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myfictionaldreams · 1 month ago

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⁀➷ Desk Duty // Jim Hopper x F!Reader

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

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

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

Words: 5.6k

my masterlist 📚 AO3 Link

The Hawkins Police Station wasn’t exactly known for its excitement.

On most days, it was quiet enough to hear the tick of the wall clock and the squeak of Officer Callahan’s chair every time he leaned too far back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And that was why you stayed.

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

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

The door to Hopper’s office was still closed.

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

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

“What?”

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

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

You shrugged, offering a sheepish smile, “I had some filing to finish.”

His gaze lowered to your empty hands. “You’re lying.”

You frown at him, “Excuse me?”

“I know you, and You always finish by eight.”

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

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

You hesitated. “Because you do.”

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

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

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

“Come in.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I want to.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

You jumped. “Like what?”

“Like you don’t know what it does.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Get home safe, sweetheart.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Fresh,” you called softly.

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell is this?” he barked.

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

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

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

Everything tilted. Your vision swam.

“HEY!”

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

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

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

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

He lowered to a crouch, until eye-level with you, his hands reaching forward but then clenched tight with restraint.

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

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

“He hit you,” his voice was murderous.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Damn it,” he grunted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You blink at him in confusion. “Who?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Nothing.

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

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

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

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

A beat-up Bronco pulled alongside. Hopper.

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

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

“In that dress? In the dark?”

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you say softly.

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

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

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

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

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

“Tell me,” you whispered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Then he pulled back. “C’mon, let’s get you home,” he said at last, cutting through the stillness. But just before his eyes returned to the road, he gave you a look that you couldn’t quite interpret.

The next morning, you showed up at the station with Hopper’s flannel draped neatly over your arm. A part of you had wanted to hold on to it, but you reluctantly bought it, freshly washed.

As you stepped inside, Powell shot you a smirk. “That dress again? You always break it out when he’s on early shift,” he said, voice full of teasing. “What, couldn’t find one any shorter?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He stood there, arms crossed, eyes soft.

“You working late again?”

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

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

“What?”

“Waiting on me.”

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

“Because I might start expecting it.”

The quiet between you stretched, heavy and charged, until his gaze dropped, first to your lips, then lower. His eyes lingered on the hem of your dress, which had crept up without you noticing.

Jim’s jaw ticked, and his voice came low. “You’re shivering, sweetheart.”

You didn’t get the chance to answer. He was already slipping off his jacket, settling it gently around your shoulders. But his hands didn’t move right away—his fingers stayed, pressing warm against your arms. You drew in a sharp breath, his touch sinking into your skin like heat.

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

He blinked. “What?”

“Taking care of me.”

His voice was low as he explained, “Because no one else does.”

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

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

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

“Jim,” you whispered.

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

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

Your lips parted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You were soaked within seconds.

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

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

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

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

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

You froze.

Another knock. Harder this time. More urgent.

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

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

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

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

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

“It’s freezing in here, power out?”

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

His throat worked visibly. “Jesus, sweetheart.”

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

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

“You’re shaking.”

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

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

“I shouldn’t be here,” he suddenly doubted himself. “You’re half my age, and I'm your damn boss. I just wanted to make sure you were okay, that’s all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You’re so delicate,” he groaned against your skin. “So fucking sweet.” Next, he removed your shift until you’re nude. You couldn’t help but whimper as you gripped his soaked shirt desperately.

Jim’s body was warm beneath your fingers, and he didn’t waste a moment before sweeping your body into his arms. Once in your bed, he carefully laid you back on your bed and then kissed you with renewed urgency.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“That okay?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You okay?” he asked against your ear.

“Y-Yeah. Please don’t stop.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Too much,” you whimpered.

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

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

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

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

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

His arms wrapped around you, holding you close.

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

#jim hopper #jim hopper x reader #jim hopper smut #stranger things #stranger things smut #mine*

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alxandergoth · 11 months ago

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girls, girls, girls - a sim dump by alxandergoth ₊˚⊹♡

a very long overdue follower gift, i hope you enjoy them! use them however you want but please don't reupload or claim as your own. if you use these girls in your game i'd love to see so pls tag me!! 🥺 credits to all cc creators used, thank you! cc/tray files included, no outfits. randomized traits/aspirations. download links under the cut.

top left: janelle wood [DOWNLOAD]

top right: amber lu [DOWNLOAD]

middle left: lucy han [DOWNLOAD]

middle right: madison moore [DOWNLOAD]

bottom left: nicole green [DOWNLOAD]

bottom right: gabriette henry [DOWNLOAD]

#ts4 #the sims 4 #sims 4 #s4 #sim dump #ts4 sim dump #ts4 download #sim download #my sims #ts4 cas

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ohsunnyboy · 1 year ago

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stopping me now | jung sungchan ˚₊‧⁺˖

early mornings, bitter coffee and jung sungchan, all staples of your office life until one morning goes wrong just right

TAGS: office!au, gn!reader, romcom type of vibe, forced proximity, strangers to lovers, sorta mutual pining, awkward!reader who is rly intense abt their spreadsheets

A/N: office au is my fav au so sungchan in one is my ultimate self-indulgence! sorry it's been a while :] (first riize fic let's goooo)

WORDS: ~1950

Jung Sungchan is missing.

Ding!

You don't actually know each other. Counting the months, it's been almost a year of standing in silent acknowledgement within this tiny elevator. In fact, you shouldn't even know his name! You only managed to find it out when he dropped his lanyard when you two were clocking out, and you picked it up for him, but he only blushed, yelped his thanks and ran!

Was he hiding unapproved invoices? was his department over budget? you swear that the accounting department isn't that scary!

Ding!

Should standing in an elevator for nearly fifteen minutes count as your morning commute? It really shouldn't but here you are. The coffee in your hands went cold about 5 floors ago, the usual ache in your feet is starting to kick in, and you can feel the humidity wreaking havoc on your hair. You really do want to curse out the big shot who thought that having offices on the 40th floor was a good idea. Partly, you think that Sungchan would also curse them out as well.

By floor thirty something, you almost fall asleep before a familiar sight steps into the lift. And unfortunately enough, he looks to be in the same state as you are.

Ready to murder, or be the first one to die in said horror film. You wonder if Sungchan likes horror movies too. Every office worker should: it gets the stress out very well. In fact, he might’ve been staying up late watching them; the bags under his eyes really don’t compliment the lack of caffeine in his hands. You almost feel half tempted to give him your own cold cup to help tide his morning over.

Sungchan slots right into place at the back of the elevator next to you. His broad shoulders knocking into you slightly due to the cramp of the lift.

After a year of it, you’d like to think you’re used to the space he takes up in your life; physically and mentally.

The thing is, for a guy that works an office job, Jung Sungchan is not a bad looking man at all. Always looking like he's attending the first day of school with a pressed collar and ironed tie, it's hard to look... and not fall in love with him in the process. Never once in your commuting life have you ever seen a hair out of place on him. He's closest you've ever physically gotten to the picture of corporate happiness and 100% customer satisfaction, while you get into daily arguments with your Excel spreadsheet.

Ding!

