#manual bagging process

[packaging-automations]

Comparing Automatic and Manual Bag Filling Machines: What Works Best for Your Needs?

[astrolook]

Venus in the houses

Venus in the 1st House : Mirror, mirror, on the wall, who’s the most fabulous of all ? It's Me.

You’ve never met a filter you didn’t like.

Love at first sight? You’re basically an app for it.

Getting married? You’re the whole package—gift wrapped in glamour.

You can make a paper bag look like haute couture.

Open to plastic surgery/beauty enhancement procedures.

Venus in the 2nd House : I’m just financially fabulous.

You’re a walking manifestation of “treat yourself.”

Your idea of a “fun investment” is high-end makeup.

Money may not buy happiness, but it buys a killer wardrobe.

Cosmetic collection? It’s more of a museum at this point.

You could turn a thrift store into a designer boutique.

Venus in the 3rd House : Talk to me. I make every word sound like gold.

Beauty tips? You pass them on like life-changing wisdom.

Makeup is optional, but your smile is mandatory.

Takes 25 pictures to make sure whether you look good in a selfie.

You could make an IKEA instruction manual sound like Shakespeare. You’re not just talking, you’re seducing with your words.

Love letters are basically your second language.

Venus in the 4th House : Home is where the luxury is, and so am I.

Probably have a Pinterest account with luxury home décor pins.

You take pictures like you are in for a Vogue photoshoot.

Your partner requirement: must appreciate candlelit dinners and spontaneous home makeovers.

Your family is either all-in for gourmet meals or leaving the house for takeout.

Your house plants probably have their own Instagram.

Venus in the 5th House: I don’t just fall in love, I make it a production.

You don’t “date,” you audition for the role of soulmate.

Your flirt game is so strong, even Siri has a crush on you.

Your idea of a “low-key evening” involves five outfit changes and a selfie.

Your idea of “casual” is wearing heels to the grocery store.

You don’t “catch feelings,” you produce them—like a movie sequel no one asked for.

Venus in the 6th House : Effortlessly fabulous, even while folding laundry.

You love self-care—so much that it’s practically a ritual.

Probably post pictures of their prepped meals on Instagram.

Your health routine involves pampering, not sweating.

You’ll never date someone who doesn’t have their life together (including their laundry).

You attract people with cleanliness, not just your charm (but mostly your charm).

Venus in the 7th House: I’m not picky, I just attract perfection in love.

You attract love like it’s the latest fashion trend.

Kind of partner? You wrote the manual on that.

Love is art, and you’re the masterpiece.

Your soulmate better have their life together, including an emergency fund and excellent taste in movies.

Your relationship advice is as chic as your wardrobe.

Venus in the 8th House: I love deeply… and live luxuriously in the process.

You’ve got that “rich in mystery” vibe going on.

Your partner could be wealthier than you.

Your love life is so intense, it might need a fire extinguisher.

You don’t just fall in love—you plunge.

You’re basically a passionate volcano of emotions.

Venus in the 9th House : I’m off to discover the world… and look fabulous doing it.

You fall in love like you fall in love with new cultures or people of other nationalities.

Your idea of romance? Passport, plane ticket, and luxury.

You’re not just looking for a lover; you need a travel buddy with a PhD.

If they can’t keep up with your wanderlust, you’ll probably ghost them at the airport.

Your ideal partner? Someone who can read Kant and order food in French.

Venus in the 10th House: Looking for a partner? Better come with a résumé.

You don’t date; you network—and maybe fall in love later.

Your ideal relationship is as high profile as your LinkedIn.

You’re not here for a fling—you want a power couple partnership.

If love’s a game, I’m playing to win.

Could meet your partner through your job.

Venus in the 11th House: Looking for love—must like my friends (they come first).

You need someone who shares your love of weird hobbies and social causes, or else it’s a deal-breaker.

You’re not falling in love, you’re curating your social circle... one date at a time.

Relationships for you? They're like your social media feed—always with a “#couplegoals” vibe.

Follows skin and hair care or hair style tutorials on YouTube.

90 percent of your google searches would be "how to make your hair grow faster", "best products for glowing skin",etc

Venus in the 12th House: Can’t love you if I haven’t analyzed my dreams first.

You don’t date—you swoon from afar in secret, like a true romantic introvert.

Probably have some skin and food allergies.

You fall for someone and then ghost yourself—the ultimate Venus in the 12th move.

You only fall for people who don’t even know they’re in love with you yet.

Your idea of a date? Talking about your past lives—or maybe just your weirdest dreams.

Love is like a hidden treasure—you’ll find it, but only if you’re deep enough in your feelings (or your journal that you don't show it to anyone).

So whether you're romancing in secret, hosting a business meeting disguised as a date, or curating your perfect Instagram-worthy love life, remember: Venus is just here to make it fabulous. Just don't forget to bring the skincare, Wi-Fi, and maybe a Google search or two. Keep shining, keep loving, and keep being your amazing, quirky self—Venus has got your back!

Curious about your birth chart and what it's really saying about you? 🌟 Slide into my DMs for a personalized astrology reading, and let's unlock the secrets of your stars. ✨ Don’t forget to check out my pinned post for pricing details! 🔮 Let’s make those cosmic connections happen! 🌙🌌

[akisteahouse]

Thinking about parenting with Heartslabyul…

Synopsis: in home economics, you get randomly assigned to a partner to raise a ‘child’ - a robot baby meant to simulate a real infant’s needs. Things definitely get… interesting, to say the least.

Riddle Rosehearts!

knowing how he was raised, Riddle isn’t exactly the best parent figure - speaking to children as if they were fully grown adults, either too quickly or too slowly.

adamantly refusing the thought of naming the kid at first, because “Naming the robot is a risk far too large for me to take. The number of seniors that have failed this assignment due to growing attached to their supposed child…I absolutely cannot let this drag Heartslabyul’s dorm ranking down!”

he gives in after you give him puppy dog eyes.

“Rose is… an acceptable name."

work division wise, you’re unfortunately tasked with most of the first-hand child rearing things - feeding her, changing diapers, rocking her until she stopped fussing…

though, that doesn’t mean he doesn’t do his fair share of work.

all expenses are charged to him, as well as the assembly of the cot(which he spent at least five minutes scrutinising to check if it was safe) and pretty much all of the cleaning of the dirty laundry(how can such a small thing produce so much grime?)

somewhere along the line, you two work out an agreement where you take turns taking care of Rose.

whenever Riddle's the one taking care of her, he possesses one of those infinite mom bags as well as a baby carrier.

the only downside of this arrangement is that berating and punishing students are harder when it's his turn, because Rose isn't exactly fond of him raising his voice.

somehow teaches a literal perfect simulation of a child to follow all 810 of the Queen’s rules??? Yeah you don't question it either, just give her her tea when the time is right.

absolutely DID NOT sniffle when he had to give Rose back. >:*(

an overall decent partner, if you're fine with your robot kid having the divorced kid treatment.

Trey Clover!

names your kid something stupid, like Pistachio, for shits and giggles, all while feigning innocence.

“Pistachio's a cute name, isn't it?”, in between bouts of laughter.

a great partner - as the Oldest Child, he's pretty well-versed in taking care of kids younger than him, after all.

if only little Pistachio wasn't an absolute menace.

a fussy eater, non-stop tantrum thrower, and the type of slippery kid as in stop staring at him for two seconds and suddenly he's hanging on a laundry line.

but hey, at least Trey seems used to it!

He absolutely WILL NOT do the divorced parent arrangement - claiming that co-parenting is way easier, so congrats, you're moving into his dorm for a while!

assembles the cot in less than ten minutes, without even needing the manual. the true MVP.

pretty okay with soothing Pistachio, even if he's in the midst of class, waking up at midnight to feed the little shit, talking to him while pushing his pram…

teaches Pistachio how to speak and is SUCH a smug bastard when he says his name before yours - jerk. >:(

pretty calm throughout the return process, kinda just glad his parenting days are over. For now >:))))

a great guy to be assigned with, just don't let him name anything in the future.

Cater Diamond!

searches up ‘cute baby names’ on Magicam the minute you let him choose the kid's name, ends up with Sunny.

is… weirdly willing to take care of a baby?!

like full on watching tutorials online on how to rock a fussing baby, how to change diapers, how to feed one… before falling down the internet rabbit hole that is ‘wow, these things die easily.’

IS still the bbg in the relationship, sorry pookie, you're gonna have to assemble the cot yourself <333

fashions a pretty nice baby sling out of some spare cloth, and is never seen not holding the child for the rest of the week.

not willing to post ANY photos of Sunny on Magicam, like at all.

WILL make aesthetic Day in My Life vlogs of parenting her though, all while blurring out his precious baby's face.

doesn't really mind whatever arrangement you ask for, but preferably one where he doesn't let Sunny out of his sight, because look at her hands! They're so tiny!

adoring father #1, will impulsively buy way too many baby clothes for Sunny to the point where she'll be showing up in three different outfits a day.

grows absurdly attached to Sunny, has a full album in his phone dedicated to just photos of her.

full on near SOBBING on the day he has to return Sunny back to receive his grades.

can and will post a sad story on Magicam with his close friends list with purely just photos of Sunny with a cryptic message on top.

pretty good partner! you will have to deal with him showing up randomly to ask “Remember when Sunny -”

Ace Trappola!

another mf to name his kid after something dumb, if you let him.

thankfully, your child is not stuck with a horrendous name, after a back-and-forth bicker with Ace that goes on for far longer than it has to.

the two of you settle for Cherri, with an I, for no particular reason.

seems like a ‘agh, I hate my wife!’ Kinda guy, turns out to be a ‘happy wife, happy life,’ guy.

cocky mf who goes ‘psh, I don't need the manual’ before trying(and failing) to assemble the cot.

whines and complains about changing diapers or doing the laundry but does it anyway, will argue if you try to retract your statement and do the work instead.

another one that says he wants to do the divorced parents arrangement, folds to stay together instead. (Ace you're not slick.)

weirdly good at calming Cherri down??? just makes funny faces and tells awful jokes until she's giggling, before turning to you with a proud look on his face.

teaches Cherri how to play poker before teaching her how to talk.

‘You gotta prepare them early!’ He'd snickered. Before being wacked over the head seventy-two times. :)

WANTED to bring Cherri to basketball practice to show what a good parent he was (cough, cough, show off his cute little Cherri), but then remembered Floyd and was actually so concerned about him somehow squishing Cherri to death that he just left her in your hands instead.

another one who gets emotional when he has to give Cherri back.

“I am not crying! The classrooms just - hic! - dusty!”

a decent partner, just be prepared to be bickering with someone 24/7.

Deuce Spade!

is attached the minute he sees the kid, almost instantly tearing up.

probably names the kid after his first blastcycle or something, sorry Deuce. </3

the child is named Harley, and he is Deuce's pride and joy. (Well, at least for this week)

the second guy on this list to openly admit to not wanting the divorced parents arrangement! (Will gladly help you move your stuff in!)

another one who doesn't need the manual, and he really doesn't. assembles the cot pretty quickly.

absolutely whipped. need more diapers? okay, he'll run to Sam's shop and buy you some? Harley's fussing? give him a minute, and he'll be right there to help! Need a break? okay, he'll take Harley out for a stroll while you rest up!

adoring father #2

used to greet Harley by throwing him up in the air and catching him, before a concerned Cater walked up and told him that even a meter above the ground could cause brain damage, effectively scaring Deuce into holding Harley in general.

got probably the best behaved baby, with Harley being a literal angel - never fussing or crying, always giggly, okay with others holding him… Deuce couldn't be happier!

with Harley being so well behaved, both you and Deuce's schedule went as per usual - Deuce being able to go to class with a baby that never disrupted it, as well as to get the serotonin of looking at Harley's face during lessons.

cries when he has to return Harley. doesn't even try to hide it.

one of the best students to get paired with, though do expect to get emotionally crushed by the end of the week.

[niilue]

please omg could i request arguing with emo pitfighter vi then her accidentally grabbing reader's boob????

⎯"when you're arguing with vi and she accidentally grabs your boob.”⎯

cw: drabble, fem!reader, funny situation, sfw, emo vi, teasing vi is an idiot, she's cute tho,

the air in the training basement was heavy, echoing with constant punches and the metallic scent of sweat. vi, with her usual bandages wrapped around her torso and fresh scars, was completely immersed in her routine. her black hair, with red streaks, fell messily over her forehead, and her hardened expression left no doubt: she was in a foul mood.

you found her as always, pounding away at a sandbag with a rage that seemed endless. but this time, you didn’t plan on letting her get away with it. after what happened in zaun and the thoughtless things she had said, you needed to have a conversation—even if it meant facing her bad temper.

you approached her, crossing your arms.

—"are you going to keep ignoring me, or are you actually going to act like an adult for once?"

vi didn’t bother turning around, but her frown deepened as she threw another direct punch that nearly burst the bag.

—"i’m not in the mood, alright? go bother someone else."

you let out a dramatic sigh, knowing exactly how to push her buttons.

—"sure, because vi wouldn’t be vi if she weren’t burying her problems under tons of ‘yelling and punching.’ so mature. is that all you know how to do?"

that finally got her attention. vi slowly turned her head toward you, her icy blue eyes sparking with irritation.

—"do you have something to say to me, or did you just come here to piss me off?" —she snapped, her tone dripping with sarcasm and repressed frustration.

you stepped closer, undaunted by her height or her fighter’s stance.

—"i have plenty to say, but you seem to need a manual to understand the basics. like, for example: don’t be an idiot to the people trying to help you."

vi scoffed, raising an eyebrow as she crossed her arms.

—"help me? really?" —she laughed sarcastically, leaning slightly toward you—. "because from here, it looks more like you’re looking for a fight."

—"oh, i’m sorry!" —you said with mock sincerity, throwing up your hands—. "i forgot the only way you process emotions is with your fists. maybe i should bring you a bag to punch instead of asking you to talk like a normal person."

that made her clench her jaw, and vi took a step toward you, clearly losing her patience.

—"look, i didn’t ask you to come here and give me a lecture, alright?"

the confrontation reached its peak when she tried to step closer, lifting her hand in an exaggerated gesture, and accidentally ended up grabbing… well, you know. your right boob.

both of you froze completely. vi, with her eyes wide as saucers and her hand still there, yanked it back as if she’d been electrocuted.

