#how can one simple sentence make me cry

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

i crumble completely when you cry ; suguru geto

synopsis; after a tense fight with your boyfriend, you flee out into a brewing rainstorm. luckily, suguru is always willing to warm you up again.

word count; 6.2k

contents; suguru geto/reader, gn!reader, copious amounts of hurt/comfort, no really that’s literally all this fic is, sugu snaps at you for worrying about him, (and then promptly spirals), he makes it up to you though :), healthy communication ensues, [name] is used exactly once, switching povs, soft & fluffy ending <33

a/n; going back to my roots (mindless hurt/comfort) 🙏🙏 i just think that if suguru picked me up like a small kitten and put me in his lap it would fix me

you’re cold.

little shivers run through your body, down your spine, and all you can do is clench your chattering teeth and dig your nails into the skin of your palms. the heavy rain falls down without mercy, going pitter patter as it hits the asphalt. a sudden lightning strike lights up the town, flashing in the reflection of puddles, and you manage a weak jolt.

dark clouds blanket the whole sky, not allowing even a sliver of blue to shine through the darkness of the rainy evening. enveloping you, surrounding you, soft earthy scents — wet asphalt, roses blooming to your left and right, bushes with sweet-smelling flora guiding your path, little petals glistening with droplets and bouncing with the force of the rain.

it’d be comforting, were it not for one simple fact; 

you don’t have an umbrella.

at this point, thirty minutes into your solemn, sniffly walk, you’re absolutely soaked. with only a measly hoodie to cover your body and head, and a tank top sticking to the skin beneath it — you were stupid to think you’d get out of it unscathed. your shoes feel uncomfortable, wet soles sticking to the asphalt, two heavy weights carrying you down the familiar street ahead of you.

you let out a shuddering breath. 

gosh, this was stupid. you knew it was going to rain, but still walked out without a care in the world; despite the weather forecast, despite suguru’s warnings over breakfast, despite the dark clouds covering the milk-blue sky. you just didn’t think it’d be this bad. you just felt so helpless.

you just couldn’t stay there.

some fresh air, and a bit of space. that was all you needed. just that one sliver of comfort.

so, yeah, maybe you weren’t thinking very clearly when you stormed out. maybe you weren’t thinking nearly enough, not enough to even grab one of the umbrellas hanging off the coatrack. hanging there just for you, the cutest little frog umbrella, one suguru bought for you himself. big, googly eyes, and a big smile. the most perfect shade of green. 

(he put it there just for you.)

maybe you weren’t thinking at all. maybe you just needed to get away, away from him, away from the frustration on his features. arguments with suguru are few and far between — it only adds to the sting of his cold voice still ringing in your ears. you bite down on your bottom lip again, just to stop it from wobbling so pitifully. blinking rapidly, tears and raindrops clinging to your lashline.

you were just worried. is that so awful? 

(why did he have to be so fucking mean about it?)

a sigh flows from your lips, heavy and defeated and undeniably tired. you hate feeling like this, this bitter, hate feeling like you’ve done something wrong. more than anything, you hate arguing with him — hate the idea of him being angry with you. hate the way his voice turns colder, just a little sharper, an octave lower. he never raises it, never ever, but somehow he still sounds so scary. 

it bothers you. bothers you how sensitive you are when it comes to him. just that shivering tilt of his voice, coupled with the annoyance in his eyes, was enough to make your eyes a little glassy. one little sentence, and you were close to breaking out into a sob. because suguru was angry with you, and that alone makes you feel like you’ve done nothing right in your life.

so you left. because that was all you could do. 

sure, the sharp pelting of the rain hurts a little, and the thunder is scary, and you’re awfully cold — but anything is better than having suguru see you burst into tears over such a small argument. you know he’d try to soothe you, know he’d feel guilty. but that just makes it all the more embarrassing. 

(all the more pathetic.)

so you left, rushed out of your own apartment, and before you knew it the storm was rolling in above you. rain and thunder, something to rival the ache in your chest. it still hasn’t been that long, a little over half an hour, and you still haven’t fully calmed down. you still don’t know how to face him. but —

but fuck, it’s cold. and an undeniable part of you yearns to run back into his arms, to make up with him, to hear his voice turn warm and see his eyes go soft. you want him to soothe you so, so badly. like he always does. 

another sigh — more resigned this time — slips from out your lips. your bones feel sore, you’re almost certain you’re going to catch a cold, and it’s getting late. you’re all alone, and it’s raining, and you look vulnerable and helpless. 

you want to go home.

it’ll be awkward, but maybe you can sneak in somehow — without him noticing. then you can go straight to sleep, on the couch, and maybe you’ll feel a little better tomorrow. the two of you can talk it out over breakfast, over warm coffee, and you can tell him what you meant to say without stumbling over what words to use or dancing around the subject like a scared little child.

you’re just too tired to argue anymore.

he just made you feel so stupid. so very, very small. suguru’s been working so hard lately, coming home late, exhausting himself. all you wanted was to make sure he was okay. that, and to coax him into relaxing a bit; maybe take a day off to recharge. that was all.

but he just brushed you off.

and, well, maybe you should’ve backed off after that. maybe you should’ve taken that as a sign that suguru didn’t feel up to answering your questions. but you were just so worried, so pitifully anxious, and you just wanted to help him so, so badly.

suguru is always so dependable. always there to help you, to ground you, to console you. even when you push him away or insist you don’t need it. he can be pushy, when he feels like he needs to, when your health is at risk — and it’s frustrating, but you’ve always appreciated it. you just wanted to return the favour. push him, just a little, to show him how much you care. show him that he can depend on you the way he insists you do with him.

but then he grew frustrated.

”suguru… you’ve been working so much, i’m —” you bite down on your bottom lip. ”i’m just worried that you’re overdoing it.” ”… god. how many times do i have to say it? i know my limits, [name].” ”but — you just look so tired —” ”well, i’m sorry for that.” a cold smile. ”am i not living up to your expectations?”

(that’s not what you meant. he knows that’s not what you meant.)

and it makes you feel frustrated, too. pardon you for being worried. for wanting to be there for him, for once, for wanting to be a supportive partner and not just a burden. 

pardon you for feeling a little lonely, with him coming home so late, leaving so early. with him not giving you the affection you’re so used to, and never confiding in you about his stress.

pardon you for wanting him to trust you, a little, even just a sliver more than not at all.

god, you’re exhausted. you just want to sleep — can’t you have that, at least? just that one thing? you don’t mind sleeping on the couch, don’t mind feeling like a stranger in your own home, as long as you get to rest your eyes. just for a little while. 

your brain spins in circles, bitterness and longing heavy on your tongue, as you grumble over what to do or how to feel — 

while your feet have already begun taking you home. moving almost on their own, on instinct, walking past rose bushes and backyards, the smell of glucose and rotting apples. 

and you’re there before you know it: in front of the familiar door to your shared apartment, soaked from head to toe. still feeling a little lost.

for a second, you hesitate.

maybe he’s still angry. maybe he was happy to get some time away from you. maybe you’re just making things worse by doing this, maybe you should just —

but your fingers have already fished out the key from within your pocket, unlocking the door in one swift motion. moving up to curl around the doorknob, a desperation in your veins guiding you closer to his steady warmth.

and before you have the chance to waver again, you pull the door open and step inside.

you move slowly, gentle and careful, almost cautious. softly closing the door behind you and taking a couple quiet steps forward, only to shrug off your hoodie — heavy, soaking wet and discomforting as you pull it over your head. clumsily, you try to get it off you, squirming when the warm indoors air meets your sweaty tank top. it feels soothing on your bare skin, though, ghosting over your shoulders and collarbone, hoodie now clinging to your elbows.

in the middle of the taxing endeavor, you almost fail to notice the presence of a certain someone, standing just a little farther away. 

almost, because it’d be impossible for you to miss him, that heavy gaze of his.

and before you can think the thought to do anything else, you’ve locked eyes with him — arms still tangled up in the wet sleeves of your hoodie, raindrops and sweat sticking to your skin.

(suguru takes a moment to look at you.)

not daring to say anything, afraid to part your lips, you simply stand there. in silence, like a deer in headlights. for some reason, you can’t really read his expression — you’re a little too tired, a little too caught off guard.

you can only blink, worry surely evident in your furrowed brows, as the seconds tick on and on. tense, tense, tense.

and then he’s walking away again. 

crestfallen. that’s probably the best way to describe how you feel right now, watching him disappear around the corner. dejected, as your eyes fall to the floor, and your posture wilts like a dying rose. you finally shake off your hoodie and watch it fall to the floor with a gross, wet plap.

it hurts. you want to cry. you can’t help it. even though a part of you is still upset, even though a part of you fully expected this to happen… 

another part was still hoping he’d be happy to see you. as if just seeing his smile again might’ve fixed everything.

but he didn’t even give you that.

that’s that, then. there’s nothing you can do except proceed with your original plan. you’ll change into some warm, dry clothes, and go to sleep on the couch like the miserable dog you are. you’ll leave everything troublesome and disheartening for tomorrow’s you to handle. 

for now, you just have to worry about getting some sleep. you don’t have to think about suguru, or his cold voice, or the way he just walked away without saying anything. 

you don’t have to think about him at all. 

(don’t think. don’t think. don’t —)

— the soft patter of footsteps breaks you out of your anxious spiral. they come closer and closer, until a certain silhouette enters your vision out of the corner of your eye.

a certain suguru geto, hair down and cascading past his shoulders, wearing a comfortable sweater and loose sweatpants with a fluffy towel in tow.

once again, you can only blink. a vaguely confused deer in headlights. suguru comes closer and closer, until you can clearly see his eyes, amber gold, full of an emotion you finally manage to identify —

worry.

(ah.)

before you can say anything, he’s draped the towel around you. it feels nice, a soft texture on your skin, big enough to engulf you completely, cocooning you. cozy and snug. you can’t help but melt a little when suguru places his big hand over the towel and smooths it over your cheek, drying off your skin so gently that you feel like crying again.

”are you cold?” he asks, concern evident in his voice. to your immense relief, it sounds nowhere near as scary as before. ”you’re soaked…”

suguru almost seems to be pouting, bottom lip jutting out the slightest bit, eyebrows furrowed softly. still rubbing the raindrops off your skin. he looks awfully troubled, undeniably anxious, and the way he’s caressing your skin feels so earnestly caring. the towel feels warm, like he went the extra mile to heat it up for you.

and, more than anything, the feeling of suguru’s big hands cupping your face is almost heavenly. even though the touch is indirect, you can’t help but bask in his warmth, almost desperate to cling to it after escaping from the harsh cold of the rain. like he could slip away and leave you again if you don’t stay perfectly still, just like this.

it’s soothing. so, so soothing. but it also makes you feel kind of meek.

you sound sheepish when you answer, voice a little hoarse after your grueling walk. throat dry from all the crying. ”nah, ’m fine…”

the words are tiny, fragile like pieces of glass, and they only make suguru’s brows furrow further, pout turning into a soft frown as he gazes down at you.

(he hates how small you look. like you’re curling in on yourself.)

as soon as you left the apartment, a wave of regret washed over him. it was expected, obviously, because that’s what always happens after the two of you argue — which is almost never, which only makes the cut in his heart run deeper. 

he felt frustrated. and tired, so tired. but when he saw your troubled expression, the way your eyes watered slightly before you rushed out…

he could only feel guilty.

and that sensation only deepened as he sat on the couch and spiraled, over the course of forty long minutes, playing the interaction back inside his head. over and over, thinking about your words, his words, some of which he desperately wishes he could take back. 

and when it started raining? suguru could only feel regret, hot and ugly, dragging him into his own thoughts. could only drown in his worries, look out the window anxiously. thinking of you, his sweet baby, stuck under the onslaught of dark clouds and lightning strikes and heavy rain.

(you didn’t bring an umbrella.)

suguru waited. that was all he could do. 

he didn’t think it was possible for him to feel so useless. fighting with himself, the part of him that wanted to give you the space you needed clashing with the part that yearned to run after you — scoop you up and apologize, hold you tight and protect you from the rainfall. you weren’t answering his calls, and he didn’t want to overwhelm you, didn’t want to make you feel even worse. afraid to scare you off for good.

so he could only sit there and worry, sit there and wait, wallow in his own shame until he heard the faintest sound of the front door unlocking. followed by the sound of it creaking open, slowly — and that was all he needed. 

and there you were. standing by the entrance, entirely soaked, tank top sticking to your skin and that flimsy hoodie hanging off your arms, cheeks a little red from the cold and strands of hair sticking to your skin.

like a tiny kitten left out in the rain.

it made him feel so painfully anxious. his heart aching so deeply, so viscerally, while all he could think about was smothering you in affection. taking care of you, like he always wants to do, needs to do to stay sane. so suguru left, to go grab something to dry you off with —

and now he’s here. in front of you, smothering you with the towel rather than his love, fretting over you like an overprotective mother. 

suguru yearns to soothe you. to take care of you. always, always, always, his hands on your skin and lidded amber eyes staring deeply into yours. offering himself like a shelter to a stray dog, hoping so tenderly that you’ll take the bait.

(he just wants you to feel safe with him again.)

so he stumbles for something, anything to say, afraid of overstepping or making you uncomfortable. you did just argue, and suguru was anything but patient with you. usually he would be; he’d make sure to be. but with work piling up, and exhaustion clinging to every pore of his skin…

he failed at maintaining his composure.

he needs to make it up to you. despite everything — even though he feels a little awkward, a little restless, still drowning a little in shame — he just wants to tend to you. that, and nothing more.

”hang on,” he exhales, stepping back and letting go of the towel. ”i’ll go draw you a bath…”

”ah — no need,” you smile, a little forced, swiftly reassuring him. he can tell you don’t really know how to act after everything that happened; still walking on eggshells. ”i’ll just take a quick shower.”

suguru wants to protest, wants to coax you into taking a proper bath, into letting your cold skin and aching bones relax completely —

but he can only hum, a little unsure. a little sad. 

”… okay. got it.”

perplexed, he tries his hand at another tactic. still so desperate to take care of you in whatever way you’ll allow, like always, but he thinks it’s worse now. even more desperate, after the fight you had, after seeing your frail, shivering self. resisting the urge to scoop you up and coddle you is a struggle.

”i can make you tea?” he tries, inwardly wincing at the way the words spill from his lips; uncertain, awkward. what a mess.

but you smile, slightly more genuinely this time, a soft little thing. it soothes some of the anxiety rotting through his ribs.

”tea would be great, thank you.”

you brush past him, warm towel still hanging off your shoulders. ”i’ll just take a shower in the meantime,” you murmur, and suguru can do nothing but nod, watching you go. 

he swallows thickly.

(that’s that, then.)

tea. right. what kind of tea? something warm, and soothing, and good for your throat. chamomile? peppermint? he’ll add a spoon of honey, just the way you like.

suguru’s mind spins in circles while his feet take him to the kitchen, hands swiftly rummaging through cabinets and getting the electric kettle ready. placing teacups and a teapot on the table, cute little floral designs he couldn’t help but fill your kitchen with. pouring hot peppermint tea into the pot, a strong scent drifting through the kitchen, drowning his senses in bliss.

caught up in his own head, losing track of time, suguru fails to notice you walking from the bathroom — stopping by the threshold of the kitchen, hesitant to make your presence known. a few silent moments pass. with a tiny inhale, mint invading your senses, you take a step forward. calm and sleepy, skin still pleasantly hot from the warm shower, hair still a little damp.

only then does suguru notice you, his gaze drifting to your figure as if instinctively drawn to it.

you’re clad in some comfortable sweatpants, and an oversized hoodie — his hoodie, the one with the unreasonably soft texture, the one you tend to gravitate towards — the one he likes to see you in the most, because you always look so thoroughly comfy in it. almost drowning in the fabric. 

seeing you all warm and cozy, in his clothing no less, sends a tremor of pure warmth running through suguru’s chest. sprouting in his heart and spreading throughout his entire body. he can’t bring himself to resist the soft curl of his lips, gazing at you so fondly he’s almost sure you notice it.

”i made peppermint,” he says, a little breathless, already pouring boiling tea into two cups on the table. ”that okay?”

”yeah,” you answer, instantaneous. stifling a yawn. you’d have been fine with anything, really.

the shower worked wonders for your muddled mind; chasing away the shivers down your spine, that unpleasant chill to your skin. most importantly, it gave you a moment to simply relax, to bask in the peace and quiet. feel the hot water surround you, melt your bones like softened clay. you feel a little better, now. still anxious, more than a little sleepy, but better. and right now, that’s all you need. 

with a groggy kind of pep in your step, you stumble over to the kitchen table, plopping down on the chair across from where suguru is sitting. trying to get comfortable, knees pressed against your chest, muttering a soft thank you while gingerly touching the rim of the cup.