A trolley of files comes wheeling into the cube of claustrophobia, forcing you to squeeze further into the corner until you find yourself between a cold corner and a warm place. The thought of whatever department’s budget goes flying out the window when — Ah.

The smell of citrus falls over you like a waterfall. Sungchan’s cologne must be dumped in his hair because it’s suddenly all you know. It makes you dizzy, so much so, that you barely notice him sheepishly grinning down at you. He’s leant on his forearm, next to your head, caging you in, and his other is desperately trying not to dig his messenger bag into your side.

"So sorry about this," he whispers. It feels conspiratorial in the tight space, but almost everyone else has earbuds in and probably have bigger things to worry about.

You tilt up to look at him, not forgetting to linger on the long column of his throat exposed by his grey suit. "S'fine,” you mumble up to him, sorely aware of the way his wide eyes stare into yours. "Nice to meet you?" you eke out. You try and go for casual and smooth, but your heart sounds like a clattering of the subway: raucous in your ears.

Maybe it has been a year of pining away. Staring after Sungchan and his unfairly good proportions and rolling mountain shoulders. You don’t know how the PR interns haven’t already kidnapped him to make some sexy corporate calendar. However, you do know that it would increase revenue for the entire first quarter and save you about 10 less board meetings on budget caps. The content of said photoshoots is all you can dazedly think about as he shifts again, shuffling further into the wall and further into your mental mess.

Ding!

Sungchan’s smile is wicked as it breaks you from your thoughts. "Lovely to meet you, elevator buddy." And he sends you an overconfident wink for your efforts – with a small blush to dash. “Would love to shake your hand but, we’re ah – a bit occupied.”

You quirk a brow. “Elevator buddy?”

Sungchan’s grin doesn’t relent, even at your scrunched expression. "I've spent the past year calling you that, you're not stopping me now.” He says the last bit under his breath, as the lady with the trolley backs up even further into him and pushes him impossibly closer to you. His lips end up skimming your forehead and sending an involuntary chill down your spine, while your right hand ends up flat on his chest, your left jammed awkwardly into your side with your coffee.

Pull it together, please God, pull it together.

“The last year?” Is all you can get out coherently. It’s impossible to take deep breaths when every thought in your head is being thrown out of a metaphorical window. Citrus and smoke, hands and lips, months and quarters. This elevator crush is going to haunt you for life if you go back to silence after all this. Stop asking questions damn it!

Sungchan hums, the sensation sinking into your bones. “It’s about then, no? It was my first time in the building because it was the BigHit and Pledis merger last year,” he says, awfully fond. “You had a massive dossier of balance sheets, and I crashed into you in the elevator lobby because you never saw me. Your papers went everywhere!” Sungchan trails off in a laugh, however your mind starts taking very careful steps back into the past…

You barely remember last year. Only the stress piling up on your table from one too many days working after hours in the quiet with Eunseok. The grid lines of spreadsheets permanently etched onto your screens and into your retinas. Neither company was willing to give an inch for each other in spite of the whole “merger” idea, forcing far too many revisions, far too close to the deadline those prissy higher ups set. And so, the entire fate of departments rested on your two heavily overworked shoulders.

Running into someone like Sungchan would have never crossed your mind then. Being all wrapped up in your stress, there was no way you’d pay that much attention to a pretty face. One incident in particular though… ding!

“Wait… you’re the one that spilt their pretentious oat milk chai latte on the finalised budget reports?!” You don’t even know if that was his actual drink order but all you remember was flying into a fit of red rage when green bled all over your precious, freshly printed work.

To hell with kissing him; a kiss with your fist was way more overdue.

Sungchan practically squawks as he jumps to justify himself. “I didn’t spill anything! I just accidentally walked into you and the papers – and my latte – went flying! Not my fault.” His hand snakes down from the wall and onto yours resting on his chest. If you could physically look him in the eyes, you’d be sure there’d be some fire of determination in them.

Now, it’s his heartbeat, clattering under your ear like the ticking of keycaps; it’s his heat, sticking his shirt under your palm like tack; it’s his voice, shaking like an intern at the barest critique. His hand dwarfs yours: long fingers tracing the lines of yours.

Your temper matches in step with your heart, beating against your mind in double time. “Do you know how long it takes to print double sided for a full dossier?! All of it to end up on the floor, covered in your hipster green tea latte! I have full authority to half whatever budg—"

Ding!

— “Hey, you two, this is your floor.” The tired voice of general manager Kim Doyoung chirps in. Red floods your face at the thought of someone watching you lose your head. Nevertheless, Doyoung watches on with a boredom only he could achieve. “You, save the death threats for feedback week, and Sungchan — don’t mess with someone from accounting.”

Sungchan takes the hint and peels himself off you, the smell of citrus still making you dizzy. The crowd barely parts, but he uses his size, pushing the way for the both of you. His enormous hand holding yours through the crowd and guiding you out of the cube of stress. When the doors whir shut behind you, he takes your empty coffee cup and dumps it into the bin.

Never would you think you’d be left hand in hand with Sungchan in an isolated elevator lobby. He’s still clasped onto you with a vice grip: his heat searing into your palms like hot iron. It burns being this close. The buzzing AC in the lobby being the only thing keeping you alive.

Nobody talks for a second, letting the silence say it’s piece before your mouth starts moving before you’ve processed what it’s doing. "If anyone reports us to HR, I am so so sorry.”

Sungchan takes a breath, blinking those wide doe eyes at you before his face splits into a grin. “No, don’t worry. I don’t think Doyoung-hyung will kick up much fuss,” he smiles.

Only now do you remember Doyoung is the head of HR and your heart kicks into double time again, but how is Sungchan so calm about this? As if reading your mind, he squeezes your hand to reassure you before dropping your it. “Stop looking so worried! Just look.” He pulls his lanyard out from where he usually stashes it in his breast pocket, and you nearly trip over your feet when you see it.

"I am HR." What the hells.

The look on your face must give it all away as Sungchan’s laugh echoes in the empty elevator lobby. And hells, the kid – is he even younger than you?? – knows he’s got you wrapped around his finger. "Maybe I will just file a complaint,” he says with a smile. “What was that again? Threatening to half our department budget?”

He tilts his head all coy like he’s not the one at fault here. The audacity, really. You shake your head in mild disbelief and shrug off your nerves. Oh, you know what? Might as well go for it. What’s stopping you now? Definitely not HR.

"Bold words from someone who singlehandedly setback the entire Bighit-Pledis merger back by a whole day,” you counter, head raised in even challenge. Sensible accountant alarm bells are ringing in your mind, but you clamp down on them. “Shouldn’t you, be making up to me?”

It’s your turn to fan your lashes and pout your lips. Savouring in the way he pretends to think and avoid staring at your pouted lips.

"There might just be something..." His long fingers pull you in by the lapels, just a hair away. A blush must flush all the way down you from the way his eyes light up. You watch his lips curl into that grin of his, already thinking about what’s next. Citrus and smoke, hands and lips, months and quarters.

"Not here, sweetness." And his smile is just as deadly as yours.