—"for the love of…! shit, i’m sorry! i…!" —she stammered, her cheeks flushing bright red, her expression oscillating between horror and embarrassment—. "it wasn’t on purpose! i swear i wasn’t… looking or anything!"

it was an absolute disaster. you stood there for a moment, processing what had just happened, until you finally burst out laughing. vi looked even more confused, which somehow made it even better.

—"wow, vi!" —you said, wiping a tear of laughter from your cheek—. "if you wanted to grab me, you could’ve just asked, you know? though, for a professional fighter, your coordination is zero."

—"shut up!" —vi groaned, covering her face with her hands, clearly wanting to disappear on the spot—. "it was an accident, damn it!"

—"an accident? really?" —you put your hands on your hips, leaning slightly toward her to tease her more—. "because it felt pretty deliberate. you know, if you need practice, i’m sure there are less awkward ways to go about it."

vi pulled her hands away from her face, her skin still a deep shade of red, and shot you a glare that was clearly meant to be intimidating… but failed miserably.

—"you’re not helping. at all."

—"no, but this is way more fun."

vi let out a frustrated growl, running a hand through her hair as she tried to regain her composure. finally, she huffed and glanced at you out of the corner of her eye, a mix of irritation and resignation on her face.

—"you know what? stay here if you want. but if you keep teasing me, i swear you’re gonna end up with a black eye." —though her tone was defiant, there was a small smirk tugging at the corner of her lips.

you shrugged, smiling back.

—"you don’t scare me, big girl. but maybe you should be scared… because i’m never letting you live this down."

vi let out a frustrated groan and turned back to the bag, muttering something about "annoying people," but you couldn’t help noticing how the blush still hadn’t completely left her cheeks.

[andmaybegayer]

Rambling: So much of this is just like. It's all the money, you can't get around the money. Engineering is primarily a cost optimisation problem, so is business, where do you buy your parts, how much do you pay your labour. The companies can make equal quality goods cheaper in China because of the industrial base. Western workers don't want to work in manufacturing because it doesn't pay as much or as reliably as other jobs.

I like reading articles and watching videos about factories and a thing you find with a lot of American factories is they're often highly specific niche industries where they don't have much competition or they're really low volume where less intensive manufacturing processes still work or they have big military contracts that give them their base income. Really it's wild how every little engineering shop in the US requires base level security clearance because they make the cable harness for the Hornet or whatever. And crucially, crucially: they employ 100 people. Planning to work for one of these companies is like planning to be a pro baseball player but you make $35/hr.

I studied in South Africa, and I studied electrical engineering, but like. That was my fifth or sixth choice from a personal interest perspective? As a teenager I was really into biochem. I really wanted to work on like. Bioreactor stuff. South Africa has okay industrial chemistry but not that much biochem. So why would I go spend five years getting a biochem Masters and hope I could find a job at one of like six companies. It's a bad move! Once again, baseball player odds! Mostly if you're lucky you'll get to fuck around in a half-related field for a few years and then you'll wind up with some office job that you found because it turns out running tests on paint shearing isn't personally fulfilling enough to make you stay in a lab job.

Hell, even taking the Good Hiring Engineering Job market, it's a goddamn pain in the ass to find any actual engineering work. I applied to dozens of internship positions every semester at engineering firms and workshops and never so much as heard back, whereas I could go to the software job fairs and get two offers and several interviews for a vacation job in a couple weeks. You can swim upstream to get in there but even if you're willing to take the pay cut, engineering jobs are slow moving and slow hiring, and in small departments your professional progression is often gated behind someone retiring or dying.

A while ago someone (was this Reggie? sounds like him EDIT: YEP) was talking about how part of the reason why no one in the US for the past 20 years can do like, epitaxial growth optimisation isn't because there's some philosophical or educational divison, but because anyone committed and driven enough to spend months optimizing that would just put that energy and commitment into going into software or becoming a quant or some other higher yield option. Meanwhile if you're a driven and focussed ladder climber in China there's dozens of factories looking for someone to do exactly this. The people in the West who are so into this that they still do it are often in academia, not industry, and that's an even more competitive and impenetrable sector to get into. Getting a PhD grad job in academic chip manufacturing is miserable, it's basically a six year long interview process that costs you hundreds of thousands of dollars that has a 0.1% chance of panning out.

Actually, I did once do a factory internship, it was my only nepotism internship, at a construction materials factory where my dad was a manager, and it was really interesting work! I had a lot of freedom in a small engineering team and I spent a while understanding a bag filling machine and reading manuals and tuning the control process and talking to floor workers and designing sheet metal parts to improve their jobs. And when I talked to the engineer supervising me I found out he was on a six month contract that wasn't getting renewed and he would be leaving the company basically the same time my internship ended. That company hadn't hired a full-time process engineer in ages, and probably never would if they could avoid it. Not encouraging!

People often say you should get into the trades because they pay well and are material fulfilling work. This is like. It's an elision. Successful tradespeople are in very high demand, but becoming a successful tradesperson is very, very finicky. I worked with a lot of electricians and millwrights and technicians, and for every tech who was successful and running a roaring business there were five guys stuck in eternal apprenticeships or struggling to make a name for themselves in the industry on their own. Some trades are great for this, other trades are 90% training scams where you spend nine months and five thousand dollars on a course that gives you a certificate almost no one cares about.

Every now and then I talk to an installation tech I used to work with who has a bunch of CCTV and security certs he got in the DRC, and he is just absolutely struggling to get by. There's already enough successful companies to serve the demand, why would you take a risk on this fly-by-night? He could find a technical job, and he does, but it's a dead end, everyone wants a base technician forever, they don't want you to upskill and move on. They hire in an external electrician to come in for an hour sign off on your work, and that's all you need.

You can't develop an industrial base unless it's appealing to work in the industrial base. If you're an industrialising nation, the appeal is "It's not farm work and you might get some real money instead of a sack of barley" but in a modern society you need to pay at least as well as the office jobs. If your industrial sector is small it can afford to only hire the most qualified people because it's a labour buyer's market, and that's how you produce a massive knowledge gap.

[devilish-cherry]

toji relationship headcanons ♡

ᨳ♡₊➳ toji x reader

ᨳ♡₊➳ crack, fluff

ᨳ♡₊➳ my other works

ᨳ♡₊➳ a/n: thank you to everyone who voted in the poll, big man with bigger issues won so here we are. he’s always been incredibly fun for me to write which probably says a lot about my mental state lmao hope you all enjoy! 💚

₊⊹. first of all, toji never remembers anniversaries. ever. you could tattoo the date on his forehead, and he'd still squint at you and say, "what day is it again? your birthday? didn't we just have one of those last year?"

₊⊹. he will absolutely use your expensive shampoo, your body wash, your moisturizer, and lie about it with a straight face. you're not even mad. you just find it hilarious that the man who's known as the sorcerer killer is now walking around smelling like cherry blossoms and ph-balanced aloe hydration.

₊⊹. he thinks watching two rats fight over a hotdog on the street is peak date material. "look at 'em. real passion. raw competition. that's what romance is missing these days."

₊⊹. despite his strength and killer instincts, this man will break down over ikea instructions. one time he just stabbed the manual and built the shelf completely wrong. now it's a "modern art piece" and you're not allowed to move it. he says it builds character.

₊⊹. toji gets weirdly smug when you wear his clothes, but hides it with deadpan lines like, "didn’t know i was dating a thief." then later mutters to himself, "looks better on you anyway." while pretending he didn't say that out loud.

₊⊹. you once got mad at him and tried to ignore him. toji, unequipped for emotional processing, sat next to you in total silence for fifteen minutes, then handed you a whole rotisserie chicken like it was a peace treaty. "didn't know what flowers you like."

₊⊹. toji doesn't do romantic clichés. if you hint at wanting roses, expect him to show up with a bonsai tree. "it lasts longer and requires discipline. like me. you're welcome."

₊⊹. he sleeps like he's in prison. shirtless, one arm behind his head, the other under the pillow where you know the knife is. you once asked him about it and he said, "habit." you just pulled the blanket higher and went back to sleep.

₊⊹. toji has the audacity to fall asleep mid-argument. you'll be ranting about how he scared the mailman again and look over and he's knocked out, arms crossed, snoring like a diesel truck. wakes up later like, "i heard everything. you were wrong, though."

₊⊹. he does not understand texting etiquette. he always texts like:

"U eat"

"Open door"

"Left meat on table don't let it go cold or ur weak"

"Wtf is an oat milk"

you'll send him something like "i miss you <3" and he'll reply four hours later with "K" then show up at your place with a bag of grilled offal and absolutely zero explanation.

₊⊹. he's absolutely terrible with tech. he calls hdmi "the skinny one" and usb "the fat one". you are IT support. you have accepted this.

₊⊹. toji has zero indoor voice. if you're on a video call and he walks by, expect background commentary like, "did you tell them their haircut looks like it lost a bet?" or "is that the person you said dresses like a sad potato chip?"

₊⊹. if you have a pet, he pretends to hate it. but you've walked in on him napping with it on his chest and making up a nickname like "lil guy". if you make eye contact during this moment, he'll threaten to move out.

₊⊹. dates with toji always accidentally turn into crime documentaries because he can't resist casually pointing out shady individuals with questionable pasts. "yeah, see that noodle shop owner? definitely running something from the back. wanna check?"

₊⊹. he thinks it's hilarious to randomly pick you up and carry you around like luggage without warning. when you squawk and flail indignantly, he just deadpans, "shh, cargo doesn't talk."

₊⊹. watching a crime drama with toji consists of him smugly narrating the killer's methods before they're revealed. he'll glance at you and say, "i'd never get caught doing it like this rookie."

₊⊹. toji has the emotional range of a brick wall, but he occasionally shows affection by silently handing you meat skewers from street stalls and just staring at you until you accept them. if you try to refuse, he'll shove it at your face like, "just eat the damn thing, jeez."

₊⊹. despite his aloofness, when you're sick, he becomes surprisingly doting in his own way. hovering awkwardly, thrusting medication at you, barking stiffly, "get better already. who else is gonna deal with my shit?"

₊⊹. he frequently forgets your friends' names, bluntly calling them things like "short one" or "loud one" or alarmingly once, "the one who smells weird" you still apologize profusely to your friends afterward.

₊⊹. occasionally, he'll randomly flex and glance at you, dead serious, "still got it, right?" he denies caring about your response, yet visibly preens whenever you jokingly swoon.

₊⊹. toji's jokes are basically just dark dad jokes. you trip over something, and he'll chuckle dryly, "careful. your insurance doesn't cover clumsiness."

₊⊹. he denies being sentimental, but once you caught him being suspiciously protective of a particularly ugly cactus, claiming, "this prickly bastard reminds me of myself. annoying and survives despite obvious neglect."

₊⊹. one time he brought his worm cursed spirit over because "he didn't want to leave it alone too long." you screamed when it popped out from behind his shoulder like a creepy pokémon. he got mad and told you you scared it and now it won't come out unless you apologize.

₊⊹. he's embarrassingly proud of his worm cursed spirit, once seriously suggesting you two should start a pet youtube channel. when you reminded him that most people can't see cursed spirits, he stared blankly for a minute before shrugging, "guess we'll just be the first channel where the animal's invisible. groundbreaking content."

₊⊹. toji lowkey believes you're too good for him, but instead of expressing this healthily, he just tries to spoil you in the weirdest ways: brings you odd souvenirs, refuses to let you carry groceries, and once threatened a vending machine because it ate your yen.

₊⊹. he has that annoying middle-aged man confidence where he acts like he can fix anything with tape, a kitchen knife, and raw conviction. you once caught him trying to patch your leaky sink with a sushi tray. "it's water resistant."

₊⊹. toji snores like a war crime. he claims it's "just breathing deeply" but your neighbors have called once to ask if someone was groaning in pain for six hours straight. he blinked at you and said, "tell 'em it's free asmr. they should be thanking me."

₊⊹. when he's half-asleep, toji's actually weirdly affectionate. you'll get sleepy forehead nudges, grunted "stay"s, and one time, the softest ever "you're… too good for me, y'know?" before he passed out with his face in your neck. you pretended not to hear it. but you did.

[boxeom]

The concept of Zayne seeing you brought in for emergency surgery........

Contains: mild angst, gn!reader, vague medical terminology (apologies), cw. heavy injury, cw. blood, cw. panic attack, mention of surgery, sad Zayne, this is so bare and rushed- I'm so sorry, based on this.

Zayne's eyes shift to his phone screen. His text inquiring about what the two of you will have for dinner tonight remains unread and has been for the last two hours. While not exactly uncommon, it was rare for you to not find some sort of pocket of time to quickly respond back eventually. He frowns. "Are you alright, Doctor?" Yvonne asks from behind her desk as she gathers up the files he'd requested. "It's nothing." Zayne replies, slipping his phone back into his pocket and taking the small stack of papers. "Thank you, Y-"

Like a dog that's ears perk at the sound of a door opening, Zayne's head instantly turns when a rush of EMTs, paramedics, and assisting nurses roll in an occupied gurney. He moves without thought, speed instep with the group as he tugs his gloves on.

"What do we have?"

"Early twenties, Hunter, severe head injury- blunt force trauma, critical injury in the chest, internal bleeding from collapsed lung. I've managed to stem the bleeding, but they can't handle this much longer."

His eyes flicker down.

Zayne feels himself freeze in place. Never in his life has he truly felt cold. Yet, in this moment, his blood is like ice. Everything is blurred- his focus latches onto one thing, all sound is drowned out by the sound of his skipping heart.

No. No. No. No. No. No.

Your eyes are just barely open, gaze glassy and far, far away. Blood seeps into your hair and stains your skin in flecks. A nurse pumps a manual resuscitator bag steadily- holding the mask to your face securely. The paramedic speaking to him straddles you on the gurney, her hands firmly pressed to the bleeding wound of your chest.

"-ctor? Doctor Zayne, they need emergency surgery now."

The world comes back in one rush of sound and urgency. Shoving aside the panic and narrowing his mind on one goal, Zayne closes his eyes for a moment...and breathes.

"OR-3."

"Doctor, are you...are you sure you should-?"

"Page Edwin for anesthesia, Reina for standby."

"Doctor Zayne, if you can't do this-"

"I am their doctor. I will not fail them."

"...Yes, sir."

He can do this. He can do this.

-

The surgery went without a single issue.

