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sinelity · 1 year

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eyes like yours, can look away (but you can’t stop dna)

↳ in which dabi struggles with the overwhelming familiarity of his reflection

—-

shaky hands gripped the counter, turning white at the knuckles. it was late, far too deep into the am’s to still be awake and this wasted. dabi didn’t care though. he was so numb to the touch, he could hardly feel the counter digging into his skin. hell, he couldn’t even stand properly without a support.

he deserved this though. at least he thought so. he’s been working his ass off, causing trouble for the hero’s every which way he went. it was rewarding enough to watch them from a shabby alleyway as they scrambled around, trying to save every pathetic bitch that couldn’t help themselves.

well it was, up until endeavor arrived on scene. he could handle seeing him, loved the rush of satisfaction it gave him to watch his father seethe at the sight of his very own signature. what he couldn’t handle was the brat shadowing his footsteps. of course, daddy had to parade around his special lil’ boy that he was oh so proud of. the only heir endeavor ever needed; the only one he truly wanted.

it made bile rise in his throat before he forced it down, walking off with his jaw clenched in a similar manner to his hands, only to make his way back to the bar to wash away any memory he had left of the day.

and so here he was, hunched over the sink after a few rounds too many. any self pity he had left in him was long forgotten, put to rest for the remainder of the night. he hated feeling like he had no control, no power over his own stupid fucking emotions. dabi refused to cope, instead opting out for less savory methods that lead him to this exact situation hundreds of times over.

the faucet gave in with a creak, a sharp flow of water ricocheting against the porcelain. he splashed water over his face, hardly holding himself up without a hand against the surface to steady him. the same routine he’d never outgrow no matter how many years pass by.

he didn’t bother to dry his dripping skin. he only held himself against the counter once again, this time his shoulder leaning into the wall.

an empty box laying close to his hand served as an empty reminder; he needed more dye. begrudgingly, dabi looked into the mirror, avoiding any direct eye contact with the man staring back at him. he just wanted to examine his fading hair and white roots, an annoying nuisance but one that was much needed. it was inevitable though. impossible to ignore his own reflection so when his eyes met the familiar blue in the mirror, he felt sick.

he felt sick because it wasn’t him who he saw, but the cold eyes of his father. the same man who he despised more than anything. the same man who was supposed to raise him with a loving smile, yet only ever looked at him with dead eyes. the sight was unwelcome, but it didn’t mind it’s manners. a foot in the door, pushing past the ever growing force trying to keep it away, it made itself at home in his head.

his gaze was locked on the image that intruded his every thought, attempting to get him to focus solely on its presence like it would heal the very wounds it inflicted.

yet it only ever reopened them, and suddenly he was right back to his past, burning up and screaming for help as his father watched. he waited, begged, cried for even a flash of care or regret in his fathers eyes but all he saw instead was disappointment. it hurt, digging into his sides and letting loose on his worn down body. he caught a small glimpse of himself engulfed in blue flames before he erupted and everything went to hell.

it tore at his insides, starting low in his knees, weakening them as it makes its way to the tip of his ears. a path only it could trace, hitting every nerve and marking its way deep inside him like it belonged. but it didn’t. he didn’t want it to. it wasn’t supposed to be there anymore. he tried so hard to tear it out of his head like it never existed in the first place.

it wouldn’t relent. he could try and try all the wanted, but even he couldn’t rid of every trace of the past that lead him here. it wasn’t what he envisioned his future to be when he was younger, but fate was cruel. it wouldn’t forgive the sins of those it had no hold over, so it would latch itself onto those around.

it wasn’t fair, but the world was doomed from the start much like his family was. his life was mapped out for him before he could even blink and he had no ounce of control over what happens anymore. he never did, and it was foolish to ever think he could change his destiny like he tried to the mind of the very man that put him in this position.

so he looked away, forcing his eyes to look elsewhere. anywhere else but his reflection like it would ever be enough to forget the eyes he inherited. it wasn’t though. it’s always going to be there. every fucking time it will be right there again, waiting for the pained face he makes to stray back. he can turn his back all he wants, but it won’t follow his movements. instead it’ll creep closer, glass shattering as it reaches for him, clawing at his scarred back and dragging him towards it.

then what?