Fuck the spreadsheets. You’ve got a private meeting in board room #127 with corporate happiness.

hope i haven’t lost my touch :) thanks sm for reading and if you enjoyed, a reblog would be nice to help encourage more <3 ⭒ masterlist

#you can pry office aus out of my cold dead hands #riize #riize x reader #jung sungchan x reader #kpop #kpop fanfic #office au #jung sungchan imagines #jung sungchan fanfic #jung sungchan fluff #riize imagines #riize fluff #jung sungchan #fanfiction #sunny forecast: writing nights

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harusmichixo · 18 days ago

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Under His Scalpel - Chishiya x OC

Chapter 2

*:･ﾟ✧ summary: surgeon!Chishiya Shuntaro had never wanted to have a resident.

And he never wanted to care .

But yet here he was with a resident under his wing - inexperienced, fragile, needy - and now he’s expected to live to his reputation and make her into the best surgeon known to mankind.

Or at least thats what he reasoned.

fic tags!: surgeon!chishiya, mentor!chishiya, resident!oc, slow burn, sort of enemies to lovers (?), medical au, chishiya is bad at feelings, chishiya is a little shit, semi-inspired by greys anatomy, fluff, maybe some angst, surgery, potentially ooc chishiya

warnings: medical detail, injury detail, surgery detail, patient death, incorrect medical information (my knowledge of medicine comes from greys anatomy so PLEASE do not use this fic to diagnose)

chapter list!!!

crossposting on ao3!

words: 1.6k

Tabi’s apartment was a sea of papers and empty tea mugs, the only light in the room being her desk lamp, casting long shadows across the room. The stack of Chishiya’s failed case files loomed before her, each one a complex puzzle of tragedy and precision gone wrong. Her eyes burned, her blonde waves tangled from running her hands through them one too many times, but she pressed on.

It was 4:37 AM.

and she was only halfway through the stack of 47 failed surgeries he had dumped on her. Her thermos of rose tea had long gone cold, but she sipped it anyway, the bitter chill grounding her.

Each file was a glimpse into Chishiya’s past. A misjudged incision here, an unforeseen complication there - mistakes that cost lives, etched in his precise handwriting. Perhaps it was weird to imagine that a progidy like him had accumulated forty-seven “failures” – but it’s a stark reminder of the challenges of medicine, that even the best of the best can’t save everyone.

By 6:00 AM, her vision blurred, and her notes were a mess of frantic scribbles. She’d memorized the key errors - wrong vessel clamped, delayed response to bleeding, misread imaging - but the details swam together. With no time to shower, she changed into fresh pink scrubs and was out the door.

Tabi hurried through the halls of the hospital, the only thing keeping her awake being the faint residual buzz from her rose tea this morning. Her lack of sleep made her steps unsteady, and she hummed softly to keep her nerves at bay. Chishiya had texted her at 6:30 AM, a single line:

My office. 7:00. Don’t be late.

His office was at the centre of the cardiology ward, a corner room with floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Tokyo’s skyline. Tabi knocked hesitantly, her hands trembling as the touched the cold wood.

“Enter,” came his voice from inside.

She stepped inside, clutching her notepad like a lifeline. Chishiya sat behind a sleek desk. His eyes flicked up from a file, assessing her with that unnerving intensity. The room was sparse - bookshelves, a single plant, no personal touches. It felt like him: clinical, controlled, untouchable.

“You look like you haven’t slept,” he said, leaning back in his chair. His tone was flat, but his gaze lingered on her pale face, the faint shadows under her eyes.

Tabi’s cheeks flushed, her fingers tightening around her notepad. “I was studying, Dr. Chishiya. The case files, like you asked.”

He raised an eyebrow, a faint smirk tugging at his lips. “Good. Let’s see if it was worth it.” He gestured to a chair across from him. “Sit. We’re going through them. All forty-seven.”

Her heart sank. All of them? Now? She sat with unsteady knees, and opened her notepad. Her hands shook as she met his gaze, but she nodded. “I’m ready.”

Chishiya didn’t waste time. He fired questions like bullets, each one precise and unrelenting. “Case 12. What was the error?”

Tabi swallowed. “Aortic dissection. The surgeon - um, you - clamped the wrong branch of the coronary artery, leading to ischemia.”

“Correct. Case 27.”

“Mitral valve repair. The suture was too tight, causing regurgitation. It wasn’t caught until post-op.”

He nodded. “Case 41.”

“Coronary bypass. The graft was… misplaced, leading to occlusion. The imaging was misread pre-op.”

Chishiya’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t correct her. The questions continued, a relentless barrage that tested every ounce of her focus. By the fortieth case, her voice was hoarse, her hands trembling so badly she could barely hold her pen. But she answered correctly - every time.

Finally, he leaned back, his fingers steepled. “Not bad, Lee. You’re thorough. I’ll give you that.”

Tabi exhaled shakily, a flicker of pride warming her chest. “Thank you, Dr. Chishiya.”

“Don’t thank me yet,” he said sharpily. He stood and checked his watch with a flick of his wrist. “In two hours, you’re performing a solo surgery. Coronary artery bypass graft. I’ll supervise, but the scalpel’s in your hands.”

Tabi froze.

. “A… solo surgery? But I’m only a first-year resident. I’ve never-“

“Are you questioning me?” His tone was dangerous, his eyes pinning her in place. “You wanted to prove yourself. This is your chance. Or do you want to run back to Daddy and admit you’re not cut out for this?”

The mention of her father stung, but it was the challenge in his gaze that kept her rooted. Her mind screamed that it was too soon, that residents weren’t allowed to operate solo until their third year, but Chishiya’s expression brooked no argument. She nodded, her voice barely audible. “I’ll do it.”

His lips twitched, not quite a smile. “Good. OR 3. 9:00 AM. Don’t be late.”

The next two hours were a blur of panic and preparation. Tabi reviewed the patient’s chart - a 58-year-old man with severe coronary artery disease - her hands shaking as she scribbled notes.

Her lack of sleep gnawed at her, her vision doubling at the edges, but she pushed through, fueled by adrenaline and desperation.

In the scrub room, she washed her hands mechanically, the same overrehearsed routine which would soon become her daily song. Her reflection in the mirror showed a pale, wide-eyed woman who had aged at least 20 years within the last hour.

Chishiya was already in the operating room. He stood by the monitor, his arms crossed, his eyes tracking her every move. The patient was prepped, the anesthesiologist nodding as the heart monitor beeped steadily. Tabi’s hands trembled as she took the scalpel off the cart, its weight heavier than she remembered.

“Begin,” Chishiya said, his voice cutting through the silence.

Tabi took a deep breath, relying on her training to get her through this. She made the initial incision, her hands steady despite her racing heart. The sternum parted under her saw, the chest cavity opening to reveal the heart - a fragile, beating miracle. She worked methodically, her focus narrowing to the task. Harvest the saphenous vein, prepare the graft, bypass the blocked artery. She’d done this in simulations, assisted in real surgeries. She could do this.

But exhaustion was a cruel enemy.

Her vision blurred as she sutured the graft, her fingers slipping slightly. A bead of sweat trickled down her temple, and she hesitated, second-guessing her angle. At her delay, the monitor beeped faster - tachycardia.

“Lee,” Chishiya’s voice was sharp like a warning. “Focus.”

She nodded, her throat tightening, and adjusted her suture. But her hands shook, and the next stitch was sloppy, the graft misaligned causing a bleed. The monitor’s beeps grew erratic, a sign of distress. Panic clawed at Tabi’s own heart.