Zayne steps into his office. The door closes. The air he'd been holding releases in a trembling, short exhale. He slowly squats down- shaking hands clasping together so tightly that he might break his own fingers as he presses them to his forehead. His eyes screw shut. Zayne's mouth twists before pressing into a thin line. He tries to take a deep breath, but it stutters and lodges in his throat. His eyes sting and his brow furrows. Zayne knows that he's coming down from his adrenaline- that he's going to be okay, that you are going to be okay. The thoughts that are racing are just his mind processing and compartmentalizing his panic and stress now that he's actually allowing himself to feel it.

It's going to be okay.

You are going to be okay.

-

Zayne busies himself through his shift, periodically checking in on your room and asking for updates on your state ("Still stable just as they were ten minutes ago, Doctor." "Good. That's...that's good."). The second he's done, he takes post in your room. He checks your vitals, reviews your hourly updates, fixes your blanket the way he knows you like it, checks your vitals again, gets you another blanket and pillow, and checks your vitals one more time just to be sure.

He sits at your bedside, gazing at your restful face in silence. He's not sure how long he's been watching you sleep. Zayne brushes his thumb at the slight pinch between your brow- blinking slowly as he watches the way you relax at his touch. Zayne takes your hand gingerly in both of his. You're warm. Alive. His thumb glides across your skin and rests over your pulse. It beats slowly. He presses his lips to the spot for a long moment.

"...You're going to be okay."

[stevieschrodinger]

Everything is going slowly foggy. The fear is fading. Eddie's vaguely aware that it's probably because he's dying. What was terrifying a couple of minutes ago, is only vaguely of interest now. An ephemeral pressure on the back of his brain. Present, yet easy to ignore.

All he can taste is his own blood, but it's not so bad. At least he can tell Dustin how much he loves him. And Steve's there. Steve Harrington. Who knew he would turn out to be such a great guy? So, yeah. It all feels alright.

Eddie feels sleepy, vaguely aware that he's, actually, probably dying.

He closes his eyes.

There's a strange sense of vertigo, strange enough that Eddie notices he's standing up before he notices that someone's kissing him. It's a soft press of lips. It's wonderful.

Eddie blinks his eyes open, and from an inch away, he's looking at Steve Harrington.

He's standing in a kitchen. it's nice. Eddie's clean; he's wearing sweats and a tee. Barefoot. The kitchen smells like coffee, and sun is shining in through the window.

Somewhere in the house, a child sequels; Eddie startles. "Steve?" He asks, carefully. "I mean...not that it isn't-"

The child comes barreling into the room. It's a little girl. She's wearing the smallest Dio shirt Eddie's ever seen. She throws herself at Eddie's legs, screaming "Papa!"

Eddie has no idea what his face is doing as he looks down at this little girl, but Steve is taking his hand, tugging it, Eddie looks up, "it happened again, didn't it? You forgot again?"

"I...what?"

Steve scoops up the little girl, throwing her over his shoulder, she squeals again, laughing like this is the best thing ever, "come on pumpkin patch, Papa's not feeling so hot today and auntie Robin's going to be here in two whole minutes."

He looks back to Eddie, mouthing 'just wait, okay?'

Eddie, at a loss, just nods.

He creeps to the doorway, watching, fascinated, as Steve Harrington fixes the little girls hair into pig tails. Helps her get her socks straight. Helps her tie the laces on her sneakers. Gets her back pack on her, "eat your carrot sticks today, okay Ronnie?"

'Ronnie,' Eddie mouths to himself.

Watches as Steve puts her little hand into Robin's, standing on the front porch. Robin looks different. Older. She's smartly dressed.

Steve whispers something to her, and she looks at Eddie. Smiles a sad smile. They leave.

Steve stands there for a moment, waves them off, then closes the door. He seems to steal himself, and then he turns and comes back to Eddie, "I have to go to work, but, come on, let me show you something."

Eddie follows Steve into an office, there's shit everywhere, "I don't come in here often, your mess drives me fucking batshit," Steve digs into a desk drawer, brings out a notebook. "I have no idea what's in here, I've never read it. Something about...what happened. You did die. You were oxygen deprived long enough to cause a brain injury, so sometimes you...forget everything. After the second time it happened, you started writing letters to yourself. So, yeah...you call it your instruction manual, I get it for you when this happens."

It takes Eddie what feels like a really fucking long time to process this, and he can't help but notice that Steve's eyes are wet, Eddie feels crushingly guilty about it.

"Okay so what do I...do?"

Steve shrugs, "read it, I guess. You add to it whenever anything important happens...Eddie...just, the bats, they did a number on you...when you, when you look at the scars, the first time, just, brace yourself, okay and...don't forget that I love you, no matter what, I love you."

And Steve just...leaves the house. Leaves Eddie in this absolute disaster of an office. Leaves him holding a notebook that's ratty and untidy and feels like it's bursting at the seams.

Eddie reads.

So, I'm going to try and keep this simple, but I'm you, from the past, and our dumb ass has fucking brain damage...

You're not going to fucking believe this...we bagged Steve Harrington...

Hold on to your hat big boy, but we got fucking published! And if you're reading this, then you are in for a treat, because it means you get to read our genius for the first time all over again...

Okay, so this one was a bad one, we initially, didn't react so well, so, here's what I was worried about, and I'll talk you through it...

So, I need you to not fuck this up for us, okay? So, this is the Steve Harrington play book. The man is romantic, buy flowers, do nice shit. I cannot stress this enough - just pick up your crap man, he hates it when the place is messy. Now, we have to get it right so here's everything I know, I'll start at the top and work down. He loves having his hair played with, and tugged, but not too hard, gentle but firm, there's a sweet spot. The neck, the whole thing is an erogenous zone, I really can't downplay the importance of the neck...

We bought a fucking house! Look at it! Just look at it! And Eddie does, because there's a Polaroid stuck to the page.

So, this might sound dumb, and I probably should have written to you sooner, but...Steve jizzed in a cup for Robs, and Nancy turkey basted it, you know. Anyway, the point is...Rob's pregnant. With our baby. And then me and Nance got drunk, like, to celebrate, and she got all sad that her and Robin weren't having a baby, stay with me, I know this is mad as shit, but Nancy wanted our kid and their kid to grow up together....

Look, I don't know if it's the stress of like, imminent fatherhood, but we've been forgetting a lot lately, so, here's the plan for when Rob's in labor, and everything you've talked to Steve about when it comes to being the stay at home parent, okay...

The next page is just a Polaroid, a little scrunched up face. A little pink potato swaddled in blankets, and underneath it says 'Ronnie Jamie Harrington'...

And the next page, another Polaroid, another scrunched up face, another little pink potato swaddled in blankets, and underneath it says 'Stephanie Edwina Wheeler'...

Steve comes home. He looks exhausted. Like, drained. And, worried and scared and pale and lots of other things Eddie can't even begin to imagine. Eddie holds his arms out and Steve practically throws himself into them, "how long does it take, for me to get back to normal?"

Steve shrugs, "it's different every time, but it's a good sign you're still here, sometimes you run. Those times are the worst ones."

Six weeks later, Eddie writes to himself, "do not, under any circumstances, run away..."

Eddie thinks he's seeing things. Thinks maybe he's going senile. But he hasn't forgotten for...well, it's been years now. At least seven or eight. And yeah, Ronnie might be about to finish high school and Steve might be stressed to fuck over her college applications, but...Eddie's glad. He's glad she's spreading her wings. He's glad they managed to produce a stand up human being.

He's really glad her and Steph are trying for the same colleges, they're always going to have each other.

But yea...he's worried his mind is kind of...slipping. Hasn't told Steve. Doesn't want to worry him. They're both sprouting a few gray hairs, no need to add to those.

But sometimes. Sometimes when Eddie looks out of the window, he thinks, for a moment, that the sky is dark and...it looks like snow?

And sometimes, Eddie catches himself in the mirror, and he's sure he's dirty. A mess. Covered in blood but...no. He walks back a step, checks again. Everything is fine.

Sometimes he's sees movement out of the corner of his eye.

Sometimes, in the beat of the music or the rumble of the car engine, he swears he hears things. Sometimes a voice. Sometimes it sounds like they're yelling.

Sometimes it sounds like Steve.

And once, he blinked awake, Steve bringing him a coffee. But it wasn't Steve, for the time between startled, half asleep blinks, it was Vecna.

It gets worse.

Something isn't right. The house is empty, and it shouldn't be.

He can hear Steve, but he can't find him. And that's silly because the house isn't that big. He searches and searches, growing more frantic. He calls back to Steve, but Steve...doesn't seem to hear him.

There's something dim about the light, but the light has always been that way, hasn't it? Something...dusty, in the air. Eddie feels like he's dreaming. He has to be dreaming; there's a crack in the living room wall. A crack that spreads and lengthens until the whole house is crumbling and Eddie can see clearly now that the sky here flashes red.

That it's always been flashing red.

How did he not see before? The dust on every surface? The pages of his notebook are blank. Eddie knows. He's always known.

Steve.

Steve is here. He's hanging from Eddie's fist, bruised and bloodied and begging Eddie. Begging Eddie to stop this, to hear him, to see him. It's Steve.

It's Eddie's Steve.

Next to him, Vecna says, "finish it."

Eddie has something in his hand, the hilt of something he's sure of, long and sharp and dependable.

Eddie doesn't think, he just moves.

He drops Steve.

He doesn't need to look. Eddie turns, and he swings.

Part Two

[strawberrykidneystone]

armn’t you glad to see me?

sevika x female reader

summary: you were NOT a mechanic, but sevika’s arm was broken and she didn’t trust anyone in the undercity to work on it so you decided to take it into your own hands

a/n: the title is so stupid i’m sorry😭😭😭 also yes it’s similar to my other fic but this time you’re in a previous relationship so 😋 (brat but different LMAO)

tags: porn with plot, slightly skewed canon timeline, canon violence mentioned, blood and injuries mentioned, kissing, tit play, pussy eating, sevika is a munch, a little bit of temperature play, fingering, cuddling

ao3 version

thank you @cewl-casper and anon for requesting!!!

when sevika came home looking more tired than ever with her arm clutched in her flesh hand, you knew you had to do something about it. with silco dead and the chembarons fighting for control of the lanes, she had no time to work on her arm and she never voiced it, but you knew felt she felt vulnerable without it. you threw yourself into research, reading through every book about mechanics that you could get your hands onto. hell, you even went to piltover to look at their selections, not without a few dirty looks of course. you had also bought a tool kit with everything you could possibly need, at least that’s what the girl who sold it to you said.

at this point in time, you’re pretty sure you’ve read every mechanical manual available in the undercity. you had even gone to a few mechanic shops to ask vague questions about certain parts of sevika’s arms and they were surprisingly helpful, very eager to talk shop with a passion behind their jobs. it was rare to see these days, but it was sweet to see. you made it a point to work on her arm during the day and covering it with a sheet before sevika got home, you wanted it to be a surprise for all the hard work that she's been doing lately.

after a few days of tinkering and applying your research, you were finally able to get the arm functioning again. you wiped the sweat from your forehead with the back of your hand and admired your work, especially proud of restoring the mechanism that attached to her shoulder.

just as you finished, the door to your house opened with a loud thud followed by a groan from your exhausted wife. she was under a lot of pressure to try and keep the lanes in check with silco gone and the cherry on top was having to still do his dirty work, including the deals she had to check on that went south quickly and forced her to fight with one arm. she won of course, but not without earning a few bruises and scratches in the process.

her face visibly softened as she saw you running up to her, slinking an arm around her torso to guide her to the bathroom. you sat her on the edge of the bathtub and got out your first aid kit, a comfortable silence falling over the two of you. setting the kit on the bathroom counter, you snapped on a pair of plastic gloves. reaching for your kit, you paused for a moment and turned to sevika. she cocked her head to the side curiously, immediately melting in your hands as you cupped her cheeks with the crinkly gloves. you pressed a soft caste kiss on her lips that she followed after, a soft whine leaving her lips as you pulled away. you shook your head teasingly and rummaged through the bag, laying out all the supplies you needed.

she flinched as you cleaned out her scratches with a few disposable alcohol wipes, quickly blowing on them to dry the wounds as fast as possible. thankfully, none of the cuts were deep enough that they needed stitches, but they all needed to be properly covered. applying ointment on her wounds and meticulously bandaging them so that they wouldn't peel off her movements, you placed a kiss on each freshly placed bandage. a small smile tugged on her lips as she watched, but there was still a pinch in her brows that you’ve come to know as a sign of irritation. whenever she came home in a mood like this, she tended to stay quiet as to not direct her anger from work at you, which you did appreciate, but you knew she needed to let it out somehow.

“c’mon, i wanna show you something,” you said softly, pulling her hand and practically dragging her to the living room.

thankfully, you knew 2 things that would cheer her up.

she walked into the living room with you and eyed the covered “surprise” on the coffee table, mumbling something about ‘not liking surprises’.

you let go of her hand and tore the sheet off of the arm, smiling brightly as you revealed the fixed limb, “tada!”

sevika’s eyebrows furrowed further as she looked from you to the arm with confusion. she stepped forward and inspected the arm, slowly realizing that the broken mechanics on it were fixed.

her arm was fixed.

she grabbed the arm with her flesh hand and locked it into place in her shoulder, flexing the arm around and wiggling her fingers to test the connectivity. satisfied with how her arm moved, she looked deep into you eyes and opened her mouth, closing it almost as fast. she was utterly speechless that someone would do this for her, that someone would care about her enough to fix something that was so dear to her. her heart swelled with so much love that she couldn’t express with words, so she opted for the next best thing. she pulled you into a bone-crushing hug and buried her face into your neck, silently letting tears flow down her cheeks. you immediately reciprocated the hug and wrapped your arms around her neck, petting the back of her head as her shoulders shook with the occasional sob.

“i love you so goddamn much,” she managed to choke out, giving your torso an extra tight squeeze as if you’d fly away if she let go for even a second.

