#Custom Printed Counter Boxes

[verdancepackaging]

𝑬𝙡𝒆𝙫𝒂𝙩𝒊𝙣𝒈 𝑹𝙚𝒕𝙖𝒊𝙡 𝘿𝒊𝙨𝒑𝙡𝒂𝙮𝒔 𝒘𝙞𝒕𝙝 𝘾𝒖𝙨𝒕𝙤𝒎 𝑪𝙤𝒖𝙣𝒕𝙚𝒓 𝑫𝙞𝒔𝙥𝒍𝙖𝒚 𝑩𝙤𝒙𝙚𝒔

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[packagingboxprinting]

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Cardboard Displays are specially used to display different items. They are excellent for sensitive products. Durable custom display boxes secure your products from any damage. Eco-friendly material is used for these boxes.  Durable and versatile kraft display boxes show the superb quality of retail items. Customizing the containers' shape, size, material, color, and design is easy. You can differentiate your Brand and build eye-catching and memorable displays. You can add captivating colors to adorable custom packaging boxes. It highlights your product characteristics in an enchanting way.

Ideal Custom Packaging Solutions for Your Brand at Verdance Packaging

Verdance Packaging offers a remarkable platform for highlighting and showcasing product features. We provide exceptional, ideal, cost-effective custom display boxes solutions to promote your Brand. We offer incredible customized features. We manufacture custom packaging and printing boxes using eco-friendly, high-quality materials. Get unlimited customization, error-free, and quality services with free shipping.

[rigidboxesusasworld]

Display boxes are transparent or open-front containers designed to showcase products prominently. They are commonly used in retail environments to attract customers' attention, highlight merchandise, and enhance the overall shopping experience.

[zznblr]

exes and ohs 𐙚 c.yj

chapter two: and that's a bad thing

written • 935 words

may 30th 2025, 7:58 pm

you’re sitting at the counter of your store sorting through a box of cds, when the windchimes jingle. you glance up just as yeonjun stumbles into the doorway. he is juggling a pizza box in one hand and his laptop in the other, his face scrunched up in concentration as he tries not to drop either.

his black hoodie is slightly askew – one sleeve is rolled up higher than the other. as he shifts his weight to keep everything in place, his sneakers scuff against the worn wooden floor and he clumsily steps towards the counter. he sets the pizza box down with a quiet thud. the cardboard edges crinkle under his touch and the scent of cheese wafts into the air.

“can’t believe you started without me,” yeonjun teases.

you look up at him, a smile tugging at the corner of your lips. “well, there were like five people here the entire day,” you say, adding another cd to the growing stack in front of you. “so, i had a lot of time on my hands.”

he leans against the counter. “okay, now that i’m here, we can take a break.”

“we?” you raise an eyebrow. “you haven’t done anything yet.”

“i thought you had something to show me.” he places his laptop on the counter. yeonjun flips open the pizza box and grabs a slice, his eyes flicking over to you as he takes a bite.

“ah, yes.” you lean back slightly. “my surprise.” he straightens his posture. you take a breath. “you know that super rare original fela kuti vinyl that i told you i needed.”

he nods.

“well,” you continue. your smile grows wider as you lean forward. “i found it on ebay.”

“so, when does it get here?”

“when i start getting hundreds of customers an hour.” you sigh, grabbing a slice of pizza from the box. “it’s like more than 500 dollars and i unfortunately cannot afford to spend that much money on a record.”

yeonjun raises an eyebrow as he chews, his cheek puffed slightly from the bite. “you might have to get a second job.”

you prop your elbow onto the counter and rest your cheek against your fist. “don’t quit your day job to become a motivational speaker.”

“i don’t have a day job.”

“exactly.”

he doesn’t answer right away. he just sets his half-eaten slice back into the box and wipes his fingers on a napkin absently. he walks to the back of the counter and reaches for a box of cds, pulling it toward him with a slow drag, the edge of it catching slightly on the counter’s uneven surface.

he turns to face you. “where do you want me to start, boss?”

it takes you a while to process what he is saying. he is very close to you. close enough that you catch the faint scent of fabric softener and his cherry blossom shampoo. you look away from him and back to the boxes laid out in front of you. “uh… you can um– you can start with these.” you pass him a disorganized stack. “just sort them out alphabetically and don’t mess up the dividers like last time.”

“i didn’t mess them up.”

“you alphabetized the doors under d.” you take the stack of cds that you were previously organizing and walk towards the shelves.

the two of you fall into a steady rhythm. his movements are slower than yours. he is hesitant. his knee bounces under the counter, tapping a steady beat against the wood. from where you stand at the shelves, you steal a glance at his profile – his hair falling into his eyes, the little furrow of his brow as he focuses, his lips pressing into a flat line when the print is too tiny.

you go back to sorting, sitting beside him. yeonjun pauses, staring into space. his fingers glaze over the plastic casing of the cd in front of him.

“what are you doing?” you shift, turning to face him. “what’s wrong?”

“it’s nothing.” his lips press into a thin line.

you shift slightly closer, searching his expression. his gaze lingers on the stack in front of him. his fingers absently pick at the corner of the cd on top.

he sighs, long and heavy before he begins to speak again. “my brother is getting married.”

you blink. “and.. that’s a bad thing?”

his mouth opens, then closes. he hesitates, staring at the screen before exhaling sharply. “yes,” he admits, then pauses. “wait, no.” a frustrated sound escapes him, and he presses the heels of his hands against his temples, rubbing slow, deliberate circles. “i don’t know. i don’t talk to my brother and he invited me. and i don’t know.”

“are you going to go?”

“god, no,” he scoffs. “no, my brother is an asshole.” his jaw tightens. “i don’t even know why he invited me. we haven’t spoken in years.”

“maybe this was an attempt to rekindle your relationship?” you offer. “like he wants to make things better.”

“why does everyone keep saying that?”

“because it’s a logical explanation?” you respond dumbfoundedly.

“he would need a personality transplant if he ever wanted us to be okay again.”

you reach out, resting a hand over his. his fingers twitch beneath yours before they relax slightly. “you know you don’t have to do anything that you don’t want to do,” you say softly.

yeonjun lets out a slow breath, his shoulders dropping just a fraction. he doesn’t say anything right away, just stares ahead.

“yeah,” he says finally. “i know.”

previous masterlist next ʚ♡⃛ɞ his ex is getting married to his brother. he’s totally okay with it. he’s very happy for them. of course, he’s going to the wedding. and he definitely did not pay his next door neighbor five hundred dollars to be his plus one at their destination wedding.

taglist: @beomgyusluver @yeovnjin @mari-18s-world @usuallyunlikelyfox @iluvjjunie @boba-beom @beaabz @yezznn

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

The Man 1

Warnings: non/dubcon, and other dark elements. My username actually says you never asked for any of this.

My warnings are not exhaustive but be aware this is a dark fic and may include potentially triggering topics. Please use your common sense when consuming content. I am not responsible for your decisions.

Character: mob!Lloyd Hansen

Summary: a demanding customer complicates more than your work life.

As usual, I would appreciate any and all feedback. I’m happy to once more go on this adventure with all of you! Thank you in advance for your comments and for reblogging.

You stand behind the counter, ready to serve the next customer that comes through the door. If you thought the rush was bad, the lulls are worse. The time drags by as the clock seems to taunt you. You sigh again as you hear Bre clattering around in the back room. You’d rather be back there folding up empty boxes and scouring trays.

You yawn and waver on your feet. The small local cafe doesn’t have the consistent traffic of the franchised kiosk just down the block but there are still hectic rushes. The mornings just after nine, then at noon when the office workers run out for a refresh espresso or a lunchtime sweet, but the afternoons usually deliver no more than the errant college student on their laptop or a few friends in between visits to boutiques.

The door opens and you glance over at the man who walks through the door. He strikes you as out-of-place as he struts across the cafe, hitting a table with his thigh, and sneering at it as if it insulted his mother. He’s tall with broad shoulders, and his hair is slicked back while the sides of his head are buzzed. He wears a black turtle neck under and open jacket and a pair of matching slacks that show off his ankles. His loafers are a rippling grey and black snakeskin print with a shining silver buckle.

You grip the sides of the till as he approaches but he doesn’t look at you. You stare, a little put off by his lack of acknowledgement as he peers up at the menu. He steps forward, tapping his fingers on the counter as he blows out between his lips. A golden signet ring flashes on his pinkie. You’re still not sure he’s in the right place.

“Hello, sir, can I get you--”

“Shh,” he hisses and holds up his finger. You snap your mouth shut and blink. He squints at the menu. He hums, clucking as he gives a thoughtful look to the hand-painted letters. Alright?

You wiggle your foot impatiently, biting your tongue. You’re not an inherently rude person but some customers make you wish you were. You watch him and he finally lowers his chin.

“Oat latte. Half blonde espresso, half regular, with the toffee nut syrup and a sprinkle of cinnamon.”

You nod as you punch in his order. It’s quite the drink. Sometimes you think people just pile on to see how far they can push service workers. They can’t just have a simple drink. Some even request the temperature to the digit.

“Alright, got it, it’s fifty cents for the syrup, is that okay?”

“Fifty cents?” He echoes haughtily, “no, that’s not okay.”

“Um, okay, well, it’s uh, on the menu,” you crane to look behind you, “fifty cents for a flavour shot, twenty-five for whipped cream.”

“I didn’t ask about goddamn whipped cream. They don't charge me here, doll. Get me the goddamn drink,” he demands.

You reel. Admittedly, you’re new. You’re learning but your first lesson was simple; customers are awful.

“I can just take the syrup off, I guess,” you hit the x and the whole order disappears.

“Didn’t you hear me? No charge, honey. It’s on the house.”

You purse your lips and look at him. You raise a brow. Alright, this is a new one.

“Um, if you’d just hold on, I think... uh, I should ask--”

“Yeah, you better fucking ask,” he sneers as swipes at a stack of paper cups and sends them flying. You flinch out of the way and spin to burst through the door to the kitchen.

“Uh, Bre,” you say, “there’s a really angry dude out there and he wants a free latte so uh, what do I do about that?”

She looks over at you as she puts a tray of cookies on a cooling rack. She frowns and her forehead stitches. She pulls of her oven mitt and checks her fitbit.

“Shit, it’s Thursday,” she mutters as if it’s the end of time.

“Yeah, it is, so uh--”

She waves away your words with the mitt and tosses both on the counter as she hurries past you. Confused, you turn to follow her through the swinging door. You stay behind her as she goes to the till.

“Mr. Hansen, so lovely to see you, what were we getting today?” She chimes, more lively than you’ve ever heard you. At any other time, she’s dulcet, almost monotone, completely over the cafe lifestyle.

He scoffs and his eyes drift from her to you. He pokes his tongue into his cheek, “oat, toffee nut, half blond, half regular, cinnamon on top,” he notes each element tersely, “and how about you teach this one some goddamn manners.”

He glares at you and you give a wide-eyed look. You shrug at Bre as she glances over at you. She shakes her head subtly. You take a step back.

You grab a cup and she quickly takes it out of your hands, “I got it, stay out of the way.”

You put your hands up and back away. You don’t know what you did wrong. Who is this man? He smirks and hovers on the other side of the counter as he crosses his arms over his puffed chest. Bre brews a fresh espresso and steams the oat milk.

“I’m waiting, sweet lips,” he cups a hand to his ear, his other arm still over his chest.

You look back and forth.

“Apologise,” he demands.

Bre clears her throat and you glance over, your mouth falling open dumbly.

“Oh, uh,” you face the man again, “I’m sorry, sir, I didn’t know--”

“Well, now you fucking do,” he sneers as Bre places a cup down before him and a paper bag.

“Mr. Hansen, there’s a cinnamon bun for you too. We just took em out of the oven.”

“You’re such a dear, Bre Bear,” he cooes, sending you a venomous snarl.

You cringe as he spins and strides out with his fare. You watch after him, still thoroughly perplexed. Bre wipes the counter with a cloth.

“The next time he comes in, give him whatever he wants,” she says quietly.

“Oh, I didn’t... who is he?” You garble.

“Better you don’t know. Just think of him as the boss,” she sends you a desperate look, her eyes gleaming, “if you know what’s good for you, you’ll smile and listen.”

She brushes you with her shoulder as she goes back into the kitchen. You furrow your brow and glance towards the door. The man’s just outside the windowed walls, watching you. He winks before he disappears beyond the next facade

[musings-of-a-rose]

Marcus

Pairing: Marcus (Pike, Moreno, Acacius) x f!reader

Word Count: 6900+

Rating: Mature - 18+ ONLY!

Warnings: Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story. 

Notes: I saw a post from @pimosworld innocently asking for a Marcus bachlorette style fic and, while this isn't exactly right, this is what my brain came up with. Shoutout to @mermaidxatxheart for listening to me ramble and helping me, as well as @vanemando15 for being a cheerleader!

**If you want to be added to the taglist, join here or let me know!

❤If you enjoy the fic, please consider giving me a warm beverage! (It is not required in any way!)

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**Reader is not described

Main Masterlist

Marcus Moreno Masterlist

Marcus Pike Masterlist

Marcus Acacius Masterlist

“Thanks for coming to Level Up Comics!” I smile at the customer as I hand them their bag, a quiet grunt all I get in return before they head out the door, the little bell jingling with their exit. I stretch, walking around from behind the counter and heading back towards the display case where several boxes sit in front, unopened figurines and collectibles pouring from them. My family and friends thought I was crazy for opening a physical media store in this age of digital products. They said no one would come in let alone want to actually buy “this crap.”

But here I am, a few years after opening, and I’m doing pretty good for myself. There are still collectors out there who want their favorites in case something happens to their files. They want the figurines from the original manufacturers, rather than printing them themselves. I can’t blame them. There’s something different, something magical about reading the printed word, having a figure of your favorite character that was made decades ago by something other than a 3D printer in someone’s basement.

The bell jingles and I yell out a greeting, shoving a few more figures in the back of the case before standing and turning, a pair of dark brown eyes meeting mine. I can already feel the smile on my face. 

“Hi, Marcus!” Shit, was that too enthusiastic? If it is, he doesn’t let on, his own smile shyly spreading across his face. “How…how are you?”

He rubs the back of his neck with his large hand, his eyes darting away from mine. “I’m..I’m good. You?”

“Good. That’s good. I mean, I’m good. Good. It’s all…good.” What the fuck?

He chuckles lightly, looking anywhere but at me. “Good.”

We’re both silent for several moments. He’s so hot. Way out of my league hot. And the weird thing is, I don’t even think he realizes just how attractive he is. 

“Did my back issue of X-Men come in?”

“Oh!” I slap my forehead. “I almost forgot! Yes. Let me get that for you.” Trying desperately to hide the heat in my cheeks, I quickly walk around the counter, kneeling to sift through the special order pile. 

“You got more figures in?”

“Yeah,” I yell from my crouched position. “There’s a few bins in the back I haven’t emptied yet. Feel free to have a look!” 