he can’t escape the blood that so desperately wants to corrode his lungs, fill them up until he’s a sputtering mess. he can’t escape the way it begs to seep out of his torn skin, wanting to cling to every inch of his body until he’s drowning in it. he can’t escape it no matter how far he runs.

it sticks to his shadow, outlining his silhouette even on the darkest of days, trailing into his room right after him. it hovers over him as he hardly even gets his boots off before he collapse on his bed, one hand under his head and the other on his abdomen.

his mind is far too corrupt to ignore it. it lingers as his eyes close, watching, waiting for him to drift off to into a dreamless sleep. seconds pass by, then minutes until it decides to bully its way in again, deciding that it was now it’s home and he was just a mere guest. pulling and plucking at his eyelids, forcing them open as a way to make a statement; there’s no avoiding it. no way around it, to forget it, to bury it. he’s forever damned to be stuck with this torment.

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kjack89 · 2 years

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Sunlight on the Windowsill

For @themiserablesmonth Day 13: Sun.

E/R, modern AU. POV Outsider. CW: Implied/referenced alcoholism.

Read on AO3.

The name that the shelter gave the cat was Dolores, which was certainly not the name she would’ve chosen for herself, but after a few months living on the streets, she would have let them call her just about anything in exchange for a warm place to sleep and as much food as she could eat.

When she was taken to her new home, her human tried a variety of different names on her, but none of them stuck, and he was forced to admit that she was just a Dolores. She liked her human, and his cluttered, untidy apartment. She liked that he hummed to himself as he got her breakfast ready in the morning, and that he always sought her out when he came back home. She liked that he always kissed the top of her head before going to bed at night, even if the kiss smelled strongly of the brown liquid he drank far too much of.

But what she liked most of all was the wide windowsill that overlooked the street below. Mainly because every afternoon, when the sun started its downward descent, it bathed the windowsill in warm yellow light.

Which made it the perfect spot for napping, and watching the world go by below, and watching her human as he got up to things he tended to get up to in the afternoon, which mostly involved smearing various colors on a flat surface she wasn’t allowed to touch (she’d learned that lesson the hard way).

All in all, she was fond of her human and her life, which was about all that a cat could hope for.

At least until one day.

When the man in red showed up.

The man in red had a name, just like her human had a name, but just as her human could no more figure out a better name for her than Dolores, she could think of no better name for the man in red than just that.

She didn’t like the man in red.

For starters, he failed to give her the proper due she was owed as the cat of the household. “Oh,” he said, when he had first seen her. “I didn’t know you had a cat.”

He didn’t offer her a hand to sniff, or even a gentle pat on the head before making himself right at home on the couch.

She had shown her disdain by sulking in her patch of sunlight and glaring at him through slitted green eyes.

“I don’t think your cat likes me,” the man in red said to her human, sometime later that afternoon.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” her human scoffed.

The man in red shot her a somewhat narrow-eyed look of his own. “Didn’t you say she likes everyone?” he asked, somewhat doubtfully. “Even Bossuet, who has horrible luck with animals?”

She perked up slightly at the name, because she did in fact like the bald man. He, of course, offered her the proper deference, not to mention little bits of food whenever he came over, which placed him in far higher esteem than the man in red.

Her human glanced at her thoughtfully. “Maybe she just knows him better,” he suggested, giving the man in red a playful sort of smile. “Which just means you need to start spending more time here to win her over.”

She strongly disagreed with that plan, but her human, it seemed, had other ideas.

Of course, no one could ever accuse him of having good taste.

The man in red became a near permanent fixture in the apartment, and with him, a litany of issues that disrupted her daily routine.

First, he moved the couch in front of her windowsill, effectively blocking her access. Luckily, the back of the couch made a decent enough sleeping perch as a substitute, and had the added benefit of putting her within claw’s swipe of the man in red whenever he got too comfortable.

Then, the red hoodie that had earned his name suddenly started getting tossed on the back of the couch, right where she wanted to sleep. She also turned that into a positive by turning the hoodie into a blanket, even if it meant having to breath in his scent (her human seemed to enjoy it. Her, not so much).

Next came an ultimatum she could not believe her human would acquiesce to, exiling her from her rightful place sleeping on her human’s bed. “I’m sorry,” her human whispered to her that first night as he picked her up to set her outside of his door. “He just wants some privacy, I think. I’m sure you’ll be back in before you know it.”