No, no, no.

“Move,” Chishiya moved in, pushing Tabi to one side, his hands taking over with a precision that made her feel like a small child. He corrected the graft and stabalised the patient within minutes. The monitor’s rhythm steadied, and the room exhaled collectively.

Tabi stood frozen, the scalpel still in her hand and her eyes burning with unshed tears.

I failed. I failed him.

Chishiya didn’t look at her as he scrubbed out. “My office. Now.”

Tabi followed him with heavy legs that felt like they might give way at any moment, her scrubs clinging to her sweat-damp skin. The walk to his office felt more like a march to her execution. Inside, he didn’t sit, instead leaning against his desk, his arms crossed.

“Explain,” he said, his voice deceptively soft.

Tabi’s lips trembled, her hands twisting together. “I… I messed up. The suture was off, and I didn’t catch the tachycardia fast enough. I’m sorry, Dr. Chishiya. I-“

“Stop.” He held up a hand, silencing her. “You think this is about a bad suture? You’re missing the point.”

She blinked, tears spilling over despite her efforts to hold them back. “I don’t understand.”

Chishiya’s gaze hardened. “That surgery was a test, Lee. Not of your skill - you’re not ready for solo, and I knew that. It was a test of your judgment. And you failed spectacularly.”

Her heart sank, confusion mixing with shame. “But you told me to do it. I was trying to-“

“To impress me?” he interrupted. “You stayed up all night memorizing my failures, didn’t you? Sacrificed sleep, pushed yourself to the brink, all to prove you could handle my little assignment. And what did it get you? A sloppy performance that could’ve killed a patient.”

Tabi’s breath hitched, her tears falling freely now. “I thought… I thought you wanted me to-“

“I wanted you to think for yourself,” he snapped, stepping closer. His presence was overwhelming, his eyes boring into hers. “You prioritized my approval over the patient. You didn’t question the surgery, didn’t tell me you were too tired. You acted like a yes-man, nodding along because you’re too afraid to disappoint. Just like you’ve been doing your whole life, haven’t you? Following Daddy’s orders, playing the perfect heiress.”

The mention of her father was a knife to her chest, her sob catching in her throat. She wanted to argue, to defend herself, but his words rang true.

Chishiya’s voice softened, but only slightly. “If you want to be a surgeon, Lee, stop trying to please me. Stop trying to please anyone. A surgeon makes decisions, not excuses. You’ll never hold a scalpel with confidence if you’re chasing approval.”

Tabi wiped her tears, her hands shaking. “I… I didn’t know it was a test. I just wanted to prove I could do it.”

“And you proved you can’t,” he said bluntly. “Not yet. But you’re not hopeless. You have potential - if you stop sabotaging yourself.”

She looked up at him, her eyes wide and shimmering. Potential? From him? The faint praise felt good, but it didn’t erase the sting of her failure. “What do I do now?”

Chishiya studied her, his expression unreadable. “Go home. Sleep. Come back tomorrow and do better. And next time I give you an impossible task, tell me it’s impossible.”

She nodded. “Yes, Dr. Chishiya.”

He turned away, dismissing her with a wave. “And Lee? Don’t cry in my OR again. It’s distracting.”

#chishiya fanfic #chishiya x oc #chishiya fluff #chishiya imagine #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya smut #chishiya alice in borderland #aib chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya #chishiya x reader #chishiya x you #alice in borderland #aib x reader

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totallynotcoffeeturtle · 1 year ago

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Kiss me under the milky twilight

Masterlist

(From the 6th to 30th April, I am having a mini 100 follower milestone event!)

Tags: Scaramouche x GN!reader, modern au, fluff Summary: Where Scaramouche celebrates Valentine's day with you, even if he's late.

Scaramouche pushes his glasses up while blinking tiredly. Not even the 10th cup of coffee can keep him up for any longer. The file and its blinking mouse begin to look like they are taunting him to no end with the tall pile of paperwork sitting beside him. He lets his forehead hit the desk with a ‘thunk’ while his eyelids shut under their own weight. The moment he is about to drift to dreamland, his own alarm wakes him up. Scaramouche looks at the clock on his cursed computer and is shocked awake. Fuck, he hasn’t prepared anything for you! It is already 23:00 on the 14th! He was supposed to buy the chocolate for you before the last store closed but of course his dumbass boss just had to dump more work on him. ‘You’re a great asset.’ He calls bullshit but he still needs money to buy you your favorite things. He groans. No matter how mean or rude he may act, he has never forgotten to buy you gifts on Valentine’s and any other occasion you like to participate in.

Scaramouche stands up abruptly, puts on his coat, grabs his wallet and clocks out. It’s okay to be late, he thinks, as long as he can get to you before the end of the day, even if there is only an hour left. At this time, only a convenience store would be open so he runs to the nearby Family Mart and looks at the various options under the clerk’s judging stare. And he understands because who even rushes to buy chocolate in a convenience store at 23:00?? Scaramouche looks at the many flavors before picking your usual favorite dark chocolate. He also quickly grabs your favorite tea, pays for them both and makes a dash for your shared home.

You stand on your balcony, fiddling with the little plant that you got from the local fair boredly. Scaramouche knows how early you often go to sleep so he would always go back on time but this is the first time you had to wait for him for so long. Even the fancy dinner you made got cold in the meantime. You pout and push against the succulent’s leaves until you hear rapid footsteps and the gate unlocking. You run down the stairs quickly, opening the door and bumping right into his chest in the front yard. Scaramouche huffs at your excitement despite his heartbeat increasing like a teenage boy in love. He shoves the gifts he got into your hands, “Sorry for being late. I’ll make it up to you tomorrow with something better.” You grins and hugs him tightly, “Don’t worry about that, just come inside. My gift is in the fridge, waiting for you, love.” He holds you tight and kisses you deeply, mumbling against your soft lips adoringly, “What will I ever do without you…”

A/N: This is kinda rushed and the ending is weird but happy Valentine's day~ i'll be suffering for 8hrs later but it ain't important rn Taglist: @amyminhminh (comment if you want to be tagged in future scara x reader posts <3)

#genshin x reader #genshin #genshin impact #x reader #wanderer #wanderer x reader #gender neutral reader #fluff #drabble #scaramouche x reader #scara x reader #scaramouche #modern au #i swear i'm not a scara simp i just write for my bestie #happy valentines #valentines day #happy valentine's day

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somneasims · 2 months ago

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♡ SOMNEASIMS PATREON 1K SIM DUMP ♡

As a thank you for 1k members on Patreon, I asked y'all to vote for what you wanted, and "sim dump" was our winner! Hope you like them!

I just have to say, it means so much to me that y'all took the time to hit follow, and support me and my little page. It's so much fun seeing you guys react to and use the poses I make!

So anyway, thank you all, for the 1K, and all your continued support! ♡

♡ DOWNLOAD HERE ♡

✽ It is important I make it clear that none of the CC used in this sim dump is made by me. If you enjoy a particular item, please be sure to support the creator!

✽ You may use these sims for whatever you'd like but please don't claim them as your own. Feel free to tag me if you use my sims! I'd love to see! @somneasims (on Instagram or Bluesky)

✽ Feel free to change any clothes, traits, names, etc.