“Thanks.” I hear him shuffle off towards the back of the shop just as I locate his order. The door bell dings again and I stand, smoothing down my jeans. A man stands at the counter, his bright blue eyes roaming up and down my body before her plasters on the most ingenuine smile I’ve ever seen. 

“Hi. How can I help you?” I ask him as I place Marcus’s order on the counter.

 “Hi beautiful. I’m looking for a comic.”

I internally sigh. I already know where this is going. It happens several times a week.

“Well you’ve come to the right shop. What are you looking for?”

He chuckles, intending to be endearing. It isn’t. “I’m looking for a very specific issue of Hawkeye. You know who that is?”

Seriously? “I am very familiar with Hawkeye. Are you?”

He scoffs. “Haha. You’re a funny, pretty thing. Anyway, I’m looking for a specific run of his. Do you know what that means?”

Anger surges through me and I grip the desk to ground myself. Out of the corner of my eye I see Marcus at the back of the store, standing and turning towards us but not moving. He’s even hot in my peripheral. 

“Which run are you looking for? Or are you wanting a recommendation?”

He laughs, the vile sound of it echoing off the walls. “A recommendation? From you? What would you know? You’re just a pretty little girl.”

A clunk from the back of the store and I see Marcus trip over one of the boxes. He doesn’t go down, but turns to fix the boxes that he’s kicked over. The man in front of me is unphased, his eyes still on me, an amused smile tugging at his lips.

“Well?” He spits out. 

I look at him, giving him a smile. “Well, if you’re asking me personally, my favorite run is the Matt Fraction run. Not only because of his artistic style and great story, but the fact that they weaved in Clint’s deafness, drawing him wearing his hearing aids, and even doing an entire issue completely in American Sign Language. A great story and representation of a marginalized community from, in my opinion, one of the best and most relatable Avengers. Now, would you like the individual issues, an omnibus, or the digital version?”

The smug smile slowly fades from his face, his eyes hardening. “You don’t have to be such a bitch.”

“I do when customers act like a bitch.” 

He grabs the fliers on the counter and throws them at me, turning towards the door. “Fuck you and this place!” He tries to slam the door behind him but he fumbles with the handle, flipping me off one final time before disappearing around the corner. 

I sigh, bending down to pick up the fliers. A hand reaches out, large and inviting, carefully helping me pick up the scattered papers. I look up at him, at Marcus, sweet Marcus. Who had heard all of that. 

“I’m sorry Marcus. I shouldn’t have lost my cool.”

He hands me the small stack he’s collected, meeting my gaze. “You don’t have to apologize for standing up to a sexist asshole. I should be the one who’s sorry.”

I combine our stacks, both of us standing as I tap them on the counter to even them out. “Why should you apologize?”

“I should’ve come to help,” he rubs the back of his neck, his ear turning slightly pink. 

I shake my head. “No, Marcus don’t worry about it. I get assholes like that all the time. Really, it’s ok.”

He shakes his head. “It’s really not-”

To my own surprise, I reach out and squeeze his arm. “Really, I’m ok. Thank you, Marcus.”

He smiles at me, opening his mouth to say something, but his phone rings from inside his pocket. “Sorry. Sorry.” He pulls it out, tapping on the clear screen only he can see. “Shit. I have to take this. Work. You sure you’re ok?”

I smile, trying not to show my sadness at his leaving. “I am. Hope everything’s ok at work.”

“Thanks. I’ll uh…see you around.” His eyebrows pull together as his phone rings again, his eyes moving down to the screen before he turns around and heads out the door, pausing to give me a wave through the window before he disappears into the crowd. 

I’ll never meet a man owning this shop. They’re either assholes, taken, or hopelessly out of my league. My own phone beeps and I pull it out, scanning the clear screen with my reservation confirmation. I tap the confirm button, nerves flooding my system. 

I can’t believe I signed up for a virtual version of the bachelorette.

—----

I closed the shop early and rushed home to get ready for that night. I arrive promptly at 7pm as they requested, the giant VIRTUAL LIFE logo on the side of the building bathing the sidewalk in bright blue light. I take a deep breath and walk inside, the door disappearing momentarily to let me in before reappearing behind me. The front desk assistant guides me to a row of elevators and instructs me to head to floor 28. I’m the only one in the elevator, the lights illuminating each floor as we pass it. The elevator stops and the doors open to a small waiting room, black leather couches and chairs surround a coffee table with several tablets, each loaded with some form of entertainment. While it looks like there are windows, if you look closely, you can tell they’re simulated, trying to grant us as much privacy as possible. Although, I think it may be more about guarding their own technology secrets. 

“Ivy?” a woman calls my name from the only doorway in the room aside from the elevator. I nod, standing and smoothing down my dress. 

“That’s me.”

“Right this way.” She leads me into another small office, a simple desk with a single chair for me to sit in. She sits opposite me at the desk, tapping in mid air at what I’m assuming is the computer screen in front of her. 

“Ivy it says here you signed up for the bachelorette program to meet a compatible mate. Is that correct?”

Swallowing down my embarrassment, I nod. “Y-yeah.”

She taps a few more things. “Great. Do you know how this works?”

“You guys take a picture of my brain and show me a story?”

She chuckles, the first time her professional demeanor has broken. “Almost but not quite. After we’re done here, you will be taken to the simulation room. You’ve already done your physical-”

“Yeah. They had me put on this suit and they captured the way I moved. Motion capture, I think?”

She nods. “Yes that’s it exactly. This way, your avatar inside your world will move like you. It helps with immersion.” I nod. “They also completed your brain scan to find the most viable dates and look of mate that you are searching for. You indicated you’re looking for a male mate, is that correct?”

I nod. “Yeah. Yes.”

She nods. “Alright. If you’ll go through the door, someone in scanning will take you. Good luck!” She gestures to a door on the opposite wall from where we entered. I go through the door and another woman greats me, leading me to chair where she has me sit and get comfortable. It reminds me of what the dentist chairs used to look like except way more comfortable. She turns to me, holding a helmet with different little lights on it. 

“Any questions?”

“Yeah. So what will he..I mean, how will I know who he is?”

“You will just know. Sort of like in a regular video game, where you can tell who is important to talk to.”

“Ok..but…will he look like him or?”

That’s reassuring. But then she interrupts my thoughts. “Don’t forget, he will be there too also looking for you.”

She shakes her head. “Your algorithm took in your scan and will give him the appearance of someone you find appealing or comforting. We’ve found it’s easier to accept someone if they have an outward appearance you’re already familiar with.”

“So you base connections on personality as opposed to looks?”

She nods. “Those relationships have the highest success rate, so yes.”

“And after, will you show me who he is?”

She nods. “In the simulation, you’ll go on 3 dates. They may be something as simple as communicating in an office to being a superhero or even traveling back in time. The algorithm takes both of your likes, dislikes, and desires and places you in situations. The more you play along and immerse yourself, or yourselves, into the simulation, the better the outcome, meaning a closer connection. And don’t worry - you cannot be physically harmed. And if it’s too much or you want to stop, you only need to say “End simulation”. Please be aware that time may pass differently in the simulation, but you will only be in for an hour. After, you will both meet here, in reality, and can determine whether you’d like to continue with a relationship or not. Any more questions?”

I shake my head. “I don’t think so. Not at the moment, anyway.”

She places the helmet on my head, the nodes all changing different colors as it comes in contact with me. She squeezes my shoulder and I look up at her. “Just relax and try to go with the theme. It’s more fun that way, ok?”

I nod, wiping my sweaty palms on my dress. “Yeah. Makes sense.”

“Good luck!” She taps a button on her clear screen and my vision fades to black so just a couple of seconds. But then I’m blinking awake, the tips of my fingers tingling and my toes feeling like they just woke up. My vision starts to clear and the room comes into focus. I’m sitting at a bar, a fancier bar, which explains the nice dress. As my hearing levels out, I realize that the blonde man to my right is talking to me, his body shifted in my direction. His grey eyes are slightly unsettling. This can’t be my mate, can it? 

“...and so I had them fired! Can you imagine? I asked for my steak to be medium and they brought it out medium well. That will teach that guy to listen to the customer at his next job.” Grey Eyes chuckles and takes a sip of the drink in front of him. He nods towards the glass in front of me. “Do you want another?”

“What? Oh, uh sure.” 

He flags the bartender down and orders a rum and coke before making a show of leaning on his beefy arm against the bar. “I’m glad you finally saw reason and agreed to come out with me tonight.”

I give him a small smile. “Yeah. Same here.” This doesn’t feel right. Maybe they got it wrong? Someone bumps into me from behind and grey eyes catches me, glaring at the person who bumped me, who had moved on. 

“Are you ok?”

“Yeah. It’ll take more than a drunk asshole to bring me down.” Grey Eyes laughs, picking up his glass and holding it up towards me. “I’ll drink to that.” I glance down to grab my drink, only to find it wasn’t there. I look back at Grey Eyes and see him frozen in place, the smirk on his face completely gone, his glass shaking as he continues to hold it in mid air. My glass appears next to his, lightly clicking against his glass. 

“Now that’s not very nice.” That voice. I would know his voice anywhere. My entire body relaxes as I turn to look into the dark brown eyes that I love so much.

“Marcus!” I exclaim, ignoring the vein in grey eye’s neck that’s threatening to pop. Marcus on the other hand, looks good. I mean, he always looks good to me but he’s dressed in nice black pants and a light blue button up shirt with matching black jacket. I’m not sure how a blue shirt makes his brown eyes pop, but it does. Marcus pushes his black frames up his nose.

“Hey, Ivy. Sorry to interrupt your date, but this not so kind gentlemen put a little something in your drink.”

“He what?” I blink rapidly a few times, trying to pry my eyes away from him. Grey Eyes vein relaxes somewhat and he sputters out.

“Fuck you man! We’re on a date! What….what are you doing to me?”

Marcus shrugs. “Well, you wanted to make it so she can’t move. Only fair if I return the favor.” 

Grey Eyes goes to say something else, but then seems to recognize the man standing next to me, his eyes going wide.

“Aren’t you the guy that can move metal?”

My eyes snap to Marcus, who is smiling. “I see I have a fan.”

Grey Eyes tries to backtrack. “Listen, man. I’m sorry. I was just trying to get her to loosen up a bit. Have some fun.”

Marcus looks at me, his brown eyes wide and smiling. “Ivy, do you wish to continue your date with this man?”

“Nope.” I pop the “p” sound at the end of the word. “Little hard to have fun when my date is trying to render me unconscious.”

Marcus waves the bartender over. “Call the police. This man is in possession of Freeze Me.”

 A handful of what felt like seconds later, several officers show up and arrest Grey Eyes, who barely puts up a struggle. I turn towards Marcus, my smile stretching my face as I grab his arm. “My hero.”

His eyes dart around the room, his arm coming up to rub at the back of his neck. “It was nothing.”

Gosh he’s so cute when he does that neck rub thing. Wait. Gotta play along. 

“Is Marcus the Metal Bender actually acting shy around me?”

He chuckles nervously and I think how perfect they coded him. Like he was picked out of my brain. Which I guess he was. 

“Just trying to be respectful.”

I wish he wouldn’t. Wait, are we even allowed to have sex in here? Wow, getting ahead of yourself there, Ivy.

“Youwannagetoutofhere?” He speaks so fast it all comes out in a jumble and I cock my head to the side. 

“What?”

He swallows hard and I can’t help but watch his Adam’s apple bob in his throat. “Do you want to get out of here?”

“Hell yeah I do.” 

—-

It’s a few weeks later, or at least it feels like some time has passed. That lady did say time passes differently here. Now I’m in an office building, a stack of files in my arms, walking down the hall. A quick glance around tells me I’m in the Heroics head quarters. Marcus appears from around the corner and looks up at me, smiling and walking towards me. But then a man in a much too tight blue suit with a glowing M on it joins him, Marcus’s shoulders sagging slightly as he gives me a sad little wave.

“When are you two going to go on a date already?” A woman with bright pink hair appears next to me. 

“I uh, me?”

She slaps my shoulder. “Yes, you Ivy.” She leans in closer to my ear. “Aren’t you the one who confessed to having a crush on our heroic leader?”

I will the heat rising in my face to not show. “Oh, I uh..I-”

“You know he likes you too.” Her jaw drops when she sees the confused look on my face. “Oh don’t tell me you can’t tell! That man can hardly look at you and he’s taken down alien forces by just staring at them.”

She feels like a close friend so I go with it. “Yeah, ok I like him. Keep your voice down, will you?” She continues walking with me to the end of the hall where I deposit the stack of files into several slots, each one making a small whoosh sound as they’re whisked away to their destinations.

When I’m done, Pink Hair gently grabs my face and turns me to her. “I love you, Ivy. You know you’re like the sister I never had. So please listen to me when I say ask that man out before something happens and you regret not ever trying.”

Well fuck. That is…really spot on to reality isn’t it? 

I never get a chance to answer her as the entire building suddenly shakes, alarms and lights screeching and illuminating the halls. One of the tall filing cabinets starts to topple in my direction and I can only look on in horror, frozen in place by the rumbling building. I throw my hands up, as if that’s going to stop it, but nothing happens. The cabinet is laid gently on its side, floating to the ground. 

“Come on!” I look up into those dark eyes, Marcus extending his hand to me and helping me to my feet. “We have to get out of here!” He tightens his grip and somehow leads us out of the chaotic building out into the streets. Which is also nuts. People are running everywhere and…wait. Is that an alien spaceship coming towards us??

Marcus pulls me behind a wall, glancing around it and waving hand signals to a small group of heroes across the street behind another wall, Pink Hair amongst them. He turns back to me, his face full of worry as he starts to take his shirt off, exposing…not skin but a uniform? No. His hero costume, which is a black shirt,and arm bands. He sees me staring down and he shrugs. “I normally have a tach vest but we’re out of time.” 

“Should you not go out there without one?”

Marcus shakes his head. “I have to support my team. And I’ll do whatever it takes to keep you safe. I mean, people safe.”

“You could just stay here with me? The others can handle-” my words are cut off by a giant laser beam cutting through the street, coming directly from the ship. 

He takes my hand and squeezes it. “Get yourself to safety. Don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine. I need you to be safe.” Another laser beam, the sound of some smaller buildings crumbling to the ground. “Go! Get to safety!” He releases my hand. 

I get a glimpse of the deep craters that lasers had left in their wake through the cement of the street, the piles of rubble and dust, and this spurs me on.

“Marcus?” He leans against the wall, readying himself, but he looks at me. 

“Yeah?”

Mustering up my courage, I lean towards his hunched body, softly planting a kiss on his lips. When I pull back, I see his chest heaving, his eyes moving between mine.

“Please make it back, Marcus.”