He may have been sure, but the man in red had some kind of hold over him, and she found her exile becoming far too permanent.

She didn’t speak to her human for a week after that, and made her feelings known by delicately depositing a hairball directly on top of his favorite green hoodie.

All of that may have been forgivable, given enough time, but then, the most egregious of all – the man in red got curtains.

At first, she watched the flurry of activity with mild curiosity, but when they moved the couch back into place, she realized to her horror that her patch of sun was gone. “See?” the man in red said, tugging her human down onto the couch with him. “It’s so much cooler in here with the curtains, right?”

“It definitely is,” her human agreed, and it took all her self-control not to yowl her displeasure.

Still, Bast helps those who help themselves, and there’s a reason cats have claws.

“Your cat destroyed the curtains,” the man in red said incredulously the next day, as she lay in her usual spot in the tiny bits of sunshine that managed to filter through the shredded curtains.

Her human huffed a sigh. “Why is it always ‘your cat’?” he asked. “She has a name, you know.”

“A stupid name,” the man in red muttered, examining the curtains more closely.

“You’re welcome to try renaming her,” her human said, petting her under her chin, “but in that case she’s welcome to pee in your shoes.”

She purred in agreement, though he really shouldn’t give her ideas like that.

Still, the shredding of the curtains engendered a tentative truce. During the day, she still spent most of her time with her human, and at night when the man in red came over, she gave them both a wide berth.

After awhile, though, the berth she gave them grew wider, as it seemed they couldn’t go one night without shouting at each other. The shouting always got worse whenever her human drank a lot – she tended to spend a lot of those nights cowered under the bed.

Sometimes, on those nights, the man in red would leave without spending the night. While she was always happy to reclaim her rightful spot on the bed, she couldn’t help but notice that those nights, her human didn’t sleep well, if at all.

And a lot of those nights he spent crying.

One day, a great many humans came over, but not, seemingly, for anything fun, or for a celebration. She stayed hidden for most of it, but even from her spot under the bed, she could hear raised voices, and shouting, and then some crying, and then—

Well, not quite silence, but far closer to it than before. In fact, the only thing she could hear was the very soft sound of someone crying, but a different someone. Not her human.

She tentatively stuck her head out of the bedroom to see the man in red sitting on the couch, his head in his hands. He looked up as she padded toward him. “Oh, God, I forgot about the cat,” he said to no one in particular, hastily wiping his cheeks before reaching down as if to grab her.

She was too quick for him, though, dodging his hands to sit just out of reach, wrapping her tail around her paws as she stared up at him, wondering why he was here and her human was not.

He sighed and slid off of the couch to sit on the floor, drawing his knees up to his chin. “Look,” he started, his voice sad and strained, “I know you and I haven’t exactly seen eye-to-eye, but—” He broke off, huffing a sigh. “Jesus, I can’t believe I’m actually talking to a cat.” He scrubbed a hand across his face before looking back at her. “Grantaire’s going to be gone for awhile, ok? He’s…well, he’s going away for a bit to get some help. So I know you didn’t exactly choose me, and I certainly didn’t choose you, but we’re stuck together for the time being, alright? Which means for his sake, we need to try to get along.”

He looked at her almost as if expected her to say something, which she obviously didn’t. After a moment, he sat back up on the couch, and she returned to hiding under the bed, emerging only when he got out wet food for her dinner.

Obviously her human hadn’t told him she only got wet food in the mornings. Not that she was complaining.

That night, he went to bed early, pausing in the doorway of the bedroom to glance back at where she lay on top of the couch. “Goodnight,” he said, closing the door after himself.

Not even five minutes later, the door opened again, just a crack. “Just in case,” he told her before retreating to the bed.

She didn’t immediately follow him in, preferring to wander in on her own time. But eventually, she snuck into the bedroom, jumping up onto the side of the bed normally occupied by her human, breathing in his scent.

Evidently, the man in red had the same idea, as he slept with her human’s pillow clutched in his arms.

She curled up next to him and closed her eyes, telling herself that her human would be back the next day.