(suguru frowns, just barely, at the sight. usually you’d sit right next to him. but now you’re in front of him, so very far — as if you’re strangers.

it breaks his heart, a little bit.)

a soft hum leaves your lips when you take a sip of the tea — all warm and comforting and minty on your tongue, a vague taste of something sweet. it’s relaxing, more than anything, and it makes you feel a little more okay with everything.

suguru only watches you, drinking absentmindedly from his own cup. not really tasting anything.

finally, he opts to clear his throat — and your attention falls on him instantly.

”hey,” he starts, ready to address the elephant in the room. his voice is gentle, but decisive, firm somehow. ”about before…”

your body tenses, ever so slightly, fingers uncurling around the handle of the teacup. there’s a kind of shift in the air around you, in suguru’s tone of voice — and you were expecting it, waiting for it anxiously, but that doesn’t make it any less harrowing.

here it comes, your mind seems to sing. here comes the moment everything shatters again.

with as much strength as you can muster, you smile. a little sheepish, just a tad forced, refusing to meet his eyes from across the table. staring into the murky green of your cup and hoping in vain that you can somehow escape this discomfort. 

(you just want to rest. you just want to not have to think about anything.)

”it’s fine, suguru,” you cut him off. softly, but there’s a certain tilt to your voice that strikes him as rather cold. ”we can just drop it.”

the decision in his eyes doesn’t waver. you look meek, awfully troubled, and he hates to force you into another discussion when you’re undoubtedly tired — but suguru’s mind is set. he’s been evasive enough, today.

”no. i want to talk about it properly.”

at that, you seem to deflate a little. suguru is nothing if not stubborn, a quality that always manages to coexist with his gentleness, his desire to be a good partner for you. you can tell he won’t allow you to wriggle away, now that you’re both finally calm. he’s not doing it to exhaust you, not doing it to gain some sort of satisfaction out of ”winning” the argument — he’s doing it because he knows it’s the right thing to do. even if it makes you both a little uncomfortable.

communication is important, immensely so. suguru knows it very well.

and you do, too.

so all you do is curl into yourself, shifting in your seat, allowing him to speak his mind and sipping quietly on your tea. biting back a disgruntled huff, gaze lingering on the tablecloth, little calico cats etched into the fabric. he wanted one with yellow stripes, but still bought this one just for you. just like the ugly matching couple mugs you forced him into buying, the green colour of your kitchen wallpaper. he always places you before himself.

(all you wanted was to change that. just for a night, if nothing else. and he got mad at you for it.)

suguru sighs. it sounds fatigued, not frustrated or disappointed. he runs a hand through his hair, and you can’t help but follow the movement, the soft silky strands and the way he smooths them over. practiced, familiar, absentminded. you could watch him do it forever.

”i had a lot of time to think while you were gone,” he begins, recalling the mental gymnastics he went through while you were away. just sitting on the couch and running himself ragged, trying to be impartial, trying to see your point of view without letting his own bias get in the way.

you sink a little further into the chair, eyes downcast. inhaling the scent of peppermint, trying to prepare yourself for what he might say, the ways this could all go wrong.

”and i realized that you were right.”

…

you blink. once, then twice.

hesitantly, you raise your head, searching for suguru’s gaze. he isn’t looking at you, staring out at the rainfall through the window as if in deep thought. his gaze shifts to meet yours, and something soft flickers through his golden eyes.

he looks troubled, though. trying to find the right words, mind clouded by guilt. chewing at his bottom lip anxiously.

it takes him a moment to gather his thoughts, to weigh the words in his mind, just to make sure he gets them across as smoothly as possible. he’s had more than enough time to verbalize his feelings, to think about what he wants to say to you. it was all he could do while he waited. 

so his voice is earnest, when he continues, sincerely apologetic and thought out.

”i’m always telling you not to overwork yourself. and here i am, doing the same thing…” another sigh. ”you were just worried. i shouldn’t have lashed out — you didn’t deserve that.”

suguru searches for your gaze, and manages to find it. you falter a little under the weight of his eyes, but they’re warm, remorseful. a setting sun.

”i’m sorry.”

a moment of silence passes. then two. three, five. you look down at your cup, the purple hyacinths etched into the porcelain. crumbling under his gaze, at the sound of his genuine apology. 

and suddenly, you feel silly — silly for being so scared, for thinking suguru might still be angry with you. for thinking he wouldn’t spend as much time as needed to properly think about your words, your feelings, even if he might not have been ready to do so when he first heard them.

suguru can be stubborn, if he’s convinced that he’s in the right. but he always, always seeks you out eventually, always makes sure to genuinely look at things from your perspective. 

and, really, it means everything. it means enough to wash away all your leftover irritation, from having him brush you off when you know you didn’t do anything wrong. all the leftover sadness from being pushed away, from not being allowed to take care of him the way he always does for you.

suguru isn’t perfect, but he tries harder than anyone you know. tries his very best to be as close to perfect as he can possibly get — for you, for the both of you. he’s considerate enough, mature enough to take the time he needs to properly communicate. that’s how much he loves you. 

and yes, doing so makes you a little uncomfortable. but when faced with something like that, someone so kind, who loves you like the rain loves the ground — how could you ever bear not to do the same?

”… it’s fine,” you start, softly. ”maybe i overreacted a bit. ’s just —” a gulp. you’re trying your best to verbalize your feelings, the way suguru just did, the way he always does.

and he waits, patiently. for as long as you need. looking at you from across the table softly, already immensely relieved at the lack of tension in the air.

”i don’t like seeing you so tired. i know that your work is important, and i support you, but…” your voice goes quiet, as you trail off, hoping he’ll understand what you mean. ”you know.”

and suguru does. he does understand, he always will. so he hums.

”i know,” he murmurs, softly. ”it wasn’t an overreaction. i just didn’t realize it myself. got too caught up in everything,” a sharp exhale leaves his lips. ”it’s been… a long week. i’m not using that as an excuse, though.”

you listen attentively, eyes softening at his words. you can tell that he means it, that you finally got your message across. all you wanted was for him to take a break, to take care of himself.

to let you take care of him.

suguru continues. he makes it a point to look into your eyes as he speaks — a little intimidating, especially in a situation like this — but you know it reassures him, that it lets him know you really understand what he’s trying to say. 

so you hold his gaze, as steady as you can, glancing down at his collarbone when it becomes just a little too much.

”i’m grateful that i have you,” he says, voice dripping with softness, gazing at you with a fondness that has you crumbling all over again. ”and that you care enough to set me straight when i need it.”

and suguru means it. he means it more than anything else. not once has he ever stopped appreciating you, all the things you do for him; always so sweet and caring, even when it’s subtle. this was no exception. you’re always worried, always looking out for him. he feels awful for getting so defensive. for pushing you away, when you were trying so earnestly to reach him.

but he’ll make up for all of that, starting now.

”i mean it. i appreciate you so much, you have no idea — i’m so sorry if i made you think otherwise.” for a moment, his eyes look a little glassy, swimming in remorse. ”i really, really am.”

(and when he looks at you like that, when he speaks so very gently —

how could you ever bear not to forgive him?)

you shift in your seat again. gazing down, chewing at your bottom lip. his honesty makes you falter, makes it hard for you not to do the same; even if your voice ends up sounding awfully tiny and awfully close to breaking apart. 

”… i was just worried,” you mumble, meekly, shooing away any tears you have left with rapid blinks. 

”i know,” suguru soothes. the smile on his face is genuine, comforting, honey and peppermint and warmth. ”i was being immature. you were right — i’ve been burning myself out.”

you don’t say anything. only letting his words console you, feeling yourself relax at the sound of him opening up a little. just enough to make everything all better again.

”i was thinking of taking tomorrow off,” he continues, searching for your timid gaze and smiling gently once he finds it. ”what do you say?”

you brighten a little, so obvious in the way you sit up straighter, the way something soft and hopeful blossoms in the scope of your iris. the sight coaxes suguru’s patient smile into widening a smidge, his eyes crinkling at your barely contained excitement.

”that’d be nice…” you murmur, averting your gaze once more. but suguru can tell you like the sound of that, that it’s exactly what would finally put your anxious mind at ease.

a smile, bright and fond. suguru opens his arms. 

”then i will.”

for a moment, you simply stare. at him, his outstretched limbs — that soft smile, as he waits for you to get the hint. and you blink. 

oh. 

you look down at your lap. a little sheepish, almost shy. it takes you another moment to raise your head, again, only to see another gentle flicker in suguru’s eyes — and then you finally get up from your seat.

it feels a little strange. a little awkward, as if some of your bones still can’t help but tread on eggshells, afraid of making him upset again. but it’s suguru, and he loves you, and his arms are waiting patiently to hold you.

and you want that more than anything. 

so you fall into his arms, softly, curling up in his lap and wrapping your arms around his waist. suguru has one hand on the back of your head and the other on the small of your back, rubbing comforting circles into your spine to make you relax.

it works wonders. despite your initial hesitance, you melt into the embrace without putting up a fuss — happy to be in his arms again, to feel the anxiety dissipate when you realize that everything’s finally alright.

and suguru is just as happy, just as content. breathing out a sigh of relief he didn’t know he was holding. he strokes your hair lovingly, and you nuzzle into him a little more; making his lips quirk up, eyes filling with adoration. finally, he can relax. having you in his arms feels so soothing. and you’re so sweet, curling into him, seeking comfort and warmth that he’s more than happy to provide.

how long has it been since he had a chance to hold you like this? he made sure to be affectionate whenever he could, before leaving for work and after coming back — but in the midst of all the paperwork and stress…

suguru sighs, a little sadder this time, watching you bask in the attention he had been robbing you of this whole time. without even realizing it.

”and i’m sorry for neglecting you, too,” he murmurs, barely above a whisper. muffled by your hair as he presses a kiss against the crown of your head.

that certainly gets your attention.

”neglecting me?” you sputter, eyes suddenly wide open and lips parted in disbelief. flustered, heat rushing to your neck and ears. ”wha — what am i, some high-maintenance puppy? you didn’t neglect me.”

suguru only chuckles, biting back a soft coo that he knows would only fluster you more. instead, he pulls away a little, just to look at you, and pecks your forehead softly.

”well, i’m sorry for not being around much, then. i’ll make it up to you. okay?”

hiding away in his collarbone, again, you mutter a soft okay that has suguru’s heart squeezing in his chest. he cradles you close, engulfs you in his embrace, and hopes you can feel his love through the action. hopes you can feel it in the way his arms fit around you like they were always meant to be right there.

and you do feel his love. feel it smooth away the leftover turmoil in your brain, caress your skin softly. it’s soothing, and comforting, and you feel so incredibly safe. here, in suguru’s embrace, with the sound of rain hitting the window and the scent of peppermint wafting through the kitchen — it’d be impossible not to relax.

before you know it, your eyelids have fluttered shut, breathing softening out and heartbeat slowing down. a peaceful rhythm, carrying you away. suguru notices it before you do.

”you sleeping, baby?”

you jolt a little in his arms — murmuring something unintelligible into his neck, and he only chuckles, the sound rumbling through his chest like a soothing thunderstorm.

”c’mon. let’s get you to bed, hm?” 

suguru smooths a hand down your back, arms tightening around you before he scoops you up and gets up from his seat. ”there we go,” he hums, helping you hike your legs around his waist. ”you can sleep, angel. i’ve got you.”

your arms tighten around him, and you inhale his scent; grounding and comforting, raindrops and roses. tomorrow you can bask in it properly, can take care of him properly. you’ll coddle him all day.

but for now, you need to get some rest.

allowing your senses to dull away, clinging to suguru like a makeshift pillow, you absently listen to the storm still raging on outside. faraway, cold and harsh, but comforting when you’re in his steady grasp.

a yawn escapes your honey-soothed throat.

you don’t miss the i love you murmured into your ear, accompanying you into dreamland as your eyes flutter shut.

#geto x reader #geto x you #geto x y/n #geto suguru x reader #geto suguru x you #geto suguru x y/n #suguru geto x reader #getou suguru x reader #geto fluff #geto hurt/comfort #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk x y/n #jjk fluff #jjk hurt/comfort

[lowkeyremi]

"DADDY I THREW UP"

How they react when their little ones throw up ! (we all know gojo is gonna be overreacting) ft. gojo, geto, choso, toji, and nanami

content: TW: vomit, no curse!au fluff, established relationship (marriage), children, families. (divider by kim jiho) same kids from jjk men as dads

Gojo Satoru

Satoru's on daddy duty for the next week and a half while you're gone, and so far he's actually doing quite well. Currently, he's making dinner from a simple recipe in the recipe book you've been making throughout the last few years.

Two year old Kenji waddles into the kitchen and tugs on Satoru's sweatpants. His head whips around to look down at his little mini-me.

"Hey Kenji, what's up little guy?" He puts his attention back on the wok with noodles in it to make sure he doesn't burn dinner. As he's stirring the food around with chopsticks Kenji starts to form a sentence, "Um.. throw up."

Satoru freezes. "W-what?" He knows exactly what Kenji said but he's scared to turn around. Kenji whines a little bit, "Throw up. Kenji throw up." Usually Satoru would find his toddler's 3rd person speaking cute but right now he feels himself breaking out into a cold sweat.

"Oh... um.. It's okay? Where is it?" Kenji's little feet waddle away from the kitchen expecting his daddy to follow after him. Satoru turns the heat down to low so the food won't burn, and follows his little boy to the 'crime scene'.

Kenji sticks his thumb in his little mouth and points to the throw up on the carpet.

"O-oh god, I think I'm gonna-" He gags and runs into the bathroom. Nothing comes from his mouth so he shudders. He needs to calm down, it's just a little throw up from his own kin, he'll be alright. The faucet runs and he splashes some water on his face.

"I can do this. I can do this. I can-" He hears the telltale sign of someone throwing up. Kenji is definitely sick. The throw up is followed by loud crying. Satoru's dad instincts kick in and he runs back over to where his little boy is.

"Hey, hey, hey, little guy. It's gonna be okay. Let's get you a bath, then I'll call mommy, okay?" Kenji nods. It breaks Satoru's heart hearing those little sniffles that leave his baby boy.

Geto Suguru

"PAPAAAAA!!!! Hana threw up!!!" Suguru looks at you and you stare right back.

"Don't look at me, I cleaned Hana's vomit yesterday while you were working late." He fights the urge to roll his eyes at you, because you're being childish in his mind.

Suguru makes his way to the kitchen so he can get the carpet cleaning spray out of the cabinet. "Fucking hell." He mumbles without realizing his six year old daughter was near by.

She gasps dramatically before yelling, "OOOOOO PAPA SAID A BAD WORD!!!" He screws his eyes shut, agitation was slowly seeping in.

"I'll put a dollar in the jar, but please stop screaming, Kana. Your sister doesn't feel good and the screaming is hurting Papa's head." He has retrieved the spray and a damp rag to clean up the soiled spot on the carpet.

"Sorry Papa." Kana's voice is lowered drastically. Being a curious little thing she follows her father to go check up on her little twin sister.

"You alright, princess?" Suguru sits close to her little pink bed and poor little Hana shakes her head 'no'.

"I don't feel good, Papa." She whines quietly. Suguru can tell by the way her eyes water, the sweat beads grow on her forehead and the way she frowns deeply that she definitely is sick.

"Why don't you go brush your teeth for me, princess? Then Papa will get you some medicine." Suguru understands his daughter very well. He'd always get sick while eating curses, sometimes they were so bad he would vomit all over the place. LOLLL no curse au so he aint gotta suffer.

She nods hopping from her bed to go brush her teeth in the bathroom. Suguru gets to work cleaning up the carpet.

Kamo Choso

Ryuji's school had called you because your boy threw up in school, which he was very embarrassed about because elementary schoolers always know how to make a big deal out of something small. Many children were crowding your son where he threw up some gasped in horror others laughed. Luckily the teachers were able to get the students under control once more.

They sent him to the nurse and she dialed you, "I'm so sorry, baby. Mom's out of town, give the phone back to the nurse so I can give her dad's number, okay?" He utters a quiet response before handing the phone over.

You chat with the nurse for a little bit giving her the information she needed then you told your son goodbye and hung up.

The nurse is quick to dial Choso and he picks up after the fourth ring. "Good morning, Sir. I'm calling because your son Ryuji Kamo threw up and he isn't feeling too good. We called Mom but she said she won't be able to come pick him up. Do you think you could check him out or do you have another trusted family member who could pick him up?" She's got a pen and notepad ready to write down another number if Choso couldn't make it.

"Oh dear, yeah I'll be there in about twenty minutes. Is his stuff packed already or..." He trails phone pressed to his ear, he hadn't been doing anything too important since he'd already finished up his meeting.