Before he can answer, the ship comes into view and his team moves out, following behind Miracle Guy, who had flown right up the ship and started punching it. Marcus’s head whips around, assessing the situation and I squeeze his arm once more before quickly moving out of the immediate area. I know I should move more, but I can’t get hurt so… 

The fight that ensues between the ship, the aliens inside, and the Heroics team is nothing short of brilliant. They may argue in the halls, but in the field, they all take direction from Marcus, who is a brilliant leader, playing all of their strengths. Marcus bends metal like it’s made of playdough, a beautiful dance of destruction and strength. Then the ship comes crashing down, everyone moving out of the way except-

“Marcus!” I emerge from my hiding place at a full run as the smoke around the alien ship that’s currently scraping along the road as it crashes and envelops Marcus. The ship stops, groaning as it falls back and lays still, no other life forms moving or detected on board. For a few moments, no one moves. Then Marcus emerges from the smoke, his face soot stained and a small gash in his shirt and along his cheek, but otherwise unharmed. 

“Marcus!” I run to him, his eyes finding mine, his entire body relaxing as he realizes I’m safe, just before I launch myself into his arms, our lips crashing together as my right hand fists in his shirt, my left tugging on his hair. Miracle Guy wolf whistles but I couldn’t care less. I feel his tongue gently lick out and I part my lips, letting him take whatever he wants. But before it can go any further, my vision starts to blacken, the last thing I see is Marcus’s eyes going out of focus as he succumbs to his own transition to the next simulation.

—----

I find myself blinking awake for the second time in what feels like weeks, but I know in reality it’s only been maybe 20 minutes that I was in there. The tips of my fingers and toes are tingling, my vision and hearing clearing and I find myself in…a breakroom. Am I back at the Heroics? The slight weight in my hand takes my focus and I realize I’m holding a cup of tea. I must be on my break. I walk towards the floor-to-ceiling windows, looking outside. I’m not back at Heroics - the cityscape is all wrong. I hear the door open behind me and I turn, the smile on my face widening as Marcus enters the room. His hair is shorter than the last simulation. And his face is clean shaven, which is a look I’ve never seen on him before. Not that it matters - he’s beautiful no matter what. I wonder what he’ll look like when he’s a little older. Probably hot as-

“Hey, Ivy.” Marcus smiles down at me, grabbing his own mug and pouring a cup of coffee from the carafe. I notice the FBI logo on the mug and figure that must be where we are.

“Hey,  Marcus.” I take a sip of my tea as we both watch the other. But then the door opens again, another agent walking into the room. He claps his hands together, looking at us.

“Hey! Congrats on finally cracking that art case, you two! 8 months is a long time to do an operation like that. Great work!” He shakes both of our hands as we thank him. Marcus catches my eye and, with a small movement, jerks his head towards the door. I nod, thanking the other agent again and follow Marcus out of the tiny breakroom and down the hall, stopping in front of an office door labeled MARCUS PIKE. I wonder if that's his name back In reality. He extends his arm towards his office and I head inside, smiling at him as I do, noting how his eyes dart around, that hand coming up to rub at the back of his neck as he closes the door behind him.

“I uh…great work, Ivy.” 

“You too.” 

He puts his hands in his pockets and finally looks me in my eyes and he nods once. 

“Listen. Do you..uh..I mean, would you like to…this is coming out all weird.”

I squeeze his arm and he looks down at my hand, taking a deep breath. 

“Would you like to get something to eat?”

My stomach erupts in butterflies. “Like on a date?”

The redness in his eyes spreads down onto his cheeks as he stammers, gesturing around vaguely. “No! No, not uh. Not a date.”

I can feel my face falling. “Oh.”

“Uh, unless you…uh…unless you want to? Make it a…a date?” His eyes are wide and bright, like a damn puppy. 

I smile, tucking some hair behind my ear. “Yeah. Yeah, I would love to go on a date with you, Marcus.” 

His smile is bright, lighting up the room. “Yeah?”

“Yes.”

He let's out a sigh of relief. “Great! I found this great pancake place.”

Pancakes? I love this man already. “It's nearly dinner time!” I can't help the small giggle that I let out. 

“Yeah, well you said your favorite food is pancakes. And they're open 24 hours.”

He remembered my favorite food? I'm so screwed. Damn this program is good. “You're right! I'd love to get pancakes with you. On a date. For a date. When will this date be, by the way?”

“Oh. I uh, would it be too weird if we went tonight? Is that too soo-”

“No! I mean, yes! No it's not too soon. I'd love to go!” If my heart could stop beating through my chest, that would be great. It's not that I'm some young girl getting asked on her first date. I just really like Marcus. Or whomever this is. My heart sinks at the thought of it not being the Marcus I know in reality. 

“Great! I'll pick you up at 7? Unless you'd rather meet me there? I don't want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Marcus, we just spent 8 months together on assignment. I think I'm comfortable around you.”

He chuckles. “Fair point.” His office phone rings and he apologizes to me, picking it up. I wave ro him and he mouths “See you at 7!”

—----

He picks me up with a flourish of flowers, all long legs and button up shirt that I'm really dying to unbutton. If that's even allowed here. 

But what's more than that is the conversation. I thought I had learned everything about him over the last 8 months. I was very wrong. 

“You were a bass player in a band?” I ask, choking on my drink.

He laughs, holding his hands up in front of him. “What can I say? I wanted to meet more people.”

“I bet you had all the girls hanging on you.”

Marcus shrugs. “Not really. They all want to date the drummer or the singer.”

“Really? Not the sexy bass player?”

Marcus takes too large of a sip of his drink and coughs, pounding his chest. “No, not the…you think I'm sexy?”

I set my fork down and meet his eyes. “If I didn't like you, I wouldn't be here.”

We spend several moments, just looking at each other and then I remember that he's not a simulation but a real person on the other end of those eyes. My heart squeezes thinking about how it won't actually be Marcus. Despite that thought, we really get along well and the conversation flows freely between us. Sooner than I’d like, we’re leaving the small diner, heading back to my place. Marcus parks in my driveway and turns to me, his eyes bright and wide like a damn puppy. We had been talking about books, one of my favorite topics.

“..and I know everyone complains that Tolkien takes 20 pages to describe a flower, but I really love that attention to detail. It makes it more immersive for me. One of these days I’ll get you to read Lord of the Rings!” I tap my fingers on his bicep to emphasize my point.

Marcus rubs his neck. “I uh…I already have.”

My jaw drops. “What? When??”

“When you told me it was your favorite book. Or books, I should say.”

I think back. “Marcus, that was…months ago!”

His eyes meet mine, the light from the street lamp outside adding a sparkle to them. “You said they were your favorite so…I read them.”

My stomach does flips, my heart beating. “You read them all for me?”

He nods. “Even the Silmarillion.”

I can’t help it. This is so fucking hot. I reach out and grip his shirt, pulling him to me, his soft lips pressing against mine, the heat between us quickly rising. His large hand cradles the back of my head, holding me to him as his other hand settles on my hip, squeezing it lightly. We make out for several minutes, Marcus kissing and nipping a path down my neck. 

“Do you want to come in?” I ask breathlessly. 

He pulls back and looks at me. “I do but-” he whispers. “Are we allowed?”

“I…I’m not sure. We could try to-” 

But then my vision starts to blacken around the edges, and before I pass out, I hear Marcus say “See you in the next one!” before we both black out.

—----

Now familiar with the way I wake in these simulations, I wiggle my fingers and toes, giving myself a moment to figure out where I am. The room looks…ok, this isn’t from my time. Roman decor and pillars line the grand bedroom, some food laying on a small table for, I’m assuming, me. A quick glance down shows me in a beautiful white garb and I marvel for a moment at how clean it is. 

BOOM!

The ground shakes and I duck down, completely caught off guard. It’s only after the boom dies down that I hear it - the distant sound of clanking swords and men yelling. I walk to the small window set into the wall and look out, my brain taking a moment to process the scene in front of me. 

I’m several floors up in a sort of round building, a castle I realize as I see the lower tiers, more square in their shape. I’m sure the grounds would have been beautiful, if it weren’t for the massive amounts of soldiers fighting in the streets. I can make out their bodies, the blood, sweat, and dirt spreading almost like a disease. Spear and swords burst from chests or stomachs, limbs separating from their bodies to be lost to the throngs of soldiers. The seem to be moving closer to the castle, which I’m not sure if I want to happen or not. Turning on my sandaled heel, I walk to the door, pressing my ear against the wood to listen. Hearing nothing, I try to open it. Nothing. The door doesn’t open or move, the handle locked into place.

Well, fuck. 

Before I can try and figure out how far down the next ledge is out the window, or if I can even fit out the window, I hear a commotion outside my door. It’s not loud, but I hear a man gurgling and sputtering, a small bit of crimson blood pooling under the door. I grab an iron rod by the fire and hold it up, preparing to defend myself. I know they said I can’t be hurt but damn this feels real. The door opens and a man walks through, wide, muscular shoulders under his Roman armor, Medusa proudly engrained on the front. I lunge, the iron rod above my head but the man turns and grabs the rod and I  would’ve fallen to the floor if he hadn’t caught me.

“Ivy! Here you are!” 

It’s him. Marcus. Only he’s older, probably closer to 50. Grey streaks in his curls and patchy facial hair only accentuate his beauty, a new scar forming across his nose, bleeding lightly down his face. He’s covered in dirt and blood and ash, but I throw my arms around him anyway.

“Marcus! Thank God, what’s going on?”

He cups my face, pushing my hair out of my face. “You are so beautiful, my love. I would bring every army from the entire world to rescue you from this horrid Emperor.” And then his lips are on mine, urgency behind them, but a desire to show me how l much I am loved. This man apparently started the battle outside, for me, and still wants to make sure that I know how important I am to him? 

“We have to flee. Come!” But before we can leave, the door flies open and 5 guards file in, grabbing Marcus and holding his arms out to his sides. I pick the iron rod up from the floor and run towards them, unsure of what I would do but I know I’ll beat the shit out of them until they let him go. But another hand shoots out and grabs my wrist, twisting it hard so I drop the rod. I look up into the eyes of a man that I’m assuming is the Emperor, his golden robes flowing around him. He looks vaguely familiar, like that one asshole from the comic shop.

“Now, now my dear. What were you planning on doing with that?”

I open my mouth to reply, but then he smacks me across the face and I slam down onto the floor. Ok, that hurt. Didn’t she say I wouldn’t get hurt? Maybe she meant I wouldn’t die. Marcus swears, cursing the Emperor for hitting me. 

“Are you alright, my love?” Marcus grunts as the men punch him in the stomach. 

“Marcus, Marcus, Marcus. You’re kind are dying out. I told you to just accept your fate and take your banishment, but instead, you stayed behind and fell in love with a woman. How…stupid.” Marcus tries to speak but he’s punched again, his body hunching over. I try to stand, but then I’m drug up by my hair, the Emperor’s fingers digging at my scalp as he pulls me to his side. 

“This one?” His eyes rake over my body. “She is attractive, I’ll give you that. Even if she is attracted to a brute like you.” I jerk my body, trying to get out of his grip but it’s too tight, my hands gripping his arms to try and get some relief from the stinging at the back of my scalp.

“Let her go. You can kill me, I don’t care, but let her go.”

The Emperor looks from me to Marcus, a sick smile spreading on his face. “I didn’t go through the trouble of kidnapping her just to have you give up. So I’ll tell you what I’ll do instead. LOOK AT ME!” The Emperor bellows from beside me, Marcus’s eyes moving from mine to his. 

He steps closer to Marcus, dragging me a little beside him. “Such a wild man. How about this: you watch as I take her. Then, I’ll drive my sword through her belly so she can slowly bleed out on the floor. Only after the light has left her eyes will I either kill you or lock you up to suffer the rest of your days. How does that sound?”

The darkness that settles over Marcus is unforgiving, his eyes hardening in resolution. He growls and screams, throwing the soldiers off him as he grabs his sword from the ground, swinging it and taking out all of the soldiers in only a handful of moves. He spins, aiming his sword at the Emperor, who has now moved me in front of him as a human shield, a knife to my throat. 

“I’ll kill her, Marcus! You are too weak to save her!”

Marcus’s gaze moves briefly to mine and I release my weak grip on the Emperor’s arms, letting them fall to my side. Marcus shifts his body ever so slightly before he throws something from behind his back. The object whizzes past my cheek, scratching it slightly as the blade buries itself in the Emperor’s neck. He drops his knife and clutches at his throat, his eyes wide with fear. He crumbles to the floor and sputters for several moments before his body stops moving. I run to Marcus, throwing my arms around him again. He grunts and I remember the soldiers hitting him.

“Are you hurt?”

He clutches his side. “I’ve had worse.”

“You are so fucking hot right now,” I speak quietly to him and he smiles. “I’m covered in dirt and blood and sweat.”

“Stop trying to turn me on more I already said you’re hot.”

He laughs but then inhales sharply at the pain. “I’ll take it, I guess.”

“No, that’s my job.” I bring my lips to his, pushing him back towards the chaise lounge chair on the other side of the room. He sits, pulling me onto his lap as I straddle him, my dress getting dirty as I shift my hips. He groans, his large hands sliding up my bare thighs under my dress and fuck! My vision starts to blacken and I hear Marcus whine out some expletives as we both are brought out of the simulation. 

—---------------------------

Hopefully for the last time, I blink awake, wiggling my fingers and toes as I look around the room. The helmet is gently lifted from my head and the woman that had put it on me moves into my eyesight.

“How are you feeling?”

“I’m here.”

“Good. Wait just a moment for your body to fully catch up. Do you have any questions?”

“Yeah why did you stop us having sex?”

She studies me for a moment. “It is not allowed in the programming.”

“I cross my arms. “Well your programming is stupid.”

She chuckles so quietly I thought I’d imagined it. “The algorithm wants you and your mate to match based on personality and emotions, not just physical.”

“I can guarantee you it wasn’t just physical.” 

She helps me stand and I shake my limbs out, full feeling returning to them. I smooth out my dress as she readjusts my hair. “Are you ready to meet him?”

Him. My reality man. “Y..yeah.” 

“Right through that door. He’s already waiting for you.” I move towards the door but she stops me. “I just have to say, I’ve been doing this for years and I’ve never seen a situation like yours and his.”

I furrow my brow. “What do you mean?”

So smiles softly. “So…rooted in reality.”

Yeah that’s not confusing. But she doesn’t explain further, turning back to the chair and helmet, starting to clean them. I take a deep breath to steady myself and open the door, walking through and closing it behind me. The man on the other side of the room, my mate, turns towards me and we both gasp.

“Marcus?”

“Ivy?”

We meet in the middle of the room and I cup his face, Marcus tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. “Is it really you?”

He nods. “Yeah. You? Real?”

“Real.”

He pulls my face to his, kissing me deeply, but then pulling back a moment later. 

“I’ve been dying to ask you out since forever. I never thought I’d be paired with you, here of all places.”

I cock my head to the side. “Why didn’t you ever ask me?”