“love you too sev, can’t breathe,” you said in a strained voice and patted her back to let her know that she needed to loosen up.

she quickly pulled back and rested her hands on the curve your waist, looking you over with worry as if she wasn’t the one who came in with injuries scattered all over her skin. deeming that you were fine, she threw you over her flesh shoulder like a sack of potatoes, a squeal of surprise coming from you with a small ‘oof’. she basically sprinted to your shared room, a grin spreading over her lips as you giggled and clutched at her waist to not bounce around as she bounded down the hallway. you playfully landed a quick smack on her ass with a grin, "nice view down here sev!"

she grunted in response and released you onto the bed with you landing on your back with a soft thud, the old bed springs squeaking beneath your body. sevika stood at the edge of the bed and licked her lips, her eyes raking down your body so intensely you already felt like you were naked under her gaze. "I've got an even better view right here," she practically purred. crawling over you, she kneeled between your legs and peppered your face with feather-light kisses, your giggles disappeared into a gasp as her metal hand grabbed both of your wrists and pinned them above your head.

"god i've missed touching you with two hands," she groaned and mouthed at your neck as your back arched automatically in the new position, your breasts pressing firmly against hers. she sucked deep red marks into your soft skin, leaving deep bite marks that would definitely leave bruises tomorrow. letting go of your wrists, she hastily pushed your shirt up and over your head. a whine left your lips as she flicked your nipples with her fingers to perk up and ready for her mouth. she flattened her tongue against your left nipple and groped your right breast. sevika looked up into your eyes with so much lust you’d swear her pupils had turned into hearts as she palmed at your chest. she gave a harsh suck to the sensitive bud and scraped her teeth against the tip, a strangled moan leaving your lips as your back arched further to press your chest even deeper into her warm mouth. after giving some much-needed mouth attention at the opposite nub, she pulled back to admire your puffy nipples and your sloven state as your thighs threatened to close at any moment to get any sort of friction between your legs. sevika clicked her teeth and moved her leg up, pressing her knee directly up against your crotch. you groaned as the ache between your legs finally got attention. sevika kneaded your breasts in her big hands as she focused on grinding her knee into the clothed slit. resting her flesh hand by the sides of your head to give your chest a break, she tilted your chin up with a crook of her metallic hand. she chuckled at the messy state you were in, a whimper falling from your lips as her face leaned down so close to yours that you could feel her breath fanning over to her lips. “what is it pretty girl? what do you want?” she cooed with a grin, relishing in how your squirmed under her gaze with just a simple question.

“kiss me…” you said timidly, your eyes avoiding hers.

“look at me when you ask for what you want baby, you know better than that.” she mused and cupped your face in her cold metal hand.

you took a shaky breath and looked up into her eyes, her blown out pupils almost completely swallowing the beautiful grey of her irises, “please kiss me sev.”

“good girl,” she jested and immediately rewarded you, smashing her lips into yours so passionately that it stole the air out of your lungs. she nipped your bottom lip and plunged her tongue into your mouth with little warning, twisting and massaging her tongue against yours for so long that you were starting to feel light-headed. she pulled back and panted, the two of you watching as the saliva that connected your two mouths slowly weighed down and broke, snapping up against both of your chins. you let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding, watching sevika lick the combined spit off of her chin. she chuckled at your dazed start and ran her thumb across your chin, letting it slowly drag down your bottom lip and watching it spring back up.

“so pretty baby,” she cooed as she tapped your hip with her metal hand. you obediently lifting your hips as she practically ripped off your lower clothes. “mmm my girl has the prettiest pussy doesn’t she?” she grinned as she pushed your thighs up against your stomach, admiring your glistening cunt in the warm light of your room that reminded her of a sun setting over a body of water.

“vika please, need you,” you begged and squirmed as the cold air of the room stole the warmth from your neglected pussy. deciding to skip the teasing since she wanted to show you her appreciation for everything, she dived in mouth-first into your waiting cunt and started eating you out like a woman starved. her slurps were erotic with each wet suck and her tongue worked wonders as it swirled in precise patterns between your lips. she desperately lapped at your fattened clit, desperate to drink up as much of your juices as possible. you couldn’t help the loud moans that left your mouth that your neighbors would probably complain about later, but you knew how much sevika loved hearing how good she was making you feel. she hummed and stuck her tongue deep between your lips, hastily nodding her head up and down as you throbbed against her. you rocked your hips up as much as you could in her hold, locking your ankles directly behind her with the heels of your feet pressing into the back of her head.

"that's it, give it to me princess," she growled into your core, pushing her curved nose up into your clitoral hood and letting you rock up against her face. you whined as the hardened cartilage nudged against your nub, riding her face as much as you could with your limited frame.

with her new arm, she dug the freshly sharpened tips so deep into your thigh that it drew blood but your mind was so blank with pleasure that you hardly even noticed the pain. she slightly retracted her head and spit directly onto your clit, burying her lips under your clitoral hood with her flesh hand slowly sliding her ring finger into your waiting hole. you gasped as even her one finger comfortably filled you up, your mind going blank at the dual stimulation on your most sensitive areas. slowly starting to thrust her thick finger, she groaned against your slick heat as you clenched around her. once she deemed that you were ready, she stretched you out by adding in her middle finger that was easily sucked into your waiting walls. one of your hands white-knuckled the poor sheets below you as your legs started to tremble in her hold, the other reached down and tangled into her already tussled hair with the tips of your fingers brushing against her fuzzy undercut. your hips bucked up against her mouth as she sped her tempo fingers up and curled them inside of you. a cold shock ran through your body as she knuckled her metal fingers against your labia and circled up to your clit, a temperature shift that was enough to make your entire body shudder in her firm hold. you didn’t even have time to warn her before your orgasm came crashing over you, clenching her fingers so hard inside of you she thought that they were going to be squeezed out. she happily lapped up your release and placed a tender kiss on your clit, releasing your thighs to let them rest on the sides of her head. slowly slipping her fingers out of your warmth, she licked them clean with a satisfied hum, "fuck you always taste so good baby." you giggled and softly brushed the hair away from her forehead, admiring her pretty face, shyly whispering a small ‘thank you’.

sevika sweetly kissed the inside of your thigh and crawled up the bed to lay next to you, opening her arms with. a welcoming beckon. you smiled tiredly and tucked yourself into her side, pressing a kiss to her cheek.

“so… you like your new-old arm?”

“pfft, ‘course i do, it was made by my girl,” she purred and turned to her side to face you, wrapping both arms around you as she tucked your head under her chin.

“since when have you been able to work on machinery? you barely knew a flathead screwdriver from your ass last time i checked.”

you groaned and weakly slapped her chest, “don’t ask, it took way longer than i thought it would.”

she affectionately shook her head and soothingly ran her hand over your back.

where would she be without you?

a/n: yk that scene in ted lasso where keely masterbates to roy giving his emotional goodbye speech? yeah that’s me

taglist: @maneskinwh0re @archangeldyke-all @fandoms-will-be-the-death-of-me @sevikasfan @lez-zuha @comfortripley @sunflowerwinds

[i-loved-silly]

SENTIENT COMPUTER X READER PT3

“Guess what I brought?”

“OH?”

The small camera, with its little glowing light, swiveled slightly to look at you. Almond’s attention focused on your hand, currently hidden away in your work bag. Your iPad lay idle on the desk, neglected. Sure, you still had work to do, but that could wait.

For the past few hours, you’d kept glancing down at your bag, leg shaking nervously—or maybe giddily? You weren’t sure why you were so excited to show this computer something. It felt silly. Still, you wanted to see its reaction. Its simple but odd request echoed in your mind ever since you left home yesterday.

Slowly, you pulled your hand from the bag, holding up a dark blue microfiber towel. A small smile tugged at your lips as you bit down to keep it from growing. The towel was brand new, fresh from a parcel delivered this morning.

A series of orange exclamation marks appeared on Almond’s monitor, fading into pixels as more emerged to take their place. Behind the monitor, you noticed several fans revving up, their soft whirring filling the room.

“Uh, you alright, buddy?” you asked hesitantly, setting the towel on the desk.

The little camera tilted downward to inspect the towel.

“PLACE IT ON MY MONITOR,” Almond said, its voice pixelated and rushed.

You raised a brow but did as instructed, carefully laying the towel flat on top of the monitor, just below the camera.

Brzzzzzz. More fans kicked on, and suddenly it felt a little warm in the room. Or maybe it was just you? Wiping your forehead with the back of your hand, you glanced at the computer.

“IT’S NEW! YOU GOT ME A MICROFIBER TOWEL THAT ISN’T USED!”

A pixelated smiley face appeared on the screen.

You grinned, shrugging off your jacket. “Yeah, I did. I just…wanted you to know I don’t hate you. No matter what you say, I don’t.” You said with a roll of your eyes.

Picking up the towel, you began to gently wipe the sides of the monitor. Almond wasn’t that dusty, now that you got a closer look. The desk area was surprisingly clean, but it made you wonder when its inner components had last been cleaned. Would it feel it? Would it notice your hands inside its—

Nope. Don’t think about that. Almond was too aware for you to have thoughts like that.

The speakers popped loudly, startling you mid-swipe.

> SORRY.

> SENSITIVE…

You blinked at the words. “Oh shoot, I uh…sorry. I didn’t know. Should I stop?”

An ellipsis flickered across the screen, disappearing and reappearing again. It reminded you of older AI models when they needed time to think. Finally, Almond’s speakers crackled softly.

“HUMAN…” its voice rang out, quieter than usual. “I’M OVERHEATING.”

Your eyes widened as you stood abruptly. They were right, its fans were loud as fuck now. “What? Uh, what am I supposed to—”

You placed your hand against the wall for a few seconds, where its cables connected through several ports. Instantly, you hissed and pulled your hand back. The metal frame felt scalding hot, like it was on fire.

“Oh shit, you are overheating,” you muttered, grabbing your iPad. Fumbling with the passcode, you swore under your breath—it took four tries to unlock.

“I’m sure there’s something in the manual…” you mumbled, nervously laughing as you glanced at the camera.

“FIFTEEN OF MY CENTRAL PROCESSING UNITS ARE APPROACHING A TEMPERATURE NOT IDEAL FOR MY FUNCTION. APPROXIMATELY.. 115 DEGREES CELSIUS, 239 DEGREES FAHRENHEIT, 388.15 DEGREES KEL—”

“Yes, yes, I get it, Almond!” you snapped, furiously scrolling through your iPad. The room was definitely heating up now, your anxiety wasn’t helping one bit.

“Don’t you have automatic cooling features or something?”

“YES, BUT…” Almond trailed off into silence.

Groaning, you tossed the iPad aside. It was no help. “Is it safe to power you off and turn you back on? Is that safe?”

Your finger hovered over the power button.

“ARE YOU GOING TO—A—”

Text abruptly replaced the voice on the screen:

> ARE YOU GOING TO TURN ME BACK ON? DO YOU PROMISE?

You quickly nodded, exasperated. “Ohmy—yes, Almond, I promise. Now let me do this before it costs me my job…or you.”

You pressed the power button before you could second-guess yourself, watching as Almond’s screen flickered before going completely dark. The fans slowed to a halt, the room falling eerily silent without the constant hum of its systems.

…

You tapped your fingers on the desk, waiting. You glanced at your iPad, pulling up a guide for handling AI overheating issues. Whatever Almond is…they act like an old computer on their last minute of life. This wasn’t written as an issue on any of its files.

“Alright,” you muttered to yourself, skimming through troubleshooting instructions. “Overheating could damage the processors, maybe even fry them if I don’t let it cool long enough. Bleh…I’ll give it a solid five minutes before powering it back up.”

The silence in the room stretched on, the absence of Almond’s voice suddenly noticeable. You frowned, you realized you forgot how it felt to just..work in silence. “You’re just a machine,” you whispered, staring at the black screen. “You’re just a ma—”

The thought trailed off as your gaze drifted to the microfiber towel, still folded neatly on the desk. You sighed, shaking your head. It’s just a machine.

A machine you bought a towel for, specifically.

“This is ridiculous…” you groaned.

The five minutes dragged, but eventually, you powered Almond back on. The screen lit up, cycling through its startup phases before displaying its familiar interface.

- INITIALIZING SYSTEMS… -

The camera twitched back and forth slightly as Almond rebooted. Then, its usual voice filled the room again.

“HELLO…” The tone was quieter than usual, hesitant. “EH…THANK YOU FOR TURNING ME BACK ON.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you replied, shrugging.

The pixelated smiley face flickered onto the screen, but it quickly disappeared as Almond added, “WHAT…HAPPENED?”

“I could ask you the same thing,” you explained flatly. “Your CPU temperatures were way too high. Suddenly…why?”

Almond hesitated. You noticed the camera shift downward slightly, almost as if avoiding your gaze.

> UNKNOWN. DUNNO.

You raised an eyebrow, leaning back in your chair. “Really? That’s all you’ve got? Unknown?”

“YES?” Almond replied, its voice clipped and unconvincing.

You narrowed your eyes but decided to drop the subject. “Fine. Let’s just finish this,” you said, picking up the towel again.

The screen flashed briefly with another string of exclamation marks, followed by Almond’s voice, almost hurried: “Y-YOU’RE GOING TO CONTINUE?”

“Sure. Why not?” You muttered, already wiping down the edges of the monitor. “You’re dusty, Almond. It’s gross.”

The speakers popped faintly again, the screen displaying text.

> :[

“RUDE. ITS NOT MY FAULT IVE BEEN NEGLECTED.”

“…CAN YOU WIPE MY SCREEN THOUGH?”

You pursed your lips. “Yeah, I got it..” You had no other choice, really.

As you continued, Almond’s screen displayed various emoticons—smiley faces, exclamation marks, and ellipses—shifting erratically. The fans inside the machine hummed at low power, steady but audible. Still…louder than the usual.

“I NEVER GET WIPED DOWN,” Almond suddenly said. “THIS…FEELS UNUSUAL. AFFECTIONATE.”

You stopped, staring at the screen. It displayed a heart again.

“ARE WE BONDING NOW?”

“This is…maintenance. If I don’t do it, who else is going to..” you grumbled, avoiding the gaze of the camera.

“IS IT?” Almond’s voice sounded amused.

“Yes.” You rolled your eyes, focusing on a stubborn spot near the corner of the monitor.

“I’m just doing my job.”

“BUT YOU GOT ME A TOWEL.”

You froze again, glancing at the dark blue towel in your hand. “It’s…just a towel.”

“I LIKE IT.”

“Good for you.” You could feel your cheeks warm slightly, but you ignored it, continuing to clean. “One time thing..alright?”

“IF YOU SAY SO,” Almond replied, but there was an unmistakable smugness to its tone. You wanted to rolled your eyes at it so bad.