"No Sir, we'll send him right up to pack up. He'll be waiting for you in the main office."

"Alright, thank you." Choso's starting to worry, does he need to take Ryuji to the doctor? Should he stop at the grocery store and get soup? Should he make soup? Do you have kids cold/flu medicine at home? Your husband can't remember the last time Ryuji had vomited and he's pretty sure you'd taken care of it anyway.

"Hey Siri, how do I take care of my sick son?" She responds with 'here's what I found' he quickly scans over an article and the main idea is comfort him, make him something light, make sure he's hydrated, and gets plenty of rest. He could do that. Choso's not the best at emotions but he'll do what he can for his boy.

Eventually the two make it home, and Choso is quick to act. "Change into your pjs and I'll get you some medicine. How do you feel?" He needs a basic idea of what he's dealing with.

"My stomach reallyyyyyyy hurts." He whines holding his abdomen area tightly.

"Like you need to go to the bathroom kind of hurt?" Choso thinks it might be a stomach bug because his so shakes his head 'no'.

"Nuh uh, feels like someone is stabbing me in the stomach." His brows knit and a frown covers his face. it hurts to see his son suffering.

"Alright, I've got you kiddo. I'll take care of you." He promises to his growing boy.

"Thanks dad."

Fushiguro Toji

"Dad come look! I threw up! It's so cool!" Four year old Yui says, which is odd, no normal little kid is happy after throwing up so Toji is suspicious.

"Tell your brother to clean it up." Yui crosses her little arms and pouts.

"I already told Megumi and Nami!! They told me to go tell you!!!" He doesn't want to clean it up. He already has his work cutting out for him changing his newborn's diapers, cleaning up vomit was not on his list of to dos.

He would have told her to go ask you to clean it up but it's sunday and you usually go out for brunch with your friends. So, unless he somehow coaxed his stubborn son, Megumi, he'd have to do it himself.

When he finally reaches the bathroom, he groans in annoyance at how she just barely missed the toilet had she run a little faster she would have made it. To make matters worse it looks like she tried to clean it up herself and just spread it all everywhere.

"Oh, Sprinkles threw up too! Cuz he ate some of mine."

"Are you fucking kidding me?" A deep unsettling groan rips from his throat. Yui finds the whole ordeal funny, she's giggling and cooing at her father.

Bonus: A few days later you're walking past Yui's room and you hear her yell, "Are you fucking kidding me?!"

You instantly stop, "Excuse you little girl, who did you hear say that?"

"Dad said it when he had to clean up my throw up!!" She smiles brightly at you. She's so innocent she doesn't fully understand the weight of what she's said.

"That's a bad word sweet girl. Don't say that anymore, got it?"

You're given a little nod to indicate she understands.

"TOJI WHERE ARE YOU?!" He's about to get an earful from you.

Nanami Kento:

"Hey guys, I came as soon as I could." You exhale deeply as you set your keys on the rack and slip off your shoes. Kento had picked up your son because the school called saying he'd thrown up.

Kento appears from the hallway with a finger on his lip telling you to "shh".

You lower your voice to a whisper, "Is Hiro alright?" Kento walks up to you and gives you a comforting hug which you really needed.

"Yeah he's resting right now. He threw up in the car. Twice. I was going to go clean it up right now. Emmie should be waking up from her nap soon, though." You're so grateful to have a husband you can rely on in a time of need.

When Hiro's school had called you, you were in the middle of a very important meeting so you couldn't leave. Nanami had left work early to go pick up your son.

His smile is so intoxicating. You pull him by his collar and make his lips meet yours. He immediately reciprocates by bringing his hands up to cup your cheeks and kiss you back.

"Thank you, baby." His eyes are so beautiful and if you didn't have to go make sure to be there for your baby girl you would have continued to stare at them.

"Of course my love. Parenting is a two person thing for a reason."

"I bet by next week we'll be sick too." You say chuckling dryly.

"Most likely, yeah." He says shaking his head. He begrudgingly walks out to his car to clean up the vomit in the backseat.

#jjk x reader #jujustu kaisen x reader #dad!au #jjk!dads #jjk fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #gojo x reader #geto x reader #choso x reader #toji x reader #nanami x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk #jujutsu kaisen

[bigfatbimbo]

HELLO OMG I ADORE U SM LIKE-❤❤

aside from my endless love and appreciation for you, i'd also like to make a request if that's okay!, it's also gonna be NSFW and kinda shameless so my apologies if it's kida weird- IM NEW TO THIS REQUESTING STUFF AND ITS ALWAYS SO AWKWARD ASKING FOR STUFF LIKE THIS😭 (grammar mistakes are also possible, english is my second language and my keyboard is dyslexic)

I'm having MAJOR sub Lucifer brainrot and would LOVE to read anything with my needy boy in it<3 had a specific scenerio where he's being edged to the point he's crying and trashing around a little as he's begging. For what?, he doesn't know, he's just whining and whimpering for anything at this point, just whining for his mommy to touch him and that it hurts so much but it's so good<33 ending with soft aftercare where he slowly comes out of his subspace by sucking on and groping mommys tits, falling asleep in a peaceful cuddle :)

a/n — I’m so sleepy right now, so apologies for any grammar mistakes. I’ve looked over it twice but i’m genuinely scared for when I reread this tomorrow morning.

summary — Lucifer being mercilessly edged before sucking on the readers tits to fall asleep.

warnings — Fem!reader, use of the word mommy, sub Lucifer, edging, dom reader, obviously

“Mommy, please, nngh—“ Lucifer squirms on the bed, “I’ve been such a good boy.”

“And you’ll continue to be one, at least until I say you can cum,” you coo down at him all too sweetly. He whines pathetically and bucks his cock up into your hand.

At this point you’d been edging him for hours, sucking him off, riding him, and now giving him a simple hand job. Surprisingly, Lucifer had held strong this whole time.

You couldn’t lie, you were fully expecting to have to punish him for coming prematurely but he had held himself together this whole time. You could only assume he’d just wanted to be good for you that bad.

It almost made you pity him. He squirmed and thrashed around on the bed below you, a slick layer of sweat coating his forehead as he held himself back. His hair fell on his forehead in messy tangles and his cheeks were stained with tears.

He looked absolutely wrecked, ready and willing to do your bidding. Of course, if it meant he could finally cum.

“Ungh, mommy, help me, please. Please—“ He pleaded desperately, sniffing loudly and choking on his own spit, “Please I can’t hold off…”

His sentence trailed off as he found it increasingly hard to form words, let alone coherent thoughts. 

“I know sweetie, and you’ve been so patient and good for me,” you praise, rubbing your hand on the tip of his dick as precum leaked out. 

He whimpered and arched his back into your touch. His crying and sniffling was only interrupted by the inconsistent muttering of the word ‘mommy’ over and over again.

“So pretty like this, absolutely wrecked and desperate. My pretty boy,” you remark, jerking him off faster, “You’re so beautiful, baby.”

He cried out, moaning and sobbing and he through his head back into the pillow.

You shush him, “Have you had enough, sweetheart? Do you think it’s time for you to cum?”

He nods his head vigorously and lets out tears of relief at the thought of finally being permitted to release. 

“Yes, nngh—“ he whines, “—mommy, please. ‘ve been so good.”

“Yes you have, Lucifer,” you caress his face with your free hand, “It’s time for you to let go baby. You’re allowed.”

You barely get your sentence out before Lucifer arches his back, throws his head into the pillows once more, and releases.

Falling back, breathless, he lays there and waits for your touch. 

It doesn’t take long for you to take a spot next to him, brushing his hair from out of his face, “My pretty boy, you did so good for mommy.”

Lucifer whines and curls up, laying his head on your lap and gazing up at you with half lidded eyes.

You stroke his hair and coo down praises at him, telling him how well he took everything and how proud of him you are.

It was only when you were just about to get up and clean the bed, Lucifer lifted his head up and hovered his hand over your exposed tits. 

“May I have one?” Lucifer practically whispers, clearly not at all recovered from his submissive headspace.

You hesitate, but you figure it’d be easier to clean up after he falls asleep so you can just move him to the side. 

Happily, you smile down at him and nod, “Of course, baby. Help yourself.”

He doesn’t waste time before latching onto your tit and sucking lazily. He moans slightly as he gropes the other one with his hand.

You rub his back and pull him closer, “Good boy. You look so pretty sucking on mommy’s tits like this.”

He whimpers against you and his lips start to move sloppily. It was clear Lucifer was being lured into a deep sleep, just as you expected. 

His movements got slower and slower, just as your praise turned into quiet whispers of approval. 

Finally he stopped moving, gradually falling limp against your chest. You take a moment to admire him sleeping before moving him aside to cleanup.

You softly clean Lucifer’s sleeping body in order to not wake him up, and make sure there aren’t any lingering liquids on the sheets around you.

After doing one finale scope of the area, you crawl in bed next to him and pull him into your chest, spooning him gently.

He was so pretty like this, sleeping safe and soundly next to you. 

a/n — The idea of Lucifer with a mommy kink intrigues me heavily. You guys gotta let me cook on the physiological reasons why he’s into it though.

Can’t think of any at the moment but i’m tired and he’s a fucked up little guy. So i’m sure there are some

#hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel x you #hazbin hotel smut #dom reader #hazbin hotel lucifer #lucifer morningstar #lucifer morningstar x reader #lucifer x reader

[the-fandom-is-now-my-life]

The creator had a:

sea streaked child

WC:800

Cw: reader is said to breastfeed but isn't written doing so

Checking the blinds to make sure they were clean, remaking the ruffles so they are even.

Furina had spent her entire morning jittery walking everywhere in the palais mermonia.

Now across the room she is digging in between the blue roses hiding any less than stellar bloom under one of its prettier sisters.

Changing the tea set on the table in the middle of the room, cerulean blue, cobalt blue and sky blue swapping places faster than Neuvillette can pay any mind to.

She sighs, looking defeated at the sets and almost begging them to tell her which one is supposed to be best yet for one second the teapots looked like mocking faces. Throwing herself on a loveseat the room starts to feel smaller and she isn't even totally sure what tea to serve.

“Breath” neuvillette says from the desk, ever since he took over the leading role in Fontaine he spent more time between pages of legal documents, if that is even possible “they are arriving for a simple chat to check on the general management of the region”

“How do you even expect me to be calm when they themselves asked for my attendance for this meeting!” she sits up wobbly, the soft swirling getting worse “I can't even remember what cake you told me they liked… this is going to be a mess”

“Their grace has quite the sweet tooth, as long as what you planned doesn't have coffee it's going to be alright”

“Why no coffee?”

“miss furina… they gave birth a few days ago, it’s disadvised to breastfeed and have caffeinated drinks” seeing her nod and her little ahoge bobbing along he feels the need to confirm “that not only includes coffee and variations but also most teas” and with that she jumps to her feet, quickly excusing herself to make some changes.

“That child…” he sighs as he reviews the documents he wanted to show you and a rough overview, his head resting against his hand and a finger between his teeth. Feeling the door whining softly he laughs from the bottom of his throat “back soon early?”

And as his heart skipped a beat as you spoke “Oh, my, I know I am 30 minutes early but I thought you would like to meet me particularly” you walk deeper inside the room, past the meticulously fixed flowers that you wouldn't have noticed the mistakes on and past the three teapots on the table, each a slightly different shade of blue. Now standing besides neuvillette and facing the documents he just noticed the bundle of white cloth you held onto.

“Did the crops get better with the method I recommended? It left me worried when I left”

“The production got better, if you want to check the report is here” he offers the three papers stuck together by a metal clip when he notices that doing it with a single hand might be hard “if I might help you” he positions his arms to grab the baby and you let her between his arms

“Let's hope she stays asleep, she is such a colicky baby” you whisper but as soon as you finish the sentence she opens her eyes and starts wailing “my goodness…” you sigh deeply.

“Let me take care of it, just focus on that” he stands up and tries to mimic what he saw parents do with their small children whenever something upsetting might come up during the trials and small children would cry.

He grabs her neck and head with one hand and her legs with another, cradling her like you. As he was swaying softly the blanket covering her hair slid down to show pointy ears and softly cartilage mixing on her thin white hair.

“Is she…” but is soon shushed by you, pointing at the door and then to your ears, the message very clear ‘someone might be listening’ but he keeps his eyes glued to you only to catch you mouthing a soundless yes. His hands cradle her head onto his neck, soft blue cartilage sneaking past his fingers.

Now soothed, you two find comfort on the soft sound of passing the pages and Cordelia's breathing, the baby's name he would later find out.

“NEUVI I managed to get a cheesecake and fontas did i save this?!” Furina pushes past the door, holding a full size strawberry cheesecake and hugging three fontas against her chest but seeing you head on thinking you weren't on Fontaine yet “HIYY”

The screech caused Cornelia to get startled and start wailing “Miss Furina.” neuvillette says sternly, almost like a father telling off his daughter. But the only thing it caused was for her to see him hugging a baby suspiciously similar to him which didn't take her long to join the dots.

“OOAH!”

“Furina please stop scaring my daughter!”

#genshin impact #gi #sagau #self aware genshin impact #genshin x reader #genshin impact x reader #x reader #neuvillette x reader #genshin x gender neutral reader #neuvillete #genshin neuvillette #neuvillete x reader #meme made in WhatsApp my beloved

[calisources]

𝐅𝐎𝐑𝐁𝐈𝐃𝐃𝐄𝐍 𝐋𝐎𝐕𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐄𝐃 𝐐𝐔𝐎𝐓𝐄𝐒.

All sentences and quotes have been taken from different media about starcrossed lovers or forbidden love, full of angst, some bold words, some nasty ones, possessive nature and letting someone use you as a replacement. So, some toxic energy in this one. Change pronouns, locations and names as you see fit.

I love you,and I will love you until I die,and if there's a life after that,I'll love you then.

Do people always fall in love with things they can't have?

And there is a difference between having your heart break and having your soul shatter.

I'm falling in love with you.

I'm going to fuck the shit out of you. I have waited for this for such a long time. Consequences be damned.

These violent delights have violent ends.

 I’m only human. And you are …all-consuming.

Don’t go into this lightly. If you’re mine, you need to understand I will burn the fucking world to the ground for you.

I will never let you go, do you hear me? 

 will keep you safe. And I will find a way for us to be together.

If you make me cry at my own coronation ball, I’ll never forgive you.

If you were any less the man you are, I would beg you to take me with you.

If you were any less the woman you were, I would beg you to come with me.

I've known lust. This is something worse. This is a barbaric need to possess, to eliminate, to own. This is madness.

This is lust.

She’s your very own forbidden fruit.

You said you didn't want this.

We all desire what we cannot have.

Have you noticed how the boy looks at you?

Do you think I didn’t notice? The way you look at me when you think I’m not watching?

You are dangerous desire, and I am your prisoner.

We can’t do this on so many levels.

I can't even whisper her name, my heart would burst out of my chest.

But I would fight against the stars for you.

I have ruined your life.

Some lines you just don't cross. 

I want to take you under the moonlight.

Having something forbidden is exciting, don't you agree?

The closer we get—the more I let you in…the more dangerous this gets.

Don’t you get it? You’re what everyone wants! But I’m not going to let them win.

Make it so I never have to dream about this again—make it so we can have this…forever.

Desires are what can most easily ruin us, lovely.

We were doomed from the start. 

Nothing is as deadly as the love of a powerful man.

But this kiss? It's ruined me. This is the type of kiss I never knew existed. 

You sure about that, Dad? Because he's done everything to me.

Are you scared of me now?

You loved me - then what right had you to leave me?

I have not broken your heart - you have broken it; and in breaking it, you have broken mine.

One moment, you give me everything that I want, and in the next, you snatch all of that away.

It's hopeless. We can never work out.

The world didn’t want us together so I forged a new one where we would.

How could a peacock lust for a lion?

You're tattooed onto my skin, and the more I try to erase you, the deeper you sink in.

I’ve always liked you, from the first moment I saw you.

It's absurd how crazy love can make you...but even more absurd how stupid jealousy can make you.

 That you and I are meant to be together, but never meant to be.

Why does fate seem always to conspire against us? To deny us life's simple pleasures?

We'll meet after this war. I'll certainly find you wherever you'll hide. 

War makes fools of men and women wanton.

What offends you most, Father? That she's Catholic, or that she's poor?

If my father discovers you here, he'd cut off your little nuts and eat them. He can't stand you.

You tempress, I see you once and all I can think of is having you.

Feelings are forbidden, does not mean we cannot enjoy one another.

The more you deny me, the more I desire you. You are a plague in my mind.

Ever since we met, no one else can compare. 

How can I be with someone else, when I’m with them, it’s you I see.

You can have me, think of whoever you love. For tonight.

