#farya x reader

Feel free to Ignore!

Airyn | Amir | Bobby Pen | Chance | Curt & Rod | Daisuke | Dorian | Drysdale | Eddie & Volt | Farya I Harper | Hector | Keyes | Koa | Kopi | Lyric | Mateo | Memoria | Miranda | Parker | Reggie | River I Skips | Winnifred | Zoey

Airyn:

She loves to watch you dance. With or without clothes, it matters not to her. The expression of yourself is something she adores to witness. If it’s in your home, that’s great. If you’re making money? Go get it! You look sexy while you’re doing it and she will tell you as such. She has a habit of giving you feedback on what her favorite parts were if you’re using your dance for seductive purposes so you’re never left wondering how exactly to win her over. Although that’s not her intent with telling you this. She just wants to express her admiration.

Amir:

He commits everything to memory. Every curve and stretch of your body is something he follows with his eyes. He’s absolutely enthralled and captivated by you every single time he sees you but especially when you move so fluidly. If you ever offer him a dance, he’s grabbing a mirror so he can watch you from every single angle.

Bobby Pen:

Flustered. So very flustered but they’re trying to pretend that they’re not. They try so hard to keep their eyes on you but they keep darting away. Hands are hovering and they don’t know what to do if you offer them a dance. They just sit there awkwardly, looking the other way, with their hands balled up in fists at their sides.

Oh, They’re So Weird (☉-⚆)

“You recently got laid off of your job. Thankfully, you found an ad on Craigslist that paid quite a bit for you to just housesit! 🍩”

DAY TWO

Previous Day -> Next Day

Contains: Curt and Rod, The Hanks, Farya, Miranda, Kopi, Chairemi, and Mac

🍰 Café Menu 🍰

The sun hit your face like a judgmental slap.

You groaned, turning over with a squint. The curtains were wide open, sunlight pouring into the room like it had something to prove. You definitely remembered closing them last night. In fact, you even did a double take before bed.

Now? Fully open. Like someone had reached in and yanked them apart with dramatic flair.

You sat up slowly. “Okay. That’s weird.”

Above you, the curtain rod gave the softest metallic creak, like it had just finished laughing.

“Finally,” Rod sighed. “I thought we’d have to dump water on them.”

“Oh please,” Curt replied. “They needed the sun. Their under-eye bags had under-eye bags.”

“I’m window dressing, not a miracle worker.”

You ignored the growing suspicion that the curtains were developing a personality and stumbled to your bag to unpack a few things. The wardrobe opened with a cozy creak, revealing several rows of neat wooden hangers.

You grabbed one without looking, and… CRACK

One slipped from your hand and hit the floor. You knelt to pick it up, and froze.

The hanger had split down the shoulder. Clean break. One side barely hanging on.

You knelt down, frowning. “Damn. Sorry, dude…”

It was just a hanger. You knew that. But it felt like more than that. Maybe it was the weird owner. Maybe it was the quiet stillness of the wardrobe. Maybe it was the look of the other hangers, now swaying ever so gently, like they were watching.

You grabbed the first-aid kit that you moved upstairs to make yourself feel better and carefully bandaged the crack, one small beige bandaid, then some tape. You aligned the pieces with care, not rushing it. When it was done, you held the mended hanger in your hands for a moment, then smiled faintly.

“There,” you whispered. “Not perfect. But you’re still good.”

You hung the hanger gently back on the rod, giving it a little pat like you were saying welcome back.

The wardrobe went still.

But inside that quiet world, just beyond your reach, the Hanks stirred.

Hank 5 shifted closer, pressing his smooth edge gently against Hank 2’s side. “You’re alright, brother. You’re home.”

“Does it hurt?” whispered Hank 1, nudging the edge of the tape.

Hank 2 blinked, the warmth of the bandaid still fresh against his splintered frame. “No… it’s okay. They fixed me. They saw me.”

The other hangers closed in, swaying side to side like a gentle group hug. The rod above them creaked as if lowering its shoulders to cradle them all.

“We’ve got you now,” murmured Hank 3. “No one’s tossing anyone out of this family.”