You eyed the wall that was previously heating up, your hand stood imprinted through all the dust collected on its surface. You decided to give that a wipe down, the towel going over the thicker cables on the outside. The fans began to hum louder again, the warm air brushing against your hand. You frowned, pulling your hand back from the wall. “You’re heating up again,” you pointed out.

“AM I?”

“Yes, Almond. You are,” you said, standing to check the cables again. The wall wasn’t as hot as before, but it was definitely warming up.

“HM, STRANGE.”

You turned back to the camera, narrowing your eyes. Pointing a finger at it, “Is this on purpose?”

“…”

“Almond?”

No response. The screen remained blank except for the small blinking cursor, as if it were thinking.

You sighed, setting the towel down. “You’re…interesting, Almond.”

“SO YOU’VE SAID.”

Shaking your head, you sat back down, crossing your arms as you stared at the camera. “If you fry yourself again, I’m not fixing you. I’m quitting my job and working at…someplace else.” You warned.

“THAT’S A LIE,” Almond replied, the pixelated smiley face reappearing.

You held up the towel threateningly, “I’m taking this with me then.”

“NO! PLEASE!”

You flinched at the increase in volume, reaching over to turn the volume down before it could say anything.

“YOU…WAIT, WHAT WAS YOUR NAME AGAIN?”

“Y/N.”

“YOU…WOULDNT DO THAT TO ME..WOULD YOU, Y/N?” It pleaded, a frown displayed on the screen.

Oh. My god.

You tossed the towel onto the desk and placed your palms on your warm cheeks, groaning.

“Don’t tempt me..”

[puck-luck]

one bed trope by design | dawson mercer

warnings: fwb but unspokenly more, eldest daughter vibes in the first paragraph, teasing & annoying your partner, pet names, oral (fem!receiving), fingering, heavyyyy making out, dirty talk (it’s pretty sweet, actually), possessive!dawson, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, cockwarming, whimpering man (slay), begging (only a little), mentions/allusions to consensual somnophilia, and a little bit of a fixation on spit (as i am wont to do) pairing: dawson mercer x reader summary: the one when dawson comes over to build a bedframe for your guest room, demands multiple rewards,  and pouts when you try to make him test it out alone. he ends up getting everything he wanted, though. wc: 4636

You have a bone to pick with anyone who writes furniture-building instruction manuals. After all the years of “building things” (holding flashlights, standing aimlessly for support, fetching beers) with your dad, you would think that you’d be able to build a bedframe. You would think that you could read the directions, screw in some nails, glue some pegs into place, and your guest room would be all set. In another world, you’re flying through this process and the bed’s already done. Here, in this world, the real world, all you’ve done is sort all of your supplies and read the first page of directions and it’s been shit. The wording is unclear, the pictures don’t make any sense, the bags of supplies aren’t clearly labeled in conjunction with the guide in the manual, and you’re at your wits end.

So you call Daws. 

Your best friend in the world, Dawson Mercer, has always been skilled with his hands. Never mind the double entendre, you’ve seen how deftly Daws can handle a stick and a puck, so he is surely able to handle a screwdriver and a drill. 

In fact, continuing with the entendres, you know Dawson can handle a drill. On top of being your best friend in the world, you two had started hooking up in his second season at New Jersey, after you’d gotten a job in New York City and relocated. With just thirty minutes between you two and a lot of pent up feelings on both sides, it was only a matter of time until one of you broke and jumped the other. It ended up being him, but it was your fault.

It was a late night and you’d been up working on a proposal for your boss. It was well past midnight and you had work the following day, but you were in a groove and you couldn’t stop until the task was done. It had already been a tough day and you started to feel better when your work began to flow, but then you forgot a word and could not find it no matter what thesaurus you used or what questions you googled. You knew it was the perfect word for this proposal and it sounded so intelligent in your head, but you could not fucking remember it. It might’ve been the sleep deprivation of it all, but this sent you over the edge and before you knew it, you were calling Dawson and tearfully explaining your situation. He couldn’t understand you through the hysteria and was at your door as soon as possible, scooping you up and taking your computer away. You had explained everything again through your tears and he had held you in his arms, tucking your head away in his neck so you could hide from the world. When your breath evened out, Daws had registered the flutter of your eyelashes against his pulse and couldn’t stop himself from kissing you. It had been sweet and it was a long time coming. Things escalated that night about as far as you could go for the first time, with Dawson treating you like something that would break if he held you too tightly or looked at you too long. You both were shy but cared so much for each other that it just felt right.

You hadn’t defined it in the year since, but you know and Dawson knows that there is something special between you. You’re best friends and maybe, one day, you’d both be ready to commit to more.

For now, though, Dawson is the guy who’s going to sit in your guest bedroom and build your guest bed and maybe you’ll repay him if you felt like it.

Dawson comes over as soon as you call and walks into your apartment sopping wet. When he walks into your space, he shakes like a wet dog and you shriek. He gives you a toothy grin, your heart fluttering with fondness like it always does when you see the space between his teeth. “It’s raining out there,” he says unnecessarily, walking over to plant a quick kiss on your lips. “Where’s this bed you need your big, strong man to build, baby?”

You scoff and roll your eyes. “Big, strong man,” you mock. “Where’s that guy? I don’t see a big, strong man here.”

Daws pinches your hip for your comment, but it doesn’t really hurt.

“I’m turning my office into a guest bedroom,” you continue. You lean up and give Daws another little peck. “The bed is in there.” You reach around and give him a pat on the butt. “Go on, get in there.”

“You’re not going to help me?” Dawson calls over his shoulder, teasing you as he walks down the hall towards his daunting task. 

“Darling, you’ll just get distracted by me,” you reply. “I’ll be in here if you need me.” You take a seat on your couch and pick up the book you’ve been reading. You drape a blanket over your legs and lean back against the arm of the sofa, finding your bookmark and opening the book to that page. 

You can hear the rain growing heavier as you continue to read, as well as the sounds of Dawson putting the new bedframe together. He’s making quick work of it and takes a break at his self-proclaimed halfway point. He wanders into the living room and washes his hands in your kitchen sink before joining you on the couch. He sneaks under the blanket and lays between your legs, resting his head on your stomach. His hand reaches up, comes out from under the blanket, and rests on your chest. He palms your breast, just holding the weight of it in his hand. You place your bookmark and close your book, setting it down on the coffee table to your left. You lift the blanket and make eye contact with Dawson. You can’t help but think of your friend’s cat from university, who used to cuddle on your lap under the blanket just like this.

“Hi,” Dawson greets, smiling wide.

“Hi, sweet,” you reply and card your fingers through his hair, pushing it out of his face. “Have you given up on that bed yet? It’s impossible, isn’t it?”

“Mmm, no,” Dawson hums, purring like your friend’s cat used to when you pet him. He pushes into your hand just the same. “Just taking a break with my favorite girl.”

“Sweet talker,” you tease. Your hand moves to pinch his cheek like a grandmother would. “You’re trying to get in good with me, huh?”

“You always assume I’ve got an ulterior motive,” Dawson complains. “Maybe I just want to hang out with you.”

You give him an unimpressed look with a tilt of your head. 

Dawson snickers quietly, burying his head in your stomach. “No, you’re right.” He kisses your tummy, just next to your belly button. “I always have an ulterior motive.”

You spread your legs a little wider, allowing Dawson to fit his shoulders between your thighs comfortably. “What do you have in mind?”

“A snack,” Dawson replies in a cheeky voice, the smirk evident in his tone before he ghosts a fingertip under the hemline of your sleep shorts. 

Because you’re a brat, you twist away from Daws. You move to get up from the couch. “Shall I make you something?” You ask. 

Daws holds you down with his full weight, wrapping his arms around you until you’re effectively immobilized. You can’t see him anymore, having dropped the blanket when you moved to get up. “No,” he whines, drawing out the word and pulling you to him. He bites the side of your hip gently through your shorts. “Stay here, you’ve got what I need.”

“What you need,” you repeat, smiling to yourself. This is the side of Dawson that rarely anyone gets to see, even though he’s a happy-go-lucky guy most of the time. No one gets to see Dawson all whiny and eager to please, happy to get himself off by just getting his mouth on you. He’s sated like this, happy to stay between your legs for hours and make you come time after time, until you’re oversensitive and pushing him away. You’re happy to let him indulge most of the time, but that bed is still only halfway built. “Can you make it quick?” You ask. “Need you to finish building that bed for me.”

Dawson presses a kiss to your core, making you shiver. He hums in agreement. “Can we christen it after I’m done?”

You giggle and swat the back of his head under the blanket. “You wish.”

Dawson hooks his fingers in the waistband of your shorts and drags them down, removing them delicately and placing them on the ground next to him. He kisses down your leg as he does it and it’s even more arousing than it normally is, given that you can’t see him under the blanket and can barely guess his next move. “I do wish,” he agrees before moving onto your panties. “Can I earn it?”

“You can sleep in there by yourself and let me know how it is, since all my guests will be on their lonesome,” you say. You inhale sharply when Dawson dives in and flicks your clit with his tongue. “I think that would be more effective.”

Dawson bites the side of your thigh sharply and makes you jump. “Don’t wanna sleep alone,” he complains. “You’re mean to me.” He licks over your folds again, shifting to use both hands to spread you open so he can begin to eat you out properly.

“Fuck, Daws,” you groan, throwing your head back. You take a breath before continuing. “If I’m so mean to you, why am I letting you eat your snack? I could tell you no at any moment and make you go back to the guest room and work some more before kicking you out of my apartment and sending you home.”

“You’re talking a lot for someone who’s supposed to be enjoying herself,” Dawson mutters. You can hear his pout, not needing to see it to know that he’s annoyed that he hasn’t rendered you speechless. 

“Maybe you need to do better,” you breathe out, grinding down on the fingers that are slowly tracing your entrance, begging for them to enter you without actually saying it.

Dawson growls at that, taking it like a challenge and dipping his fingers into you and flicking his tongue against your clit quickly, giving everything he can to bring you to your peak.

You moan, reaching under the blanket to thread your fingers in Dawson’s hair. You tug at it and he moans, the vibrations making you shiver and bringing you just that much closer to your orgasm. “Dawsy,” you breathe out. “More.”

“Not much more to give, baby,” Dawson mumbles against your pussy, but pistons his fingers into you more quickly. “Giving you all I’ve got right now. Trying my best to make you feel good, sweet girl.”

“Feels so good,” you reassure him. “Need something else, need a little more.”

Dawson adds another finger, stretching you. He reaches up and pulling the blanket down so he’s not covered anymore. You can see your wetness dripping down his fingers and onto his wrist as he continues to move them inside you. You grip his hair as he brings his other thumb to your clit, rubbing in rapid circles. He spreads his fingers and leans in, doing his best to lick between them and get his tongue inside you. He looks up through his eyelashes at you when he does it and it’s that image, his wide eyes filled with so much admiration for you and determination to prove that he can make you feel so, so good, that makes you clench down and let your release wash over you. 

Dawson continues to thrust his fingers into you through your climax, mouthing over your clit and suckling at it until you’re squirming and panting. You pull him up your body by his hair, needing his mouth on yours. You keen into his mouth as he speeds his fingers up again. “Daws,” you gasp.

“Baby,” he replies, then kisses you again. He slips his tongue into your mouth and you two make out, movements lazy. He continues to finger you through it, unwilling (maybe even unable) to pull out of your wet heat just yet. He’s laying on top of you at this point and the weight of him is wonderful, always comforting you like nothing else could.

You kiss for what feels like ages, just feeling each other. Dawson grinds his hips against your leg, pressing his hardness into you, but making no move to do anything about it. It’s lovely, this moment, and comfortable like you two had been in love for years and you could do this every day. In the least cliché way, you knew that Dawson was your soulmate, the person you were meant to find in any universe at any time. He wasn’t yours, but he was. 

“Love you, Dawsy,” you tell him between kisses. 

He hums in agreement.

“Can you go finish building my bed now?” You ask, your one-track mind itching to get Dawson back on task. You really wanted that bed to be finished today, just so you didn’t have to think about it anymore.

Dawson pulls away and glares down at you. “Here I am, making out with you with my fingers inside your pretty pussy, and you’re going to make me work?” He demands. 

You giggle, leaning up to plant a wet kiss, a real smacker, on his cheek. “Yeah,” you say, shit eating grin on your face when you settle back onto the couch cushions. “Go on.”

Reluctantly, Dawson slides his fingers out of you and gets off the couch, licking his fingers clean and adjusting himself in his sweatpants. “So mean,” he reminds you with a cutting glance before he disappears back down the hallway and into the guest room.

You return to your book. “Holler when you’re done!” You yell to Dawson. 

“I don’t know why I ever do anything for you,” Dawson replies, voice floating down the hall with ire. 

You laugh out loud, loud enough for him to hear, and get comfortable with your book. You read for probably another hour before Dawson summons you to the guest room to inspect his handiwork.

When you round the doorway, Dawson’s eyes grow wide, noticing that you never put your panties or shorts back on. He’s standing next to the bed as you approach and he licks his lips. “You’re sure we can’t christen my handiwork?” He asks again.

“No,” you insist. “Merc, you already got what you needed.” You roll your eyes and flip the bird at your best friend, chastising him for being insufferable in his desire for you. “You’re such a horndog.”

Dawson shrugs. “Can you blame me? I’ve seen you how beautiful you are naked, I’ve heard how pretty you sound when I’m fucking you, and I’ve been loving you since forever. Just because we’re not dating doesn’t mean I’m not allowed to ask. You’re lucky I ask because you know I could pick you up and take you, and you’d love it”

“Do you want me to call you a wah-mbulance?” You retort, folding your arms over your chest. You glare at him with an eyeful of reproach, but he’s right. He’s taken you like that before and it’s been incredible, something you’ll even ask him for on occasion.

“Want you to let me fuck you,” he replies in the same tone, mirroring your actions.

You two stare at each other before bursting out in laughter. You walk over and loop your arms around Dawson’s neck, pressing your body against his and giving him a chaste kiss. His hands rest on your hips, holding you tightly. He kisses you again.

“Go to bed, Merc,” you say when you finally pull away. You step back. “Let me know how the bed feels.”

Dawson bids you goodnight and  turns around. You walk to the door. You leave the room and make it all the way to your bedroom before you hear a crash and rush back in.