But he wasn’t. The man in red hurriedly fed in the morning before telling her he was going to work, and then she was alone. The day seemed almost unbearably long without her human for company, so much so that when the man in red let himself in that evening, she didn’t even bother hiding like she normally would, instead sitting and meowing a greeting.

“That’s new,” he said, more to himself than to her. “I’ll bet you miss Grantaire, right?” He sighed, reaching down to gently pet her between her ears. “So do I.”

That night, he didn’t even bother pretending to close the door to the bedroom, and she waited even less time before following him inside.

They fell into their own kind of pattern, slowly getting used to each other in a way they hadn’t before. He bought her fancy treats and gave her way too many of them, and she eventually greeted him at the door like she used to greet her human.

One day, he came home from work early, and she woke up, curled in her usual spot on the back of the couch. She yawned, but before she could get up to greet him, he had already made his way over, reaching out automatically to give her a skritch under the chin. “You like that spot, don’t you,” he murmured, rubbing one ear gently between his finger and thumb. He looked carefully at the sunlight dappling her coat through the shredded curtain before saying slowly, “I’ll bet you like the sun, don’t you.”

Without warning, he crossed over to the curtain, yanking it down in one quick motion, flooding the room with sunlight. He sat down on the couch, tipping his head back to just rest against her side. “I like the sun, too,” he told her. “I think you might’ve had the right idea about the curtains in the first place.”

She responded by purring, and bending down to attempt to groom his curly blond hair.

Not too many days after that, the man in red picked her hope and gave her a kiss on the top of her head. She squirmed out of his arms, glaring quizzically up at him. “He’s coming home,” he told her simply.

Sure enough, her human walked through the door soon thereafter, and she darted through the man in red’s legs to greet him at the door. Her human beamed as he picked her up off the floor. The man in red rolled his eyes affectionately. “I’m trying not to be insulted that you said hi to the cat first,” he said, but he was grinning still.

“You got to come see me in rehab,” her human pointed out, cradling her against his chest as she purred and tried to rub her face against his. “She didn’t.”

“Fair enough,” the man in red said.

After her human set her down again, he and the man in red sat down together on the couch, silhouetted against the sunlight streaming in. She considered going to her usual spot, but decided it again, instead clambering to sprawl across both other their laps, purring contentedly.

Her human stroked her head gently, marveling at the way the sunlight dazzled in her whiskers. “Dare I ask what happened to the curtains?” he asked.

The man in red shrugged. “We decided we liked it better in here without them.”

“We?” her human repeated.

“Dolores and I.”

Her human shook his head slowly. “You two are quite the pair now, huh.”

The man in red gave her a few scratches at the base of her tail. “Well, we found out we had some things in common.”

“Like?”

“For starters, we both love curling up in the sun,” the man in red said.

Her human considered it. “Fair.”

“And for another, we both really love you,” the man in red said simply. “And at the end of the day, we decided that was all that we needed.”

Her human’s expression softened. “Well,” he said, leaning over to rest his head against the man in red’s shoulder, “took you both long enough.”

#exr #enjolras x grantaire #enjoltaire #enjolras #grantaire #fanfiction #les miserables #modern au #pov outsider #pov cat #implied alcoholism

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faofinn · 2 years

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No. 15 EMOTIONAL DAMAGE

@whumptober

@whumptober-archive

Lies | New Scars | Breathing through the Pain

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Harrison let out a quiet groan, dizziness and nausea rising. He still wasn't convinced Steve was actually real, but it was better than the alternative.

“I know.” Steve soothed. “I’m sorry. We’re going to get you home now.”

They got out as quickly as they could, and Fred left Steve with Harrison in the back of their van whilst he went back in. None of these fuckers were getting away with it if he could help it.

There wasn’t much Steve could do in the van, with only basic supplies and a very unwell Harrison. He did his best, at least now he could see what he was doing, and wasn’t worried about getting shot whilst he did it. The gunshot wound was deep, and the shoulder was concerning. He didn’t want to do too much away from home, and so he carried on stabilising whilst they drove. He’d do the hard work in the safety and relative comfort of the basement. At least then he’d have all his supplies, x-ray and everything else, to make sure things were done properly.

The basement was quiet when they arrived, getting Harrison settled in their little resus bay. Steve knew why Fao was away, but he really could have used the extra pair of hands, he had to admit.