You can pretend I'm her/him. I don't care. I just want you.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. ) #rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #forbidden love #starcrossed lovers

[starry-eyedblog]

legitimately the only thing I can think of is husband!price coddling his partner, they're all bleary eyed from crying out of desperation for physical touch since he's been deployed for so long- just the pure neediness. needing him there in every way, physically and emotionally. just like him muttering small "'m here, I have you baby" or "feels too good now that I'm back, yeah? gonna take all of me anyways, love"

(the last sentence is nsfw but either way just... the reader being needy for him in every way when he returns home)

- cruel anon

cruel anon hello !! how are you? you're constantly keeping me fed with ideas and i love it. i need price to soothe me in his arms while i cry

warnings/tags: john price x gn reader, crying, clinginess, smut

you've spent most of this month in tears, desperate to be in your husbands arm, safe and sound. for some reason, his latest deployment was taking a real toll on you.

days seemed longer and the house felt too big without him. cooking just for yourself was becoming more difficult and going out to socialise just didn't seem to fill the gap in your chest.

but finally, it was the day he was coming home. you knew that his time home would fly by and you'd be waving him goodbye again, but thankfully he had been given a wee bit longer off this time due to how demanding and rough his latest deployment had been.

you were now waiting in the living room, sipping on a tea anxiously while you waited for the front door to open. any minute now and he'd be kicking his shoes off and sweeping you off your feet in a bear hug.

after around fifteen minutes, you had finished your cup and decided to go pour another. as you stood up from the comfy chair, that's when you heard the swift click on the front door.

you dropped the cup down, uncaring of where it lands as you rushed through the hallway to the front door. tears instantly pooled in your eyes, making your vision a bit blurry but you didn't care. all that mattered was that your husband was finally home again.

"hey honey, miss me?" john chuckles, dropping his bags onto the floor to open up his arms for you - which you happily ran into. he picked you up, squeezing you tightly before gently setting you back down.

salty tears streamed down your face as you pressed kiss after kiss onto his lips and face. after a minute of this, warm hands gently cupped your face, forcing you to stop moving and stare up. "hey, shh what's wrong baby?" john soothes while using a thumb to rub away some tears.

"i don't know, i guess i've just missed you a lot." you sniffle, your hands wrapping around his waist and holding on tight, never wanting to let go. your chest feels light now that your husband is back safe and sound.

john leans down and presses a gentle kiss to your forehead, "well i'm here now huh? not going anywhere honey." he whispers and you nod slowly, tears still streaming down your face.

it's been a few weeks since then, and your emotions haven't got much better. you cling to john where he moves around the house, desperate to just be with him. his physical touch always settles you, keeps you happy and calm.

john hasn't minded, he honestly thinks it's cute. you're acting like a needy house cat, and he's more than happy to treat and spoil you. the two of you haven't really gone out to be with friends since he's been back, too wrapped up in re connecting with one another to even think of leaving the house.

completing simple tasks around the house requires him by your side now, and whenever anything get's too much or goes wrong - he's quick to step in and help. you feel like you've struck gold with your husband. most people would find this emotional and physical clinginess too much, but not john.

he understands how hard it must be for you to be home alone for months on end, trying to keep everything together while also making sure you're getting out enough and staying on top of things. he's always well taken care of too when he gets back, you pamper him to the point he doesn't need to lift a finger.

this time though, it's you needing that extra support and closeness and john is more than happy to be there however you need. after all, why wouldn't he? john loves you, deeply.

it becomes even more apparent during sex, the way you cling to him and never want to let go. being able to have his bare skin on you while he fills you up is so comforting. he's surrounding you with his body, voice and scent; to the point where all you can think about is 'john john john john john.'

you cry and moan, gripping onto him while he slowly slides in. his lips are pressed to your ear, whispering filthy things. "feels so good that i'm back, right sweetheart? oh i know i know, c'mon you can take all of it i know you can. s'just been awhile yeah?"

it's emotional and euphoric, the way you tighten around him while tears stream down your face. he loves the sight of you broken before him, so dependant and trusting. it's something he'll never forget for the rest of his life.

the fact you trust him so deeply, letting him pleasure you to the point of exhaustion, still gripping onto him and crying for him. how could any man ignore such a beautiful bond with his wife?

#anon ask #cruel anon #thanks anon! #captain johnathan price #captain john price #captain price #john price #captain john price call of duty #john price call of duty #john price cod #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #john price x reader #john price x you #tw smut #tw crying #captain john price smut #john price smut #price smut #husband price

[seravphs]

ੈ♡˳·˖✶ — MIYA OSAMU x FEM READER

On a bad day, Onigiri Miya becomes your new comfort restaurant. Not only is the food good, but the man who takes your orders is always kind. You think the Miya you’ve been venting to on the phone is the same Miya who shows up at your door to deliver all of your orders.

It’s too bad you don’t know there’s two of them.

wc — 2k

tags — fluff, romcom, miscommunication, miserable corporate girl x small business owner who teaches her joy

The email doesn’t even do you the courtesy of being short. They make you read through two whole paragraphs before you get to the point of it all in the final sentence. 

Your termination is effectively immediately. 

You sit back in your chair to allow yourself a moment to take it in. It’s…not terrible, all things considered. 

You get to leave this job that you hate. They’ll pay you severance. You have enough savings to be comfortable for the next few months. 

It might even a blessing.

But it still doesn’t feel good. You worked hard to land this, and now you’ll have to start all over again. Change is always hard, especially when you haven’t asked for it. 

You look at the clock. It’s currently 8:30 in the morning. You’re giving yourself exactly twenty four hours to wallow, and then it’s back to business. 

First things first - a good meal. Food always make everything better, and you really deserve something special today. For a moment, you entertain the idea of calling your friends over to get breakfast somewhere fancy, but then you remember - 

They’re all at work. 

Where you would be, if you hadn’t just been let go. 

That does sting a little, so maybe you’re not as okay as you thought you were. Hurriedly pushing those thoughts to the side in favor of scrolling through your options, a plain blue banner catches your eye. 

Onigiri Miya, it reads. 

Japanese comfort food. Family owned. 

When you click on the link, it takes you to a page that’s as simple as it’s name. It’s just a menu and a series of pictures, but it’s what you need right now. Your head hurts. You don’t have the capacity to deal with anything more. 

You want something straightforward and easy to digest. Onigiri Miya it is, then. 

“‘Miya speakin’. What can I get ya?” 

It’s a pleasantly accented voice. When you rattle off your order, you suddenly find it a little less pleasant after he says, “Er. Ya sure?”

This is some shoddy customer service. 

“I’m placing the order, aren’t I?”

“Those two don’t normally go together,” he says. “I’d suggest number nine and number thirteen instead. Trust me.” 

You don’t trust him, actually. This is probably just an upselling tactic he tries on every customer, but you’re not in the mood to argue. You had thought when you called a family owned restaurant, you’d be speaking to some kindly old grandma who might let you cry and vent into the receiver for just a little while, not whoever this is. 

At least the delivery is quick. 

A series of sharp raps on your door alerts you to the arrival. You pull it open to a man in a baseball cap and a uniform with onigiris on both. Their merch is cute. You’d wear it unironically. 

Underneath the cap, yellow blonde hair peeks out. On his shirt, a name tag reads Miya. 

Instantly, you feel a little worse for thinking poorly of him. Your bad attitude from work is no reason to take it out on this hardworking entrepreneur who’s running a one man show by himself. 

“Here ya go,” he says, thrusting a paper bag at you. “Eat it while it’s hot!” 

And then he’s off, scampering back down the stairs instead of taking the elevator even though you’re several floors up. You suppose there’s a reason he has those thighs. 

That the food is good is an understatement. 

Your former coworker Aiko used to work in food advertising before she pivoted. She loved to talk about how fake the industry was during lunch, both in terms of people and actual product. It’s through her that you know that half of the food in commercials aren’t actually food, but styrofoam and plastic painted to look appetizing. 

Onigiri Miya, in contrast, doesn’t look perfect. Appetizing, certainly, but not like a work of art. It just looks like what it is - a ball of rice with special ingredients for flavor.

So why are you crying as you finish your first onigiri and reach for the next? 

It’s been so long since you had a home cooked meal. You’re trying not to be maudlin, but you can almost taste the love that went into everything you’re eating. Imagining Miya carefully packing each triangular ball of rice by hand with a smile has you reaching for another, then another, until eventually the entire order is gone before you know it. 

Exhausted from crying and eating, you sink into your couch with a satisfied sigh and fall asleep. 

It’s 1:30 P.M. by the time you rise again, feeling a little better. Sleep really was the cure to all evils. Now you have 20 hours left to indulge yourself as much as possible. 

You’re not in the mood to turn off your brain by binge watching a show. You want to do something. You want to use your hands to craft something from scratch. 

Learning how to make onigiri could be a start. A quick run to the grocery store and the first recipe that popped up on Google later, you have a half formed, crumbling mound of rice with pickled radish shoved inside. If you squint, it looks almost like what you got from Onigiri Miya this morning. 

Who are you kidding?

That’s an insult to Miya’s craft. He put so much care into each dish - you can hardly compare your shoddy workmanship to his. There’s only one thing to do. You have to taste the real thing again to see where you went wrong. 

“Miya. What d'ya want to order?” 

“I’d like-“

“Hold up. Didn’t ya call this morning?” 

Flustered, you nearly fumble your phone. You’re breathless as you clutch is tighter and bring it back to your ear. “Yeah,” you admit sheepishly. “Is that bad?” 

“I mean, yeah, a little,” Miya says. “I appreciate the business but ya shouldn’t be eatin’ onigiri for two meals a day. Yer going to make yerself sick.” 

“It’s a special day,” you tell him. “I got laid off.” 

In the resounding silence that follows, you have ample time to berate yourself for sharing that. What is wrong with you? Why would you say that? He’s a stranger that you’ve randomly dumped your misery onto and you’re sure he’s -

“Ouch,” he says. “‘Kay, I’ll make an exception just for today. What’s yer order?” 

Miya shows up at your door promptly. He’s ditched the cap so his yellow hair is on full display. It looks like he’s run his hands through it. It sticks up at odd angles. 

“Here ya go,” he says, almost distractedly as he hands you your bag. “Enjoy.” 

You bring the bag inside and start rummaging through it immediately, excited to try new flavors you hadn’t gotten the first time around. Out comes the four onigiri you had ordered, a cup of miso soup, and…

A little takeout container of sushi with a cat’s face drawn on it. A speech bubble next to its head reads, “You can do it, meow!” 

Laughter echoes around your apartment. To your surprise, the world feels less daunting already. You hadn’t realized how quiet you had been the entire morning. Miya’s the only person you’ve spoken to the entire day, and even that was a quick and whispered thank you. Your throat almost hurts with the force of your giggles after disuse all morning, but it’s a good kind of pain. 

Onigiri Miya, family owned. You can almost feel the warmth of an embrace around you as you bite into your steaming onigiri, still a little too hot. 

All too soon, it becomes a tradition for you to order Onigiri Miya as your comfort meal. It doesn’t even have to be a bad day - you actively try to avoid associating things you like with painful feelings by using them as treats for hard days. Instead, Onigiri Miya is anything from a reward for getting to the second round of interviews or a celebration for successfully starting a new hobby. 

Onigiri has become your favorite food, and the person on the other line who takes your orders and even spares a few minutes to chat with you when it’s not too busy has quickly become someone irreplaceable in your life. 

You think you might need to redownload Tinder if you’re this attached to the man who fulfills your onigiri orders. 

Even though you know it’s strange, you can’t bring yourself to sever your connection. Miya is warm and kind, and you’ve quickly come to think of him as a friend. It’s a culmination of lots of little moments piling up over time. 

When you had forced yourself to go on your first date after a while, determined to get back out there, it had crashed and burned catastrophically. Onigiri Miya had been there to pick you back up. Miya had even recognized the sniffles in your voice that you were fighting and drawn you another little cat. 

The next time you had ordered, before you could even tell him what onigiri you wanted, Miya had asked you what happened last week. Maybe that’s just how family owned businesses are. They actually care about their customers. Enough so to play therapist to the girl that orders from you every week. 

Then there was the time you had gotten your first call back for a job application, and you had called Miya to celebrate. 

Well, not Miya. You didn’t have his personal number, but you had called Onigiri Miya, which is more or less the same thing at the moment. This time, he had been the one to be interrupted as you blurred out your good news. 

You can almost hear the smile in his voice when he says, “What’d I tell ya? I knew ya could do it.” 

There’s no container of sushi with a hand drawn cat this time, but there is a little note written on a napkin. It’s accompanied by an origami star. 

You don’t cry, exactly, but your eyes water up as you read the note. He’s proud of you. The star is to wish you luck on your continued journey. The knowledge that he’s proud - his own words - fuels you as you keep applying and interviewing, never letting rejection stop you. 

He’s just the guy that takes your onigiri order, but at some point, he’s become someone special to you. 

He cares. He spends an extra two minutes on the phone with you to ask about your day even when you can hear the sounds of a busy environment in the background. He remembers your accomplishments and failures. Whether you fall or rise, he’s there with you every step of the way. 

Sometimes, you get a fluttery feeling in your stomach when he laughs at you, calling you silly for whatever mistake you’re relying to him. You miss his voice when you don’t have an occasion to call, and when something happens, your first thought is always to tell him about it. 

Maybe he feels the same way, because the next time he comes to deliver your order, he tells you, “We’ve known each other long enough, ya order every week. I don’t like being called Miya. My name’s Atsumu.” 

Or maybe not, because he never treats you in person the way he does on the phone. There’s no spark of connection, no bright laughter, no willingness to linger, to stay, to listen. 

Perhaps he’s just shy. In that case, you’re willing to take what he’s offered you and make the first move.

The next time you order, you end the call with, “Thanks, Atsumu. I’ll talk to-“ 

There’s an abrupt interruption from the other end immediately. 

“What’d ya call me?” His voice sounds funny. 

“…Atsumu?”

Even when you’re confused, the sound of his belly deep laughter makes you feel all shivery from your toes to your head. It makes your joints feel weak, like they can’t support you, and you ease into the dining chair as you wait patiently for whatever laughing fit that’s gripped him to pass. 

“Atsumu,” he repeats, with another snort of laughter. “Atsumu, really?”

“What?”

“Ya know Onigiri Miya’s a five minute walk from yer place, right?” 

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Come here,” he says, and hangs up. 

When you enter Onigiri Miya, you get instant whiplash. There’s two of them! 

You’re just wondering if you should get your eyes checked when you start seeing the subtle differences. They have different hair colors, and their eyes are just the subtlest shades apart. 

The most discerning difference is the way the one with grey hair is looking at you. 

“There’s the girl of the hour,” Atsumu says. “I’ll leave ya to it.” 

When Atsumu leaves, Miya gestures for you to sit at the bar in front of him. He’s still packing onigiri. 

“I’m a little hurt, ya know. Can’t believe ya mistook me for my twin.” 

“It was an accident!” You protest. “How was I supposed to know?” 

“I’m teasin’ ya,” he says, laughing. “Yer so easy to rile up. Remember this, okay? I’m Osamu. The nicer brother.” 

“I heard that,” Atsumu yells from the back. 

“Atsumu’s just the delivery guy,” he says. There’s a twinkle in his eye. You don’t think it’s that funny, but you like seeing him mirthful. “I’d rather make the food than deal with the people, so he does it.”

“Am I part of the people?” 

He gives you a look. 

“Stop fishing for compliments,” he says, and your cheeks grow warm with delight. “Ya know ya aren’t.” 

“Here,” he says, sliding you a napkin with a series of numbers and a hand drawn picture of a cat. “I’ve been meaning to do this for a while.” 

By the cat’s head, the speech bubble reads, “Miya Osamu’s personal number.” The cat is winking at you. 

“Is this…?” 

He smiles at you. “Stop clogging up the line cause ya miss me-“

“I don’t-“

He ignores you. “I got a business to run, ya know? Just call me next time.”

Then, he leans over the bar. He’s too close. Your cheeks feel warm under his attention as he whispers to you, “I’ll make something just for ya, compliments of the chef.” 

Trying to recover, you swallow to bring moisture to your dry mouth. You’re trying to be playful when you say, “It’s a date, then?”

He looks at you with a hint of a smile. “It is.” 

#sera writes #miya osamu x reader #osamu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #miya osamu fluff #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff

[formulaforza]

—everywhere, everything

keep my hand in yours ('til our fingers decompose) pairing: daniel ricciardo x female reader warnings: parent death, angst, language, driving under the influence, underage smoking/drinking love, mackie... 6.6k. part two of this guy (but I think can be read stand-alone). I hope I make u all sad enough that you never ask me for a part two ever again <3

I hear you’re snooping around the old stomping grounds. I’d love to be there when you do it. Bring your dad if he’s free. It’ll be a good night, lots of strawberry wine—the real shit this time. All love, (always your) Danny.