“Have you seen yourself? You’re entirely out of my league.”

“I’m fairly certain it’s the other way around.”

He opens his mouth to protest, but I put my finger on his lips. “I think we went through several first dates in there. Plus, we’re already friends. Can we…that is, can you take me back to your place first? Then we can eat?”

Marcus’s eyes darken, his hands finding a place on my hips as he pulls me against his body, letting me feel how into that idea he is. 

We’re married a year later.

—----

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[thepascalofus]

First Date

AO3

Pre-outbreak/No-outbreak!Joel Miller x Home Depot Worker!f!Reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Summary: Working at Home Depot was lack-luster. The paint department brought in a variety of customers, the majority of them just buying their paint and leaving. Then Joel Miller comes in--looking to repaint his daughters bedroom.

Content Warnings/Tags: Pre-outbreak/No-outbreak, reader works at Home Depot, fluff, meet-cute, rude customer, Joel defends you, eventual smut (next part), eventual first date, no descriptions for reader, no y/n.

A/N: Got this as a request! There will be another part with smut.

“More saving. More doing. That’s the power of the Home Depot.”

The wannabe gruff voice of the Home Depot narrator echoed throughout the large cement warehouse. It was Sunday, only two hours until close, and the store was virtually dead.

A large rectangular box of a warehouse was your place of employment for the time being. Orange decorated aisle after aisle, and employee after employee. Some employees decorated their aprons in paint and pins, showing their years of employment and dedication to their jobs. Others simply had their name written on their apron, just like how they simply showed up to work and left.

After moving out of the house you shared with your ex and into your own place, you needed the extra income to supplement your new rent and the remaining rent you owed on your shared lease. 

Home Depot was hiring—and was desperate—because you got employed in the paint department.

Making paint wasn’t hard at all. It was the shitty customers that ruined it. Customers would demand to see a manager after you told them their paint wasn’t ready—even though they asked for three five-gallon buckets, and ten single gallons, fifteen minutes ago. People would order the same amount in a color they swore they would love, and then attempted to return it the next day, even though NO REFUNDS was printed in bold on the Home Depot paint sticker. 

But, working behind the paint counter had its perks. You could stay in one place in the store, telling customers who needed help with complicated items that you, “had to stay and watch the desk.” Plus the desk had a phone, which allowed you to call any department, so your more knowledgeable coworkers could take over tough questions.

The only types of customers left at this hour were those that had emergencies, and those that liked to put things off until the last minute. 

Getting tired of sitting behind the desk’s computer on your phone, you got up and walked the three aisles that made up the department. Your footsteps lightly tapped against the gray concrete of the floor. With each step, you scanned the shelves and the floor for anything out of place. Returning misplaced items was an easy task that helped you eat away at the remaining time of your shift. 

A tube of caulk was placed right in the middle of the gallons of wood stain—classic. You reached downwards to retrieve the tube and stood back up, pacing down the shelves of orange towards the caulking aisle. The music over the loudspeakers was just quiet enough to hear the surrounding conversations in the other aisles.

One voice echoed to you louder than the rest. Randy’s voice.

Randy was a retired mechanic. Most of his skills were applicable to the questions customers often had. The man had wiry, white hair that peaked out from this Home Depot baseball cap he wore everyday. His apron was covered in various stains of grease and dirt, his name scrawled in Sharpie on the upper right corner of the orange fabric.

From a couple aisles over, his gruff voice made its way towards you, “Ah! Paint for a bedroom…Well let’s see, is this a kids bedroom?”

A deep, Texan drawl replied to Randy, “It is, ‘s fer my daughter. She wan’ed her room repainted for her birthday. She’s turnin’ thirteen. Says she needs to get rid’a the ‘baby colors’ from when she was lil’.”

Randy let out a hearty laugh, followed by a muted smack, likely from giving the man a pat on the back, “I know how that feels,” Randy paused to let out another laugh, “My daughter is in her twenties now, but she was the same way as yours. Thirteen hit and she insisted she was allll grown up.”

You retreated to the paint desk with a small smile on your face, it was nice that the man wanted to repaint for his daughter. Your watch told you it was an hour and thirty until close. This customer just had to wait until the last minute, though.

The unknown man let out a chuckle at Randy’s anecdote. Slow, muted steps from both men made their way towards the paint department’s aisles. One of the men let out a deep sigh.

“Thing is, I dunno a single thing ‘bout what colors’ll look nice together.”

The footsteps came closer and the two men appeared in your vision. One central aisle lined up with the paint desk, making somewhat of a runway for customers to walk on to come and request paint. Randy looked down the aisle and his gaze met yours, “Oh! There she is,” Randy said your name to the man, “she knows a ton about colors, I’m sure she could help ya more than I can.”

Randy truly was a nice man. He helped you deal with rude customers. Showed you basic tips and tricks. Ate with you in the break room on occasion.

But, c’mon Randy.

The old man continued walking towards the break room and left the man standing at the end of the aisle. You looked down, pretending you didn’t hear the majority of their conversation. Organizing the paint samples became a very consuming task. Heavy steps made their way closer and closer until your peripheries were consumed with the navy blue color of the Texan’s shirt.

His large hands rested on the desk’s countertop. Thick digits were covered in calluses. Before you could observe his fingers more, he cleared his throat.

“‘Scuse me, miss. S’wondering if you could help me w’ somethin’,” the man drawled out.

Your eyes looked up from the desk, and they widened in surprise. The front of his shirt had orange letters displayed on the front: MILLER CONTRACTING LLC. 

Most contractors that ventured into the paint department weren’t as…put together as this man was. The usual paint covered pants and shirt weren’t present on this contractor. The navy blue of his work shirt spanned across his wide chest and even wider shoulders. Sleeves hugged his biceps deliciously. If he moved his arms any more you were worried the sleeves would rip. Not that you’d complain.

Then you looked up to meet his eyes.

His eyes.

Brown irises held eye contact with you. They were deep, warm. Inviting. The color made you think of a teddy bear. Soft and comforting. Brown hair on his head and face matched his eyes. The hair on his head consisted of messy waves combed to one general side, probably from a sweep of his fingers. Short, dark brown hairs made up his beard and mustache. Each facial hair component framed handsome features. A strong jaw was framed by his beard, and plush lips were framed by the ‘stache. 

The same lips were forming a smile spanning across his face. His eyes crinkled and displayed slight lines near the corners. Lines developed from years of laughter and smiles.

Realizing you looked at him blankly for a second too long, you snapped out of your trance, “O-of course! What do you need help with?”

His hands came up off of the counter and rested on his hips. “Well, y’see, it’s my daughters thirteenth birthday comin’ up. She’s had this yellow color in ‘er room since she was a baby,” he let out a small sigh, as if he was reminiscing, “an’ she wants ‘er room repainted.”

You heard the conversation he had with Randy before, but you didn’t want to come off as a creep for eavesdropping. “Ah, ok! That’s nice of you, and seems easy enough! Do you know what color she wants?”

He let out another sigh. His eyes met yours. The man looked like a sad, lost puppy. “I know her favorite colors, pink and purple, but there’s just so many options,” he turned and gestured with a broad hand towards the rainbow wall of paint swatches. “An’ darlin’, I tried to do m’own research, watchin’ some Martha Stewart shows, but then Martha started talkin’ about warm colors and cool colors,” he let out a chuckle accompanied by a broad smile, raising his hands in front of his chest, “and then she lost me.”

Darlin’.

Other customers called you that condescendingly. When you didn’t know the difference between one screw and another. But the man’s endearing use of the word made your heart melt.

You smile back at him and lean forward on the counter. “Well, I think the first step is just the color. After that, we can worry about warm tones and cool tones,” you gave him a playful smirk.

He chuckled once more. “Sounds like a plan t’me,” he started walking towards the paint swatches. You snuck out from behind the counter and followed him to the pinks and purples.

“So I was thinkin’ of doin’ both pink and purple, but I dunno what looks good together.” The man started reaching for a card of pink. You took the moment to admire his forearms. Thin, dark hairs covered the surface of his tan skin. Muscles flexed on the front of his arm, displaying the years of manual labor the man has endured.

A pink swatch, Valentine, appeared in front of your face, accompanied by a lavender swatch, Kiss and Tell.

Valentine was bright, Barbie pink. Kiss and Tell was a light purple, the color the wax of a lavender candle would be. You admired his dedication to doing both of his daughter’s favorite colors, but the pair didn’t look too great together. The corner of your mouth perked up, displaying the thought you were putting into the pairing.

“No?” The man asked, a tinge of disappointment in his voice. His brows slanted downwards and his eyes resembled those of a lost puppy.

“Hmmm. Does she usually wear lighter colors,” you pointed towards the lavender swatch, “or brighter colors?” You gestured to the pink swatch.

He looked down at the swatches and his brow furrowed. The man was standing so close, you could smell cedar and musk from his cologne. His large biceps slightly brushed your upper arms as he turned to face you, “I reckon she likes the lighter colors.”

You took the lavender swatch, Kiss and Tell, from the man. Your fingers brushed against his thick, calloused ones as the card came into your possession. “Ok, so we’ll stick with the light purple! Let’s find a pink to match this one,” you smiled at him and he returned the expression.

Turning your body slightly towards the pinks, you started picking swatch after swatch off of the wall. Out of the corner of your eye you saw the man watching you in awe. Once several pink cards were in your hands, you went back to the paint desk.

You laid the cards out on a blank, white piece of paper. Five pink swatches were in a row on the paper with the lavender swatch below them. The man stood next to you and leaned over your shoulder to get a better look. A husky voice drawled in your ear, “So which one d’ya think, darlin’?”

You bit your lip at the warmth in his tone. A small shiver traveled up and down your spine, leaving a tingling in its wake. His tone was warm, and so was his upper arm. It grazed against your arm and left it warm and fuzzy. Brown eyes scanned over the options and then locked with yours. 

His gaze was incredibly soft. He looked desperate. The image of a lost puppy crossed your mind yet again. A small smile was spread on his face, roping you further into your tiny crush on the customer.

You give him a small smile, which his eyes crinkled further at, and you inform him, “Unfortunately, I can only give you my opinion. I can’t make the decision for you.” One of the man’s eyebrows raised and he gave you a slight frown. “Why’s that?” His voice lilted in question.

Giving him a slight shrug, you explain, “Well, I’ve made decisions for people before, and sometimes they come back and blame me for ‘ruining their walls’. I can tell you what I think looks good! Buuut I’m not going to decide for you,” you gave him a sweet smile.

Cedar and musk filled your nose again as he leaned closer. Your gaze dipped downard and followed one of his large hands. The calloused fingertips on his thick digits gripped the paper, and dragged in between the two of you. 

His opposite hand was set next to yours. A strong arm brushed against you. The hand holding onto the paper spanned across the page, “Well, tell me what’cha think, hon’?”

Hon’.

The feeling was quick, but intense. It washed over you like a soothing, warm bath. Ease seeped into your bones and then crept up into your cheeks. Your face felt hot at the term of endearment. Turning back towards the swatches, your lip found its way behind your front teeth once more.

You went through the details of each potential pairing. Telling him which ones you thought were too warm, too muted, or too cool. The best pairing was with a light, baby pink. The swatch read:

First Date

Reading the color name, of course Behr had a weird color name for a damn light pink, your face got even hotter. Your hands collected the other pinks and set the light pink and light purple next to each other.

The man picked the two cards and held them up to each other in front of his face. His gaze scanned the names of the two cards. “Kiss and Tell,” he softly muttered, his eyes gliding across the other name, “First Date,” he gave a slight smirk. It was as if he read your mind, he bit his lip, then released it. His tongue darted out to soothe the pinch on his bottom lip. 

“Ok darlin’,” he started, “how much paint do I need for a ten by ten room?”

“Well, a gallon covers three hundred to four hundred square feet,” you trailed off, “depending on how many coats you want to do, you’ll need one to two gallons.”

His mouth scrunched up to one side and he hummed, “How much is a gallon?”

Your mouth slanted in thought, “Well, it depends on what type of paint you’re looking to get.”

He smiled and tilted his head at your words, “Typa paint? Darlin’, I thought there was just paint,” he softly chuckled out, “an’ I usually make my brother do the paint shoppin’.” His confession brought a smile to your face. It wasn’t uncommon. Whenever people bought paint, they were slightly taken aback at how many questions you needed to ask them.

You started to walk to the left, towards a mat laid out on the paint desk counter. The brown mat displayed different qualities and brands of paint, which increased in price as you looked towards the right end of the lineup. You took a breath to start your usual line of questions, “Okay, so how many coats of paint are you looking to do? These paints,” you slid your finger to the more expensive end of the lineup, “have more primer in them, so they’re thicker. The thicker the paint, the fewer coats you have to do. Some paints have a one coat guarantee,” you finished and looked to his eyes to read his expression.

His mouth repeated its action from earlier, scrunching to the side, “Hmmm, I s’pose one coat would be less work…” He went silent for a moment as he thought. You could almost see him running the numbers in his head. “Alrigh’, I think I’ll go with two gallons of the one coat,” he finished by placing one of his hands down next to yours on the mat. The man’s eyes twinkled as he looked into yours and gave you a soft smile.

The smile he gave you was returned with your own, “Okay! So what sheen do you want the paint to be?” His smile shifted into confusion once more. Lines on his forehead deepened due to his perplexed look. “Sheen?” He asked.

You gave him a soft giggle. Reaching across him and towards a board of wooden paint swatches, you gave him a small, “‘Scuse me,” and his cologne filled your nose once more. Your shoulder brushed against his arm on your way back to your original positioning.

Facing the swatches towards him, you explained, “So sheens are how shiny the paint is once it dries. You can have no shine, which is a flat sheen, and you can go all the way up to very shiny, which is a high gloss. Usually bedrooms are eggshell or satin,” you pointed to the corresponding wood pieces. Tapping one of the shinier samples, you added, “And the shinier the finish, the more durable it is, and the easier it is to wipe, if you wanted to clean the wall.”

You leaned towards him, pointing at one specific wood sample block, “If your daughter likes to draw on the walls, I’d get satin, or even a semi-gloss.”

He huffed in amusement at your suggestion. “Guess I forgot kids draw on walls,” he chuckled, “Sarah’s ‘n angel, she prefers paper instead of drywall.” His wholesome anecdote made you giggle and look into his eyes.

The man gave you a small wink in response to your laughter. Taking a breath in, he pointed to a wooden sample a few spaces above the one you pointed at, “Lets go w’ eggshell.” His finger dwarfed the block of wood as he gave the material two light taps with his fingertip. Gazing at his hands, they were calloused, but also well kept. Fingernails at the ends of his thick digits were trimmed short, utilitarian.

You smiled at his decision, “Okay! Well, I’m going to go make labels for these two gallons and then I’ll mix ‘em up for you!” He beamed at your words and leaned against the counter, “Sounds good t’me, sweetheart.”