Harrison had spent the journey drifting in and out of consciousness, each pothole jarring his shoulder and taking his breath away. The basement was warm, though, such a welcome relief from the chill of the cell. As Steve set him on the bed, his stomach twisted again, and he realised all too late he was going to throw up.

He had nothing but water to bring up, though the retching had him almost blacking out. He couldn’t remember how long he'd been stuck with Henri, but he knew the other man's fun wasn't all to blame. With a pathetic whine, he tried to curl in on himself, confused and sore.

“It’s alright, Harrison. You’re home now, you’re safe.” Steve said, rubbing his back gently. “I’m gonna take care of you.” He soothed him as he retched, a bowl stuck under his chin.

His body trembled with exhaustion and shivered with the cold. Each breath was laced with a whine, no longer silent and stoic. Steve wouldn't hurt him.

He turned away for a moment, to discard the bowl and grab what he needed. “I’m going to get a cannula in, alright? Get you some painkillers, some fluids to make you feel better.” He said, unsure if Harrison could actually hear him. He took his good arm, quickly found a vein, and didn’t waste any time with the cannula. “Sharp scratch.” He warned, but got it in easily.

Harrison had tried to pull his arm away, but Steve's grip was too strong. He supposed it might mean he'd get some relief from the pain, but the sudden realisation he might just knock him out had him panicked.

"No. I don't want it."

“It’s alright. Just some painkillers, nothing nasty.”

"I'm sorry."

“It’s okay. Just some painkillers, yeah? It’ll help.”

"Don't hurt me."

“I’m not going to. I’m going to help, yeah?”

"Promise?" He finally looked up at Steve, searching the older man's face.

“Promise.” Steve said firmly. “I’m going to need to put that shoulder back in, and that might hurt a bit, but let’s sort your pain first okay?”

Relief flooded his features. "'Kay."

“I won’t lie and say there’ll be no pain, but I’m going to be helping.”

Harrison nodded, letting Steve fuss around him. The promise of pain relief was good enough for him to leave Steve in control. Besides, he knew he'd be useless if he tried, aside from getting in the way.

Steve carefully gave the pain relief. “Give that a moment to kick in. Just keep breathing through the pain for me, I know it’s hard.”

He hummed, quickly feeling the pain relief, the room spinning. "Did Fao get away?"

“Made it to the safehouse, yeah.”

"Mm, good. Henri had it all planned. Had to do something to distract him."

“This is a bit overkill though, Hars.”

"He went too far."

“What a cunt.” Steve muttered. “How’s the pain now?”

"Better."

“You’re soaked to the skin. Can I get these clothes off?”

Fear flashed across his face. "He found the water."

“I can tell. There’ll be no more of that, not here. I’ll get some warm, dry clothes.”

"Okay." He sighed. "You can just cut it. I'm not moving my arm."

“They’re wrecked anyway.” Steve said, grabbing his shears.

"Yeah. I don't want them."

Steve worked quickly, and soon the wet clothes were discarded, replaced with thick blankets for now. He’d get proper clothes once everything was sorted.

He knew he needed to sedate Harrison to reduce his shoulder and sort his fingers. The pain relief had worked, but he was going to need more than that.

“Hars? I need to sort your shoulder now.”

"How?"

“It just needs putting back in place.” He said gently. “I’ll give some more for the pain, and some antisickness. Won’t take long.”

"Okay."

Happy that was good enough consent, Steve gave the antisickness and the dose of sedation he wanted. It would be best if Harrison didn’t fight this, even better if he didn’t remember.

"Steve?" He asked thickly.

“Yeah?”

"Dizzy."

“That’s okay, that’s just the meds. Don’t worry about it.”

Steve wouldn't lie. "Alright."

“Nice deep breaths for me. Well done, you’re doing so well. How are you feeling?”

"Still hurts."

“I’ll get you some more meds.” Steve said gently, turning away to give more. “There. We’ll let that work.”

He frowned. "Fucking hell."

“Sorry, sorry. What is it? Dizzy?”

Harrison nodded, doing his best to breathe through it. "Too much."

“I’m sorry.” Steve said gently. “Try and relax into it, yeah? You’re safe now.”

"Trying."

“I know. You’re doing great.”

He gave a huff in response, too out of it to do much else.