✽ All CC should be included. Let me know if there are any issues!

INSTALLATION INSTRUCTIONS

1. Unzip the file(s)

2. Place the HOUSEHOLDBINARY, TRAYITEM, SGI, and HHI files in your tray folder. This can be found in your file explorer under Documents>Electronic Arts>The Sims 4>Tray

2. Place all the files under the "mods" folder into your mod document folder. This can be found under Documents>Electronic Arts>The Sims 4>Mods

★★★★★★★★

TO THE CREATORS: If you would like me to remove your files from the direct download and link your content instead, please let me know by sending me a DM on Instagram @somneasims ♡

ALL CREDIT GOES TO THE CC CREATORS!

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spencewalterreid · 6 months ago

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the one with the pharmaceutical company; case fic

I might be foraying into the world of fanfiction again?? I've never written a Reid fic before, so please leave any ideas, criticism, or comments if you'd be so inclined:) let me know if y'all want a part twooo! I already have the whole thing written so it would be no biggie

Reid x bureau!reader. no use of y/n. just chatting, not really fluff and not really angst? mostly exposition. stressed reid. i'm so so bad at content tags please be patient with me

part 1, part 2

Reid sits in his seat in the office, supporting his chin with his open hand and resting his elbow on the table, scribbling frantically across a piece of copy paper. Presumably, he’s drawn the short stick and got dumped with leftover paperwork, poor sap.

The coffee on his table is already cold, and when I look at him closer, he looks exhausted. His mouth is in a downward curve against the pressure of his palm, and his hair is a mess.

"Hey," I say softly, approaching with caution so as not to startle him. I lean against his desk, folding my arms against my chest. "You good? You seem frazzled.”

Spencer’s gaze snaps up to meet mine, visibly jumping as he's pulled from his contemplative state. He blinks rapidly and shifts to sit up straight. He clears his throat, digs the heels of his hands into his eyes, then shuffles the papers in front of him to try to get them aligned.

"Oh, hey," he replies, voice hoarse from the hours of silence. Reid slumps back in his chair effectively causing it to scoot backward, the metal legs screeching against the floor.

"I'm... I'm alright," he assures albeit to no protest, although the dark circles under his eyes and the slight tremor in his fingers as he sets down his pen suggest otherwise. "Just... just working on these case files. There's so much data to sift through, so many... inconsistencies to resolve.”

He runs a hand through his disheveled hair, leaving it sticking up at odd angles. "Sometimes it feels like the answers are right there, hidden in plain sight, but my brain just can't... can't connect the dots. It's frustrating, you know? Like trying to read a book written in a language I once knew but have since forgotten."

I chuckle. “How on Earth would you know what that feels like?” I tease with a soft smile. “Don’t you remember everything?”

Reid rolls his eyes. “I can speak fluently in six different languages, conversationally in twelve, and minimally in seventeen. I do not by any means know all the languages in the world, and I can forget things just like anyone else can,” he huffs indignantly, spite in his voice. I raise an eyebrow at his attitude and he reiterates: “I’m so sick of everyone thinking I’m supposed to know everything. I don’t, and it isn’t fair that I’m always supposed to have all the answers. I just-” He cuts himself off, rubbing his eyes again with a sigh.

Reid's eyes dart to the stack of papers, then back to me, a hint of vulnerability in their depths. "Sorry. Anyway, that's just... that's just me. I'm fine, really. I'll figure it out. Sorry.”

“Reid-” I drop my arms and move toward him just a bit, but he interrupts before I can address it.

His lips quirk into a half-smile, trying to set me at ease even as his own mind races with unspoken thoughts. "How about you? How are you holding up? You've been through quite an ordeal yourself lately.”

I sigh, but I don’t push it, instead opting for an apathetic shrug."I mean, it sucks. I'm new to this, you know? Not jaded yet, I guess." I shift my weight to my opposite foot and cross my arms. "That case was fucking brutal. And I mean, maybe it's because I'm new, young, you know, but regardless of how awful that guy was... seeing someone die in front of you is something you don't come back from."

I search him carefully, his dark eyes and wrinkled brow. I seem so whiny, I bet.

Reid listens intently to my words, his expression softening with each passing second. He uncrosses his legs and leans forward, elbows resting on his knees. His eyes, usually so intense and piercing, now hold a gentle warmth, a flicker of understanding.

"Listen to me," he says softly, voice low and earnest. "What you're feeling, it's completely normal. Losing innocence, seeing the darker side of humanity, it's a rite of passage for all of us in this line of work. The fact that you can still be affected, still feel deeply, it's a strength, not a weakness."

Reid's gaze drifts to my crossed arms and he reaches out, hesitantly, as if seeking permission. Gently, he places a hand over mine, his long fingers wrapping around my wrist. His skin is warm, almost feverish, but his touch is surprisingly gentle.

"Seeing someone die like that... it's not something you ever truly come back from. It changes you, shapes you, in ways you can't even begin to comprehend."

Spencer’s thumb brushes over my pulse point, a soothing gesture almost unconscious in its tenderness. "But you survived it. You kept going, kept fighting. That's not just a strength, it's a testament to your character. Don't diminish that by thinking you're not jaded enough, not experienced enough. You're exactly where you need to be."

His eyes hold mine, a profound intention etched in his expression. What that intention might be, I’m not totally sure. It's a look of solidarity, of shared grief and trauma, but also a look of hope, of resilience.

He continues, though with a bit of trepidation. "-And I know I'm not the easiest person to talk to, with my... idiosyncrasies,” he chuckles dryly, “but I'm here. I'm here if you need to talk, if you need to vent, if you need someone to make sense of the senseless with you. Okay?"

It's not a question, but a promise. A vow of support, of camaraderie, forged in the fires of shared trauma and tempered by an unconquerable spirit.

I swallow thickly. I want to respond, want to say something polished and eloquent to try to sound like I have a shadow of a clue what I'm talking about, but I don't. I twist uncomfortably and his hand falls from my arm.

"You said you're frustrated with the files you're going over." I clear my throat, then push myself off the desk to roll a chair over. I sit down, crossing an ankle over my knee and leaning forward, my elbows on his desk. "Do you wanna bounce some ideas off me?" Before he answers, I continue, "Tell me what it's about. Give me background. Maybe a fresh mind could help.”

Reid's face lights up with a rare, genuine smile at your offer. It's a smile that reaches his eyes, crinkling the corners and transforming his often stern demeanor into something almost boyish and approachable.

"Thank you. I... I would appreciate that very much," he says, a note of gratitude coloring his voice. "It's a complex case, one that's been giving me trouble since the beginning. It's about a series of deaths, all seemingly unconnected, but with one common thread - a pharmaceutical company called Neurotech."

Reid leans back in his chair, his fingers tapping a staccato rhythm against the armrest as he gathers his thoughts. "They've had a run of bad luck lately, with a string of clinical trials gone wrong. But the strange thing is, the drugs they're testing are all based on the same compound, a new neurotransmitter regulator. It's a promising field, but one that's fraught with risks."