Your face flushed with heat at his response, and you hurriedly went to the other side of the counter to enter the two gallons into the computer. A white screen filled your vision as you tapped the different buttons to narrow down which type of paint the computer needed to calculate formulas for. 

As you tapped one button, the computer froze for a couple seconds. You frowned, “It always does this,” you thought. Not having to focus on the options on the screen, your vision instead focused on the reflection displaying what was behind you. Your eyes landed on the Texan man.

And his eyes were on you.

You watched as he bit the inside of his cheek, his mind lost in his thoughts. His gaze remained on you until he nodded to himself and looked down. Though he wasn’t observing the different paints on the mat, he was reaching into his pocket.

One of his hands sprawled out on the counter as he held down one of the paint samples and began to write on the paper in black sharpie, the item he retrieved from his jeans. The computer wasn’t too far from the counter, and you were semi-able to see what he was writing.

It was a phone number.

Your eyes widened and you returned your focus to the computer's screen. It definitely loaded a while ago and you hadn’t noticed. You pressed the, “PRINT LABELS” button and tore the stickers from the printer. Not making eye contact with him—still panicking over what you witnessed—you made your way down the center aisle and found the cans needed for the paint colors.

But your lazy coworkers haven’t been downstocking the cans, so they were just out of reach when you were on your tip-toes. You sprawled your fingers up towards the top of the can, hoping to find the handle with your finger tips.

Then heavy steps made their way over to you. The Texan’s signature cologne wafted towards you, “Lemme help ya’ with that, darlin’.” Before you could answer him, he reached and grabbed two gallons down from the just-out-of-reach shelf. He lifted them up so you could see the faces of the can, his face framed by two paint cans, “Are these the right ones?” You nodded, and he made his way back to the paint counter with them. Internally swooning at his help, you followed behind him, but returned to the opposite side of the counter as him.

He set the cans down with a, thunk, thunk, and smiled at you. You gave him a smile as you took the cans, “Thank you,” you said to him. His smile broadened, “‘Course.”

You brought the open gallons underneath the tint dispensers, each gallon getting a small amount of tint. Hammering echoed throughout the store as you closed each gallon, then put them in the paint shakers to mix.

Looking up from the floor, where the paint shakers were, back to the counter, you saw the man’s thick fingers tapping on the surface of it. Your eyes traveled from his fingers to his face. His gaze met yours and his lips parted, “What’cha got goin’ on for the rest of the night?”

You had to force your mouth to not smile too wide as you answered him with a sigh, “Just finishing up my shift, then going home,” you paused to think about what else to say, “I’m just glad I don’t have to work for the next two days,” you chuckled out.

His face and shoulders fell playfully, “Oh, I’m jealous,” he shook his head, “I’ve gotta work the next four days, n’ then I’m off for two.” He shook his head even more. Your lips slanted in sympathy and you were about to offer it, but the man continued, “Never become a contractor hon’,” he let out a breath, “I’s shitty hours ‘n shitty clients.” 

Brown eyes widened and then looked at you, he placed a wide palm over his chest, “Sorry sweetheart,” he chuckled, “Jus’ had a long day.”

You laughed at his apologetic behavior, it was endearing, “You don’t have to be sorry!” You continued to laugh, but then lowered your voice. Leaning towards him, you murmured, “Home Depot has shitty hours and shitty clients too,” you winked at him.

His teeth shined in the broad smile he displayed for you. A series of laughs left his chest. Two large hands both rested on the surface of the counter as he looked down and, more quietly, continued his chuckling. After a couple seconds, brown eyes peered back up into yours. The twinkles in his irises matched his smile.

“Hope I’m not a shitty client,” he joked, but his eyebrows faltered in sincerity. 

Your head tilted at him with soft eyes. Scrunching your lips to one side, you decided to be somewhat bold, “I think you’re one of the best I’ve had in a while.”

His face relaxed and his soft smile returned. The lines between his eyebrows became more prominent as he gave you those brown, puppy-dog eyes. “Well thank ya’, darlin’,” he drawled. You held his eye contact until you caught movement in your peripheral—his thumb brushed against the light pink paint sample. The dark mustache above his lip twitched as he bit the inside of his cheek again.

Click. Click.

The sounds indicated the timers on the paint shakers were up. And the gallons were done mixing. Breaking eye contact, you bent down to retrieve the gallons from the machines. Opening them up, you put your finger into each can and dotted the color on the top of the can. They were closed once more and you slid them over to the man across the counter.

He looked down at them, and then his face lit up. “Oh! D’ya mind puttin’ these colors on my account?” You were equally lit up at his request, as customers usually didn’t care about the paint accounts they could make to save their paint colors.

Using the computer closest to him, you tapped a few buttons and a series of fields popped up. You pressed on the field for a phone number, “What’s your phone number?” You asked him. Your face heated up at the meaning of the words in a different context. 

He told you and you typed them in, pressing enter on your keyboard. One account popped up: JOEL MILLER. “He definitely looked like a Joel,” you thought to yourself. “Joel?” You asked out loud to confirm it was his account. His name tumbling from your lips made his face light up. A charming smile was framed by a dark beard and ‘stache. “That’s me,” he replied.

You clicked on the account and entered the colors under, “Sarah’s Room,” Joel told you. The information was saved after a press of the “SAVE” button. His hands came up to grip the thin, metal handles of the paint gallons. Sliding them off the counter, his mouth opened and then closed again. He bit his lip, then looked at you, “Thank you darlin’, have a good night.” 

Your brow dropped a bit, expecting for him to give you his number—for different reasons this time. Before he got too far, you replied, “Of course! Have a good night, Joel!” He threw you a wide, toothed smile over his shoulder. Joel’s smile was wide, but his eyes lacked the same enthusiasm.

—

No one else approached the counter after a couple minutes, so you retreated to the computer to “do your training”. You sat on your phone, letting the training video play in the background—this video was literally anti-union propaganda. Mindlessly scrolling on social media, your thoughts wandered. 

You felt dumb for expecting him to give you his number. He could’ve just written something else down on the card. Sighing, you turned and meandered the paint aisles to keep yourself busy. With slow steps you wandered past can after can. You made it to the third aisle, and a man stood at the end of it. 

He had dark brown hair, wore a navy t shirt, and was built like Joel. Your footsteps became faster to greet him, but then the man turned and looked at you—it was not Joel.

The man sighed and rolled his eyes, “Finally, I’ve been waiting here for five minutes looking for one of you.”

Your eyes widened, the tone of this customer sharply contrasted the one of your last. Joel’s kind eyes and comforting drawl made this man’s voice compare to nails on a chalkboard. Staring at him, you realized he didn’t look like Joel at all. The rude man’s facial hair was unkempt and scraggly. His teeth must have had the same maintenance as this beard, as they were begging for a trip to the dentist. His hair had no style, not even a brushing of it in a general direction.

The awful whiny, rasp of his voice only heightened your disgust, “I’ve been looking for this thing,” he held his phone out and pointed at his screen, “it says you have it in stock in this aisle but I can’t find it.”

You hummed in response. After asking him to scroll down to view the products information, you typed the SKU for the item into your phone. The Home Depot app on your phone was the only way you could help people, otherwise you'd be lost. You typed the SKU into the app and made sure the app filtered for items in your store, not just the available items online.

OUT OF STOCK displayed under a picture of the item, next to your store name. You sighed, “I’m sorry sir, but it looks like we did have this item, but it's out of stock right now.”

The man’s eyebrows knitted together and he looked at you in shock, “What?” The word shot into your chest. Shit. You thought back to what you said to Joel earlier, “Home Depot has shitty hours and shitty clients too.”

You sighed, “Do you have the right store listed on your phone?” The man snapped his eyes to his screen confusedly. After a moment he held it back out for you to see, “I don’t know, you tell me,” he sneered.

Reading the “130 IN STOCK” on his screen, your vision trailed to the store next to it. That store was in a completely different area. Clearing your throat, you informed him, “Sir, that’s a store one hundred miles from here.” You braced for his reaction.

His screen faced him and he grumbled. “Well why doesn’t your damn app update the location when I search?” He rudely asked. Your breath caught in your throat at his harshness. “Can’t you look in the back if you have it?” He stated, like he worked here.

Another deep breath, “We don’t have a back sir, we do overhead stocking,” you looked up, “and I don’t see the item you’re looking for up there,” you swallowed. Heat flushed into your face in anxiety at the customer’s attitude. 

“Fuckin’ useless,” the man spat under his breath at his phone, peering up at you. “Can’t even find a damn item,” he trailed off. Your throat clenched at his words. A shaky breath left your nose. 

Heavy footsteps came from behind you and a wave of distaste washed through your bones. You swore if it was another entitled customer, you were going to go insane. Probably cry. Maybe scream. Definitely asking to go home early.

Someone cleared their throat behind you, “You’re bein’ quite harsh to ‘er for somethin’ that ain’t ‘er fault,” a Texan drawl announced. Recognizing the voice, you turned to see Joel’s built figure make its way over to you and the shitty client. A huff from the rude, scraggly man came from your left, “This ain’t any of your business, buddy.”

Your head snapped towards Joel to see his response, “The hell it ain’t,” his voice got slightly louder, “You’re the dumbass that can’t jus’ say you were lookin’ at the wrong goddamn store.” Eyes wide, your gaze shifted from one man to the other. Joel stood tall, brows furrowed, and muscles bulging in the sleeves of his t-shirt. 

Scraggly man must have decided the argument wasn’t worth it, as he just grumbled and took his cart down the aisle and away from both of you. Joel sighed beside you, “‘M sorry ‘bout that, sweetheart. I knew ya coulda handled that, but he shouldn’t have been so rude to ya. Especially over his own damn mistake.” 

Relief flooded your body in the absence of the shitty client. Warmth from Joel’s presence began to fill the rest of the space that the relief couldn’t. Then you started thinking, “How’d you know he put the wrong store in the app?” You asked Joel.

The contractor froze. Eyes wide. Brows towards the ceiling. Lips pinched together. He looked down at the cement floor and then back up to you, “I may have been eavesdropping from the aisle over.” He cocked his head towards the aisle he came from.

Joel took a deep breath and then cleared his throat. The same brown, puppy-dog eyes from earlier met your irises. He dug his hand into his front jeans pocket and pulled out a piece of paper. Unfolding it, a light pink—First Date—sample card had a number in black sharpie scrawled across the color. “I came back to give ya this,” he held the paper out for you to take, and you took it from his large digits.

You stared at the card in shock. Okay. So he did plan on giving it to you.

He sighed and rubbed a broad palm over the back of his neck, “I was gonna give it to ya’ earlier but I got nervous,” he chuckled, “I, uh, I jus’ thought, uh, I think, that you’re very pretty, and funny.” He cleared his throat once more and continued, and you tore your gaze away from the paper to meet his eyes, “An’ I’d like to take ya’ out on a date sometime.” A heavy breath left his lungs.

A moment passed before you grinned at him and gave him a little chuckle, “I’d go on a date with you, Joel.” Broad shoulders covered in navy fabric slumped in relief. He grinned at you and his face flushed—he was blushing.

He checked his watch and muttered, “Shit.” Looking at you, his brows furrowed, “Sorry, darlin’, I’ve gotta run. Havin’ family dinner tonight.” Your heart throbbed at the care he had towards his family. 

You waved a hand at him, heat rising towards your face at the loose plans you two had, “Well, don’t let me make you late!” He nodded at you, “Have a good night, sweetheart,” he said before slowly walking backwards down the aisle and away from you. “You too, Joel!” You replied before he turned the corner.

About to turn the corner, he shot you a grin with a wink.

Okay. Maybe working at Home Depot did have its perks.

[museum-mind]

THE WOMAN AT THE STORE

ᯓ★ the strange, hot, customer who always buys hair dye at the convenience store you work at is interested in you..?

beep, beep, beep!

another customer, you sigh, straightening your posture as you dust off the shirt of your uniform. working at a convenience store sure was boring..

your eyes widened slightly, noticing the familiar man; he’s quite.. odd, to say the least. he wears a heavy leather jacket, and he seems to have more piercings each time he stops by to buy yet another, box of pitch black hair dye.

the first time he came in, he walked over to the counter where you were stood — shaking nervously, thinking that he was a robber — and asked in a gruff voice; “this is the darkest shade you’ve got, yeah?”

you were surprised, he had the prettiest white hair you’ve ever seen! it almost reminded you of an old friend. why would he want to dye it?

however, it wasn’t your place to inquire about his choice of hair colour, so you simply nodded and continued to live your life as you would.

he was a regular customer from then on.

he’d step inside the store, teal eyes scanning the area as his eyes land on your form. you, the woman at the cashier.

he had to admit, you were nice to look at; pretty features, and a good figure.

he didn’t even bother acknowledging you, though. instead he trudged towards the box dye section — it was muscle memory at this point.

when he finally stood in front of you at the counter, he felt today was a little different. somehow.

“hello, sir. will this be all for today?” you ask, same as every other time. your fingers are tapping at the cash register; you already know what he’s going to say.

“no, actually.” he cuts you off. “i need something else..” he’d start, peering up at you through his lashes.

you can’t hide the slightly surprised expression on your face as you nod slowly, raising an eyebrow.

“can i get your number?” he purrs, leaning over the counter as one hand digs into the pocket of his jacket.

why did he say that? he asks himself.

“oh?” you say, eyes wide. “i mean, alright— um, give me a moment.”

you’re quick to print out his receipt and pull out a pen, scribbling down your number with a small smiley face next to it.

“here.” you breathe out, looking back up at the intimidating man.

he nods in response, an unreadable expression on his face as he folds the receipt and stuffs it in his pocket.

he waves slightly, before making his way back out of the store — was it always this hot, or was summer approaching?

©2024 museum-mind do not repost, copy, translate, modify .

part 2??

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[itsabouttimex2]

A Brand New Journey:

Part Three

(Part One) (Part Two) (Part Three) (Part Four) (Part Five) (Part Six)

The screen of your phone is lit up with a cheerful blue, displaying a picture of a shipping container that’s been converted into a restaurant, decorated with images of stylized kittens and tea bags.

Swipe.

Glowing reviews from visitors, praising service and atmosphere. Even more praise for the tea. Overwhelming adulation for the felines present at the establishment. The only thing that’s lacking is information on the food.

Swipe.

Pictures of the menu, drawn on a standing chalkboard easel. The prices are fair and reasonable, each item having a printed photo pinned up near the flowery writing.

Swipe.

The most recent deal of the day- for mooncakes. Buy one box of six, get one box of six free. And for a slight upcharge to the original price of the first box, two bottled drinks.

Click.

That was… entirely unhelpful. You would have expected your mentor to comment on the picture you had sent, or maybe to be told what flavor they’d like you to pick up- but it seemed that he had either not seen it or simply thought you were giving him an update on your general status.

Also, you really had to get his information updated. Since no one else ever really touched your phone, you’d probably be safe putting his name and a photo- all you had to do was talk him into holding still for a picture.

