makes the best friends. Maybe, after all, all he needed to know was that he mattered all this time. He's doing way better now and discovers life again.

Personality: Benevolent - Caring - Cheerful - Compassionate - Cultured - Discreet - Dramatic - Hyperempathetic - Forgiving - Friendly - Generous - Gentle - Genuine - Honest - Hopeful - Humorous - Idealistic - Kind - Observant - Open - Optimistic - Organized - Patient - Peaceful - Perceptive - Prudent - Reliable - Romantic - Self-critical - Sensitive - Sentimental - Sweet - Tolerant - Trusting - Absentminded - Emotional - Anxious - Demanding - Dependant - Easily discouraged - Fearful (he faints to protect himself from big scares) - Lazy - Procrastinating - Reluctant to do new things - Attached to his routine

Job: Writer.

Hobbies: Art, cosplay, fanfictions, binge-watching movies and TV shows, reading a lot, playing video games, sharing his favorite pieces of media with his friends, making 5k words of theories essays on Tumblr, staying in bed four days in a row.

Loves: Talking about his hobbies, people who show interest in what he likes, DOGS, and PUPPIES, and CUTE ANIMALS, having the inspiration to write, screaming in tags on Tumblr when something excites him, hugs, attraction parks, his little routine, every time he realizes how much he feels better after a therapy session, hanging out with his friends, childish jokes, fake mustaches and glasses, goofing around.

Hates: Loneliness, the bad days he struggles to do anything, the blank page, when his brother argues for nothing, people wanting to drag him in things he didn't plan, going to new places without a warning, random people asking him random things in the street, when he can't listen to music in crowded places, being alone in crowded places, people telling "i will tell you later", phone calls, when Blue turns off the TV after calling him to have dinner twenty times, scary things, jumpscares, people scaring him just to watch him faint.

The S/O of his dreams: Just someone who cares and shows interest in what he likes is enough. Liking to hug for hours is a bonus.

Dealbreaker: Treating his anxiety like a joke, screaming at him for doing nothing when he struggles on bad days and can barely function, manipulate him, using his addictions against him, not being patient with him in general.

Contacts :

Family: Blue.

Best friends: US Undyne, Oak, Coffee, Rus, Ben.

Close friends: Sans, Papyrus, UT Toriel, UT Alphys, US Alphys, Willow, Pumpkin, Sam, Delta.

Friends: UT Undyne, UT Grillby, UT Muffet, Red, Edge, Copper, Chief, Moon, Sun.

OK/Neutral: UT Mettaton, UT Gaster, UT Burgerpants, UT Gerson, Rambo, Salsa, Rumba,

Would better avoid: UT Frisk, UT Chara, UT Asriel/Flowey, Nugget, Nox, Tango, Killer, Demon, Creeper, Fang, Ink, Error, Dune.

Absolutely hates: Wine, Torpedo.

[frenzyarts]

Hihihi frenzy from frenzy-arts, have you ever considered putting some of your older pieces on your etsy? Im asking bc there is one art of yours (the "inspired by songs" white light piece!) that altered my brain chemistry forever and i would love to own it as a print, sticker, or any various other form of merchandise :'D

I dont mean this to pressure you or anything i was just curious if this is a possibility!!! Have a lovely day 💚

Thank you!! I’m so glad you like it! I’ll post it again here for reference. I’ve actually thought about redoing it 🤔 the only reason I’ve never made it as merch is because I don’t know if people would want it, and it costs a lot if I make something and it doesn’t sell. That being said, I’m planning to get a sticker maker, so I could definitely turn it into a sticker. Maybe a print too, if the printer I get produces something good quality!

Actually you know what, poll time:

The poll won’t necessarily decide what I’ll do, just looking for insight