Happy now he was properly relaxed and sedated, Steve could get a quick x-ray of Harrison’s shoulder and fingers. It was obviously dislocated, and the fingers broken, but it was good to have some images as a starting point. Still happy with his sedation, he could then go about putting the shoulder back, carefully grasping his arm. It was hard - it had obviously been out of place for a while - but he was well practiced by now and took his time.

Harrison whined as Steve started to manipulate his shoulder, the drugs clouding his rational thought. "Get off."

“Sorry, it needs to be done, Hars.” Steve told him. “Won’t be long.”

"It hurts."

“I know, I know. Just give me a minute, yeah?”

"Please." He murmured. "I've been good. I've had enough."

“I’m helping, I promise. Just give me a minute.” Steve groaned, and managed to shift the joint back into socket.

Harrison moaned in pain, trailing off into a relieved sigh. It still ached, and the muscles spasmed around the joint. He struggled to get comfortable for a moment, shifting in the bed. The relief from the relocation was simply bliss, and he soon found himself drifting.

“You keep that still for me.” Steve said, glad Harrison had stopped fighting. He needed to sort the leg wound out now, and he worried that would set him off again, but he didn’t have a choice. Delicately, he cut through the makeshift bandage, trying to get a better look at the wound itself now he had better light.

He whined as the bandage was pulled off his leg, the dried blood sticking to the wound. He stretched his good arm out to push Steve off, confused why he'd be hurting him again.

“Sorry, I know it hurts. I need to stitch it.”

"No."

“I know it’s not nice, I won’t be long. It’s nasty though, Harrison, it needs looking at.”

"Steve." He whined, aware he was acting childish, but too out of it to care.

“I know. I’m really sorry, I’ll be done soon.” Steve murmured. “Try and relax, yeah? I bet you’re exhausted.”

"It's nasty because he shot me."

“Because he’s a cunt, which is why I need to sort it.”

"Gently."

“Of course gently.”

"Good."

“I’m going to numb it in a minute, alright? Then it won’t be sore.”

"Good." Harrison nodded to himself.

Steve reached once more for his supplies. “It’ll sting, but then it’ll be better.”

"Promise?"

“Promise.” Steve murmured.

"Please be gentle."

“As gentle as I can be.” He reassured, starting with the local. “It’ll sting, sorry.”

Harrison groaned. "Ouch."

“I know.”

"I need a drink."

“Maybe later, yeah?” Steve said, taking his time to numb the whole area. “I’ll get you something to help.”

"After this."

“After this.” Steve agreed, finally finished. He left it a little time to go numb, hoping it would give Harrison time to mellow again under the sedation.

He drifted for a little while, until Steve started prodding again. "Ow. Steve?"

“Yeah?”

"Can we have a whiskey?"

“Maybe later, yeah?”

"Together."

“Yeah, maybe later.”

"Steve?"

Steve stifled a sigh. “Yes, Hars?”

"Thank you."

“You’re welcome.” He said, softening.

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k1ngtok1 · 2 years

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My Papa’s Waltz

The third installment of my Oni!Cole au, To Rise After the Fall

“Sorry for not telling you earlier.” Cole says in lieu of a response, “I was still trying to figure it out for myself, but-“ he pulls his father’s hands away from his face and holds them, “You might want to sit down for this. It might take a while to explain everything.”

“I canceled all my plans for the week after I saw the news. I’ve got all the time in the world for you.”

Cole revels in the warmth that spreads through his chest.

I wrote this as a challenge to myself! I usually write in past tense, so I tried my hand at present tense! Let me know what you think!

#ninbingo 22 #ninbingo #Oni!cole #ninjago oni #oni cole #oni lloyd #zane ninjago #Lou ninjago #ninjago cole #cole ninjago #zane julien #ninjago zane #cole brookstone #lou brookstone #my writing #implied alcoholism #Lou’s over it dw #Lilly ninjago #lilly brookstone

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thatradfailure · 2 years

Photo

Idk why I’ve been listening to Last Friday Night by Katy Perry, but it makes me think that the boys should be allowed to have a Boys Night sometimes. In direct spite of that clan feuds. As a treat :)