Aside from all that…

The restaurant was close enough that you could walk to it on foot, so it’s not as though you’d be out so long that you’d miss training. The deal was incredibly good- and each customer could use it twice for a total of four boxes and four drinks, which meant that even after having a meal with your mentor there’d be leftovers to snack on after long training sessions.

All you had left in your fridge was… what was it? A jar of peanut butter, several bananas, some yogurt aaand… maybe a few protein bars? Oh, and several bags of mixed nuts.

You make a quick note to restock your post-workout snacks the next time you come into Megapolis. Concealer, too.

You plug in your headphones and turn on directions, then shove your phone into the pocket of your bag, heading towards the restaurant.

Although you don’t get to the city as often as you once did, it’s a sort of ‘second home’ to you. The air is fresh, the people are kind. The streets are clean. The food is very good.

You love it, a little bit.

Your thoughts soon turn away from the city and back towards your mentor, who you had never managed to talk into a visit, even for just an hour. Sure, he’d indulge in the snacks and drinks you brought around. And he seemed a little interested in the locations you offered to bring him to.

So much coaxing and reassuring, so many proffered hoodies and sunglasses to disguise his face- but he hadn’t ever accepted them.

You would get him out for a trip one of these days, you had sworn to yourself. Drag him out to the zoo or a museum. Maybe one of the public gardens.

But, until then…

You’d just have to enjoy the all the wonders of the city by yourself-

Like the converted shipping container that’s standing in front of you, labeled “Mo’s Cakes”, and painted blue. The “o” is a replica of the moon, painted so that the famous ‘bunny’ mark is actually a cat.

The craftsmanship is incredible, and it doesn’t look too crowded… so you hurry and go inside, peering at the menu.

…what would he like? With twenty-four mooncakes in total, you could introduce him to- no, it wouldn’t be introducing, really. He had probably had lots of these before. They’re a popular food throughout China, and tons of stores sell them in Megapolis. But with how far out you had to go to see him, it felt sometimes like he was an old hermit.

“Excuse me,” calls a gentle voice, standing at the counter. “Can you come over here?”

So not introducing, not really. Maybe there’d be a few new flavors in the mix somewhere he hadn’t tried yet, but it’s not like it’d be his first time eating mooncakes. Maybe a few of the more modern makes. Ice cream filled, perhaps? Or transparent crystal jelly?

“I just need you for a minute, please!”

And then maybe one of these days you could introduce him to several other treats that he might not have had access to. Cheese tea? White Rabbit Candy? Pineapple buns? Hell, there were a couple of “exotic snack” shops in Megapolis. Maybe you could bring a bag of konpeitō or a tin of florecitas for him to try.

“Mo? Could you…?”

Unbeknownst to you, a blue-furred cat sits on one of the many scratching board platforms nailed into the walls, peering down at the customers. He stretches out with a little ‘mrrow’, then leaps from his perch and lands on the space between your shoulder blades.

You’re pretty composed, most of the time.

But when an unseen and very fuzzy thing lands close to your neck and clings tight? It’d have been more of surprise if you hadn’t freaked out.

There’s a few embarrassing seconds spent squealing and flailing around, futilely trying to reach for the furred thing, only stopping when someone grabs your shoulders. Warmth and power in equal amounts enfold your upper arms, two hands lifting you off the ground, turning you around, and placing you in front of the checkout counter.

“You must be Y/N!” The man- not quite a human, now that you get a better look at him- says, hurrying back to his station. When he holds his arms out, the cat on your back leaps in them. “Pigsy’s been telling me about you!”

“…Mister Pigsy told you about me?”

The river demon smiles ear to ear, baring fangs that would be intimidating on anyone else. But with his pink apron and blue cat and white sweatpants, he’s actually really endearing.

“He did,” the demon confirms, one large hand reaching out to meet the one you tentatively offer. “It’s nice to finally meet you, Y/N! I’m Sandy, and this is Mo!”

“It’s nice to meet you too, Mister Sandy. And you, Mo.”

“Aww, you’re so polite!” Sandy warmly praises, still grinning. “Thanks, little guy!”

His words might have been patronizing from another mouth. But there’s a genuine sincerity in them, a kindness blooming from every word that makes them feel truly flattering instead of condescending.

“Um, then… you must be one of Mister Pigsy’s friends, right?”

“That’s right! We’ve known each other for along time, actually! Now, what can I do you for?”

“Oh, um… is the buy one get one deal still… going on, like, currently? I wanted something to, uh… share with my mentor, and this seemed like a good deal, so I thought… to come check?”

Smooth, Y/N. Tell him you have a mentor and stumble over your words. Typical, really.

“That’s sweet of you,” he eagerly says, uncaring of your fumbling. “Two boxes or four, kiddo?”

“Four, please. I’m trying to introduce him to, uh, new things. He’s kinda, I guess… traditional with what he eats?”

“I can get you two of a few things so you can try them together!”

“Oh, um, please! And thank you, Mister Sandy!”

“Of course, of course! And what four teas?”

“Two green and two oolong, please!”

“Coming right up!”

———————————————————————

…today has been a good day. You got to see MK and Pigsy again, and made what you think is probably a new friend. And you’ve got twenty four mooncakes to share and good, healthy tea for workouts. And for such a good deal, too- Sandy had applied a “friend” discount almost without you realizing it, probably because you were dear to someone he cherished. You had slipped a tip under Mo’s collar before you left, under the guise of giving him scratches.

As you head back to your mentor’s house, the events play on repeat. Today was a really good day. And, as you look ahead of you, it only gets better.

The trees down the path are newly blooming, it seems. Each one branches proudly towards the sky, standing tall. Down the middle of the path is a neatly paved stream, full of aquatic flora blossoming in the crystal waters.

[robertreich]

Why Does Flying Suck so Much? 

You might not believe this, but I’m old enough to remember when flying was fun.

Now I'm sure you've got your own airline horror stories, which I hope you’ll share. But what happened to make flying such a nightmare?

The answer is simple: the same things happening across most industries. In fact, a close look at airlines reveals five of the biggest problems with our economy.

Number 1: Consolidation means fewer choices.

While there were once many more airlines, a series of mergers and acquisitions over the last three decades has left only four in control of about 80% of the market.

This kind of consolidation has been happening all over the economy. For example, four companies now control 80% of all beef production, and two control over 60% of all paper products. This lack of competition has led to:

Number 2: Companies Charging More for Less

Even before recent airfare spikes, air travel was getting more expensive because of new fees for things that used to be free, like in-flight meals, checked bags, or even carry-ons.

Spirit Airlines even charges $25 to print your boarding pass at a ticket counter! It’s just a piece of paper!

One of the ugliest ad-ons is the fee some airlines charge for families to sit together. That doesn’t even cost them anything!

Airlines are leading an economy-wide trend of adding often unexpected new charges to goods and services without adding value.

And you’re getting less in return. Airlines have cut an estimated 8 inches of legroom and two inches of seat width in the last two decades. Doesn’t bother me (I’m short), but many of you may feel the squeeze.

This parallels other industries where you’re paying more for less — just look at how cereal boxes, rolls of toilet paper, and candy bars are all shrinking.

Number 3: Exploiting Workers

While their jobs have become more difficult, many flight attendants haven’t had a raise in years.

And a lot of their hardest work is totally unpaid, because most flight attendants don’t get paid during the boarding process. They’re off the clock until the plane’s doors close.

And if the flight is delayed, those are often extra hours for no extra money.

Again, this mirrors trends in the overall economy, where too many workers are pushed into unpaid overtime or made to do work or be on call during their off hours.

Number 4: The Illusion of Scarcity

Airlines pretend they have no choice but to raise prices, cut services, and limit payroll. But their profits are in the stratosphere. In the five years before the pandemic, the top 5 airlines were flush enough to pay shareholders $45 billion, largely through stock buybacks.

During the pandemic, they got a $54 billion bailout from taxpayers (you’re welcome).

In the years since, they’ve resumed flying high, with nearly $10 billion in net profit expected across the industry in 2023. They can afford to take care of workers and customers.

Whether it’s multi-millionaire movie moguls pretending they can’t afford to pay writers or a grocery chain blaming “inflation” for high prices while raking in record profits, this illusion of scarcity is a sham.

Number 5: Misdirected Rage

Instead of being mad at the people at the top, we’ve been tricked into being mad at each other. Fights have broken out over whether it’s ok to recline a seat or who gets overhead bin space. But reclining’s only an issue because airlines intentionally put the seats too close together. And bin space is only running out because they’ve made it expensive to check bags — and also risky, with the rate of lost bags doubling over the last year.

Airlines are pitting us against each other the same way billionaires and their political lackeys pit groups against each other in society, hoping we’ll blame unions or immigrants or people of other races or religions or gender identities for why it’s so hard to get ahead, and that we won’t notice how much wealth and power is in the hands of so few.

So what do we do?

A lot of these problems could be solved with tougher antitrust enforcement — which we are starting to see. The Justice Dept is suing to block JetBlue from buying Spirit Airlines. We need that kind of anti-monopoly protection across the board.

Another part of the solution is unions. Airline workers are among the wave of American workers organizing to demand better pay and working conditions.

And then there’s your power as an informed consumer. Companies get away with bad behavior when we accept their excuses that there’s just no other way to run a business. They’re counting on us not knowing what’s really going on. So share this video, and share your airline stories in the comments.

Finally, try to be a little nicer to service workers and your fellow passengers — on planes and in life. After all, we’re all on this journey together.

[sanniemellowbun]

Peppermint Mocha Scones & A Solitude with You (Xavier x reader Christmas fanfic) Love and Deepspace

genre: Rom-com, Fluff

Follow me and my work on AO3, I will update there soon! And pls recommend what I should write if you have any ideas THANK YOU!: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sanniepanini/pseuds/Sanniepanini

***

Xavier was like a mystery wrapped in a layer of indifference. It had been two years since I had first met him on the school grounds. Back then, he’d been a quiet, almost aloof presence in the hallways, always on the fringes of every conversation but never quite part of any.

Christmas was coming around, and I'd spent countless hours at the bakery, experimenting with flavors, tweaking the recipe until it felt just right. 

Working part time to support my college lifestyle was hard, but I was happy that I was able to manage it. The radiant smiles from people as they received their purchases, the smell of chocolate and the soft hum of holiday music in the background—it was the perfect setting for a little holiday magic. 

It was late, so late that the bakery was starting to empty out, and the streets outside were quieting down too. People were leaving in a trickle along with the fading chatter and laughter as the door chimed behind them.

   I smiled as I said  “Happy Holidays!” or “Merry Christmas!” to the last few customers who were heading out, my voice was warm and genuine despite the exhaustion that was starting to settle into my bones. The thought of not spending Christmas in silence, alone, was reason enough to stay.

 I stood there for a moment, the quiet stretching between like a thin, fragile thread. I didn’t crave the crowd, the loud noises, the stress…but more the presence of somebody else…to not face the solitude of the holidays all alone. 

As I went over to pack the last order, the doorbell chimed once again. The soft hum of Winter Christmas by Dean Martin floated through the speakers, wrapping the moment in something that felt almost cinematic. 

   “You’re still open?” said a soft voice and I froze, turning around and I saw a familiar face.

   “Xavier?”

He was practically a bundled up human gift by all of the clothes and his scarf had the fun print of reindeers⎯ his nose was red. 

   “I had an order…”

I nodded, caught off guard I looked at the order receipts on the wall. “Right. Yeah. Of course—you’re the peppermint mocha scones and the cinnamon loaf?”

   “Guilty,” he quipped, moving his gloved hands together.

I turned back to grab the box I had just finished tying with a gold ribbon, placing it gently on the counter between us. “Didn’t think you’d come this late.”

   “Me neither…until I remembered I had made an order a few days ago.” He sighed. “I didn’t know you’d stay here on Christmas Eve.” 

  “We are the only bakery open in town today, and someone has to stay…” I felt awkward, almost embarrassed as I told him that I was all alone today. Looking away I pretended to fuss with the ribbon on the box like it mattered more than it did.

Xavier’s eyes locked with mine and I didn’t move my gaze. I couldn’t. “So you’re spending it alone?”

I swallowed. “Well…I am spending it by myself.”

The silence that followed wasn’t uncomfortable. It was quiet in the way snowfall is—gentle, expectant. Like something was about to land. 

Xavier smiled. “It doesn’t have to stay that way.”

I glanced up at him. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that we could celebrate together⎯ if you don’t have anyone else for that matter.”

Someone else for that matter…The butter smooth light of the bakery seemed even softer and I felt hesitant to answer right away. My fingers curled loosely around the ribbon on the pastry box as I felt my heart warmed at the thought. 

  “No,” I said finally, quietly. “There’s no one else.”

Xavier exhaled like he’d been holding his breath. “Good,” he said, then added quickly, “I mean—not good that you’re alone. Just—good that... I asked.”

I laughed under my breath and saw his shoulder ease.

  “Would it be weird if I stayed for a bit? Just… here. With you.” He finally asked.

  “Depends…will you help me clean up?” I quipped and he cracked a smile. A smile so genuine and different from the Xavier I knew.

   “A condition for your company?”

   “Non-negotiable.”

To my surprise he didn’t hesitate to take off his jacket and scarf, discarding them neatly by a chair. Xavier by far wasn’t the most graceful about anything, especially when it came to stacking trays and I had to catch one before it nearly fell on the floor.

   “I am not bakery material, am I?” he rubbed the back of his neck and I had to smile at the sheepish look on his face. 

   “It’s not like you’re getting paid,” I teased and handed him a washcloth. 

Working with Xavier was the most comfortable thing I had ever experienced. The rhythm fell into place—it didn’t matter, the clatter, the noise, the laughter. We moved without pressure

The snow had started to whip even faster towards the ground. Like shooting stars.

   “Can I ask you something?” Xavier threw a washcloth in the basket.

His movement was not as casual as his voice.

I nodded and he took a breath.