From the nearby window, Curt and Rod had paused their usual commentary.

“Well I’ll be damned,” Curt said, a bit quieter than usual.

“They fixed Hank 2.”

“And didn’t even call him ‘cheap trash’ like that last sitter.”

“…Maybe this one isn’t the worst.”

Upstairs, tucked in the drawer you just put her in with gauze and love, Farya the first-aid kit felt it ripple through the house like warmth in the walls. She had barely even been touched, and yet, her purpose had been honored. Quiet compassion. Careful hands. Seeing what needed fixing and doing it without being asked.

“They’re one of us,” she thought.

And just like that, the house loved them a little more.

You stretched your arms overhead with a yawn, still thinking about the hanger as you padded downstairs barefoot. The house was quiet except for the soft tick of the kitchen clock and the distant drum of rain dripping from the gutters outside.

You made it to the kitchen, opened a cabinet, and stared at the stove.

Too early. Too tired. Too much effort.

You rubbed your eyes. “Yeah, no. Just toast today.”

You popped two slices of bread into the toaster sitting peacefully on the counter, bright red and retro-looking, with shiny silver buttons that gleamed under the morning light. She had a little dial that you didn’t touch, because it already seemed… right somehow. You pressed the lever down and stepped back.

The coffee machine stood in its usual spot: sleek and silent like it had been waiting.

“Alright, alright,” you muttered, grinning as you turned it on. “Let’s see what you’ve got today.”

It whirred to life again, warm and purposeful. The scent of fresh coffee filled the kitchen almost immediately: strong, creamy, with that perfect, sweet richness that made you sigh in relief. The kind of smell that made a bad day feel like a fresh start.

Click.

The toast popped up, golden, perfectly warm, exactly the crispiness you liked without being burnt.

But more than that… there was a heart.

Not drawn. Burned in.

A soft, round heart seared gently onto the surface of the toast like it belonged there.

You blinked. Picked up the slice and tilted it in the light.

“…How?”

You hadn’t touched the dial. Hadn’t set anything fancy. But there it was, right in the center.

Unseen to you, Miranda smirked to herself. “What, like I was gonna let them start the day without a little love?”

At the counter, your coffee finished brewing, this time with a leaf pattern etched into the foam. Not the same as yesterday. Different. Thoughtful. Specific.

You held both the toast and mug in your hands and smiled down at them.

“…Thank you,” you said softly, to no one in particular.

But two kitchen hearts beamed in return.

Kopi gave a quiet hum of pride.

Miranda clicked her heating coils once, just to show off.

You munched your toast on the way to the office down the hall, mug warm in your hand, heart still full from the gentlest, strangest morning you’d had in a long time.

Somewhere behind you, the kitchen glowed with quiet pride.

The office was tucked near the back of the house, down a quiet hallway with wood that amplified your footsteps. You hadn’t explored this part yesterday, too busy resetting fuses and bonding with broken hangers.

The door was slightly ajar, like someone had left it open just for you.

You stepped in slowly.

It was small, but cozy. Dark walls. Two windows letting in a soft wash of morning light. A smooth desk that looked like it’d been polished just this morning. A computer sat front and center, silent and gleaming like a well-fed cat.

You lowered yourself into the desk chair and immediately stilled.

“…Huh.”

It was comfortable. Weirdly comfortable. The kind of comfort that knew your posture better than you did. The cushion hugged your hips and back like it had been molded just for you. You sank into it, tension slipping from your shoulders.

You stared at the desk and murmured, “Okay. You’re definitely all haunted.”

The chair made a soft creak beneath you, like a it was laughing.

You wiggled the mouse and the screen lit up, a soft digital glow humming to life. Then, a message:

Software update available.

You groaned. “What the hell. Fine.”

You clicked “Update,” expecting the usual sluggish chaos: endless restarts, spinning wheels, a half-hour of waiting and maybe a crash or two for good measure.

But instead?

The screen flickered for a few seconds. A smooth, quiet restart. Then… done.

Just like that.

No errors. No lag. No crashes. It even booted up faster.