#ThatFailure's Art #I know I'm shocked that I'm posting art too #Implied alcoholism #TW Implied Alcoholism #CW Implied Alcoholism #Pokemon Legends Arceus #PLA #Warden Ingo #Warden Nobori #Warden Melli #Warden Gaeric #Warden Iscan #They're all singing a song Idk what #Maybe something modern that Ingo taught the others #Horribly off key but they're just boys being boys and hanging out they can sing off key if they want

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whumpacabra · 5 months

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Bad Habits

Smoking and alcohol use, angst, missing persons, implied alcoholism and nicotine addiction, referenced leg injury and crutches

[Follows Unexpected Guest]

“I thought you quit. Nicotine patches not work out or somethin’?” David carefully lowered himself into a porch chair, crutch clattering against the concrete. Casey took a long drag from his cigarette, embers glowing red under the blue porch light.

“Would you believe me if I told you it’s been about six months since my last smoke?” His sigh rattled in heavy lungs, air thick with the scent of tobacco. “What about you - thought you didn’t drink.”

David felt a blush of shame creep up his neck, the beer can in hand a far cry from the hard liquor he had indulged in the night before. He grimaced, stomach turning sour at the memory of the warmth in his gut and burn in his throat.

“It’s been a shit month.” He set the can on the glass table, dust and pollen sticking to the sweating metal. Silence stretched over the suburban yard. It was too late in the season for mosquitos. Dave’s voice trembled, soft with memory. “Fuck, RJ’s gonna kill us, huh?”

Casey laughed - he laughed the way he had before, back when David knew his home smelled like freshly baked cake and gunpowder from the range. It was a heady sound, thick with surprise and warmth despite the chill in the air.

“Not if we get to it first, eh?” Casey turned the cigarette between his fingers, ash falling into the pool. His voice was tight, a shine of tears in his eyes half hidden by the dim light. Dave sighed and poured the last of his beer into the pool - it’s not like anyone would be swimming anytime soon.

[Before Blind Date OR Lost Tapes]

(Part of my Freelancers: Post-Retirement series)

#whump #angst #smoking #alcohol use #implied alcoholism #implied nicotine addiction #missing persons #leg injury #crutches #freelancers #no context november #short one today bc. i am officially outta buffer o7 gotta actually write some out of context Plot tm

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awetfrog · 8 months

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respite

#fear and hunger #my art tag?#enki ankarian #cahara #ragnvaldr #d'arce cataliss #cw drug and alcohol use implied

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goddesslunaris · 11 months

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The lonely puppet of clockwork (oc backstory)

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hey people! thought i'd try my hand at writing again! i'm rusty, so sorry if it's bad!

TRIGGER WARNING: heavy abuse, degradation, death, implied alcoholism.

this is a work of fiction and has no connection to any person, character, or franchise. she is an original character that i'm gonna name Alma. if people like her enough, i might write more about her. anyways, enjoy!

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Cold is the wind that blows the shining gems of freshly formed snowflakes, twirling and spinning, as if in a dance. a trance, if you will. gentle pattering of falling snow onto a dirty, cracked window, the frame dilapidated and rotted, much like the house it's attached too. odd creaking comes from the weak structure as the wood groans, a broken sound with the eventual promise of falling apart.

Inside the desolate house stands an old doll, a curious amalgamation of different mediums to form the shape of a humanoid girl, couldn't be older than twelve, with short and fluffy dirty white hair that looks as soft as a downy pillow made of peacock plumage.

Wide, sewn on eyes made of porcelain, a vivid shade of reddish-pink that glistened with a sad sheen when the sun reflects at the right angle. Tattered clothing consisting of a burnt shirt covered in holes, moth bitten pants that allows a chilly draft to flow inside the cracks of the girl's body, scuffed and weather worn boots barely holding together at the seams protect her delicate feet from the dangers around her.

Her firm, dewy, and artificial skin mottled with cracks, missing pieces, and holes of all shapes shows no reaction to the sub-zero temperatures roaring just outside the desolate shelter. A rusted and damaged wind up key protruding out of her back was bent at an odd angle, making it impossible for it to turn, and in turn, make the girl unable to move.