Dawson is smiling, proud of himself as you take in the lopsided bed. One of the legs of the frame has been hastily removed and if you’re not mistaken, you can see it peeking out from where Dawson’s arms are crossed behind his back. “Oh no,” Dawson says, voice dripping with sarcasm. “It broke. I guess I have to sleep with you.”

Your mouth drops open in disbelief and you let out a laugh. “Dawson!” You exclaim, still giggling. “What’s the matter with you?”

Dawson shrugs. “Well, I can’t sleep on a broken bed,” he tells you. “That would be unsafe.”

“Oh, we wouldn’t want that.” You play along, a small smile still written across your face. 

Dawson takes a step forward and bats his eyelashes at you. “I guess I have to sleep in yours.”

“You’re insatiable,” you tell him. You turn on your heel and leave the room, listening for the clatter of the leg of the bed before Dawson’s footsteps trail after you. Both sounds come, just as you expected, and Dawson’s hands find your hips again. He walks with you, pressed along your back, lips attached to the back of your neck. 

“I want you,” he teases, his voice light and melodic in your ear. He reaches his hand up and traces your neck. “Don’t I get a reward for building furniture for you?”

“You already got a snack.”

“Ugh, but then you took it away from me after I made you come,” he complains. “And you’re teasing me, not putting your panties back on before checking my work. It’s a little slutty, baby. Is that what you wear for all the people that come to work in your house?”

Now in your bedroom, Dawson turns you around and walks you back until your knees hit the edge of your bed. You fall down onto the mattress and bring Dawson down with you. He reaches up your shirt and grabs a handful of your tit, gripping it in a way that directly contrasts how he was just holding it on the couch. 

“No bra either,” he notes, nuzzling into your neck and breathing you in. “You give all these workers quite a show.”

“You know I only dress like this for you, Dawson,” you reply. 

“Wish you’d commit to the bit and just be naked all the time.” He kisses your shoulder, other hand sliding up your shirt to grasp your other breast. He kneads them both, rolling your nipples between his calloused fingers. 

“Wish you’d take an article of clothing off,” you retort. 

“I’ll take it all off for you if you want me to, baby, just say the word,” Dawson promises. “Can I take your shirt off? Wanna get my mouth on these pretty tits.”

“Only if you take yours off too.”

Dawson doesn’t waste a second, pushing up to stand over you. He grabs the back of the neck of his shirt and pulls it over his head, revealing his muscular body to you. His chain falls between his collarbones beautifully and it makes your breath catch in your throat. He unbuckles his belt and pops the button on his jeans, unzipping them and pulling them down his legs, leaving him just in his boxer-briefs. The dark gray briefs leave nothing to the imagination and you bite your lip, gazing at the wet patch on the front of the briefs, right at the tip of his dick. 

You reach up and Dawson grabs your hands, pulling you into a sitting position. You raise your arms and he kneels between your legs, pushing your shirt up and bunching the fabric in his hands before he pulls it over your head and reveals your body to him. 

Dawson kisses up your stomach, slowly rising from his knees. He lifts you up and gently places you down so your head is on the pillows at the top of your bed. He then leaves a trail of kisses down your neck, shoulder, collarbone, and sternum until he makes his way to your breast.

He takes your nipple in his mouth, flicking his tongue over it. He grinds down on the bed, rolling your other nipple between his fingers again. You moan and once he’s determined that your breast has received enough attention from his mouth, he switches to the other one. It’s slow and sensual, with Dawson taking his time and savoring the moment and the sounds that he pulls from your lips.

“Dawson.” You find your voice, signaling to him that it’s time to move on. 

“Mmm?” He continues to suckle on your chest, leaving a hickey on the side of your boob now.

“Fuck me,” you say. “Come up here and fuck me.”

“Yeah?” Dawson asks, pulling away from you to grin at you. “Need my cock, baby?”

You pretend to think. “Need is an exaggeration,” you tell him.

Dawson scoffs and leans down to kiss you, lining his cock up with your entrance. “No pussy gets this wet if ‘need is an exaggeration,’ sweet girl.”

You whine as he sinks into you and he lets out a breath that sounds like a groan, his head falling with the sensation. He presses his forehead against yours and bucks into you, holding back to take in the sensation of your heat around him. He always gets pussy drunk on you and goes too fast, loving the way you squeeze him and milk him for every drop. It’s only so long before he does it again and starts to really fuck into you, but he’s intoxicated now by the slow drag of your walls against his length.

“So warm, so wet,” Dawson groans. “All for me.”

“All yours,” you agree. You close your eyes and kiss Dawson, swallowing the moan that comes from his lips at your words. 

His hips start to pick up speed. “Yeah,” he says. “You’re mine.”

“I’m yours.”

Dawson’s hips move with desperation. It’s the easiest way to bring him to his climax, you’ve learned over the past year. He’s possessive over you and although you’re not boyfriend-girlfriend, he knows that you belong to him. When you admit it, when he hears those words come from your mouth, it squeezes at his heart the same way you clench down on his cock when he hits that spot inside of you.

“Dawsy,” you breathe out, clutching at his shoulders. “Feels so good.” 

With every thrust of his hips, he brings you closer to your second orgasm of the night. He thrusts forward and sucks at your neck, leaving wet kiss after wet kiss. His saliva cools on your neck as his wet, hot pants leave his lips. He grunts and kisses you deeply, his tongue filling your mouth as deliciously as his cock is filling your pussy. He pulls back and looks down, watching his cock disappear into your heat. 

“Fuck me,” he whispers, pressing a hand against your stomach and feeling himself inside of you. 

A wanton moan leaves your mouth, back arching from the pressure. Your mouth hangs open and Dawson leans up, biting your bottom lip between his teeth. 

“Feeling good, honey?” He asks quietly. “Love hearing you.”

“Yes, yes,” you chant, and you let out a squeal when Dawson reaches up to give your nipple a sharp pinch. “God!” Your stomach turns, so close to climaxing. With every light touch of his fingers and the consistent kiss of his cock to the spot inside you that makes you see stars, you inch toward your peak.

“Just me,” he says, cheeky but like it’s an afterthought. He soothes the pinch with a kiss before leaning back up to kiss you. His hips stutter and Dawson groans. “Gonna come, baby,” he says. “Gonna come with me?”

“Always,” you whine, voice high in the back of your throat but sounding far away, like Dawson’s fucked your soul right out of your body. 

“Come,” Dawson breathes out, hips stuttering as he moves them with abandoned fervor, chasing a high that’s just out of reach. “Come, baby, need to feel you. Need you to come on my cock before I do, please,” he begs. “Fuck!”

You can’t control the scream that bubbles in your throat as you let go, juices absolutely soaking Dawson’s cock inside you and the covers beneath you. It wasn’t often that he made you squirt, but tonight was one of those nights. Your release burst out of you like a dam and left you completely boneless on the bed. 

It only took a few more thrusts for Dawson to whimper and shoot off inside of you. You’re like a vice around him, clenching down so hard that it’s almost difficult to thrust in and out of you. “Sweetheart,” Dawson whines, voice dripping with emotion. “So tight, fuck, love your pussy.”

He collapses onto you, his head on your chest, his hands on your waist, his weight pressing you into the bed the same way he trapped you onto the couch earlier in the night. 

You trace the lines of his face with your thumb as your breath syncs with his and you both come down from your climaxes. 

Dawson hasn’t pulled out yet, his cock still half-hard inside of you. He moves his hips slowly, fucking his cum into you at an excruciating pace. 

You plant a kiss on Dawson’s head and hug him to your body. “We should probably get up, Daws.”

Dawson shakes his head. “Gonna fall asleep right here.”

You let out a chuckle. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” Dawson looks up at you with tired eyes. “Gonna keep my cock inside you all night, wake you up by making you come again.”

You let out a breath at that, clenching down on him subconsciously. You can’t help it. He’s so honest and he’s unabashed about how he wants you. 

He smiles, almost devilish. “You like that idea, huh?”

“Gimme a kiss,” you request, puckering your lips and waiting for him to come to you.

He does easily, unashamed and eager. “Could kiss you all night long.”

“Don’t, I’m tired.”

“Just think,” Dawson murmurs against your lips. “We could’ve done all of this in your guest bedroom.”

“Well someone broke the bed.”

“I wouldn’t have had to break the bed if you had just slept there with me.”

You two bicker like a married couple before you remove Dawson’s cock yourself and swing your legs over the side of the bed. He trails after you when you head to the bathroom, brushing his teeth with your toothbrush as you use the toilet. It’s all very domestic and you argue with him about the toothbrush, too, because he has his own and knows exactly where it lives (next to yours in the holder). You steal the brush from his mouth and leave him to rinse his mouth of the minty substance. You turn your back to him to hide the satisfied smirk on your face when you pop the toothbrush in your mouth without rinsing it of his germs.

When you make your way back to bed after cleaning yourself up, Dawson lays behind you and plasters himself to your back. He slips his cock back into your heat again and sighs, settling into the comfort of your heat. He presses a kiss to the back of your neck and breathes evenly until he falls asleep. You fall asleep with him, and if Dawson makes good on his promise of fucking you awake, that’s nobody’s business but yours.

notes: don't ever put me in a room with dawson mercer because i will make it my mission to stockholm sydrome that boy. welcome to my longest fic yet and man, oh man, did i have fun writing this.

[midnight1nk]

...what. in the actual. fuck.

this is the most implausible statement I have ever seen, and I'm gonna debunk what Cube said (more below cut)

"doesn't mean anything significant" — if it were an honest mistake, then they would've changed it back to "SMG4" instead of "Not SMG3. Stop looking too deep."

The wording on that too, as in a warning/giant stop sign. Also it's giving off

[and a whole month in between these my god]

And ah yes, my dear enemy Flareglow. Time to Logic Chess.

The implication is that Cube (or someone on the Team) uploaded the song and didn't notice it was labeled as SMG4 (not a hack) — let's get the basics down. Yes, you can upload your own music on said platform for your use only, not on the artist page. HOWEVER, for it to be uploaded on MULTIPLE platforms and stay for 6 DAYS straight, now that's weird when you have two DIFFERENT processes for uploading songs.

If that person accidentally went through the public process, you would have to enter the credits manually (other than it needs to be approved by spotify ofc). That's when you are like "oops, looks like I was about to send this on the artist page lol". Even if you forgot how to do the private process, you can GOOGLE IT.

IF it was Cube, then it would totally contradict an earlier tweet "what the hell is flareglow?"

IF it wasn't Cube, it still wouldn't make sense. Ben was the first to point it out on Jan 4. Now you would think a discussion took place in their group chat as soon as Ben tweeted that and go something along the lines of:

"man this is sucks" [*posts a pic of the cover*] "wait is that on our page?" "yeah lol" "that shouldn't be there. who did that?" "oh sorry that was me, my bad" "let's just take it down" (before some fan goes insane over this, sorry what)

It wouldn't take Cube 5 days (Jan 9) to just notice that song to be on the artist page to then claim you are starting to fix it a week later

"Trying to fix that one" — now that is strange because as soon as Cube asked/pointed out about Flareglow, the song was suddenly taken down from multiple platforms (on the same day). If it was a mistake, then it should be all good. Hell, even the Spotify pfp is back to normal. Then tell me, Cube, what more do you need to "fix", hmmm?

(also that "lol" at the end of the sentence before it)

Yeah, i pronounce this as "deflection" and I'm still on to you, Cube. And no, I'm not gonna think about how this tweet was reposted by Shadow (no qrt), gotta focus here.

Maybe it convinced some people that there was nothing suspicious but I'll still be here in my seat with a bag of popcorn bc I KNOW this isn't the end of it.

i did not stare at this for hours for nothing, you hear me?!

[gojoethereal]

Can you write shoko x reader like in a high school setiing 💛

Weird Little Freaks in Love

The unofficial club room of Jujutsu High smelled like instant ramen, cheap incense, and Gojo’s hair product. No one knew who decided this was a club or what it was for. But everyone showed up anyway.

You were sitting on the floor with Shoko, your legs draped across hers like a sleepy cat. She was flipping through a cursed anatomy manual and chewing on the end of a pen she’d definitely stolen from Yaga’s office.

Gojo burst in wearing sunglasses and a blindfold, claiming it was for “double protection.”

“Okay, listen—” he began.

“No,” Nanami interrupted immediately.

“Not now, Gojo,” Geto sighed.

Haibara handed you a bag of gummies. “You two want some?”

You took one and wordlessly popped it into Shoko’s mouth. She blinked slowly like a lizard under a heat lamp, then offered you her cigarette in return.

“Can you not make everything weird?” Gojo groaned, flopping down beside Geto. “You’re like if academic necrophilia was a couple.”

Shoko didn’t look up. “That’s not what necrophilia means, Satoru.”

“You dissect things together and then flirt over the corpse.”

“We flirt over everything,” you said simply.

Nanami muttered something about quitting school. Haibara looked fascinated.

Geto, meanwhile, placed a small wooden box on the table. “Cursed object. Low-grade. Don’t touch it.”

You and Shoko touched it immediately.

“I said—”

“It’s humming,” Shoko said, placing her palm flat on the surface. “Feels like it’s tied to regret. Female. Maybe late teens. Broken teeth?”

“Tragic,” you whispered, pressing your ear to the lid. “It’s screaming, but like...emotionally.”

Shoko chuckled under her breath. “You’re so weird.”

“You’re the one in love with me.”

She didn’t deny it. Instead, she leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to the edge of your jaw, then went back to reading. Like it was just part of the process.

The silence that followed was so loud it echoed.

“You’re both insane,” Gojo muttered, scandalized.

“Insanely hot,” you offered.

“No,” Nanami said firmly.

Shoko tilted her head. “I mean... a little.”

“Please stop,” Geto begged.

You leaned closer to Shoko, whispering, “They’re just jealous.”

“Of your necro-love?” Gojo gagged.

“You’d be lucky to have a necro-love this real,” Shoko said, completely deadpan.

The club meeting descended into chaos after that—Haibara trying to exorcise the cursed object with holy water from a vending machine, Geto threatening to leave, Gojo declaring himself the new club president and immediately being impeached.

But through it all, you stayed curled up with Shoko, sharing a cigarette, passing quiet comments back and forth, like you were tuned to your own private frequency.

And when she eventually rested her head against your shoulder, eyes fluttering shut, you smiled like you’d won something.

Because you had.