“Why do you do it?” he said. “Why stay here at night like this? When the trains stop running, when everyone’s gone home for the holidays... when you could be with your family. Or just... home.”He looked at the floor, and I shrugged. “I guess here…” I thought for a bit, motioning toward the bakery, “makes more sense to me. It’s warm. Familiar. People come in happy, and they leave happier. I like being part of that.” “Even on the holidays?” “Yes, especially on holidays. When people come in and get their order, I feel like I’m a part of their life for a bit. I get to give them that joy,” I said, the words feeling more real than I expected. “Don’t you want someone else to want that for you?” His voice was quiet. I shifted a little, trying to find the right words. “W-well, people do that for me,” I stammered, but the words came out sounding less convincing than I meant. Xavier looked at me with a raised brow, like he didn’t quite buy it. “Really? So you’re telling me that people just... show up at your door with a hot drink, or insist on spending time with you when you’re working?” I felt my cheeks warm, and I glanced away, suddenly self-conscious. “Well... no. I mean, I don’t need that,” I added quickly, as if to justify myself. “Do you want that?” I swallowed and shrugged. “Maybe, if it’s not too much of a fuss…” Xavier thought for a while. “Scared that asking for anything will be a burden, even when it’s the season of giving?” His words caught me off guard, and I froze for a moment. It was like he’d reached into my mind and pulled out something I’d never fully said out loud. I didn’t answer right away, feeling the weight of his question settle heavily between us. “I never took you for the guy who’d have that view,” I almost whispered, and he unloaded the dishwasher. “Really?” I nodded. “You’ve always been so quiet… I sometimes thought you didn’t like me.” The hum of the dishwasher filled the silence, and he burst out laughing. Openly, like I’d just told a big joke. Though his laughter died, his smiling eyes looked into mine. “Forgive me, I didn’t know I came off that way.” “Well, you do.” I mockingly accused him, and his grin didn’t vanish. I glanced around the bakery, the counters wiped down, chairs stacked, the faint scent of sugar and cinnamon still lingering in the warm air. “It seems finished. Thank you for helping.” Xavier shrugged, walking over to set the last dish towel on the rack. “Wasn’t really planning on doing dishes on Christmas Eve, but I gotta say, not the worst way to spend the night.” For a moment, his face lit up, and he looked at his order. “If it isn’t weird,” he said, glancing back up at me, “want to eat this with me?” I blinked, surprised—not at the question, but how easy it felt. Like he wasn’t asking out of pity or politeness, but because he wanted to. Because he stayed longer than he planned for a reason. “Yeah… I’d love to.” I finally said.

[lou-struck]

Too Many Pumpkins

Shinsuke Kita x reader

Flufftober Day 4- Too Many Pumpkins

WC: 2.3k

- After a successful morning at the farmers market, Shinsuke finds an unexpected gift in his truck.

There are two types of people in the world. Those who wake up at the crack of dawn on Saturday mornings and those who don't. Usually, you fall into the second category, but thanks to the gentle coaxing and sweet promises from your Partner, you find yourself miles away from home, organizing little bags of rice on Shinsuke's wooden vendor stall for the last Farmers Market of the season.

Ever since the market opened, you have had a line at your till; a few people come to your little stand hoping to just buy one bag of rice but find themselves reaching for another after they catch a glimpse of Shinsuke's stunning smile. You understand, but are thankful though that he uses those good looks of his for good and not evil, because if he decided that after high school he wanted to start a pyramid scheme or a cult, you probably would still be with him.

When the clock in the square chimes on the hour you glance around your stand to find only your empty little display boxes on the counter. Accomplishment blooms in your chest, as you see Shinsuke walking back from helping an older customer, carry her bags out to her car. (Because, of course, he is)

"How are we doing?" he asks, wrapping his arms around your waist. 

With a satisfied grin, you turn your head and lean into his embrace, "We are completely sold out." you hmm.

His eyes widen in shock as they flicker between you and his now-bare tabletop. "Everything? Even the large bags behind the counter."

"Those went first," You chuckle, peering down at the table and looking for anything you may have missed. "I don't even think there's one grain of rice left to spare."

"Oh my, that's wonderful. I should leave you in charge more often." he smiles, but it fades slightly as he scans the tent. "Are you looking for something?" You bite your lower lip worriedly. Is it possible you forgot something when you were running the stand for him?

"Nothing like that at all; I just forgot that I have one last delivery to make before we can call it a day." He reaches into the pocket of a cloth bag and pulls out the last bag of rice of the season. This one, in particular, is tied neatly with a cute little bow printed with pumpkins and bats.

"That's adorable, who is that for?"  You ask wondering who from his farmers market family he set this aside for.

"It's for Ms.Kaho. Do you remember her?" 

You nod. Ms. Kaho is the sweetest old lady ever; she runs a huge produce stand a few tents down from you and seems to have a new embellished sweater for every occasion. Every time you visit her stall, she has you 'quality check' her fruit of the week and sends you on your way with a new story about someone you have never met and some serious grandmotherly advice.

Needless to say, you would let the world burn for that little lady.

"I could bring it to her," you offer immediately. "Then, when I get back, we can explore the rest of the market."

"Thank you, that would be great," he says, setting the pouch into your outstretched hand. You can tell he is itching to clean up. He hasn't outgrown his diligent habits from his youth, nor is he likely to do so anytime soon. Which works out for you because you have no clue how to dismantle that wooden table he sets up.

Stepping out into the market, you see tents sprawled out all over the town square. It's busier than the other weekends as people pass by you with their arms full of freshly cut flowers and little pumpkins. You weave through the crowd to Ms. Kaho's large produce stand. 

You see her bright orange pumpkin sweater and her wide-brimmed straw hat talking to a customer when she notices you. She greets you with a wide coral-painted smile and immediately hobbles over to you with outstretched arms. 

"Y/n, it is so good to see you, dear," she says, squeezing you tightly. "How is the rice selling today."

"It's going well," you wheeze. "We actually just sold out a few minutes ago, but we wanted to give you this as a little gift." You hold out her little rice bag to her, and her face lights up like a Christmas tree. 

"Oh, aren't you the sweetest thing," she gushes, grabbing the rice bag with her fall-themed acrylics, "You're Not leaving yet, are you?"

"No, we are planning on walking around for a bit," you answer, knowing you are walking into a trap. 

She claps her hands together, "Wonderful, I just have a little gift for you two, but I'll just slip it into your truck before you go."

"Thank you, but you have done so much for us already," you say with a sweet smile. "I'd hate to take anything from y.." 

"Nonsense," she huffs, slipping her rice bag behind her cash box. "What kind of friend would I be if I let Yumie's family go hungry during the winter? You kids go enjoy the rest of the market, and I'll just drop it in your truck."

Before you can say anything else on the subject, she expertly steers you out of her tent and pushes you away with a sweet little goodbye.

~

"Come on, Shin," you frown, crossing your arms as the two of you walk back to his truck. "You have to let me hold something."

"I have no idea what you are talking about," he says bluntly as if he doesn't have bags filled with everything from soap to sourdough weighing down his arms. Having sold his entire stock, he is in a great mood and is spoiling you relentlessly, buying everything that you look at for more than three seconds. The most recent addition is a crochet little ghost plushie holding a piece of candy corn. 

You are nearing the parking lot when suddenly Shinsuke stops in his tracks. "Oh my…" Following his gaze, your eyes land on his truck, and your eyes nearly bug out of your head. "His truck bed, having been completely empty when you last left it, is now filled to the brim with pumpkins and squashes of all shapes and sizes.

"Did someone use your truck to rob a pumpkin patch?" you ask in a whisper. 

"It looks like Ms. Kaho is at it again," he sighs, shaking his head. And you immediately remember your conversation with the elderly farmer at her produce stand. 

"She said she has a gift for you," you say. "But I didn't realize that this is what she meant."

He laughs, "I should've warned you; she has a tendency to go over the top when giving gifts. One time, when I was a boy, I told her I liked a certain brand of seaweed chips, and she proceeded to give me a pallet of them for Christmas.

"Oh dear.." you say, imagining little ten-year-old Shinsuke unwrapping a mountain of chips. But looking at the sight in front of you brings you back to reality. "But there are just so many of them. Do you think we could bring a few back to her? I'd hate to take away her product."

He frowns. "That's not gonna happen; she's as stubborn as they come; when she puts her mind to something, there isn't much that will change it. Not to mention, her farm is the largest in the county, she grows so many pumpkins, this load isn't making a dent in her stores."

"So what are we going to do?"

"for now, we should get home; we can figure out what we're going to do with all these pumpkins there."

~

It was just before noon when you two pulled up the gravel driveway of Shinsuke's farm. The Sun peeks through the thinning clouds and shines off of the literal cornucopia in the bed of his faded blue truck.

Since Shinsuke insisted on unloading the pumpkins himself, you have busied yourself with sorting the various gourds into piles based on size and variety.

"88"

"89"

"Anddd 90." Just to be sure, you scan the room looking for any stragglers when Shinsuke slips off his boots at the door. "I think we got all of them."

"Not quite," he says, reaching into his pocket and pulling out the smallest little orange and white speckled pumpkin you have ever seen. "This one was hiding in the back."

"It's so tiny," you say, taking it from his hand eagerly. And adding it to the top of the mini pumpkin pile on the kitchen table. "These little ones would be great for decorations."

"That's true," he muses, admiring all your hard work. "These Kabocha Squashes store really well, I can ask my grandmother for a few of her recipes so I can make them for you."

"That would be great," your mouth begins to water at the thought of trying another one of Yumie's family recipes. Glancing down at the next pile you see that these pumpkins are bright orange but are just a bit larger in size than a softball. "What about the others?"

"Oh, those are pie pumpkins, I believe," he says knowledgeably. "They are great for canning and making puree; the others can be used for that too, but there are just too many and not enough canning supplies, so he says that you can just use those and roast their seeds."

"I thought you had lots of canning stuff; what happened to it?" You ask, recalling the huge stash of supplies you stumbled across in his barn a few months ago. His cheeks turn a rare pink as he glances down at the floor. Apparently, this isn't the first time Ms. Kaho has surprised him with one of her gifts.

Glancing down at the last batch of pumpkins, you see they are the large, stereotypical kind that one associate with fall. "How about these ones? Do you think we have time to carve out thirty Jack o lanterns?"

He lets out a low chuckle at your little joke as he walks across the room to the pile and inspects them carefully. After a minute or two, he reaches through them, pulls out two perfect-looking ones, and places them on the counter. "How about 2 Jack o lanterns?"

"That would be fun, but what about the rest?" you ask, knowing that you still have too many pumpkins.

"Would you mind if I borrow you for the rest of the day?" he asks in a tone you can't quite place. "I have an Idea about how we can fix our little problem."

~

For the second time today, you find yourself sitting comfortably in Shinsuke's passenger seat; your boyfriend has a soft little grin on his face as he grips the wheel with one hand and fiddles with your fingers with the other.

Despite your best efforts, he will not tell you anything about where you are going or what you are going to do with the 29 (you counted) pumpkins in the back. But this little spontaneous adventure is thrilling nevertheless. 

"Will you please tell me where we are going?" you ask softly. Taking his hand, you raise it to your lips and kiss the tips of his fingers lightly, hoping that a little bribery with his favorite currency will get him to talk. 

He shakes his head and exhales lightly. "We are almost there, just a few more minutes." His tone is stern yet loving, and you know that no matter what you do, his resolve will not waiver. 

With a huff, you turn away and glance out the window, watching as houses and parks pass you by until he slows down and pulls in front of a familiar-looking house.

"Looks like he's home," he murmurs, and you try so hard to figure out who he is talking about. 

"Are you ready?" he asks, and you turn your head, but before you can ask him what he means, he is sliding out of his car seat. You follow his lead as he grabs two pumpkins from the back and hands one to you. 

Holding his finger to his lips, his eyes are alive with life as he creeps up to the front door of the house. Noisily, you see a package on the front porch and squint to look at the label. A. Miya, and it hits you; this is the home of your boyfriend's former teammate from Irizaki High School. 

Shinsuke diligently sets the pumpkin on his friend's porch, and you smile; seeing this playful side of your boyfriend is rare, but you love it just as much as his diligent, serious side. Crouching down, you set it carefully on the professional volleyball player's front step. "Get ready to run."

"Run?" you parrot, watching in confusion as he raises his fist to the door and raps loudly on the wood. Without skipping a beat, he spins around and grabs your hand as you run back to the truck. Even in his haste, he opens the door for you before zipping around to the driver's side. 

The sound of your heavy breathing fills the truck as you drive around the corner, stopping a safe distance away from the house. 

"This. Was your plan?" you pant, placing your hand on your chest to feel your racing heart.

"Yes…" he says, looking at you with pink cheeks. "What do you think?"

"I think…" you pause, letting your lips curve up into a sly smile. "I think I want to know where we are going next."

Tagging: @pixelcafe-network @ambiguouslady42

[whumpyourdamnpears]

Fruit of the Wicked: Chapter 12

Content Warning: lady whump, male whumper/female whumpee, POC whump (whumpee is a Black woman), age gap whump (whumper is an older man), religious whump (Christianity), captivity whump

Thank you to Marz and Gen for beta reading this chapter

Word Count: 1190 Previous Next

Max was nearly finished with ringing out Mrs. Parson when the familiar ring of the bell hanging from the store’s entrance jingled, in walking a man wearing a red and white plaid button down and jeans. Max didn’t recognize him, which was rare for a town as small as theirs. The man joined the line behind Mrs. Parson, who was still rambling on to Max about her grandson failing to return her call, small wrinkled hands waving around, ignoring the already bagged items sitting on the counter in front of her. Max waited patiently, as he always did, nodded empathetically to her tale without truly listening to the nitty gritty details of just how inconsiderate her grandson must have been in order to keep missing her calls. He’d never verbalize to her on how he understood the grandson’s position, and that talking to her felt like the equivalent of watching paint dry. When she’d finally finished, she scooped up her plastic bag of items and walked out of the store without even acknowledging that she was leaving. Max sighed a sigh of relief as the man behind her rounded the counter.

“Hello,” the man said, smiling. 

Max smiled back, less than enthusiastic. He could already tell that the man who walked into the store would be a talker, too. He could deal with Mrs. Parson most days, as there was usually time to recuperate after her rants before another customer came to him with their own stories. One talker after another was a nightmare to deal with, though. He had already used up all of his active listening for the hour on Mrs. Parson, and he had no idea what kind of conversation he was in for with this new man. 

“Can I get a pack of Marlboros?” The man asked, shaking Max from his internal groaning. 

“Sure.” Max scribbled down the pack brand into his notebook he kept track of restocks in. “Do you have an I.D. for that?”

The man laughed. “Funny.” He was clearly old enough to legally buy a pack of cigarettes, but fished around in his pocket for his wallet anyways. At least he was in good spirits. Max couldn’t take another angry rant this early in the day. The man pulled out the wallet, then his I.D., and slapped it onto the store counter. Jason Rutter. Date of birth, November 1st, fifty-one years ago. Mississippi.

“Long way from Mississippi,” Max said as he inspected the I.D. He didn’t look at it long, there was no reason to suspect anything was off about it. The man was clearly as old as it said on the card.

“Yeah,” the man said, taking the card back as Max handed it to him. “I’m in town on business for the next couple days.”

“Yeah? What business?” Maybe Max shouldn’t have asked, but now he was curious. There was no business up in Pointersfield that required out-of-towners.

“I’m working on a building development. Near Dale’s? I was brought in to build the new motel.”

“Oh.” Odd. No one really came and stayed in Pointersfield unless they were visiting family. It wasn’t really the kind of town you came and stayed in for any amount of time. But similarly, Max could understand the need for a new motel. The one they had already in town was probably filled with asbestos. “Yeah, alright.”