He reaches for a folder on his desk, pulling out a pile of papers and spreading them out in front of me. "These are the autopsy reports, the toxicology screens, the trial data. Look at these brain scans. The damage is... it's like nothing I've seen before. It's as if the drug is eating away at the grey matter, causing a rapid degradation of the neurons."

Reid's eyes are ablaze with intensity as he speaks, his passion for the science, for the mystery, shining through. "But here's where it gets interesting. The subjects in the trials, they're all over the place. Different ages, different genders, different medical histories. And yet, the symptoms are the same. Severe cognitive impairment, loss of motor function, and in the worst cases... death."

He taps a finger on a particularly grim-looking scan. "This one, for instance. The subject was a 28-year-old woman, no pre-existing conditions. She died within 48 hours of the final dose. And look at this damage. It's... it's grotesque."

Reid's eyes meet yours, a haunted look in their blue depths. "I think Neurotech knows more than they're letting on. I think there's a connection between these deaths, and I think it goes right to the top of the company– but I can't prove it.”

"Okay." I take a careful breath, glancing over them. Have you spoken with Garcia about it? I have a couple things I immediately want to know more about. Assuming you're right about it being a company thing and not a singular unsub, first and foremost, I would wanna know the background of the people running these tests."

I flip through the papers, glancing at names, dates, medical details. "But what if you're wrong? You seem so sure it goes deeper — how do you know it isn't just someone at the top calling the shots, or silencing questions?"

I eye him carefully. "Here's my thought. Considering the nature of the procedures, it seems like someone is trying to play God. We've seen that before with the guy trying to implant new limbs on people. Maybe he or a loved one has a brain disease and he's toying with fixes.”

Spencer vaguely spins back and forth in his chair, steepling his fingers under his chin as he considers your words. His eyes narrow slightly, a sign that his mind is working overtime, weighing the possibilities.

"You raise a valid point," he says thoughtfully. "I hadn’t considered that angle, but it fits with the level of sophistication and resources behind these trials."

He reaches for another folder, pulling out a few sheets of paper with names and photographs printed on them. "These are the key players at Neurotech. The CEO, Victor Cassell, is a renowned neuroscientist with a reputation for being brilliant but mercurial. He took over the company after the old owner retired.” Reid points to a photograph of a severe-looking man with a salt-and-pepper beard and piercing eyes. "And this is the lead researcher on the trials, Dr. Lila Patel. She's a rising star in the field, but her methods are... unorthodox. She's been known to push ethical boundaries in the name of progress."

He taps a finger on the desk, a sign of his contemplation. "As for Garcia, I haven't spoken to her about my theories, but I plan to.”

Spencer’s gaze turns introspective, a hint of self-doubt flickering across his face. "You know, sometimes I wonder if my need to find patterns is blinding me to the simpler explanation. But then I look at these files, at these lives lost, and I can't shake the feeling that there's more to this than meets the eye."

He leans forward, his voice lowering to a conspiratorial whisper. "What if it's both? What if there's someone at the top calling the shots, and a rogue individual pushing the boundaries of ethics and science? It would explain the resources, the secrecy, the desperation. And it would make this a far more dangerous and tangled web than I initially thought."

"That's what I'm thinking, too," I concede. "Someone fear-mongering people into supporting his cause – maybe even genuinely convincing others that what he's doing is righteous."

I flip through the papers, looking at the descriptions of the people who underwent the procedures. "Okay, you said victimology was all over the place -- what if it isn't?" I point at the occupation section. "Teacher. Mechanic. Waitress. On and on it goes. All low-paying jobs. Hang on."

I drop the files and pull out my phone, looking up obituaries for those that have died. "Right. LeeAnn Thompson is survived by two daughters, Darla and Grace, and sister Dalia." I send him a link, then look for the others. "Bingo. Pattern. Not only were they in low-paying jobs, but they were all on welfare. There's your pattern." I plop my phone down on the desk. "Desperate for money. Now we know why they were doing the experiments in the first place.”

A flicker of excitement and anticipation passes over Reid’s face, shining through the weariness. He leans in to look at my phone, his gaze scanning the obituary notices, his mind putting the pieces together at a staggering pace.

"This is... this could be the break we need," he murmurs, a hint of awe coloring his voice. "The financial strain, the desperation, it would explain why these individuals would be willing to take such risks, to subject themselves to unproven treatments. It's a vile form of exploitation, preying on the vulnerable and the desperate."

He looks up at you, a newfound respect and gratitude in his eyes. "You've hit on something significant here. This could be the key to unraveling the whole operation, from the top of the company down to the individuals being recruited for these trials."

Spencer stands up abruptly, a new sense of urgency in his demeanor. He starts to pace the small office, his mind racing with the implications. "We need to get Garcia in on this, need to cross-reference the records with welfare databases, with financial records. If we can prove a pattern, a deliberate targeting of these individuals, we can start to build a case."

He turns to me, a fierce determination in his eyes. "And then there's the question of the researchers themselves. Lila Patel, the lead scientist behind these trials, she must have known the risks. The financial stakes, the vulnerability of the test subjects, it's all so clear now!"

He stops pacing and faces me directly, his expression a mix of awe and gratitude. "I... I underestimated you. This insight, it's... it's brilliant,” He explains with a grin for the ages. “It's going to change everything. Thank you for your perspective, for your keen eye. We're going to solve this, and bring those responsible to justice. Together.”

I smile warmly. "It isn't too awful late, you know. I bet Penelope isn't asleep yet." I glance at my watch. "I'm sure she wouldn't mind putting something together. We have a case, Reid. We can present it tomorrow.”

Reid looks at his watch, then back at me. The joy in his face just at the prospect makes me lightheaded. He’s never more beautiful than when he’s excited about something.

"You're right. You're absolutely right," he agrees.

Reid grabs his coat, already moving towards the door with renewed vigor. "Let's head to the office and see what we can find. I want to have everything ready to present to the team first thing tomorrow. If we move quickly, we can catch them off guard, before they have a chance to cover their tracks."

He pauses at the door, looking back at me, that damned smile still on his lips. "And hey.” He waits for emphasis, then continues, “Thank you. Thank you for your insight, your fresh perspective. You've got a keen mind, and I'm grateful to have you on this team, on this case. Let's go solve this, together."

With that, Reid strides out of the office, his long legs eating up the distance to the elevator. He's a man on a mission, and it’s a damn sight. Downright inspiring.

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side note. would y'all be cool if I gave the main character a name? I'm embracing bi!reid so i'm thinking twink. i know y/n is popular but i simply cannot bring myself to do it. for upcoming chapters i need to be able to have something with which to introduce mc to NPCs.