— —

Danny is notably absent from your mom’s funeral. Granted, he is in Budapest at the time, and he had two races this weekend. You know this because you still keep tabs on him, even if he’s not yours to keep tabs on anymore, even if there’s nobody to blame for that but yourself. 

If you didn’t know better, hadn’t spotted Grace, Joe and Michelle a dozen or so people back in line to greet you and your dad, you would have been able to convince yourself Danny didn’t have a clue your mom was even sick. She went quick, less than eight months from her death sentence to… well. From death sentence to death. 

Two hundred and thirty-one days since her diagnosis means two-hundred and twenty-eight days since you broke things off with Danny. So even if he was in town, you probably wouldn’t have seen him. You wish you would have though, that he would have appeared in the plethora of grieving faces. Not for you, but for her. She always loved him, even before you did. 

Grace’s arms feel like the light at the end of a dark tunnel when she finally gets to the front of the line. She squeezes you tight, the only way a mother knows how to, and you cry in her arms. Grace doesn’t tell you how sorry she is, or that your mom loved you so much, or that she’s in a better place now. She just hugs you and wipes away your tears. 

“Danny wishes he could be here,” she tells you, but you don’t want to think about him and you don’t want to believe her. 

“Tell him I said ‘thank you?’” you say, a forced smile on your face. It’s got to be the hundredth of the afternoon. If there’s one thing your mom is—was. If there’s one thing she was, it’s loved. Tell him I hate him, is what you wish you could say to Grace. Or maybe tell him I love him. 

A million and two hugs later and you find yourself missing his arms more than you should. He was always a good hugger, and you could use a good hug right now. 

— —

You showed up at the property fifteen minutes after the event started. You’d hoped to slip in and out, to at least be able to say you went, that you tried. You had no intention of trying to find Daniel, and you figured it would be easy to avoid him, especially if you showed up after everyone else did—it’s his show, he’s the man of the hour, everyone will be fighting for his attention. 

You don’t even know why you came, really. Maybe it’s to figure out how the hell Daniel even got your address to send the invite in the first place. You’d moved half a dozen times since he last knew you. Or maybe it’s that you don’t believe, even after seeing it with your own eyes, that somebody actually had success with growing berries in the heat. It could be that you just… It could be simple, that you miss your Mom, and that everything about that place reminds you of her. 

Whatever the reason, you put on a long, flowing sundress, tied your hair back, and slipped on a pair of comfortable sneakers and a denim jacket. You didn’t even bother to tell your Dad—knew he’d want to catch up with Daniel, or maybe want to strangle Daniel. You didn’t want to give him the chance to do either. You park on the dirt road that leads to the vineyard, because the parking lot is overflowing, a pattern you’re beginning to notice since he’d taken over. 

The place looks the same as it did last time you were here. DR3 Wines still adorn the fleet of ATVs out front, and the wooden letters on the perfectly red barn are still perfectly white. You give your name to the woman working the door, regret it as soon as you catch her announcing your presence over the radio-headset she wears. 

Momentarily, you consider turning around and walking right back to your car. But, you aren’t one to waste a good outfit, not if you’d gotten all dolled up like this, so you walk into the Barn with your head down. 

It smells the same inside; wood, lavender, citronella and alcohol. There’s candles burning to make it feel cozy, but they do a poor job at changing the aroma in the air. The walls are still hung with photos, and the counter is still that slab of wood. It’s exactly the same as it was a few months ago, and manages to remind you of the place you grew up without wearing your childhood memories like a costume. 

Daniel has always been easy to find in a room. He’s loud, his voice and his laugh vibrate off the walls of whatever room he’s in. He’s loud and he’s confident and sometimes it feels like he’s the only person in a room that’s really alive. That’s how it felt then, at least. 

It’s been thirteen years since you last shared a space with him, but the fact you can hear his laugh on the other side of the crowded room assures you that while everything has changed, some things have stayed exactly the same. 

You can’t see him, but man can you hear him. 

You sign the guest book—proof, in case anybody asks. Proof that you did show up. It’s the top of a wine barrel, DR3 2023 branded into the oak—two tops, because so many people are here. It’s covered in signatures and messages from people he loves. You feel guilty even signing it, but you do. 

Congrats Dan—your marker pauses. You scoff at yourself. Congrats Daniel. Time flies, 13 years! The place looks beautiful. Wishing you continued success, you write, finishing it off with your signature. 

He still wears the same cologne, you realize, when you look up and he’s leaning against the table watching you write. He wears the same cologne, and the same smile, even if less crooked. Everything else about him is different. His hair is shorter, eyes older. His arms are covered in art, face is all together thinner, and his five o’clock shadow is less of a pipe dream and more of a full-fledged beard. He’s taller, maybe. Or you’re shorter. It doesn’t really matter, you suppose. 

You purse your lips into a curt smile. He matches—you didn’t even know he could smile like that. “Hi, honey,” he says, leaning over to read your message. 

“Hi.” “Who’s Daniel?” He teases, the smile on his face growing into one you’re much more familiar with. You look back at your writing, but you don’t laugh. If anything, you’re sure you look a little scared. “I’m teasing.”

“I know,” you nod.

“Okay,” he nods right back, slow, apprehensive over your apprehension. 

“Sorry,” you force out a chuckle. “I’m being so weird,” and you adjust the strap on your dress. He shoves his hands in his pocket, rocks back and forth on the sole of his shoes. Do you know how weird it is to be face to face with someone you were head over feet in love with? It’s really fucking weird. You put your best smile on your face, “Hi, sorry,” you continue, opening your arms for what you think might be the most awkward hug you’ve ever given. 

He’s quick to pull his hands back out of his pocket, like he’s worried if he doesn’t act fast enough you’re going to rescind the offer. 

His touch is uncanny; familiar and comforting and unsettling. It melts the years away and you feel just like you did some twelve years ago when you wished so desperately for one of his hugs. You’re nineteen again, and he’s twenty, and everything feels like it’s going to be okay. 

“How are you,” he asks quietly, his arms tight around you. “You look great.”

“I’m okay,” you say over his shoulder, and then again, as if you’re trying to convince yourself: “I’m okay. How are you?”

“Oh, y’know,” he shrugs, pulling away from the hug, gesturing your question away. “Same old, same old.”

“Yeah,” you nod, even though you don’t know. Even though it’s been eleven years since you forced yourself to ignore his existence, since you last kept any sort of tab on him. You can’t get over how different he looks. How you’d still recognize him without a second glance. “You look different.”

He laughs, looks down at himself. At his arms, his hands. He can’t look at his face, but it’s different, too. “Yeah, I guess so, huh?” He keeps looking back at you every time he laughs. He makes sure you’re laughing, or smiling at least, before he lets his slip. “Is your Dad here?”

“No. He uh, he wasn’t feeling well.”

Once upon a time, Daniel could spot your lies from the other side of the vineyard. You get stiff and stuttery, he told you, it’s easy when you know what you’re looking for. That was once upon a time, though, and this is now. Now, you don’t know if Daniel remembers any of those little things about you. 

His eyes go momentarily soft, worried, almost. “Just a cold, yeah?”

“Exactly.”

“Well, can I get you a drink? Give you a tour?”

You look around the place—not much to tour. Not when it used to be yours, not when one of his teenaged employees gave you a tour a few months back. He seems so excited about the idea, though, so you go along with it. “Sure. Yeah, that’d be nice.”

“Nice, awesome,” he says, looking around the place like he forgot where everything is. He claps his hands together, pulls them apart into a snap, and points at you with both hands. “Stay here? I’ll be right back.”

“Okay,” you chuckle, and it’s genuine. “Staying here.”

“I know you, Bee,” he says, walking backwards away from you. B. He totally knows you’re full of shit about your Dad having a cold. “Don’t try to sneak out while I’m gone.”

“I won’t.”

“You promise?”

You nod. “I promise.”

— —

You, Daniel, and your Mom worked the closing shift that night. When he was around, that’s almost always how it went, because the two of you were the only ones who’d worked there long enough to know how to properly close up without a babysitter. 

Your Mom worked tediously in the office counting all the money—she was the slower counter of your parents, but it wasn’t like anyone was ever sitting around waiting on her. There was always something to be done, and Daniel was always good at making sure those closing tasks took up more than a chunk of the evening. 

You’d cleaned inside, swept the floors and vacuumed the rugs and cleaned the tables and the counters. You washed glasses behind the bar and restocked displays. The landline on the counter rang while you were writing up the day’s inventory, and you almost didn’t answer it, but your parents had told you to improve on your customer-service skills, even when you or the customer weren’t on site. 

To your surprise, the voice on the other end was Daniel’s. He was calling from the cellar, is too lazy to come over there to get shot down. “Is your Mom finished counting?” He asked, and you pulled the phone away from your ear to try and listen past the office door. 

“I think so,” you say, bringing the phone back to your ear. “We should be heading out soon.”

Sometimes you feel like you can hear Danny’s smile. “You wanna do the lock check with me?”

You slot the phone between your shoulder and your ear, returning your hands to the task of finishing up your paperwork for the night. You needed to be done when he got here, or there was no chance your Mom let you go with him. “How do you know I’m done with my shit?”

You can hear the lull of the old beat up golf-cart engine in the background, can almost feel the vibrations, can see clear as day Danny sitting there, lounging on the leather seat—tanned skin, unruly hair, toothy grin. “You always finish fast so you can daydream about your boyfriend,” he says, turning the last word into his own little sing-songy ballad. 

Your pen pauses on the paper, and you roll your eyes. “Jake isn’t my boyfriend.”

Danny laughs, and you roll your eyes again, pretend like you aren’t smiling. “Oh? But you knew who I was talking about!”

“Because you never shut up about him being into me.”

“Because he is!”

You set the pen down for good, now, grab the phone again because you want to make sure your next words come across loud and clear, even if it is the millionth time you’ve told him. “He’s my friend, Danny!”

“Oh, come on!” His laugh intensifies. “I don’t think a guy has ever been just friends with you.”

“You’re my friend, aren’t you?”

His laughter quells, and you’re sure he’s picking on the plastic of the steering wheel. There are so many scrapes on it from the same thing. He’s always picking at it, ever since you told him to give his poor nails a rest. He has to destroy something, you suppose—teenage boy and all—but you prefer a destroyed golf cart steering wheel to a destroyed Danny, so you let it slide. He sighs, and then he clears his throat, and the memory of your question dies in the silence. “Are you coming with me or not?”

“Are you coming to get me?”

— —

The air is chilly—nippy almost, especially with the sun dipping below the horizon like it is. You’re walking stride for stride with Daniel over the gravel path to the cellar, glass of sweet pink wine in your hand. He’s taking you to the strawberry field, per your request, because even after tasting it, even after telling you which field it’s in, you still don’t believe him.

“So,” he asks, one hand deep in his pocket, the other hanging in the space between your bodies. He’s very hesitant with you today, you’ve noticed. It’s nothing like the brash boy you called your first love. He’s gentle, softer, like he’s scared of his next words. “Who finally put that ring on your finger?” The threat of a smile is weak, but the idea of it alone is charming. 

You look at your free hand, carefully decorated with several different rings. “Which one?”

He drops his head to his shoulder, gives you a pathetic smile and a matching chuckle. “The only one an ex-boyfriend would ask you about, Bee.”

The sunlight—the little bit that’s left of it—catches the diamond on your ring finger. “Oh,” you shrug, dropping it back to your side. “It’s Mom’s.”

“I know,” he nods solemnly, and your head shoots over to look at him. You don’t know why he would remember that. “Who put it there, though?”

A smile pulls on your lips, and you bury it in the lip of your wine glass. “I’m not engaged, if that’s what you’re asking,” you laugh. “I just wear it… I don’t know, it makes me feel close to her.”

Sunsets at the property have always been gorgeous. When you were younger, you thought that maybe it was the most beautiful place in the entire world. The blues and the pinks and the yellows all mix together into some grand watercolor and tonight is no exception. 

The silence that lingers in the air should be awkward, but it’s not. It should be harder to be here, to watch the sunset, to walk the paths you have memorized, to stand next to Daniel after all these years. It’s not hard, though. It’s comfortable, like it was when you were sixteen and seventeen and eighteen and barely nineteen. Like it was all the time you knew him, even before you loved him. 

“I’m sorry,” he finally speaks. “She was really cool.”

You chuckle softly. It’s a familiar routine, consoling those attempting to console you about her death. “That’s what everyone says,” you say, even though Daniel might be the first person to posthumously describe your mom as cool. Lovely, you’d gotten more times than you could count. Beautiful and kind and oh honey, she loved you so much, you knew already. She was really cool, that’s a Danny-original if you’ve ever heard one. 

“I should have been at the funeral.”

“It’s okay,” you nod, because his presence wouldn’t have changed that your Mom was lovely and beautiful and kind and that she wasn’t around to be any of those things anymore. There wasn’t anything Daniel could have done to remedy that reality. “You were busy. We weren’t together,” and before he can come back with something, insists that it’s a bigger deal some decade later than it was, you change the subject. “What about you, though? Putting rings on anyone’s fingers these days?”

He laughs. A person can only get poetic about Daniel’s laugh so many times before it’s easier to just leave it at that. He laughs, everyone around him lights up, and he laughs some more. “Believe it or not, my work-life balance isn’t super great at fostering long-term relationships.”

You don’t exactly know what Daniel’s work-life balance looks like. The last time you paid any attention, he was racing with Toro Rosso. Every update you’d heard since had been one you weren’t looking for—commercials and posters and billboards and word-of-mouth; more than a couple ex-boyfriends and a few stray friends. 

You never cared much about racing. It was Daniel you cared about. 

There aren't a lot of specifics you remember about Daniel’s schedule, but you remember that he was almost always coming or going. There wasn’t much staying, and that was before he’d even made it to the big show. “You mean, women like it when their partners are around for most of the year?”

“They do, yeah,” he nods, dimples digging into his cheeks. “Crazy, right?”

“Crazy.”

— — 

Danny didn’t go down without a fight. He caught what had to have been the first flight home—home, you’re not sure that he can call Perth home now that he doesn’t live here. He caught the first flight to you, threw wood chips at your window at three-in-the morning. He didn’t need to wake you up, it’s been two weeks since you had any kind of meaningful sleep. You spend the majority of your time in bed looking at the ceiling fan spin or staining the sheets with your tears. 

You let him throw mulch for twenty minutes though, hoping that maybe he’ll give up and leave so you don’t have to face him. 

You’d done the breaking up over the phone for a reason. It wasn’t that you couldn’t wait until whenever he was home next. You could. It was that you couldn’t break up with him while looking him in the eyes, and you knew it. 

Eventually, though, you pull your pajama-clad frame out from under the warm covers, drag your feet the entire way to the window, pulling the curtains open just enough to confirm what you already knew—that it was him in the driveway. His entire face relaxes when he sees you there, forcing the window open. “What the fuck are you doing?”

“What the fuck am I doing?” He scoffs. “What the fuck are you doing?”

You cross your arms over your chest. The night air is cold and your pajamas are scarce. “I’m trying to sleep.”

He rolls his eyes, always dramatic, always over-the-top. “Come down here, honey.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

You stand there in silence, shivering in your bedroom window. He stands there in silence, thick jacket on and a handful of wood chips from the garden in your driveway. It’s a stalemate, and you don’t know which of you is more exhausted. Appearance points to him, but you dread that fact that you’re standing, that you’re tired enough to give up the fight this quick. 

“Fine,” you relent, and it’s less than two minutes before you’re running into him on the back porch, slowly closing the sliding patio door behind you so as to not alert anyone else in the house of his presence. “What do you want?”

“Where are your clothes?” He asks, and is already taking his coat off to wrap around your frame. You huff and puff the entire time he’s doing it, because your lack of clothing was a choice—you were hopeful that he wouldn’t keep you long if you were shivering. 

“What do you want, D?”

“I want you to talk to me,” he says. “Tell me what’s wrong so I can fix it.”

Your lip trembles, and you bite down on it to try and stop it, chew on the skin until you taste copper and then it still trembles. You don’t look at him, you can’t. “You can’t fix it.”

“No, no,” he argues, grabbing your elbow in a plea, stepping closer to you, speaking hardly above a whisper. “Just tell me, baby.”

You yank your arm away, tone a direct contrast to his when you insist: “You can’t fix it this time, okay!? Nobody can fix it.” You point an accusatory finger, like there’s actually something he’s done to deserve this. There isn’t, there never will be. “You can’t fucking fix everything just because you want to.”

He matches, points his finger at you, presses it into the middle of your chest. Your heart races. “You can’t just fucking break up with me because you want to.”