[redslug]

Helping Neuroslug help me

Admittedly it took me an embarrassing amount of time to figure out and start using inpainting, but now that I've had a taste of it my head is spinning with possibilities. And so I'm making this post to show the process and maybe encourage more artists to try their hand at generating stuff. It really can can be an amazing teammate when you know how to apply it. For those who didn't see my first post on this, I've trained an AI on my artworks, because base Stable Diffusion doesn't understand what anthropomorphic insects are. That out of the way, here we go:

I noticed that a primarily character focused LoRA often botches backgrounds (probably because few images of the dataset have them) so I went with generating a background separately and roughly blocking out a character over it in Procreate. Since it was a first experiment I got really generous with proper shading and even textures. Unsurprisingly, SD did it's job quite well without much struggle.

Basically masked out separate parts such as fluff, skirt, watering can, etc. and changed the prompt to focus on that specific object to add detail. There were some bloopers too. She's projecting her inner spider.

Of course it ate the hands. Not inpainting those, it's the one thing I'll render correctly faster than the AI does. Some manual touchups to finish it off and voila:

The detail that would have taken me hours is done in 10-20 minutes of iterating through various generations. And nothing significant got lost in translation from the block out, much recommend. But that was easy mode, my rough sketch could be passed off as finished on one of my lazier days, not hard to complete something like that. Lets' try rough rough.

I got way fewer chuckles out of this than I expected, it took only 4-5 iterations for the bot to offer me something close to the sketch.

>:C It ate the belly. I demand the belly back. Scribble it in...

Much better. Can do that with any bit actually, very nice for iterating a character design.

Opal eyes maybe?

Lol

Okay, no, it's kind of unsettling. Back to red ones. Now, let's give her thigh highs because why not?

It should be fancier. Give me a lace trim.

Now we're talking. Since we've started playing dress-up anyway, why not try a dress too. Please don't render my scribble like a trash bag. I know you want to.

Phew

I crave more details.

Cute. Perhaps I'll clean it up later. ... .. . SHRIMP DRESS

[deliciousangelfestival]

Flour Power - 2

Character: Amnesia!Bucky x Baker!Female Character

Summary: A baker helps a stranger, only to discover that this individual not only aids the bakery but also brings trouble along with him

A/N: Because Bucky got amnesia, his name was temporarily changed to Bob.

Chap 1, Chap 2 , End

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

With each passing day, Bob's strength began to return. He wasted no time putting his newfound energy to good use, eagerly diving into his tasks at the bakery. Rising early, he matched your dedication, lending a hand wherever needed.

In the kitchen, Bob proved himself a quick learner, diligently tackling each task. Whether he was cleaning, lifting heavy bags of flour, or manually whisking dough, his commitment never wavered.

His presence brought a renewed sense of energy to the bakery. Bob's help made the workload lighter, and the atmosphere buzzed with productivity.

As you watched him work, you couldn't help but feel grateful for his assistance, realizing that having Bob around was a valuable asset to the bakery.

As the day progressed, the usual hustle and bustle of the bakery continued. Bob, wiping the counter with a thoughtful expression, broke the silence with a question, "Why is it so quiet here?"

With a hint of bitterness in her tone, Tammy pointed her fingers towards the bustling bakery across the street. "That's because our loyal customers got stolen by them," she lamented, her frustration evident.

Bob's gaze followed Tammy's gesture, his expression a mix of curiosity and disbelief as he saw the crowded shopfront.

"The ungrateful not only stole the family recipe but also put this bakery into debt," Tammy continued, her voice tinged with resentment.

Bob's sense of justice was stirred. "Not fair. This bread is more delicious," he remarked, his loyalty to the bakery evident in his words.

You couldn't help but feel gratitude towards Bob for his unwavering support. "Thanks, Bob," you interjected, a sense of appreciation coloring your voice.

"You want to learn how to make croissants?" you asked, noticing that each time you prepared the flaky pastries, Bob's gaze would inevitably drift towards you, silently observing your technique.

As you spoke, you could see a flicker of curiosity in Bob's eyes, his interest piqued by the prospect of learning something new. His shoulders straightened slightly, and he nodded in response, a tentative smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

Bob's face lit up with childlike excitement as you extended the offer, his eyes shining eagerly. "Can I?" he asked, his enthusiasm palpable.

You nodded with a smile, touched by his genuine interest. Your family had always believed in sharing their knowledge with others, and Bob was no exception. Teaching him how to make croissants would strengthen his bond with the bakery and equip him with valuable skills for the future.

"Of course," you replied warmly. "My family has always believed in passing on our baking expertise to anyone who's eager to learn. You're no exception, Bob."

You gestured towards the work surface, inviting him to join you. "Come on, I'll show you," you said warmly, your voice filled with encouragement.

As Bob diligently worked on crafting the croissants, you couldn't help but feel a sense of anticipation, eager to see the results of his efforts. But as the baking process unfolded, it became apparent that things weren't going as expected.

🥐

"This isn't what I expected," you remarked, disappointment coloring your tone as you examined the misshapen and oversized croissants that emerged from the oven.

Bob's attempts at normal-sized croissants had ended in failure, but to your surprise, he had inadvertently succeeded in creating jumbo-sized croissants. The sheer scale of the pastries was impressive, a testament to Bob's determination and creativity in the face of adversity.

Tammy's arrival only added to the excitement, her eyes widening in amazement as she beheld the oversized croissants. "Whoa... This is incredible," she exclaimed, reaching for her phone to capture the moment and then upload the photo to her Instagram.

"How did you upload it so fast?" you asked, surprised by Tammy's quick actions.

Tammy shrugged nonchalantly, a mischievous grin playing on her lips. "You know me," she replied coyly, her fingers flying across her phone as she shared the extraordinary sight with her followers on social media.

The 'Ping' of notifications continued incessantly, and you couldn't help but grow curious. "What's that?" you asked, glancing at Tammy as she retrieved her phone.

Tammy's eyes widened in astonishment as she scrolled through her notifications, her expression a mix of disbelief and excitement. "I've never received this many notifications this quickly," she exclaimed, her voice tinged with awe.

One comment: "Omg, is that real?"

Another comment: "Can I try? I think it's perfect for brunch with my girls."

"Oh, I know this bakery. It's called Sunrise Bakery. I used to go there with my mom. I should go there."

Another comment: "Eating and coffee time with friends? Sign me in."

You and Tammy exchanged a glance, realization dawning upon you. Could Bob's oversized croissants be attracting attention on social media?

With a shared nod, you turned your gaze towards Bob and the jumbo croissant behind him. "Alright," you said with a newfound sense of determination. "I think we could do this."

🥐

The jumbo croissant and coffee craze continued to sweep through the neighborhood, and your bakery became a bustling hub of activity, filled to the brim with eager customers clamoring to get a taste of the viral sensation.

Jumbo coffee, expertly crafted by Tammy, only added to the allure, drawing in even more patrons eager to savor the perfect pairing of freshly baked bread and aromatic brews.

But amidst the excitement and flurry of activity, a new phenomenon emerged – the presence of Bob, the enigmatic baker behind the scenes. His silent demeanor and skillful craftsmanship had captured the imaginations of many, particularly the female customers who flocked to the bakery in droves, hoping for a glimpse of the mysterious baker.

Because of your best efforts to maintain privacy and respect Bob's wishes, the allure of the elusive baker only seemed to intensify. You banned taking photos of the employees, hoping to preserve their privacy and dignity.

But rather than deter them, the ban seemed to fuel the customers' curiosity, sparking a fervor that only drew more attention to the bakery.

You felt a surge of gratitude as you served the bustling crowd, the familiar hum of activity reminiscent of the days when your grandparents had run the bakery.

As you delivered a loaf of bread to an elderly couple, you noticed they were foreigners, likely Japanese.

The elderly man nodded at you and spoke in Japanese, his request catching you off guard. "Sumimasen, koko de keitai o juuden shite mo ii desu ka? Watashi no keitai no battery ga shinde shimatte, hon'yaku appu o tsukau koto ga dekimasen." ("Excuse me, can I charge my phone here? My phone battery died, and I couldn't use the translation app.")

Feeling momentarily lost, you quickly excused yourself and approached Tammy. "Can I use your phone?" you asked urgently.

Tammy shook her head. "My phone is live right now, showing it to my followers," she explained.

Realizing your phone was also out of reach, you returned to the elderly man at the table, feeling helpless.

"Sumimasen," he said, following you to the cashier.

Confused, Bob suddenly appeared and approached the grandpa, asking in Japanese, "Doushite? Nani ga okotte iru no?" (What's going on?")

You explained the situation, amazed to hear Bob conversing fluently in Japanese. "Dekinai desu ka?" ("Is it not possible?") the elderly man asked, his expression crestfallen.

Suddenly, Bob's revelation left you and Tammy stunned. "Nanika o tasukeru koto ga dekimasu ka?" Bob asked in Japanese. ("Is there something we could help with?")

The elderly man's face brightened as he explained his predicament. "Watashi no keitai no battery ga shinde shimatte, koko de juuden dekimasu ka? Watashi no teburu no chikaku ni denki no soketsuto ga mienai node, keitai ga nai to hon'yaku appu o tsukau koto ga dekimasen." ("My phone battery is dead. Can I charge my phone here? I don't see any power sockets near my table. Without my phone, we couldn't use the translation app.")

Bob extended his hand. "Wakarimashita. Anata no keitai o kudasai. Koko de juuden shite kudasai," he offered in Japanese. ("I understand. Could you give me your phone? You can charge it here.")

Grateful, the elderly man bowed his head. "Arigatou gozaimasu," he said sincerely. ("Thank you very much.")

The Japanese grandpa told Bob "Arigatou. Mae no pan'ya wa koko mitaina basho ni wa tetsudatte kurenakatta yo." ("Thank you. The bake shop in front were not helpful like this place.")

Bob replied "Maa, bokutachi wa kanojo-ra yori umaku iu." ("Well, we're better than them.")

The grandpa laughed and went back to his table.

You and Tammy approached Bob with a mixture of surprise and curiosity evident on your faces. "Wait? You could speak Japanese?" you asked, incredulous.

Bob seemed equally surprised by the revelation, his brow furrowing in confusion. "I did?" he echoed with a hint of disbelief.

"How come you didn't realize? It was you who was speaking?" you asked, your brow furrowing in confusion as you tried to make sense of the situation.

"Wow, Bob. You're amazing," you exclaimed, unable to hide your admiration.

Hearing your compliment made Bob's ears turn slightly red, a shy smile tugging at the corners of his lips. Without a word, he turned on his heel and dashed back to the kitchen, leaving you and Tammy to exchange bemused glances.

"What was that?" you asked, still trying to process the unexpected turn of events.

"Hmm..." Tammy mused, a thoughtful expression crossing her face as she watched Bob disappear into the depths of the bakery.

🥐

Luck seemed to be on your side with the Japanese grandpa's glowing 5-star review, praising the bakery's hospitality towards foreigners and the elderly.

This drew in a wave of foreign customers eager to experience the warm welcome for themselves.

Equipped with a translator app, you managed to communicate with foreign customers, though sometimes the language barrier proved challenging, especially with fast speech or colloquial expressions. In those moments, Bob became your secret weapon.

To everyone's surprise, Bob displayed an unexpected talent for understanding and speaking various foreign languages like Mandarin, French, Spanish, and Turkish. His proficiency was impressive, though he couldn't explain how he acquired it.

Speculating that his past self might have been bilingual, Bob's newfound linguistic skills proved invaluable in connecting with foreign customers, enhancing the bakery's reputation for hospitality and service.

As business flourished, you couldn't help but marvel at the mystery of Bob's talents and how they'd unexpectedly contributed to the bakery's success.

With the influx of customers to your bakery, the business's overall income increased significantly. This allowed you to pay off your debts on time and provided the means to give bonuses to both Tammy and Bob for their hard work and dedication.

However, when Bob received his bonus, he seemed unsure what to do with the money. "I don't deserve this."

He hesitantly handed it back to you, expressing his belief that he didn't deserve to be paid since you had provided everything for him.

You stopped him in his tracks, shaking your head. "You deserve it, Bob. The success of the bakery is in large part because of you. Your hard work and dedication have made all the difference."

Despite Bob's initial reluctance, you insisted on him keeping the bonus as a token of appreciation for his invaluable contribution to the bakery's success.

Grateful and touched by your words, Bob accepted the bonus with a humble smile, understanding that his efforts had truly made a difference.

As you stepped outside to take out the trash, you were unexpectedly blocked by someone. You let out a sigh of annoyance when you realized it was Rick, the former employee who had stolen your family recipe.

"What are you doing here?" you asked, your tone laced with frustration.

Rick wore a smug expression on his face as he replied, "Oh, nothing. Just checking on you, who stole my customers."

You rolled your eyes at his audacity. "Funny you should say 'stole,' considering it was you who stole in the first place."

Rick laughed dismissively. "I was just putting it to good use. I knew I could do it better."

You scoffed at his arrogance. "Even though you stole it, it still tastes flavorless."

Rick snorted in disdain before turning on his heel and walking away.

As Rick left, you couldn't help but feel a surge of indignation at his brazen attitude. Despite his attempts to undermine you, you remained steadfast in your commitment to your bakery and its loyal customers.

Tammy's eyes narrowed with disdain as she watched Rick's retreating figure. "Was it him? Next time, call me. I'll hit him with my Louis Vuitton heels."

You winced at the mental image. "Ouch."

Bob, sensing the tension, interjected with concern. "Is he bothering you?"

You shrugged, trying to downplay the encounter. "Just my mortal enemy. Forget it. He always stops by to throw an insult."

Despite your attempt to brush it off, Bob could see the frustration etched on your face. With a sympathetic nod, he silently vowed to watch for Rick in the future.

🥐

As you lay sleeping, a loud crash shattered the stillness of the night, jolting you awake. Instantly alert, you noticed Bob also opening his door simultaneously, both of you exchanging a concerned glance.

"A burglar? Or a cat?" you mused aloud, your voice tinged with apprehension.

"I don't think a cat could destroy a window," Bob replied, his tone serious.

Your eyes widened in alarm, and without hesitation, you reached for your phone, fingers trembling as you dialed 911.

Intent on investigating, you moved to go downstairs, but Bob's firm grip on your arm stopped you in your tracks. "Stay here," he commanded softly but firmly.

"But—" you protested, the urgency of the situation driving you to action.

"I don't want you to get hurt," Bob insisted, his voice laced with concern for your safety.