#spencer reid #criminal minds #cm #mgg #spencer reid fanfic #case fic #criminal minds case fic #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid angst #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #smarty pants spencer #i promise i will put as many of his tangents as i can!! i love them so bad #stressed spencer #spencer reid slowburn #bi!reid

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azullumi · 1 year ago

Text

“dangerously yours” ; alhaitham

summary — it was a simple mission, kill the scribe. it should be easy but what happens when you fall in love with your target?

pairing — alhaitham w/gender-neutral reader

tags — definitely not fluff, some angst here and there, reader is a criminal, inspired by the dangerously yours podcast (please listen to it), not proof-read as always, this is more like an idea dump and word vomit ; headcanons/scenario

words — 1200+

note — woke up and had this idea, goodnight (also wrote this months ago and just noticed this in my drafts)

you had one mission, an easy one at that.

working as a mercenary and spy under a criminal organization, you were tasked to do various kinds of things—from infiltrating certain groups in order to obtain information, from guarding someone and protecting their life to taking one at that. emotions were never relevant in this line of work, empathy and mercy never exists in these crimson-painted walls of your life. nor did the notion of affection and feelings were accepted.

until a file containing details about a gray-haired man with eyes that seem to reflect both the ocean and the forest along with the contents of your task were placed into your hands: gain his trust, take the necessary information, and with the words encased in red and capitalized as if it was an important note, as if it was something that shouldn’t be ignored, the words, kill him were written.

it was simple. it’s not like this was your first time receiving this kind of mission; you had plenty of these and you’ve always done and finished them without any sort of trouble coming in your way. it should have been simple.

however, nobody warned you of what he would become—to you. the soon-to-be bane of your existence: alhaitham.

his whole being itself was a hindrance, a disruption to the way that you have survived life—kill or be killed. so how did something that you have been so familiar and used to become as scary as if it was the unknown? how did something that your whole life revolved around become so foreign and strange? how could you ever let go of someone who basked you in the afterglow of warmth and serenity?

he had you experiencing such things that you never dared to imagine.

“how can you be so sure when you don’t even know me completely.” you say, sitting right in front of the light-haired man, alhaitham,—your target—with a smile plastered on your face, a fake one at that. everything that will unfold here and throughout was simply just a form of deception to accomplish your mission.

“oh, i know you.” there was an underlying meaning underneath the tone of his words, the corner of his lips lifted into a small smirk, and you couldn’t help the numbing and cold chill that runs through your skin.

it was in a way that those stupid turquoise eyes of his feels like it’s looking right through you, as if he could read and see every thought of yours—and that’s what scares you, it’s not the fear that he’ll know of your soul and what you truly came for but the fear that he’ll know of the alacritous thumping of your heart and how your mind spirals into a turmoil and how you have to remind yourself every single time you hear his voice or gaze at him that this is the man you are supposed to kill.

not even once have you ever bothered to remember the names of the previous men that you were entrusted to get to rid of, only knowing their faces and quickly forgetting about it after you have done your job. but to alhaitham, to him, you know every single thing about him—how he prefers his coffee made, the colors that he likes (he insists on not having a favorite), how he struggles with falling asleep often, his love and preferences for books and reading, how he styles his hair (he only brushes through it and let the wind do its job), how he expresses himself, and how he lives his life.

in this play that you have orchestrated, you have unknowingly become of a victim of your own deception.

oh, foolish you, yearning for something, someone, that you will never have. when did it even begin? how did you even start to crave for a life that was completely out of your hands? was it when he smiled when he looked at you with those eyes one time? was it when you heard the sound of his laughter and wished to hear more of it? was it at the moment he kissed you and all you could remember throughout the night was the feeling of his lips grazing against your own and ghosting against your skin? is it because he always treats you with gentleness and looks at you with adoration like your existence was made up of stars and the sun?

for the first time in your whole life, you feel like a normal person for once—one who only experienced being hurt by heartbreaks, who cried over simple things, who ran through the fields in freedom and with nothing chaining you in a single place. for once, you feel like living instead of surviving.

the thought of running away, leaving behind the one thing you’ve only known and clung to, and simply being with him remains at the back of your head, the idea of waking up and spending your morning with him underneath the warm light of the sun, that you’ll get to feel the soft beating of his heart against your ear as he held you, that you get to experience the tenderness of his touch and kisses, that you’ll get to have him so close and so bare to you fills you with such warmth and comfort (feelings that were completely shoved under the pile of increasing corpses of the lives that you betrayed and took). but you weren’t a good person and you never will be, so how could you covet for something that is entirely undeserving for your existence.

“i can’t do this, i have to kill you.” your words came out as a desperate whisper, almost like a plea. you don’t even notice the tears that started to well up in the corner of your eyes until alhaitham wiped one that threatened to spill over your cheeks, his gesture gentle and forgiving. no one had ever come this close, no one had ever treated you so softly.

don’t come so close.

“then do it.” was he taunting you? you could never tell. all you know is you can’t pull the trigger on him.

“i can’t.” when did killing someone become so hard after you have taken dozens of lives with your blood-stained hands? your life’s purpose had trails of crimson, remnants of betrayal all over it yet you couldn’t even bear the thought of watching his eyes lose its light.

“why can’t you?” his voice was as soft and kind as his touch—he always speaks to you in such a way, never raising his tone at you, even at this moment.

the words remain stuck on your throat, nothing willingly coming out of your moment and the moment between you two comes into a hush. you can’t even say it; a confession that feels like a sin once it’s uttered out loud.

“say it. just say it, my love, please.” he chokes on his last word and something inside you breaks seeing this state of him. oh, how utterly foolish both of you are for falling.

“don’t do this to me.” your plea turns into a prayer, praying and wishing yet you don’t even know what it is that you are begging for.

#genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin x you #genshin imagines #alhaitham headcanons #alhaitham imagines #alhaitham x you #alhaitham #alhaitham genshin #genshin alhaitham #alhaitham x reader #al haitam x reader #genshin impact fanfics #genshin impact x reader #genshin #genshin headcanons #genshin fanfic #genshin impact x you #azul.writes

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mwahgo · 3 months ago

Note

HIII I'm back again (I love your writing)

If you're still taking requests

Please could I have piers nivans (again because I'm obsessed with him) taking reader on a date??

Somewhere like a picnic in the park or a cafe (he deserves all the love in the world okay)

Thank youuu :)

WITH HIS FAVORITE GIRL

—Piers Nivans x Fem!Reader (Resident Evil)

: ̗̀➛ Summary: Piers Nivans wants to take his favorite girl out on a date.

: ̗̀➛ Word Count: 1.8k words

: ̗̀➛ Content Tags: Fluff, overworking, workaholic!reader, hurt with comfort (not from Piers), exhaustion, picnic date, nostalgia, soft domestic

Mwahgo's Notes: Thank you for requesting again! 🤎

“I’m home..” You called out as you sluggishly slipped off your work shoes and placed them in the small compartment. You sighed heavily from the lack of response from your boyfriend as you dragged your tired body to the living room before plopping down on the plush couch. Work has been beating you physically and mentally—your coworkers are being an ass again, dumping their unfinished files on your desk, saying that they couldn’t finish it because they have some emergency to handle (but you knew it was a lie). Your boss kept nagging you about deadlines and you repeatedly told him that it’s in progress but he decided to accuse you of lying. It was draining you at this point and all you wanted to do was get a good night rest in the arms of your boyfriend, Piers.

But it seems like he’s not in the house today—maybe he’s resting like you. Piers just came home from the military and although he misses you, he wanted to have a proper rest as well. You considered letting him rest for a while as you laid back on the couch with your work clothes on before falling asleep.