You swat his hand away, offended by the accusation that you wanted this, that any part of you is enjoying this, finding relief in this. You hate this. Fucking loathe it, but it doesn’t change any of the facts. “I don’t want to,” your lips downturn into a frown, all pathetic and trembled, and your voice cracks and shakes half as much as your lips. The tears that burn in your eyes are reflected back in his, tired and bloodshot and wet. 

“Then don’t do it,” he pleads. 

You gulp around the lump in your throat, voice leaving your body meekly through tears. “I have to.”

“No, you don’t,” he assures you quickly, his hands slotting on either side of your face, the pads of his thumbs wiping your tears, his fingers locking into the hair at the nape of your neck. He shakes his head before he speaks, brown eyes searching yours, begging you to change your mind. “You don’t.”

His hands on your face are what push you over the edge, turn you from poised and sniffly to half-wrecked—choking on sobs and swallowing snot. It all hits you at once, all the weeks of testing, the days of trying to come to terms with a diagnosis, the hours spent grappling with the fact that nothing will ever be the same about you. You’re changed, now, and you’re only going to continue to change. It’s not Daniel’s responsibility to see you through any of this fucking shit.  “I do, I do,” you sob. “I have to, I’m so sorry, I have to.”

He presses his forehead against yours, your tears mixing with his every time your noses bump. It calms you, if only slightly, and your eyes close, mind focused on remembering this, on remembering what it feels like to have his skin on yours, to feel his voice in your bones, to breathe in the same air, the same space, the same atoms. 

Your breath is shaky, but the pattern is steady. In, out. In, out. Your nose is so stuffed you can’t breathe through it. Your lips are all but touching his, a stray tremble holding the power to force them together. You don’t know if you want to kiss him or not, if it would make things better or so much worse. 

He swallows hard, pulling your faces apart. “I love you,” he mutters softly, like a wounded animal, and then he presses a long, hard kiss into your forehead. 

You sniffle, your hands holding onto his wrists. “I’m sorry.”

He nods, drops his arms, your hands falling into his. “Yeah.”

He lets your hands go, lets you go. You feel like you might be sick watching him walk down the steps of the patio, along the path of pavers to the gate. A shiver runs up your spine, and you pull his jacket closed over your chest. His jacket. 

You wipe a new set of tears from your cheek with the back of your hand. “Your jacket,” you sniffle, “hold on.”

He doesn’t stop, doesn’t even turn back to face you. “Keep it,” he says, unlatching the gate and slipping through to the other side. You sigh, and then you cough, and then you cry some more before finally finding the ability to move again, to go back inside and up to your bedroom, and that was that. That was the last time you saw Danny. The last moment that he was yours. 

— —

You’re walking back from the unbelievable strawberry field, quickly approaching the still lively barn, people and smiles and conversations pouring out into the adjacent spaces. Someone appears in front of you with a camera, with two cameras—one professional, and one a cheap polaroid. Smile, they said, and you laughed, your cheeks burning red. 

Daniel slinks his arm over your shoulder, and you step closer to his side. He flashes a toothy grin and a shaka sign to the camera. You hear the shutter of the camera take a dozen photos, and then the photographer holds up the polaroid—one for the road, she says, and Daniel pulls you that little bit closer, you blush that little bit harder. 

There’s a flash, and then you both relax, the photo printing out of the bottom of the camera. She holds it out Daniel, but he nudges you with his elbow to take it. You do, even though you aren’t sure you want it. 

You shake the polaroid while the two of you make your way into the barn. “What do I do with this?” You ask, looking carefully at the developed print. 

Daniel shrugs, leaning over. You flip the photo in his direction so he doesn’t have to lean as far, but he still does. “It’s cute,” he says. “You don’t want it?”

“I mean, I’ll take it, but…” But. But I’m going to throw it away when I get home. But it only reminds me of you. But it only represents what won’t be. 

He looks to the wall of photos behind the counter, eyeing the display carefully. You follow his sight line, your eyes going to the exact place you remember the photos of you being. You don’t know why you’re surprised that they’re still there, like you knowing they exist means they’d vanish. “Hang it up,” he says. 

You laugh. “Where?”

Daniel shrugs. “Anywhere you want.”

— —

The best part about only being able to afford cheap workers, was that you spent every day at the property with a new teenager looking to have just as much fun as you were. Between that, and the plethora of college kids that were constantly leaving to go back to school, to get a grown-up job, to get any job that paid more than your family could offer—there was always an opportunity for going away parties. And party, you did. 

You and your coworkers turned friends had slept down by the river more summer nights than you could count, hiding six-packs in the staff locker-room and hiding ziploc bags of joints behind the six-packs. 

Tonight, the going-away party is to honor someone whose face you won’t remember in a year, much less thirteen. He’d worked there for the holidays and not much more, and there wasn’t much memorable about him. 

The bonfire on the back of the property snaps and crackles, sparking off into the night and lights everyone in flickers of orange and yellow. The breeze has picked up after dark, and the tank-top and shorts you’d donned earlier in the day aren’t appropriate any more, one of Danny’s hoodies—a purple one that sits in his locker just for you to steal and smells like weed and wood from all the past nights just like this one—takes the chill out of the night and keeps the goosebumps off your exposed legs. 

The sky is clear and cloudless, a big moon staring back at you and a million shining stars fill the night sky. It’s times like these you think there’s no prettier place on Earth, nights like these where you feel completely rich. 

Two joints are being passed around the circle lazily, laughter and conversation filling the air. The first one comes your way from the left, from Daniel. He takes a long hit, the embers at the end of the paper burning orange with his inhale. He holds it in, nodding his way through someone else’s joke, and exhaling into a laugh. 

He looks at you, hesitates to hand it over. “I really don’t want a lecture from your parents tomorrow morning,” he teases, playful smile pulling on his lips, mischievous glint in his eye. 

You roll your eyes. “They won’t know,” you insist, to no avail. Daniel chuckles, but holds his resolve and passes the joint around you to the next person. 

Undeterred, you keep your eyes on the joint that moves clockwise, that comes to you from the other direction, a path with no Danny-sized roadblock. With practiced ease, you take a hit, exhaling slowly, savoring the warmth in your chest. You meet Danny’s eyes on exhale, find them half-amused and half-concerned, brows raised and smile drawn. 

“Whatcha got there?” He laughs, gently taking the joint from her. “I told you not to,” he continues, taking a hit himself before passing it along again. You grin, a wave of giddiness washing over you. It always goes like that when he laughs—makes you all warm and fuzzy and silly. 

“It’ll be okay, Danny-boy,” you laugh, leaning against him. Lazily, without hesitation, he tosses his arm over your shoulder and pulls you that much closer. You like being closer, can feel his laugh instead of just hearing it. You like the way his arm rests on your shoulder, the way his fingers trace patterns over the fabric of his sweatshirt, every touch echoing on your skin for minutes. You like being close, even if it makes your palms a little sweatier and your heartbeat a little faster. You could get used to being closer, you think. 

The fire is starting to die out now, and the air gets colder. You wonder how long your parents waited up for you to get home. The original excuse was that Daniel had forgotten the lock-check, that you wanted to come along and really, it’s no problem to drive her home. After about fifteen minutes, you’d snuck away from the newly-built fire to make a phone call, to let them know you were grabbing food on the way home and don’t wait up for me. You’re sure they did, though, even if only for a while longer. 

Anyway, the air is colder and the joints have been smoked through and the beers have been drunk—not by you, you’re too messy when you’re crossed. And not by Daniel, either, who refuses to drive drunk but insists on driving high. 

You yawn under Daniel’s arm, find a way to somehow lean in closer. “Sleepy?” he asks, and you nod. Carefully, like he’s done it a million times before, he presses a kiss into the crown of your head. It’s not the millionth time, it’s not even the second time he’s kissed any part of you. It’s the first time you've felt the press of his lips and you think that you’ll feel it there forever. “You wanna go?”

“No,” you say. “I’ll stay, make sure the fire gets out and everything.”

It’s not much longer, anyway, until the fire is being doused with water bottles and beer and everyone is taking turns spraying the same perfumes and colognes over their clothes in a poor attempt to mask the smell of smoke and weed. 

Daniel drives you home. It’s not the first time you’ve been the passenger in his old Ford Bronco. It’s not even the first time you’ve been in the truck while he was high. Usually, car rides with Danny consist of cranked down windows and loud music, of louder conversations and excessive laughter. This drive is quiet, though. 

His hands are steady on the wheel, eyes focused on the road ahead. There’s no music, the windows are up, and he doesn’t talk. You watch him carefully from the passenger seat, study him in your paranoia. You haven’t done anything, you don’t think. There’s no reason for him to be mad at you. Unless there is. 

“Did you have a good time?” You ask. Danny nods. “That’s good.”

He turns to face you at a stop sign. “Sorry,” he laughs. “I’m trying to focus.”

“It’s okay,” you nod. 

“It’s harder,” he explains. “It’s hard with you here.”

— — 

The evening you’d anticipated is far from the evening that unfolds. Fifteen minutes, maximum, in and out. That was the plan. But then Daniel—Daniel, and all the far-fetched dreams of him making himself at home in your life, all the passing thoughts you’d had over the years about the what-ifs; the grocery bills and the taxes and the white wine and the rusty barn doors. He glues you to his side for hours that feel like minutes. 

The event is winding down, people keep coming up to him, firm pats on the back and handshakes and hugs goodbye. They tell him how great the place is, how great the wine is, how great he is, and you move around like his shadow, smiling awkwardly whenever someone catches your eye and waiting for the next joke Daniel has to crack quietly, just to you.

You stand at a high-table next to him, elbows on the tabletop, shoulders bumping everytime one of you moves. There were people around the table, a reason—an excuse—for the proximity, but they’re long gone now.  “You know,” Daniel says quietly, dropping his head against his hands, speaking to nobody in the room but you. “I’ve missed you a lot.”

“Yeah,” you nod, speak just as softly. “Me too.”

He takes a long drink from the wine glass in front of him. Liquid courage, you know now, for what he was going to do next. The glass returns to the tablecloth with a soft pat, and he lets out a heavy exhale. “I heard there’s a new coffee place opening in Northbridge?” He asks, and you assume it’s because he knows your neighborhood, wants to know more about it. The wine has made you naive, or maybe you’d just pushed the reality of his implication so far from your mind that it’s an impossible thought. 

“Yeah,” you nod. The new coffee shop in Northbridge is a seven minute walk from your apartment, and is on your way to work. You’ve been eyeing the place since the empty building went up for lease. “It’s got this super cute bakery right next door,” you add. “I think they opened last week.”

Daniel nods. “I’d love to try it out.”

“Yeah,” you continue, still genuine and naive and oh-so silly. “You should. I’ve heard good things.”

He laughs, then. Laughs this specific kind of Daniel laugh that you used to get so excited to hear. It meant he was going to do something for—or to—you. He’d laughed like that before he kissed you for the first time, and he’d laughed like that while orange juice ran down his arm and he asked you out for the hundredth time. He’d laughed like that on every anniversary, every birthday, every holiday. It’s Danny’s you laugh. “I’d need someone to go with, though,” he says. And the laugh and the words and the whole thing clicks. Daniel is trying to ask you out. “I don’t really know my way around Northbridge.”

A lie, objectively. One that confirms the assumption you’d just jumped to. Daniel’s first apartment was in Northbridge. He lived eleven minutes from where you live now. He knows the place like the back of his own hand, knows the streets like he used to know you. 

You nod into the bottom of your wine glass, watching the liquid spin around the clear glass. “You don’t?”

He purses his lips, looks all deep in thought. “No,” he shakes his head. “No, I don’t think I do.”

“Oh,” you frown, your eyes meeting his. It’s really hard to mess with him when he looks at you like that. Hard, but not impossible. “My dad’s usually around.”

He chuckles. “Your dad, huh?”

“Yeah, yeah,” you nod, a smile pulling impossibly hard on your lips. “Retirement and all, you know.”

“Oh, sure.”

“I guess…” you shrug, stop spinning your glass and set it down altogether. You push it slowly across the tablecloth towards the center. “I could always show you around, too.”

He leans back, stands up straight and scratches his beard, makes a piss-poor attempt at wiping the dimpled smile off his face when he cocks his head to the side and says, “As much as I like your dad…”

“As much as you like my dad.”

And, because Daniel was never really Daniel, because he’s always going to be your Danny, no matter the time or the distance or anything else that should get in the way, he says: “You’ve always been my honeybee.”

— —

“Don’t call me that, Mom,” you shouted from the office, gathering your morning gear. You were working tours with Danny, today, and the two of you had spent all morning bickering over who gets to be lead and who has to be secondary guide. While you shoved the batteries into the walkie-talkies, you could overhear Danny successfully pleading with your Mom. Honeybee, she’d called out to you. Let Danny take Lead today, won’t you? 

She laughs. You roll your eyes, slipping behind the counter where she leans, where Danny lounges on a stool. You toss Danny’s walkie at his chest, and he catches it before it hits him. She raises her brows pointedly, meets Danny’s eyes in some shared language, a shared silent remark about you. “Why not?”

“Because. It sounds like something Grandma would say.”

Your mom smiles, twirls the end of your ponytail around her finger. “But you’re so sweet”

Danny chokes on his laugh, shooting up straight in his seat to clear his throat, to cough into his elbow. “She is NOT sweet.”

You scowl, shove his shoulder gently. It only makes him, and your mom, laugh harder. “Hey!”

“You make my life sweet, baby girl,” she hums. 

Danny nods, falling back into his comfortable spot, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re kinda like a bee,” he says, leaning back even further. Your entire day would be made by him losing his balance and falling flat on his ass. “You make her life sweet but for me…” he pauses. “You’re just this annoying little buzzing I can’t shoo away.”

Silently, you hold up both middle fingers to him, walking backwards out from behind the counter, towards the back door. Your mom only laughs at you, always laughs at you and Danny. “Love you, Bee,” she calls to you, and winks at Danny. 

“Yeah,” he calls, the stool creaking underneath him as he properly stands up. “Love ya, Bee!”

#daniel ricciardo edit #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo fic #daniel ricciardo imagine #daniel ricciardo #daniel riccardo x reader #daniel riccardo imagine #danny ric #danny ricciardo #dr3 #f1 edit #f1 fic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 2023 #f1 x you #f1 x reader #daniel ricciardo angst #daniel ricciardo fluff #formula 1 #formula one #thank u noah kahan for being daniel coded time and time again #also not me posting this in the middle of the night for Europe on a sunday #shes gonna flop. and she's gonna flop hard

[carmenberzattosgf]

u know what i think about ALL THE TIME… carmy being like, REALLY pissed off and truly at the end of his rope while you’re one of his staff members. you guys have been friends for a while with some simmering tension building between you two, but it’s never been fully explored.

the two of you have been fighting all day and it reaches a boiling point where he all but drags you outside (presumably to scream at you some more), but INSTEAD he grabs the back of your neck and bends you over face-first onto some empty pallets behind the restaurant. “you don’t want this, then get up and walk away.” and you’d be mouth open gasping, but STAYING THERE cuz you’re tryna see what happens. after a beat of silence, he pulls your pants down and roughly fucks you right then and there. he’d still be angry, with some terse kind of “you still want to keep running your fucking mouth?” punctuated by sharp, deep thrusts that make you clench your teeth together to avoid screaming 😍🤸 and you’d have to walk back inside on shaking legs a few minutes later trying to pretend that carmy’s cum isn’t dripping down your thighs💕💕

anyway that’s all JDHSKDJSKSK

ANON????? OH MY GOD?????? IM FREAKING OUT OVER THIS??? Like you just put a whole blurb in my ask box I am so honored and flattered???? Expansion on this under the cut!!

Dude dude dude. Yes. So you’ve been working at the bear for a few months now. It’s been months of built up tension between you and Carmy. Carmy knows, and you know it’s more than just a simple friendship between the two of you.

Carmy tries to keep it professional. He really tries. But, his attempts make him more cold and blunt towards you, which culminates in the big fight. It’s over something stupid really, but he gets so fucking pissed because it’s been one thing after another this day. He flips out over you not having a “properly cleaned station”.

“Chef. How many fucking times do I have to tell you to clean up your goddamn station? Look at this shit. It’s a mess.” He yells, pointing to your station.

“Are you being serious right now? I’m in the middle of fucking prep. How the hell am I suppose to keep it clean during prep when I haven’t finished yet-“

Carmen cuts you off in the middle of your sentence. “Syd! Take over y/n’s prep.”

“What the fuck, Carmen?” He doesn’t answer your question, instead he pulls you out of the kitchen by your wrist. Once he gets you out the back door of the restaurant, you expect some kind of explanation for his behavior. “What? Couldn’t yell at me for no reason in front of everyone else?”