The man wandered away from the counter as Max turned away from him to grab the pack of cigarettes, drawn to the cork-board on the wall by the door. He particularly focused on the printed out picture of the girl not quite smiling pinned to the front of it. 

“What’s this?” He asked, touching the bottom of the page.

Max turned around to see what he was looking at, cigarettes in hand. “Oh,” he said, placing the box down on the counter. “That’s Dani. She went missing a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh.” The man looked closer at the piece of paper with her picture on it, seemingly taking in the words. Missing: Dani Wallis. Age 23. Height, 5’5. Weight, approximately 140 pounds. Hair color, dark brown. Eyes, dark brown. Last seen June 24th. If you have any information, contact 540-333-4437. “What a shame, she seems like a nice girl.”

“Yeah.” Max stared at the poster, too, like he had on many afternoons before this one. He knew the poster well. He had made it, after all. “Yeah, she was.”

“Did you know her well?”

Max shifted from foot to foot behind the counter awkwardly. “We were friends.” And that’s all they were, really. Friends. 

“Oh, I’m sorry about that, son.” The man turned to give him a sympathetic look. 

Max felt his skin crawl. He didn’t need a stranger’s sympathy. He’d gotten enough of it from members of the town who had known about him and Dani. People who cared more about how he was holding up with her gone than her actually being gone. Max cleared his throat. “It is what it is,” he said, voice tight. 

“Must be hard, to lose a friend like that.”

“I haven’t lost anyone.” Max said, getting oddly defensive about it. He didn’t like the way this man was talking about Dani, like she was already six feet underground and not just missing. 

Just missing. If Max had still been in therapy, he knew his therapist would’ve called him out for that sentence. She wasn’t “just missing,” like she was on vacation or at the store. She was missing. Experiencing God knows what.

Potentially six feet under, like the man was suggesting.

Max tried shrugging it off, but the unease had already set in. 

The man smiled and put his hands in the air. “ I’m sorry, didn’t mean to press a nerve.” Reaching into his pockets, the man pulled out a wad of cash. “How much do I owe you?”

“Seven dollars.”

“Alright, then.” Handing over the cash, a strange look passed over the man’s face. He closed his eyes for a moment and shook his head. “I hope they find her,” the man said, his voice taking on the strange tone.

“Yeah, me too.” Max said, utterly done with this conversation. He could feel his heart begin to race, dollar bills shaking in his hands as he went to put them in the register. Bad. This was bad. He couldn’t have a panic attack while working, especially not in front of this out-of-towner. 

The man gave him another small smile and took the pack of cigarettes in hand. “Have a nice day,” he said as he began to walk away, towards the door, giving a wave. Max gave him a small smile back out of formality. As the man opened the door to leave, he looked one last time at the poster on the cork-board.

“You know, it’s a shame with cases like these,” the man said before letting the store door swing shut behind him. “They so often go unresolved.”

Max watched as the man made his way to the rusting red truck parked in the spot closest to the parking lot’s exit, head whirling with the man’s words.

Tag List: @flowersarefreetherapy, @generic-whumperz, @heartinthehospital, @deluxewhump, @another-whump-sideblog, @pigeonwhumps, @lektricwhump, @watermelons-dont-grow-on-trees, @sowhumpshaped , @dietofwormsofficial, @starsick1979

[pinkluver93]

Words Left Unsaid

A continuation of my KehXReader fic "Is This Jealousy I'm Feeling?" Enjoy!

“Ovenist….you’re attracted to me in some way, aren’t you?” 

Ovenist….Ovenist…. 

“Ovenist, you okay?” 

You look up and Nasir, the special agent helping you with the case, is looking at you oddly. You nod. “Yeah, I just got lost in thought for a minute….” 

You had called him to talk about the new evidence you’d found at Keh’s shop. He had come as soon as he could, since it’s busy at the WPA and it’s like he’s the only one there most of the time. It’s been a week since you investigated Keh, and you’ve reviewed all your notes. Now you two are reviewing the stack of papers you found. 

“I think it’s some sort of….manifesto or something.” 

Nasir studies it for a few minutes, looking at the pages. He nods with certainty and gives a determined smile. “So this appears to be a mockup for a pizza chain Keh is starting.” 

You look at him confused. “A mockup?” 

Nasir smiles. “Yes, it seems that he’s planning to expand his pre-existing pizza parlor into a chain…but it’s not called ‘Ambrosia’ now, it’s called….” He looks at the top of the paper. “Keh-lifornia Pizza Kitchen. Hmm, sounds familiar….” 

You nod. “Yeah, I suppose. I wonder if that’s why he might’ve stolen the dough. Maybe he’s using the notoriety from getting the dough to start his chain?” 

Nasir smiles. “Intriguing perspective, and it could be true, given his past….but I would talk to him and see what he has to say about it, since it could be motivation. Let’s keep our focus on the other suspects as well.” 

You nod. “Okay.” 

“Do you have anything else to show me or tell me?” 

You shake your head ‘no’. 

“Cool, call me if you want to talk about a suspect or show me a piece of evidence.” With that, Nasir leaves, and you get lost in thought. Not just about the case, but Keh’s words still linger in your head. 

How am I supposed to continue investigating Keh if he’s caught on to the fact that I kinda like him? Ever since PizzaPalooza ended, I’ve had these butterflies in my stomach I can’t control, and I SWORE I wouldn’t say anything! Ugh, why did I have to let him know how I felt about Angelica deep down? And how he shouldn’t be with her? What do I- 

“Hello? Can I get an All-Dressed Pizza? Can I also get it well done?” 

You snap out of your thoughts once again to take your customer’s order and move on with your day as usual. 

At close, you print the daily sales receipt from your tablet. It was considerably low; you had only completed one ZaZoom order and had to do 2 refunds.  

You document the day’s sales on the Pizza City Portal, where every ovenist had to input sales to show whether they are making enough to stay in business or not. You start to think about some aspects of the case you hadn’t thought of before and you grab your notebook and your special pen. Your notebook sits by you but your pen is not in its usual spot.  

What the-where's my special pen?? 

You move everything around in your reach by your shop counter-receipt paper boxes, your store’s lost and found box (which hasn’t been emptied since you opened and is filled to the brim), and some of your personal belongings...but your pen is nowhere to be found. 

Soon enough, you have searched your entire restaurant, from the kitchen to the one-person bathroom, and you have no luck. Your heart sinks as you pack up your things, lock the store and walk to your car. As you open your car door, you hear footsteps behind you, and prepare for the worst... 

....but instead of a robber’s voice, it’s a gentle, familiar voice.. 

“Ovenist?” 

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

“Ovenist?” 

You close your car door in shock and the first thing you see is a shadow..albeit a very tall shadow. Next you look at who the shadow belongs to..... 

“Dr. Keh? What are you doing here?” 

He reaches into his lab coat pocket and takes something out to show you.... 

Your eyes widen. “Wait, is that-? My pen!” 

You mentally cheer, studying the golden fountain pen with a certain name engraved in it. You reach out to grab it, but pull your hand back.... 

“Hmm...” 

Keh looks at you confused. “What’s the matter? You don’t want your pen? You only tore 3 quarters of your miniscule shop down looking for it...” 

You do a double-take. “Wait what?” 

“Incase you weren’t aware,” Keh starts. “Every business in this city, yours included, is not only under 24/7 constant surveillance, but it is also public record and uploaded to the WPA website nightly.” 

You stand there, stunned. “Wow....that’s crazy...” 

Keh snorts. “Yes, I’m not really rather fond of being constantly under scrutiny, but that’s the cost of having a business in this city, and...it does have benefits..” 

“Yeah...” You absentmindedly say. “Wait, you see benefits of this?” 

Keh smiles. “Yes, it was rather fun watching you destroy a good portion of your store only to spend your time to put it back the way it was again. It was better than watching TV, dare I say.” 

You cross your arms and frown. “Real funny. That pen was very special to me, okay? The fact that I lost it and the thought that some member of the Deep Dish Gang had stolen it from me really messed with me.” 

Keh was still holding the pen and nodded. “I wasn’t laughing at the fact that you lost something valuable and meaningful to you, Ovenist. I was merely laughing at you destroying your store for any reason whatsoever. I cherish my belongings as much as anyone.” 

You nod solemnly, taking the pen from his hands. For a moment, your fingers touch his fingertips, which have a strong but silky-soft texture. It felt like a smooth lotion had just been applied to them. You think you saw Keh slightly blush at the contact, which you would’ve never seen if not for the bright street light by your car. “Well thank you for keeping it safe for me. I really appreciate it.” 

While he tried to hide his blushing cheeks, he coughed. “Well uh...you’re quite welcome.” 

“Do I owe you anything in return?” 

Keh raises an eyebrow. “What do you mean?” 

You slightly smile. “Well it’s just....whenever you do or want to do something nice for me, you expect something in return, like with the artichokes. So I was just asking....” 

Keh looks at you for a minute, then nods. “I see. Well, you dropped it when you quickly left my shop so I knew it was yours. I studied it and knew it was very special to you.” 

You look up at him in confusion. “But....why didn’t you come by if you knew it was mine? You waited until now to come....”  

Keh put both of his hands in his pant pockets and looked down a bit, then looked at you in the eyes again. “Well, we’re not exactly on good terms, Ovenist, given our history overall. I feared you would think I stole it if I brought it to you. I was originally going to have someone send it to you anonymously....” 

“Anonymously? Well why didn’t you go through with it?” 

Keh put his hands on hips and studied you. “Because for once, I wanted you to think of me as...well...” 

You look him in his eyes. “What?” 

“I wanted you to think I was a good guy, okay? I wanted you to...well, think at least somewhat highly of me...” 

You blush a bit. “But....why me? Why not the other Ovenists?” 

Keh rolls his eyes. “I could care less what Cicero thinks, I REALLY don’t care what Alicante thinks....but you, Ovenist....I don’t know. For some reason, you’re different.” 

You start to fiddle your special pen in your fingers and shyly look up at him. “I’m....different?” 

“I can’t explain it, but....yes.” Keh says. “For once in my life, I’ve found a puzzle I was never able to solve, and that’s you, Ovenist.” 

Now is your turn to snort. “You could’ve fooled me! You’re always so mean to me....” 

Keh swallows and nods. “Yes, and....I deeply regret it. I’m sorry. I’ve been trained since I was a youth to be incredibly competitive and ruthless, and.....because of that, I-” 

You both hear a group of tourists approaching, walking down the street.  

You widen your eyes. “I think we better go our separate ways for now. I’m sure you don’t want anyone spreading rumors, right?” 

Keh nods. “Yes, I agree. Though I think the Pizzagram hashtags are already trending....” 

You both get in your cars and drive away before the tourists see you both together.... 

[matchesarelit]

Imagine If You Will...

(Spencer Agnew Drabble)

So... the Mountain mall wasn't the worst place to work, the crowds were anything but chaotic, but tucked away in the info booth you found yourself often able to focus on simple directions and parking validation, for the most part, that is of course until the Dew™ released a new flavor, and distributing samples became part of the job description.

Smosh Masterlist

A/N: Obvs no affiliation with mtn dew

Swinging your feet back and forth, you swiveled in aimless circles, the tepid weather outside mixed with the lack of any seasonal sales had left the mall all but empty. The heavy thud of a box sounded from the other side of the desk, as Samantha dropped the package off, In your months working under these specific fluorescents this box was the first of its kind. Yet the packaging was anything but non-descript; cold neon greens and the little mountain graphics coated not only the cardboard but the bright pink tape that bound it.

Reaching across the bench to pull it over, you sliced it open revealing another layer of wrapping, once again neon green, the tissue paper was nicely tied with a ribbon, yet seemed to be about to burst.

Finally reaching product after sifting through the copious amounts of padding you were somewhat confused by the abundance of cans, 'Is this... our yearly bonus?' your words were muttered somewhat in jest but were laced with confusion nonetheless. Tugging some sort of invoice from her back pocket, your colleague read out 'Sampling Product', her finger forming bunny rabbits over the phrase.

"So we're giving out samples now? I guess its somewhat informative...?" You mused still not truly convinced.

"It does mention it adds a fiver to our hourly rates for the next couple months.' she added with her eyebrows raised.

"Well then" you muttered hands on your hips, suddenly much more impassioned over the news "Better get to it then oh-" As you ferreted through the box you retrieved a few tees; the 'i' information symbol on the front and the Mountain Dew advertising on the back- honestly not too horrendous...if you ignore the familiar neon green of the fabric.

The next day, you'd donned the bright shirt and as you began to stack a little tower of cans, on the smallest of folding tables, you watched the stores slowly open up for the day ahead. The weather was once again mild inside and outside the shopping center, but the day dragged on. You would swear it took hours for the long hand of the clock to shift even slightly, and even worse by the time it hit ten you'd already received four separate complaints about your attire and the shelling of so called 'sugary garbage' ... Cause yes Dorris I chose for this mall to be owned by Mtn Dew, me the person at the info desk at nine AM on a Sunday...

Nevertheless, customer service frustrations aside, the day passed easily enough, a few samples were taken with mixed reactions, a couple four-packs bought, but otherwise it was business as usual.

"Excuse me-uh am I able to try some of this" The man on the other side of the desk was peering through his curls to look between you and the signage sheepishly. Trotting out from the behind information desk to the small folding table with a nod, you grabbed one of the tiny sample cups, filled it and handed it to him as he exchanged a quiet 'thank you'. Expecting the exchange to end there you turned to retreat to your station, only for him to speak up once more catching you in the act...

"So um-'Ultimate'...what flavor is that?" Sizing him up somewhat as you reached for a can you relented, curious of his reaction to the overzealous biography printed on the back of the can, "The description we get from the can is 'Chaos Berries grown on mountain alcoves, watered with traditional dew.'"

He looked back at you somewhat vacantly, seemingly lost in the avant-garde flavor description, so in an attempt to shock his system you countered with a giggle; "But to me it just tastes like lime." After your confession he found his words quite quickly in turn.

"I was just thinking the same thing - the lime thing- not the um- Chaos Berries" His tone was jovial but still immensely hesitant.

"Do you like it? In my experience that's all that really matters," Suddenly feeling it important that the conversation continues you found some words you weren't entirely sure fit together as you stuttered on; "I-Its like I always say; the real chaos berries are the friends we tasted along the way." Okay. So they definitely didn't all go together, at least not in the same analogy, and yet in place of his confused stare he was now looking at you with a warm smile. You thought it must have been the sweetest smile you'd ever received, his eyes were crinkled slightly on the edges in good natured amusement and overall it left nothing for you to do but return it as best you could.

"Well um thank you, I- should um-" He motioned to a random store as he waved goodbye briefly before starting off after a solid minute of silence between the pair of you. You waved to him briefly before retreating to your seat to find a small queue in front of your desk waiting for assistance. Quickly returning to work with a fresh warmth in your cheeks, you tried your best to focus on the task at hand for the hours to come.