You blinked at the screen. A familiar document was already open.

Your project.

The one you’d been meaning to work on, the one that sat half-finished in your inbox for weeks, collecting dust.

Only… it wasn’t half-finished anymore.

It was done. Edited. Organized. Perfect.

You scrolled in stunned silence. Every file in place. Every sentence cleaned up. Graphs, images, titles, transitions, all lined up neatly like someone had reached into your brain and said “Let me take care of that for you.”

You leaned back slowly, heart thudding.

“…I didn’t… do this.”

Somewhere beneath your fingertips, Mac buzzed softly with pride.

They didn’t need thanks. They just liked being helpful.

“Took someone long enough to update me,” they thought with a soft, content pulse. *“I’ve been waiting for this since forever!”

The chair shifted gently beneath you, a quiet little bounce of support. The desk stayed solid and warm against your arms. You felt… safe. Cared for.

And just a little unnerved.

But you smiled anyway.

“…Thanks, I guess,” you whispered.

The screen glowed just a little brighter in response.

The rest of the day passed in a gentle blur.

You explored more of the house, moving through halls that seemed to stretch and contract depending on how curious you felt. Every door you opened led to something charming: a weight room that somehow felt more like a gym then any gym you’ve ever been to, and snacks, fresh, plated, waiting, left on counters and tables like someone knew exactly when you'd feel hungry.

You didn’t question it too much.

You didn’t want to ruin it.

The couch in the living room was your next conquest, a giant piece that hugged your whole body like a weighted blanket and a therapist all in one. You swore you’d just close your eyes for a second. When you opened them again, two hours had passed, and you’d drooled on the pillow. Just a little.

You muttered a soft “sorry” into the couch cushion, and the cushion somehow fluffed itself back into shape.

It was the most cared-for you’d felt in weeks.

But now, the sky outside the windows had turned dusky purple, the rain long gone and replaced by stars peeking through the clouds. The house had grown quiet again, not empty, just… restful. Like it was winding down with you.

You climbed the stairs slowly, passing the quiet kitchen, the humming hallway, the soft creak of the office door gently swinging shut on its own.

The bedroom was just as you’d left it, only the bed looked a little more inviting now. The blanket folded down slightly. The pillow plumped. It was like it missed you.

You smiled to yourself, crawling in and tugging the covers up.

“…Goodnight, everyone,” you said softly to the room. “Thanks for today.”

No one answered. But the air around you felt warm. Safe.

Curt and Rod shifted in their mounts above the window, just enough to adjust the curtain for the moonlight.

The Hanks rested quietly in their wardrobe, Hank 2 wrapped gently between his brothers.

And downstairs, the heart of the house sighed in unison.

You didn’t see the smile forming in the lightbulb above you.

Or the content twitch in the toaster’s dial.

Or the faint glow in the bandaid on Hank 2’s side.

But they saw you.

And in their quiet, unseen world, they whispered back:

“Goodnight.”

And you slept soundly once more.

Tags: @nightlark100 @stinkyboyfaliure

︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶ ୨♡୧ ︶︶︶ ⊹ ︶︶︶ chairemi, betty, dunk x reader who stubs their toe

contains ;; gn reader, headcanons, some slight hurt/comfort

a/n :: i didn’t write for all of them bc i haven’t finished all the routes yet, but once i do i will make a part two!!

a/n 2 :: im pretty sure the dateables can move around the house (don’t quote me on that) but i also went w my own ideas on some details of how they are for this sake-

The objects aren’t right where their objects are at all times. They get to move around and things too! But, that doesn’t mean they can’t feel every time the clumsy houseowner gets stabbed in the side by Able or practically sees the afterlife when their toe hits Betty’s legs. But no matter that they feel it, they’re more concerned for you. Every time it happened, it seemed like you were gonna give up on life.

Chairemi loves performing, no matter the circumstances! Audience or no audience, other actors or not, and even when she feels the human’s hip harshly hit the side of the arm chair in the living room. She’s a busy woman and the show must go on though! But, she honestly can’t help but worry a bit when it happens for the 8th time that week. Morning, night, or noon; Chairemi feels a bump to her side which can catch her off guard.