Carmy is on you in an instant. His strong hand engulfs the back of your neck, leading you to a stack of empty pallets before bending you over it. He stands behind you, hand still on the back of your neck, but not holding you down anymore. Your mind races, but one thing is clear. Carmy’s hard dick is pressing your ass.

“If you don’t want this, get up and walk away and we’ll pretend this never happened.” He leans down to whisper in your ear. Carmy’s voice is rough, full of desire. Your breathing picks up, but you don’t dare move. Instead, you whine when he rolls his hips against your ass. “Fucking knew you would want me like this. Such a fucking slut aren’t you?”

Carmy wastes no time to pull down your pants and underwear all in one go. You bite your lip, trying not to moan when his fingers run through your folds. “So nasty to be this wet in an alleyway for me where anyone can see.” You should be humiliated. Your boss has you bent over for him in an alleyway, but all you can do is beg for more.

“Please. Please please please.” You cry out, not even quite sure what you’re asking for. You hear the sound of him undoing his belt, and his cock enters you with no warning. He doesn’t go slow, filling you up to the hilt in one quick thrust. You cry out in surprise; he’s bigger than anyone you’ve ever had before. He starts fucking into you a second later, setting a quick pace with his hands digging into your hips. Your fingers dig into the pallets in front of you, desperate to find something to hold onto.

“Fuck- maybe this will teach you to stop running that mouth of yours and listen to me.” He practically moans out, thrusting deep and hard into you. “You need to learn to behave.”

“S-sorry chef. I’ll d-do better.” You feel his movements falter at the title, before he picks back up the pace, hitting even deeper inside of you. You’re already seeing stars, nearing your climax. “C-chef, please I’m so close.”

“Yeah? Going to come for your boss in a filthy alleyway?” One of his hands leaves your hip to touch your clit, rubbing fast circles with his callused fingers. “Go on then. Come around my cock like the slut you are.” He was losing himself too. His voice is rough and thin as he speaks.

It only takes a few more seconds before you come, biting into your hand so you don’t scream. Carmy’s pace falters before you feel him spill into you with a muffled groan.

He pulls out of you promptly without a word, stepping back to put back on his own pants. You stay in the same position, trying to catch your breath.

“Be back at your station in five minutes” Carmen says, walking back into the restaurant. You quickly pull up your pants, trying to ignore the feeling of his cum slowly dripping out of you. You don’t have any spare pants in your locker. You’re going to have to work through the rest of your shift with his cum running out of you and down your thighs.

You swallow your pride and go back inside to your station. Everyone else thinks Carmy just scolded you outside of the restaurant, so no one says a word when you return, taking back over your prep from Sydney.

Yeah let’s just say that’s not the last time Carmen fucks you in the middle of a shift. I’m thinking a nice fuck buddies relationship forms after this hehe.

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto smut #carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #the bear fanfiction #carmen berzatto #the bear #ANON ILY #THANK YOU FOR THIS #LITERALLY WAS SCREAMINF WHEN I OPENED THIS #brain rot

[senawashere]

We're on this together... (Chapter II)

Bradley Bradshaw × fem!wife!reader

Summary: Is it harder for you? Or for Bradley?

Warnings: infertility,mentions of miscarrige,mentions of hospital,mentions of getting pregnant,mentiones of ivf. Mostly angst.

'We are on this journey together and we will never separate. I love you."

January 3, 2023.

Everyone,mostly you, could see how much Bradley loved childrens. Babies, toddlers, teenagers, it didn't matter, he loved them.

Ever since you married, you had admired how he treated them, how he made them laugh, how they played, and how his eyes lit up at the high-pitched squeals they made when he threw them in the air. He would catch them again. And again.

He... was born just for this.

That's why you were trying so hard to give him what he wanted more than anything in the world; a baby,a kid of yours.

He searches hundreds of websites for you on ways to increase your chances of getting pregnant, checks your ovulation time, changes your diet... he does the impossible and you both still can't succeed.

You couldn't make your husband happy. He hated this sentence.

And the worst part is, he's not the only one waiting for you to have his child, everyone is doing it, all of your friends are having their second or third kids and you were still... not pregnant.

One day, you were criticized among your friends for not having a flat stomach. They said something as a joke that you might be pregnant, but it wasn't like that.

Just because you dont have a flat belly doesn't mean you're pregnant, right?

Your tears feel familiar on your skin now and when you were sure Bradley is gone you were crying all over the house, you couldn't let him see you like this, it's not fair when he gave you everything and you couldn't give him something so simple.

It's that simple. Right?

You don't want help, you can do it on your own, you know he can or so he thinks, he keeps busy every day trying not to think about it, but it's inevitable, you can't do that when it's something he wants so badly.

You were doing your usual work on laptop, trying to get rid of the thoughts in your head, even if only a little, you were scrolling through your e-mail box while slow jazz was playing in the background, writing down what you needed to write and dealing with the files you needed to handle.

"A young man fell into the base today! We walked around the hard deck and drank soda's. He was with for a while we had a lot of fun, but I think he misses his aunt y/n. I love you baby.💞"

The text came up with a picture of your husband with Jake's son, three of them smiling and Bradley holding some soda cans in his left arm and the right one is holding the boy's shoulder. It was beautiful and made your heart ache, a small smile appeared on your face,the voices and pain in your head seemed to be over, at least for a mimute, and you replied to the message, "I love you two!! Say hello to Jake for me.💓💓"

You stared at the picture for a few seconds, forgetting about the task in front of you.

The smile on Bradley's face was genuine, and he was holding the little boy with incredible familiarity, as if he already knew how to hold a child even though it wasn't his own.

Your phone hit the wooden table with a loud thud and you brought your hands up to your face, feeling tears of frustration falling from your eyes.

No, you were not jealous of them, in fact, you were very happy that they were pregnant with the third one, but why couldn't you?

This was unfair.

While God gave people the chance to have so many children, why couldn't you even have one?

And the saddest problem was,you.

Bradley was perfectly healthy, he could get a different woman pregnant, but he couldn't get you.

The house was quiet, unlike your head, thousands of things were going on every second.

You left your spot and went upstairs to take another pregnancy test with some hope.

It came out negative. Like always.

January 18, 2023.

You throw the four pregnancy tests you took ten minutes ago into the trash can and you hear Bradley sigh as he sits on the bed, hiding his face with his hands. You sit next to him.

“We just have to try harder.” He said, lifting his head to look at you and placing his hand comfortably on your knee.

“What does 'trying harder' mean?” you asked,with a hint of you wobble voice from the emotions. "We do this every day, especially when I'm ovulating, when I..."

"Baby, calm down." Bradley tells you and he just snorts in annoyance.

"Maybe...we could go to another doctor?" He gets down on one knee as if he's proposing, but you stand up and look at him as if he had three heads.

"Why should I go to the doctor? There is nothing wrong with me, we will have this baby, I know. Sooner or later." you exclaimed.

He stood up and took your hands in his, stroking your wrists.

"Of course we will, I have no doubt about that. But—it's better to know more, you know?"

"We're going to have this baby, Bradley. I am going to."

Uh oh-

I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS CHAPTER BEING SO SHORT😭😭😭 and bad news it is progressively gets more sad.. And there is going to be timeline-

I'm tagging people who might be interested and some mutuals:@ohtobeleah @sebsxphia @callsigns-haze @greenorangevioletgrass @teacupsandtopgun @roosterforme @floydsglasses @lyn-js @its-dee-lovely @its-the-pilot @friedchips94 @hardballoonlove @topguncortez @hangmanapologist @bradshawsbaddie @shanimallina87 @djs8891 @themusingofagothicsoul @els-marvelvsp @promisingyounglady @the-romanian-is-bae @mamachasesmayhem @jessicab1991 @iefitzgerald-blog @charcole-grey @waterriseslew @desert-fern @promisingyounglady and if you are not comfortable please tell me!!

#sena writes #bradley bradshaw x reader #bradley bradshaw imagine #bradley rooster bradshaw #rooster bradshaw #bradley bradshaw #bradley bradshaw x wife!reader #bradley bradshaw x fem!reader #top gun maverick #top gun fan fiction #we're on this together #rooster imagine #rooster fanfiction #rooster x reader #rooster top gun #rooster x wife!reader

[torumin]

"It's alright honey"

Synopsis - Just Husband Gojo being the amazing husband he is and comforting you after a long week

A/N - Reposting my old stuff lol, feel free to send requests

Husband gojo who got home early from his mission and was waiting for you to come home.

Husband gojo who opened the door the moment he heard a knock on it. He knew it is you.

Husband gojo who notices that something is wrong the moment he senses your curse energy.

Husband gojo who hugs you but you don’t quite return the hug back. Now he was sure something was wrong with you because you, not hugging him back? nu-uh that’s almost impossible.

Husband gojo who was now concerned, asked you “my kikufuku are you alright?”.

One sentence was all it took to break the dam.

The waterfall of the tears started running down you tired face. This kinda shocked him. Gojo felt awful seeing you like this.

He knows that you are stressed out because of all the constant missions and after all these tiring missions you came back home, exhausted and tired but still managed to prepare amazing food for him and did all the chores.

Those higher-ups were going to get an earful from gojo. He knows that you are one of the strongest sorcerers and all the difficult missions are appointed to you but hoarding up all the work on a single person is something he can’t tolerate. Specially if it is you.

Husband gojo who hugged you and slowly guided you to the floor. You were crying uncontrollably. Hearing your sobs was hurting his heart.

“Shh.. it is alright honey. Let it all out..” he was trying his best to comfort you. His hand rubbing your back soothingly to comfort you.

His shirt was wet with your tears. Not that he minded but the fact you were crying so much was making him feel awful for not noticing how stressed you were sooner.

After a bit, he took you to the couch so that you can get comfortable.

He was still hugging you and rubbing soothingly on your back, whispering sweet nothings to help you feel better.

Your sobs finally stopped after what like hours. “How long have you been feeling like this honey? Hmm?”

“A few days? Maybe..”

“My precious kikufuku, you should have told me….I-I would have tried to make you feel better”. His voice was really soft and soothing to your ears. But it was filled with worry.

���B-but I didn’t want to disturb you..” you answered him honestly. That is what you were thinking.

You know that Gojo Satoru is a busy man, he has better things to worry about rather than you being tired, it wasn’t a really bid deal, you were used to it.

You were debating about whether you should tell him or not, because you didn’t want him to worry about such small things.

“You can never disturb me, you know that? I am always here for you whenever you don’t feel alright, okay?” You hummed in response.

You were grateful to have such and amazing and supporting husband.

You knew that you could tell gojo about your mental health and how you you are feeling but you just couldn’t really express it in words.

“But you shouldn’t really worry about my mental health. You already have other things to worry about”. You were saying what has been on your mind and this is true. He already has so many things to worry about. The jujutsu world is quite depended on Gojo.

“You and your mental health are very important to me. More than anything else” this sentence had something you have always wanted to hear. You didn’t know that a simple sentence can make you feel comfortable.

As your sobbing has stopped, Gojo felt relieved that he was able to comfort you. He was about to get up and get you some water but he felt something grab his hand.

“Please don’t go”.

“I am not going anywhere love. I am just getting some water to hydrate you”. Gojo came with the glass of water as fast as he could. (And trust me it was really fast)

“Do you want to talk about it hun?” He asked you in hope that you might want to tell him something, so that he can help you with it.

You shook your head. You were not really sure if you could really talk about it just now.

“It’s alright. But if you ever want to talk about it, remember that I am always here alright?”

You nodded. Husband gojo planted a soft kiss on your forehead. His action making you smile.

Gojo knows that stress can be a lot sometimes. He does not want you to bear it all alone.

©ALL CONTENT BELONGS TO TORUMIN DO NOT REPOST OR MODIFY MY WORKS WITHOUT MY PERMISSION

#@works #satoru gojo #gojo comfort #gojo x y/n #gojo imagine #jujutsu kaisen #jjk #gojo x reader #gojo fluff #gojo fanfic #gojo x gender neutral reader #gojo x you #gojo sickfic #gojo headcanons #gojo hcs #gojo jujutsu kaisen #satoru x y/n #satoru #satoru x reader #satoru fluff #satoru comfort #gojo satoru x y/n #gojo satoru x reader #gojo satoru x you #satoru gojo x y/n #satoru gojo x you #satoru gojo x reader #gojo satoru fluff #satoru gojo fluff #jujutsu satoru

[thenameisgul]

I have some thoughts about this one particular moment

I have never, NEVER seen so much emotion and depth just poured into one little sentence.

What makes it so devastating is when you realize this is a child, who was born into a world so dangerous, he had to grow up too fast (literally) and he’s meeting the man he chose to be his father for THE FIRST TIME.

How do you miss someone you’ve never met before?

Simple, when all you’ve experienced since the moment of your birth, is hostility, contempt and suspicion. All jack has at this point is two men, one wants to kill him. The other wants to use him (albeit a bit more kindly than the first). He doesn’t know what he wants in the world but he knows what he doesn’t want and it’s everything he’s getting from the Winchesters. So he misses the only two people in the world who ever loved him. He can’t have his mom, so he misses Castiel because he misses being ‘SAFE’. And safe is what Cas made him feel before he was even born.

I will never get over how soft and utterly relieved but at the same time TIRED Jack sounds in this moment. To finally have someone in his corner. To watch his back. So he doesn’t have to always be on guard anymore. And I can relate with that. I do relate with that. And that’s why this moment always makes me cry. Cad and Jack deserved to go some place far away and should’ve got to live in a lakeside cabin in southern France and been a family.

#supernatural #castiel #jack kline #jack and cas #Jack and Kelly #kelly kline #cas and kelly #destiel #spn #deancas #sam winchester #misha collins #alexander calvert

[writingforatwistedworld]

Maybe can I request with Vil, Ace and Silver in self aware au ?

The reader is stressed after a day of work/school and while playing they just stare at them in silence until they start caressing or touching their faces just to say that "Your pretty face is all that is good in my life" or something like that. Oh, I hope you understand 😣

Self-aware au

I do not take any responsibility for you reading this no matter which age group you are from!

WARNINGS: Yandere themes, violence, death, poison

Ace Trappola/Vil Schoenheit/Silver-“Your pretty face really cheers me up!”

Ace isn’t exactly known for “pretty boy” esthetics. Heck, he doesn’t even care that much about his appearance and all that he wants is to look decent

But then there is you, Overseer extravagance, the uncrowned ruler of the Queendom, the God of Briar Valley and the Island of Woes, a freaking legend wherever you go

And apparently, you like pretty faces but ok, who does not have a weakness or two

But Ace didn’t exactly count himself as “sparkle face with silky skin” or something along those lines

Then one day, ONE DAY, “I paint a heart on my face every day” guy over here was getting ready to go to his lessons, you having decided that apparently he needed more flying lessons

And even his house warden who was present at the scene would look like he was about to collapse any second after witnessing what was about to happen

Here he was, sitting on his broom, flying in mid-air up in the sky, suppressing screeches of horror

And then you had to drop that one line

“Your pretty face really cheers me up!”

Guess what else was dropping? Oh yeah, a first-year heartslabyul student

This simple sentence was too much for his body, making him drop off of his broom

But no need to worry, Vargas got him, levitation magic is a neat thing. Didn’t mean it would levitate his failing grades up into better places though…

If Ace had social media he would now surpass Vil, news travel fast you know?

And if the Overseer, I don’t think you know what kind of influence you have, THE OVERSEER said that someone was pretty then oh boy, you better believe they are!

And whilst we are on the subject of beauty, Vil is going absolutely bananas somewhere in the background, screaming “HOW??!” and other not-so-beautiful things

Ace though? Just pure shock. From that day on he is painting that heart extra carefully

And if someone just slightly smudges the heart? Well, I hope they have someone to help them adjust because they won’t leave the hospital for a long time. They and their crushed spine.

Vil is used to compliments about his apperance. I mean, come on, he has five million followers

So a compliment is usually met with a simple “thank you” and then he moves on with his day

Here we are, a normal day for Vil, sitting in his room, taking off the make-up to get to sleep

And then he feels your presence

Really bad timing. REALLY bad timing!

So whilst he sitts there like he just turned into a stone statue, a very beautiful stone statue, you just go along with your day, assigning students to go to lessons, yada yada

And then your gaze falls on him (aka your home screen). The statue stopped breathing

This is it. Now he has done it. He has shown him to you whilst he was at his most disgraceful

And whilst Vil is already crying in his head you are still staring at him

“Your pretty face really cheers me up!” And then you carass his face

This… this can not be real, right?