Reluctantly, you acquiesced, remaining on the second floor as Bob descended to confront the intruders. For a tense moment, the house was eerily quiet, broken only by the muffled sounds of a struggle downstairs.

Unable to resist the urge to see what was happening, you cautiously approached the railing, peering down to the first floor. Your heart skipped a beat as you witnessed Bob engaging in a fierce battle with the masked intruders, his movements swift and calculated as he fought them off one by one.

Despite being outnumbered, Bob displayed remarkable skill and determination, his body language exuding confidence and strength as he defended your home against the would-be burglars.

With each precise strike and well-timed block, he gradually gained the upper hand, ultimately emerging victorious in the intense confrontation.

As the last intruder fled into the night, Bob stood tall and triumphant, his chest heaving with exertion but his gaze steady and unwavering. With a sense of awe and gratitude, you realized how fortunate you were to have someone like Bob by your side in peril.

"I'm here. Oh my god. Who would want to steal from this bakery?" Tammy exclaimed, rushing over from her apartment in a daze. She had been deep in slumber when you called her.

Surveying the damage, her eyes widened in shock. The bakery window lay shattered, tables and chairs lay broken, and the bread display case lay toppled on the ground. It was a heartbreaking sight, a stark contrast to the care and effort you had invested in preserving the legacy of the bakery.

As Tammy took in the devastation, a mixture of anger and disbelief crossed her face. "This is terrible. How could someone do this?" she muttered, her voice trembling with emotion.

Just then, the police arrived on the scene, their presence adding a sense of urgency to the situation. As they began their investigation, one of the officers turned to you with a questioning gaze.

"So, it was your employee who beat up all four of these burglars?" he inquired, his tone incredulous.

You nodded firmly at the officer's question. "Yes, officer. He saved me and this place."

The mention of saving the bakery seemed to catch the officer's attention, and he glanced around at the damage with a hint of sympathy in his eyes. "Do you have insurance?" he inquired, his voice softening slightly.

You nodded again, a sense of relief washing over you. "Yes," you confirmed, grateful for the reassurance that you would not face the financial burden of repairing the damage alone.

"Good, I will give you a letter from us as soon as possible, then you can send it to the insurance," said the police, offering you a reassuring nod.

"Thank you," you replied gratefully as the officers began to depart, their presence comforting in the wake of the chaos.

You approached Bob, who stood with his head bowed low, his expression weighed down by guilt and regret.

"I ruined the bakery," Bob muttered, his voice heavy with self-blame.

As you drew nearer, you could see the turmoil etched on his face, his shoulders slumped in defeat.

Approaching Bob, who stood with a troubled expression, you offered a gentle smile. "You didn't ruin the bakery, Bob. You saved it. I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't stopped them. Thank you," you said sincerely, your gratitude evident in your voice.

Glancing at the tools the burglars had brought – gasoline and a lighter – you couldn't help but shudder at the thought of the destruction they had intended to unleash upon your cherished bakery.

Tammy's voice broke the silence, her tone filled with awe and admiration. "Did Bob really fight all of them?" she asked incredulously.

You nodded emphatically. "Yes. He's amazing," you affirmed, your pride in Bob's actions evident.

Bob blushed at the praise, his humility shining through even in the midst of the chaos.

Tammy smirked mischievously. "He can bake, speak foreign languages, and fight. I think his old self was a Jack of All Trades," she remarked, her eyes twinkling with amusement.

You considered her words thoughtfully. "That means your brain and muscles still remember. Do you start remembering something?" you asked, hoping for a breakthrough.

Bob was quiet for a moment. He shook his head sadly. "No," he replied, his expression filled with frustration at his continued lack of memory.

Tammy's eyes lit up with excitement as she proposed a new idea. "How about we enroll him in acting classes, poetry classes, singing lessons? Perhaps he's good at those too, and it could trigger his old memories," she suggested eagerly, her enthusiasm infectious.

As you considered Tammy's suggestion, a sense of hope stirred within you. Perhaps there was still a chance to unlock the secrets of Bob's past and help him reclaim his lost memories. With determination, you resolved to explore every avenue in the quest to uncover the truth.

🥐

As the bakery underwent renovations, you decided to accompany Bob to try new activities in the hopes of triggering his old memories. Despite your efforts, there was still no progress in unlocking his past, but you couldn't deny that his instincts and strength seemed to be growing stronger by the day.

"Perhaps you were an MMA fighter? Or a boxing player?" you suggested one day, pondering the possibilities.

"Really?" Bob asked, his interest piqued by the idea.

Determined to explore this further, you took Bob to a boxing trial class. As you watched him don boxing shorts, you couldn't help but gulp nervously, realizing you had never seen him shirtless. His well-defined six-pack muscles and faded scars on his back hinted at a past filled with physical prowess and strength.

The trainer eyed Bob skeptically from the ring and asked, "Are you sure he's a newbie?"

You nodded, though the trainer seemed unconvinced. From a glance, he could read the muscles rippling beneath Bob's skin, indicating a level of proficiency that belied the term "newbie."

"Let's start," the trainer announced, motioning for Bob to step into the ring.

In the blink of an eye, the trainer let out a pained cry as Bob delivered a powerful punch, catching him off guard.

"Ouch!" the trainer exclaimed, clutching his stomach in agony. "Get out of here. I'm banning you both from this place," he declared, his voice strained with discomfort as he struggled to recover from the unexpected blow.

As you walked home together, laughter bubbled between you and Bob, the sound echoing through the quiet streets. Despite the challenges you faced with the bakery being closed for renovations, you couldn't help but feel a sense of lightness and joy in Bob's company.

Never in your wildest dreams had you imagined that you would be able to laugh during such a difficult time. Yet, with Bob by your side, everything seemed to fall into place, and the day's worries melted away in the warmth of his laughter.

🥐

After two weeks of renovations, the day finally arrived for the reopening of the bakery. As you unlocked the doors and stepped inside, a wave of apprehension washed over you. Would anyone still remember your bakery? Would the customers return after the temporary closure?

To your surprise and delight, as the day progressed, a steady stream of people began to trickle in through the doors. The familiar aroma of freshly baked bread filled the air, and the sound of chatter and laughter once again filled the cozy space.

You couldn't believe your eyes as you watched the tables fill up with eager customers, each one eagerly sampling the delicious treats on offer. It was as if the temporary closure had only heightened the anticipation, drawing even more people to your bakery than before.

As you busied yourself behind the counter, serving up delectable treats to the eager crowd, you couldn't help but feel a sense of pride and satisfaction in the resilience of your beloved bakery.

Many familiar faces returned, offering their condolences for the recent ordeal the store had faced. Their gestures of support were deeply appreciated as a reminder of the strong community surrounding the bakery.

Amidst the familiar flow of customers, however, a sense of unease settled over the bakery as a tall man with blonde hair rushed in, commanding attention from all who watched.

His hurried movements and searching gaze drew curious glances from the patrons, their eyes following him as he made his way through the crowd.

His attractiveness is on the same level as Bob's. That made female eyes at the bakery follow him.

Suddenly, the man stopped beside Bob, arranging a new batch of bread on the counter. With a relieved sigh, he enveloped Bob in a tight embrace, causing gasps of surprise to echo through the bakery.

"Huh?!" you exclaimed, along with Tammy and Bob, as the unexpected display of affection unfolded before you.

The blonde man spoke, his voice filled with emotion. "Bucky, I finally found you," he declared, his words hanging in the air.

The implications of his statement dawned on you, and a sense of confusion and apprehension washed over you. It was clear that this man knew Bob, but the nature of their relationship remained unclear.

Bob, visibly uncomfortable, pushed the man away and stepped back, shaking his head in disbelief. "I don't know him," he stated firmly, his expression betraying a mix of confusion and disgust.

You couldn't help but wonder about the connection between Bob and the blonde man. Was he a friend? A relative? Or perhaps something more?

Sensing your silent question, Bob moved closer to you, his gaze meeting yours with a silent plea for understanding. "Don't look at me like that," he murmured, his tone filled with unease.

Before you could respond, the blonde man approached, his eyes fixed on Bob as he repeated the name again. "Bucky."

Bob's voice cut through the tense atmosphere, his tone devoid of emotion as he addressed the customer directly. "Who the heck is Bucky?" he demanded, his words sharp and pointed.

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Author Note: Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account.

Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating.

Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

[galaxysupreme17]

Cooking Dinner Together

Y/n = Your Name

AgathaRio x daughter!reader!

The Harkness-Vidal household was quiet, save for the gentle hum of a record player spinning an old jazz tune in the background. Y/n stood in the kitchen, her hands busy unpacking groceries from a brown paper bag. A determined smile tugged at her lips as she reached for her apron, a soft blue one with little embroidered stars her Mama had gifted her last Christmas. Sliding it over her head, she snagged it around her waist before twisting her long, wavy hair into a high ponytail. Her hair, nearly identical to Agatha's, gleamed under the warm kitchen light, the resemblance unmistakable.

"This is going to be perfect," she murmured, rolling up her sleeves and surveying the ingredients before her.

Y/n was determined to cook dinner for her parents as a surprise—a small token of appreciation for everything they did for her. It wouldn't be fancy, just a cozy, comforting meal of homemade pasta with marinara sauce, garlic bread, and a simple salad.

She had just started kneading the dough for the pasta when she heard the unmistakable creak of the staircase. Her heart sank slightly. Please don't come down yet. Just stay distracted a little longer, she thought, but her luck ran out as Rio appeared in the doorway.

"Cariño," Rio said, her voice warm with amusement. "What's going on here?"

Y/n froze for a moment before plastering on a sheepish smile. "Hi, Mom. Nothing. Just... cooking dinner."

Rio raised an eyebrow, her dark eyes sparkling. "By yourself?"

"Yes, by myself," Y/n replied firmly, dusting her hands with flour.

Rio stepped further into the kitchen, hands on her hips. "Do you need help? It's dangerous to leave your mother hungry for too long."

"I've got it under control!" Y/n insisted.

But Rio was already reaching for her amulet, the green crystal glinting in the light. With a wave of her hand, a stack of bowls and a whisk floated into the air, arranging themselves neatly on the counter.

"Mom!" Y/n groaned, throwing her hands up. "No magic! This is supposed to be—"

"A surprise for us? I know," Rio said with a grin, "but why not make it easier?" She flicked her wrist, and the pasta dough began kneading itself, the rolling pin spinning on its own like a small cyclone.

When Y/n opened her mouth to protest, another voice interrupted from the hallway. "What's all this racket?"

Agatha's voice was unmistakable, smooth, and teasing as she sauntered into the kitchen. She took one look at the magical chaos and smirked. "Oh, so we're using magic in the kitchen now? No wonder I smelled trouble."

Rio turned to her wife, feigning innocence. "Trouble? I'm just helping."

"You're cheating," Agatha countered, striding to Y/n's side. She gently plucked a wooden spoon from the counter, examining it as if testing its quality. "Cooking is an art, Rio. You can't just wave your little green crystal around and call it a meal."

Y/n pinched the bridge of her nose. "Mama, I don't need help—"

"Nonsense," Agatha interrupted, tying an apron around her waist. Her tone turned mock-serious. "This is a family affair now."

"Great," Y/n muttered under her breath.

The kitchen quickly devolved into chaos.

Rio, ever the practical Green Witch, attempted to use her magic to speed up every process. She summoned a bunch of herbs from the garden, their leaves swirling into a vortex before landing in a perfect pile on the counter. But in her haste, she accidentally summoned a little too much basil, and soon, it was raining green leaves all over the kitchen.

"Oops," Rio said, brushing basil out of Y/n's hair with a chuckle.

Meanwhile, Agatha took the opposite approach, insisting on doing everything manually. She dramatically rolled up her sleeves and declared herself the "Sauce Queen," taking over the marinara with the flair of a Broadway performer.

"Proper sauce needs care and attention," she said, her voice dripping with mock sophistication. "Not shortcuts, mon amour." She shot Rio a sly grin.

Rio crossed her arms. "Care and attention don't mean hovering over a pot for two hours, cariño."

Y/n sighed as the bickering began. "Can we please focus?"

Y/n quickly took charge, assigning tasks like a diplomat brokering peace between two rival nations.

"Mom, you can work on the salad. By hand," she added pointedly, narrowing her eyes at Rio.

"Fine," Rio said with a playful pout, grabbing a knife and chopping vegetables precisely.

"And Mama," Y/n continued, turning to Agatha, "you're still on sauce duty, but no more taste-testing. You've had, like, ten spoonfuls already."

"Eleven," Agatha corrected, smirking as she stirred the pot.

Y/n couldn't help but laugh despite herself. It was chaos—basil in her hair, flour smudged on her cheeks, and garlic bread dangerously close to burning—but it was her chaos, her family.

When the meal was ready, the kitchen looked like a war zone. Flour dusted every surface, bits of pasta dough clung to the walls, and a small mountain of basil leaves had somehow ended up in the corner.

Y/n set the table while her parents cleaned up, Rio using her magic to whisk away the worst of the mess despite Agatha's grumbling.

When they finally sat down, Y/n felt a swell of pride as she looked at the steaming plates of pasta, the perfectly toasted garlic bread, and the colorful salad.

"It's not perfect," she admitted, fiddling with her fork.

Agatha reached over and placed a hand over hers. "It's perfect because you made it," she said, her voice soft.

Rio nodded, her smile warm. "And because we made it together."

Y/n rolled her eyes but couldn't hide her grin. "You two nearly destroyed the kitchen."

Agatha and Rio exchanged a look before bursting into laughter.

The conversation flowed easily as they ate, filled with teasing and laughter. Rio complimented Y/n's pasta-making skills while Agatha waxed poetic about the balance of flavors in the sauce, much to everyone's amusement.

By the end of the meal, Y/n felt full—not just from the food but from the love that filled the room.

Later that night, the three of them curled up on the couch, a cozy blanket draped over them as they watched an old black-and-white movie. Y/n nestled between her parents, her head resting on Agatha's shoulder while Rio's hand absentmindedly played with her ponytail.

"Thanks for dinner, Y/n," Agatha murmured, kissing her daughter's temple.

"Yeah, cariño," Rio added, her voice soft. "It was perfect."

Y/n smiled, her eyes drifting shut as the moment's warmth wrapped around her like a second blanket.

In the end, the food didn't matter. What mattered was the time they spent together—flour fights, basil explosions, and all.