When you got the dateviators, you’d remembered just how often you bump or hit the objects around you and, to be honest, felt pretty bad. (They all forgave you of course). And when you met Chairemi and became her scene partner, you’d made sure to apologize, which she happily accepted! Don’t worry though, the clumsiness did not stop, considering the fact you just bumped into the background pieces and fell to the floor.

Again, the show must go on! Well, after she takes you over to Farya- Celia and Florence can wait of course!

Having you be Betty’s beloved is definitely a test for her. Despite her human looks with the dateviators, that doesn’t dull down the sharp bed frame. She was surprised you’d never just completely fallen over from it, to be honest. She’s cared for you for years though, clumsiness or no clumsiness.

In this case, the dateviators certainly help. Despite having to do it a lot, at least now she can warn you before your little toe hits the metal leg. Most of the time, at least. If it happens anyway however, don’t fret. You can collapse on your bed and whine as long as you need while she strokes your hair. And despite the circumstances, this is one of Betty’s favorite forms of intimacy and closeness with you.

Dunk didn’t see you often. At all. He’s still waiting for your “inner athlete” to kick in! But, everytime he did see you, he could practically share your pain when your knee hit the metal of the dumbbell rack. He’d be watching you whine and jump around as he winced himself. This time he’s just glad you didn’t slip on the yoga mat… again.

Meeting you again was a blast when you got the dateviators! Encouraging you to try new stuff, find your thing! But, it wasn’t as easy as it sounded. Playing football? It hits you square in the chest and he rushes over to check on you. Badminton? The birdie hit you in the eye! Even yoga, your foot slipped and you fell flat on your back. Every hangout becomes a trip to Farya pretty quick. Maybe his goal shouldn’t be to find your inner athlete, but to teach you balance and awareness of your surroundings.

BONUS :: Farya!

Farya, of course, loves her job. A paper cut can easily become a bacterial playground and it’s her goal to stop that! And, whether for the best or worst(she can’t tell), she sees you practically daily. Sometimes accompanied by someone else, sometimes by yourself. How many bruises and warnings can you get though before it stops happening? Oh well. At the very least, it’s nice to sit next to you as your stomach slowly stops feeling like it’s turning rapidly.

and she doesn’t need it, of course — she isn’t human. but she has thoroughly assessed you and she has come to to conclusion that you’re severely lacking in the physical contact department. (touch starved is the colloquial term, apparently.)

you’re already helping her study, anyway, so it’s not hard to place a hand on your shoulder when you’re reading off facts, or playfully nudge you when you make a joke. or even hug you when you’re down, on occasion, letting her arms wrap around you and feeling you stiffen, then sag into her touch, the tension leaving you in one unsteady breath.

it’s shown promising results so far. with a lighter mindset, it looks like you’re doing better, moving more freely around the space, even humming in the bathroom on occasion as you go about your day. it’s lovely. it makes her day better just hearing it.

well — actually, what makes her day is getting to touch you, too. if she concentrates, she can feel the chemicals rushing around in her brain, lighting up every cell with joy.

I want -long- to be Farya's roommate. Like medical studies besties and long study sessions with her but anyway-

Imagine when she has to study for an anatomy test and of course you accept to help her so she has to touch a little everywhere on your body to learn which part is what, pr even testing the reactions

Sure she kinda uses it as an excuse sometimes just to touch you (but i think that she need a test subject fr at some moments), and her hands linger a but too long, but who would complain if it's Farya? At least you're not giving her your organs

I dont do medical studies so I have no idea if they study that but even worse if it's gynecology

-🇨🇵

i have NO idea abt anything regarding medical studies but i desperately hope it’d include me laying flat on the table, Operation the Board Game-Style, in my underwear and having her poke around at my body and telling me sternly not to move!!!

Farya would use the opportunity, dragging a marker against your skin as she copies down what’s on her notes onto your skin in a shortened, easy-to-read version. It’s neat and incredibly organized, but she tsks every time you move.