As you sleep on the couch, Piers entered the house—grocery in hands as he dragged them back inside the house. The house was quiet, which he thought you weren’t home yet as he unpacks the grocery in the kitchen, putting everything in place before he puts the plastic bags away. After he was done, he went to the living room to relax and that is where he discovered you—slumped back on the couch, sleeping. Piers sighed in concern, he knew you were having a hard time at work while he was still in the military, which made him frustrated that he couldn’t do anything to help.

Piers approached your sleeping form as he softly tapped on your shoulder, “Hey, babe. I know you’re tired but you should move to the bed,” He whispered.

You grumbled tiredly, which made him chuckle knowing that he can’t do anything about your exhaustion. Piers grabbed your arms and hooked his arms under your legs, carrying you bridal style to the bedroom. As you both stepped inside, he laid you down on the bed before speaking: “Do you want me to change you into more comfier clothes?”

You barely nodded as Piers gets up and walked to the closet to grab a fresh pair of shorts and a shirt. Going back to you, he stripped off your work clothes—leaving you in your undergarments before proceeding to slip on the comfortable clothes on you. He turned the lights off before climbing in to the bed with you, cuddling you close to his chest. His warmth comforted your disturbed mind as you sighed in relief, melting in his embrace as you both slept for tonight.

The sunlight peered through the small gaps of the curtains as you softly grumbled, waking up from your slumber. As you sat up from the bed, you noticed that you had a change of clothes, making you confused. You remember last night you were still in your work clothes and sleeping on the couch but now, you woke up fresh and comfy. The space beside you was empty, Piers must’ve gotten up early to make breakfast as you smelled the delicious food downstairs. As you sat up, you stretched your sore arms before you get up and walked downstairs.

As you arrived at the kitchen, you heard Piers speaking with someone on the phone, “She’ll take as much needed rest as she needs,” He said, “… Yes, thank you for your consideration,” He added before hanging up.

“Who were you talking to?” You asked as you stepped in the kitchen.

Piers’ eyes lit up as he saw you out of bed, “Hi, baby,” He greeted you with a kiss on your lips, “And don’t worry about that, I just talked to your boss about giving you a week off,” He answered nonchalantly before going back to cooking breakfast.

Your heart dropped, “Y-You… Talked to my boss?” You mumbled in shock, “… Why would you do that?!”

“Baby, just relax—“ You cut him off, “I can’t just ‘relax’, Piers. I have some unfinished work at the office today a-and I can’t just randomly take a week off!” You exclaimed, scrambling around.

Piers grabbed your shoulders to calm yourself down, “Baby, listen to me…” He looks into your eyes, “.. You’ve been doing great in work, even if you’re covering for everyone’s asses or taking a verbal beating from your boss. You’re an amazing woman. But sometimes, you need to rest. You’ve been tired from the past few days and I feel bad that I can’t do anything about it,” He frowned.

“So today, me and you are taking the week off together and later, I’ll take you out on a date,” He smiled before kissing her on the forehead.

You couldn’t believe it, your loving boyfriend decided to stand up on your behalf and got you a day off from your overbearing boss. You couldn’t help but cry on his chest, mumbling “thank you’s”—feeling grateful for the effort to let you have some rest for a full week, “It’s okay, baby. I’m just concerned you’re pushing yourself too hard,” He commented.

Piers served the breakfast—some pancakes and strips of bacon on the side. You both ate in either peace or talk about your day, Piers letting you rant most of the time about your frustrations at work. After eating, he placed the dirty dishes in the sink, “You go up there and make yourself pretty for our date,” He winked playfully as you giggled in reply before going upstairs to freshen up for your date.

You were wearing a flowing sundress and adjusting your hair in front of the mirror when Piers entered the bedroom. Your lipstick application was just complete. Piers stared at you like you were an angel, his eyes never leaving your body. Your makeup enhances your already gorgeous hairstyle, and your dress fits you well. He couldn't believe he was dating a girl as gorgeous as you. He approached you from behind and wrapped his arms around your bod, making you let out a surprised squeak.

“You look so pretty, baby,” He mumbled against your neck, inhaling your sweet scent.

You chuckled, “You don’t look too bad yourself,” You answered, turning your head to press a kiss on his cheek.

Piers pulled away before turning you around and pressing a kiss on your lips. You giggled on his lips as you both continued kissing each other before pulling away, smiling, “I’m glad you agree to this date,” Piers commented.

“I should be the one that’s glad..” You grinned, “… You get to pull me out of my workaholic misery,” He laughed before pressing another kiss on your lips.

You grabbed your purse before you both leave the house. As you entered the car, Piers handed you a piece of cloth and you looked at him, confusingly, “It’s a blindfold, babe. Our date is.. sort of a surprise,” He explained.

You looked at him with your eyebrow raised as you grabbed the blindfold and placed it on your eyes, making you unable to see, “You better not take me to some rundown, 1 star restaurant, Piers,” You warned as he just chuckled before he starts the car, the engine grumbling for life as he drove off to the destination.

You both arrived at your date spot as Piers got out from the driver’s seat and walked to your side. He opened the door and grabbed your hand as he leads you to a small, secluded spot. As you arrived there, he stood behind you and grabbed the knots of the blindfold, “Alright, babe. Ready to see the view?” You nodded in reply.

He unties the blindfold and unwraps it off your eyes. You blinked slowly—adjusting your eyesight before gasping. The place was the park that was a walking distance from the university you and Piers met. Memories flooded about the park—where you and Piers had some study sessions, where this is the place when he found you crying under a tree because your ex broke up with you to run off with another girl, this is where he comforted you—be your shoulder to cry on and finally, this is also the spot where he confessed his feelings and you gave him his first kiss. It’s been years since you and Piers graduated and the park still looks the same—the grass was as green as before and some wildflowers started growing. The squirrel who was a loner now has a family and you see the same birds in the past.

As you were busy admiring the bostalgic view, Piers started setting up the picnic blanket and the basket full of food, “I knew you would like this place because you said ‘this is my sanctuary’” He air-quoted, making you giggle.

“It is… I just love the peaceful view here, it’s away from the campus so I won’t have to hear the chaos of school,” You sighed in bliss as he just laughed at your words. After he finished setting everything up, you sat down along with him and gasped in awe with the variety of food. You grabbed a small slice of sandwich as Piers poured two glasses of wine, “You plan on getting me drunk today?” You looked at him with suspicion.

He laughed as he took a sip, “I mean if it helps you relax…” He shrugged, “Why not?” You giggled as you took a sip of your wine.

You both sat in silence, enjoying the glass of wine while munching on some sandwiches, as you admire the slow setting of the sun, giving the golden glow, “You know.. I’m really proud of you,” Piers said

You turned to look at him, “What do you mean?” You asked

“… Well, you handled so many bullshit at work, yet you’re still here doing your best,” He held your hand, “You’re such a strong woman. You face things that would make most people break and somehow, you still find the energy to care about everyone else. You’ve held yourself together when life gave you every reason not to,” He smiled.

Your heart swelled as tears brimmed in your eyes. You wrapped your arms around him—softly crying on his shoulder as he pulled you to his lap, rubbing your back as you cried, “Thank you… so much for being with me. For making me special a-and.. for supporting me,” You said.

Piers pulled away and wiped the tears off your cheeks before pressing a kiss on your lips, “And I’ll always do that for you, baby,” He said before hugging you again, “… Always,”

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