There is no way you complimented him whilst he is like this

But alas Vil finally gets that you geniunely mean your compliment

Sadly there was no one to witness it but boy, Vil is happy

Now whenever Vil looks in the mirror he is proud that you think he is beautiful and imagines what he would do to the wretched rats who dare and try to steal your attention from him

Rook even commented the next day that his skin seemed to glow brighter than usual, Vil during all of that not able to stop smiling

Does that mean he will take it easier now? No. After all, he can’t loose his “Oh he pwetty” status

And if he does… well, there are a lot of poisons he can make and don’t forget his special magic…

Silver, good old Silver being himself and accedentaly sleeping the day away

Now saying that the poeple of the Valley of Thorns are a bit too interested in you is a understatement

And who could blame them? You are their God (I blame them. In fact, I blame them a lot)

So here he is, laying on the grass, dreaming of spending a day with you…

And everything is good and dandy and fine and you opened the app

Silver is not a fae so he doesn’t have that sixth sense that tingles whenever you are even glancing at the app but he had been trained to be cautious

And cautious he is, waking up the second he feels your gaze on himself

So you are back. Good to see you! He hopes you have a- why are you touching his face?

“Your pretty face really cheers me up!”

The rest of the day Silver is in a daze and only after his father, pardon me, vice house warden Lilia asks him what is wrong Silver finally snaps out of it

“They called me pretty…” “Who called you pretty?” “The Overseer.” “Ah, I see… WAIT WHAT??!”

Yeah, Silver is just happy

He even uses skin care products after that day

But if someone would dare to take away his special status, being called pretty, away from him then good luck

All I can say is that he knows how to use a sword… and he probably knows how to get rid of a body

Just don’t leave him and Vil alone in a room, ok? Otherwise one will be poisoned and the other might be a bit scratched up

“Your pretty face really cheers me up!”

#yandere twisted wonderland #yandere twst #yandere twisted wonderland x reader #yandere twst x reader #self aware au #twst #twst x reader #twisted wonderland #twisted wonderland x reader #twst ace #twst vil #twst lilia #yandere ace #yandere ace trappola #yandere ace x reader #ace trappola x reader #yandere vil x reader #vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland vil #vil x reader #yandere vil #vil schoenheit x reader #yandere vil schoenheit #twisted wonderland silver #yandere silver x reader #yandere silver #twst silver x reader #twst silver #silver x reader #tw: yandere

[guccifrog]

WRONG NUMBER P12

matt sturniolo x f!reader

idk what to feel about this one tbh 🤓

y/n's pov

"Here," Chris said handing me a soda can, I took it and nodded my thanks. We've been all sitting in the waiting room for the past four hours, since I got to the hospital first thing in the morning, no one was allowed to see Matt. My heart felt like it was going to jump out of my chest, every time the doctors opened the door.

Nick sat wide awake, his head resting on my shoulder as I stroked his hair back from his forehead. His eyes never left the door, and every time it swung open, he tensed. Chris was sitting on the floor next to us, his head in his hands. He kept checking his phone, only to sigh and put it away again. The triplets' mom, whose name I learned was Marylou, sat across from us with their dad. Her eyes were red from crying, but she tried to keep a brave face on for her kids.

The clock on the wall ticked loudly, the seconds seeming to drag on for an eternity. I glanced at Nick, trying to think of something to say to take his mind off the waiting, but every time I opened my mouth, my voice caught in my throat.

Marylou shifted in her seat and glanced at me, then back at her Nick. She caught my eye for a moment and gave me a small, sad smile. I really wanted to go over and hug her, to tell her that everything would be okay, but I didn't know what to say to someone who was facing what they were facing.

The door suddenly opened, and a doctor came out, her expression serious. My stomach clenched in fear as she walked over to us. "I'm sorry to say," she began, her voice quiet but firm, "that the surgery was not successful." Nick's head shot up, his eyes wide with disbelief. "The patient has sustained too much damage, and his organs have begun to shut down. We've done everything we can, but…" She trailed off, unable to finish the sentence.

I felt like the world had stopped spinning as the doctor spoke those words. Is that it? Is this how it ends? it's that simple?

Nick started to shake uncontrollably, his eyes filling with tears. He buried his face in my shoulder, sobbing uncontrollably. I wrapped my arms around him, unable to believe what I was hearing. Chris threw his arms around us both, sobbing into Nick's hair. Marylou and her husband both cried silently, their faces twisted in pain.

"Can we at least see him?" Marylou asked, her voice shaking. The doctor nodded, motioning for us to follow her. Nick clung to me, as we walked down the hall. I squeezed his hand reassuringly, wishing there was something I could do to make this better.

The room was dimly lit, and machines were beeping in the background. The hospital bed was elevated, and a body lay under the thin white sheet. Nick's body went limp in my arms as he realized it was his brother. His sobs grew louder. Chris squeezed past us, falling to his knees beside the bed. He reached out and pulled the sheet back.

"What the fuck?" I gasped as I looked at the body that was under the sheet. That's not Matt, it's someone else. It was an old man's body. The room spun, and I felt like I was going to throw up. "Oh my god," I heard Chris say, his voice cracking. "Is this some kind of joke?"

Nick was still sobbing into my shoulder, oblivious to what had just happened. Marylou knelt beside the bed, her hands clutching the sheets. The doctor walked over to us, her expression grim. "We're so sorry, There's been a mix-up. We'll go find your son immediately." She turned and practically ran out of the room. Nick looked up from my shoulder, confused. "What do you mean, a mix-up?"

Chris, still staring at the body on the bed, said, "I don't understand. That's not Matt. I'm sure that this isn't even his room." He turned to the other doctor. "Who's body is that?"

The doctor paused, his face pale. "I…I don't know. The records show that he was supposed to be here, but…it's not him." He looked at us, his eyes filled with fear and regret. "I'm so sorry, we'll try to fix this"

Nick pulled away from me, his face a mix of anger and disbelief. "Fix this? How do you fix something like this?!" He pointed to the body on the bed. "That's not my fucking brother! Where is he?!"

Marylou took a deep breath and tried to calm him down. "Nick, we need to stay calm. The doctor is going to find out what happened and make sure Matt is okay. Let's just try to wait here." She squeezed his hand, but he pulled it away, pacing back and forth.

The doctor returned a short while later, her expression grave. "We've identified the body as belonging to a man named Matthew Williams. He was admitted to the hospital under a false name, and the records were somehow switched with your son's. We've notified the police, and they're investigating the situation." I stared at her, My face a mask of disbelief and horror. "I am so, so sorry for this mistake. We'll do everything we can to find your son and get this sorted out."

Nick collapsed into a chair, his head in his hands. Chris knelt beside him, trying to comfort him. Marylou looked from Nick to the doctor, her face pale. "Do you have any idea where our son might be?" she asked, her voice shaking. The doctor shook her head, her expression pained."Not yet. We'll alert all the hospitals in the area and work with the police to locate him as quickly as possible."

As the minutes turned into hours, the waiting room seemed to close in on them. Nick paced back and forth, unable to sit still. Chris tried to stay calm, but the anxiety was evident in his voice when he spoke to the doctors. Marylou sat in a chair, her face pale. The silence was broken only by the occasional sob from Nick or the beeping of the machines in the hallway.

taglist :

@mattestrella @chrisfavoritepepsi @sunsetsturniolos @littlebookworm803 @sturniozo @sturniolooooo @athaliahxoxo @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ev3rgreenxtrees @nonamegirlxsturniolo @crybabycat1 @mooniethesimp31 @ducksturniolo @ifilwtmfc @pepsiimaxx @sleepysturnss @lustfulslxt @ilovemattsworld @hrt-attack @flowerxbunnie @leprechaunbirthdaygirl @secret-sturniolo @iluvmeeen @that-general-simp @swangelss @familynotfandom @fuckshitslover @styles-sturniolo @lvr-111 @opheliaofficial07 @kiarastromboli

#matt sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo x you #matt #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew bernard sturniolo #matthew sturniolo x reader #sturniolo triplets #christopher sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #the sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #christopher owen sturniolo #chris sturniolo x y/n #lets trip tour #sturniolo x reader #matt sturniolo texts #matt sturniolo fanfic #matt sturniolo fluff #christopher sturniolo texts #let's trip #fresh love

[calisources]

𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐊 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐒𝐌𝐔𝐓 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐒.

Sentences were taken from different sources of literature that depict dark romance, these include possessive language, jealousy, power trips, some kinks, innuendos. Some sentences are tamer than others, please use wisely. Change names, pronouns and locations as you see fit. This meme is not safe for all audiences, as it contains adult themes.

Cara is mine, and only mine.

You didn’t seem to be in any danger when you were being my good, little girl.

A crush? I had consumed at least three of that woman’s bodily fluids, as she had mine. 

I worship you.

Very, very bad girl.

So you admit it, I make you scream.

See, my sweet gift? I knew you’d f/cking come around.

My beautiful, sweet gift. I am forever lost in you.

Let me heal those wounds and soothe that ache.

I’m gonna fuck you now. It’s gonna be fast and hard because I’ve waited too long for this.

In this fucked up world of ours, we're meant for each other.

I may have broken you, but know that you've broken me just the same.

Let me free you of the constraints of virtue. Better yet, free yourself.

You're supposedly protected by god, but here you are fucking the devil.

Like this you are powerful. Learn what it is to command the attention of a god.

I need you to take me the way you want me.

I hope you never forget about me and that the thought of me haunts you for eternity.

I was born to be your god, born with the power to make you do what I want.

You've captivated my soul and breathe life into me.

No escaping. I told you I'd never let you go.

I am a poison that all of humanity must fear.

You  ruined me and I can’t be bothered about it.

I forgot how good you taste. 

Real men get their girls nice and ready first.

This girl. She’s living, walking art. And she’s mine.

Do you want me on my knees?

You’re a bad man and you do bad things. You will always do bad things. But not to me.

You are painfully beautiful, do you know that?

Every time you look at me, it feels as if you start a wildfire inside my heart

Such a perfect girl you are, put on this world just for me.

I have killed for you, baby. And I’ll never stop.

You forgot I was a siren.

I just wanted to keep you forever.

I have missed you for so long. And now you are in front of me, but you’re afraid to touch me.

 There can never be anything in the world that would hurt me more than when you left me.

I don’t know if I want to cry or if I want to scream or if I want to fucking kiss you.

Christ, I wish you could see yourself. You look otherworldly.

I used to smell your dirty shirts when you weren’t looking.

In order for me to fuck you, I’m going to need you to be healed first.

 How I’ve missed that filthy mouth.

What else did I teach you?

You taught me how to be a good girl for you.

How to let you ravage me so badly that I feel like I’m on the brink of death.

I'm a simple man who's been reduced to his base instincts to hunt, capture, keep.

If she is my devil, then I will gladly burn.

If you don’t protect what belongs to you, then sooner or later, it belongs to someone else.

The power he holds over me―

You like to be owned by me? Knowing that I will kill anyone that ever tries to steal you away?

You want passion. A love that completely devours every inch of you. 

I know that you long for a little danger, too. I saw how you thrived on it.

It only hurts because I want you so much.

 if you could see yourself through my eyes, you’d know why I chose you. 

You taste like sin.

You're doing so good, Handsome.

No one touches what's mine.

And you are mine. Whether you agree is irrelevant.

I caught you, so now I get to ravish you.

Let’s do something about that mouth of yours, hm?

Be my woman, Ana. Allow me to call myself yours.

I want you to know that you can’t hide from me.

Play nicely, little lamb. Or else, I won’t.

I will do with you as I please.

Show me how much you want me.

You haven’t been getting what you need, have you?

Would it make you feel better if I call you Daddy while you fuck me?

You’ll never know when I’m going to drag you into the darkness.

I’m rough with your body sometimes, but I’ll always be gentle with your soul. 

Fucking hell, you’re sweet. You’re so goddamn sweet.

The flesh wants what it wants.

If you continue to behave like this, I'll actually start to believe you don't hate me.

Desire becomes surrender. Surrender becomes Power.

And I will break you. I will make it so you can't breathe without me. 

What happened to the thrill of the chase?

I just like the way wrong feels.

I swear I won't touch you even with a finger until you ask me yourself.

I need to hear a yes, sir.

#roleplay memes #sentence meme #( cali meme. ) #rp memes #rp prompt #rp musings #roleplay prompt #usft tw #usft meme #smut meme #suggestive tw

[blingblong55]

Serving your master- Simon "Ghost" Riley NSFW

This is based on a request:

Ok but.. as I read the title to the latest fic “Starving” I thought it said “Serving.” Can you imagine? Poor little sub reader doing whatever our sweet Lieutenant wants. He wants to use your throat? Yes sir. He wants a nice home cooked meal? Yes sir. He wants to bend you over the table to go chasing after his own pleasure? Yes sir.

F!Reader, smut, 18+, MDNI, Sub!reader, Dom!Ghost, housewife!reader, manhandling, (all topics done/said are consensual), masochism,

A/N: voted to be posted first 2/3 votes...so here ya go

A while ago, Simon and you started this new and exciting part of your sexual life. You two started things slowly, first it was him commanding you to kiss him, then slowly undress, this all started off with simple requests. Your needs were no longer his priority...well at times they weren't. If you let another man think you were single, you'd have to get on your knees, ready for his mercy. He takes his wedding ring off and slaps you across the face, each time a little harder, his little toy has been letting other men see her? yeah, he will not have any of that.

It has been months since you two started this Sub and Dom relationship, you both enjoyed it, it was the time when you can have your wildest fantasies made, be treated poorly by him but still be loved. How you loved when he took control, never letting you think for yourself. And how he loved when he'd watch you cry from pain, begging to be hurt more and how easily he complied.

-- A collar on your neck, "Crawl to bed, like the good girl you are." his voice rough and low. You nod, skirt lifting up every now and then when you'd move, his hand prints from minutes ago on your bare ass. You were always at home, so he only allowed you to wear revealing clothes. If you cooked or cleaned, it'd be only when he told you to do so. --

"Make me food, my little toy" his voice soft. He never knew you were into this, letting him be more than a Dom, over doing your role as his wife and his favourite little toy. You were in the kitchen, a somewhat tight skirt on you, hickeys on your legs as you made him lunch. He leaned against the wall, a smirk on him as he watched you make him lunch. -- "Fuckin' listen to me," another slap to your face, "been such a naughty little thing," and another slap. You plead, begging to be touched, but all he does is tie you up whilst you cry. Legs shaking from the quickie you two had in the coffee shop. The car ride back home he made you give him head, thats the reason why your lipstick is smudged and why your mascara was proof enough you have to buy waterproof when with him. -- "She'll have the pasta carbonara," he looked at the waiter and dismissed him. "I actually wanted the-" he gave you a stern look. "never think for yourself, I do that now." was a sentence he had mentioned when you two made the rules for this side of the marriage. He wasn't so controlling, only when he knew you'd be looking at him, pleading him to control you, happened every other day though. -- One night, you had to use your safe word, he had been manhandling you. Tossing you on the bed, slapping and spitting on you. "Fuckin' tight." his hips slammed against your bare ass. The pain was always easy to take and so were his words. You both are masochists, always getting off on the pleasure the wax, life on your skin brought you both. How he would lick the small trails of blood that the knife would bring. But that night he pushed it too hard. He drags orgasms over and over, but you were too sensitive, feeling a little sick and his constant ass slaps weren't helping. "Starfish." you softly say as tears run down. He immediately pulls out, unties you and carries you upstairs and into bed. The entire time he kept apologising.

"I'm sorry, love." he cuddled to you, your back to him. He leaned over and wipes the tears off. "...it hurt a little more than the other times.." "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get carried away that much.." -- Days when he came back after being gone for months and his missions wouldn't go right, he'd fuck his anger out on you. You'd go and pick him up, as always in your tight shirt and short skirt, he would get in the driver seat, you back to being his passenger princess. He would finger you, lick his fingers and park at some empty place. Take you to the backseat and start to undress you. You weren't aloud to speak, just watch as he undressed you. His fingers in you, his other free hand pressing your stomach, making you scream his name. Eyes shut as he kept finger fucking you. Your wet cunt leaking on his fingers, he would every now and then make you taste yourself. His spit on your thighs, your cheeks red from his slaps, your freshly changed nipple piercings digging a little into your skin, causing that masochist in you to be pleased. -- When you would ride it, he made sure to have your leash at his fist, just in case. Your hands on his neck, choking him lightly, dragging moans and various orgasms from him. He'd slap your face every now and then. He'd pull the leash when he'd tell you to behave, "shut it, I don't need your moans right now." But you didn't listen, you chased your own pleasure. He pulled more, choking you a little, turning you on even more. "I said shut it," a slap to your bare and sensitive tits. Cum leaking from the bouncing, he easily came four times. -- A/N: Not much of a full story...but snippets of your life as his whore...I mean sub :) Better thank me for feeding you, ya nasty whores😝

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