Echoing weeping floods the house with its heartbreaking symphony, a cacophony of whimpers, wails, and the banging of several objects meeting their untimely demise could be heard throughout the place. The poor girl only being able to listen with apt attention, her fractured mind finding the noises comforting, a distraction from her inner turmoil of being a useless decoration. A centerpiece. A broken product of times long past.

thunderous footsteps storm down old and weathered stairs, threatening to give way. Her body twitches, already knowing what's coming next.

"you're still here?! worthless garbage! GET OUT ALREADY!"

A glass bottle is thrown, the man's rage propelling the object with considerable speed, nailing the immobilized girl in the side of her head. Her frail body falling over from the impact, a single, oily tear streaming down her expressionless face, her glass eyes holding such sorrow. the kind that seeps into the very depths of your soul.

"if you're still here by the time i get back, i will dispose of you myself! GOT THAT?!"

No response, just the soft whisper of a tiny voice, gentle as a falling feather, calls out towards the imposing filth that dares to seize control of her home, her happiness before everything went terrible. The man's footsteps were fading away as he went to a different room. A soft voice calling out in response to the searing vitriol spat at her.

"Forgive me, sir...but i cannot move, for my key...is required to be fixed if you wish...for me to leave. i'm sorry, sir..."

Another round of yelling and sobbing permeated the air, both voices mixing together to create the hellish rhapsody of a shattered family. cracked picture frames barely clung to the peeling walls, a woman's face smudged with blood and dirt, features impossible to make out. The booming voice of the man ringing out,

"USELESS BITCH! THAT DAMN WHORE SHOULD'VE NEVER CREATED YOU! a frail, weak little thing like you WILL NEVER REPLACE MY DAUGHTER! YOU ARE NOTHING BUT A PUPPET! A BROKEN PUPPET WHO SERVES NO PURPOSE! JUST DIE ALREADY!"

More oil tears join the first one that stain the rotting wood underneath her damaged face, face unfeeling, body unmoving, mechanical heart rusting from her inner agony, a shell of the soul she once used to be when she was still alive. when they were still happy. Even now, she lays motionless, awaiting the finishing blow.

A sick thrill filled her being as she finally accepted her fate, her death, and used the last of her strength to close her eyes. finally being able to rest for the first time in 30 years. thudding footsteps storm closer, the gears of her heart slowly stopping as she hears the sound of an axe being hefted above her.

"i love you..father"

the final echo of the lonely puppet rang as the blade came down. and everything...went dark.

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@takottai @thelighttasteslikelasagna @eridanromantic @madmedicmax @yourlocalkrankenpflegerin

#Eldritch Scrawlings #story #original character #Alma dubois #implied alcoholism #abuse trigger warning #doll #puppet #clockwork

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whumpinaheartbeat · 1 year

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Talk Shit, Get Hit (MediWhump 2023 Day 2 Stitches)

This Fic contains graphic injury, stitches, passing out and implied past alcoholism, please read with discretion.

While Virgil would like to say that his every movement was precise and methodical and every stitch was perfectly made, the truth was that the pain was making any of that impossible.

Even if his hands weren’t shaking so much, Virgil’s vision pulsed white every time he tried to insert the needle into his thigh and muscle memory could only do so much to tie the perfect knots when it was taking all his energy just to stay conscious and aware of what was going on.

Virgil gritted his teeth, taking a moment to just breathe as he pressed his back against the cold tiled wall. He couldn’t afford to pass out, not when he was still actively bleeding.

The scent of iron wasn’t helping his dizziness, neither was the knowledge that even if he managed to completely stitch his wound closed, he would still have to find the strength to clean the entire bathroom before any of his brothers got home which if he was tracking time correctly, Alan and Gordon would get back any minute now.

He couldn’t afford to waste any more time just sitting there breathing so as much as Virgil just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry, he started on the next stitch.

Virgil gasped, jerking forward as the needle pierced too deeply.

When Virgil came to full awareness again there was new blood pooled around him, two of the seven stitches he had managed to do already ripped apart. The wound was simply too deep for the stitches to hold but it wasn’t like Virgil could ask for any help. There would be too many questions, too many lectures. Too many doe eyed stares from his younger brothers.

No, Virgil could not ask for help. He could do this. He had to do this.

As designated medic of International Rescue and with all of his training, Virgil should be better at doing stitches and yet as the world spun around him and sparks of pain shot through him every time he so much as nudged his injured leg, he was starting to question if he had ever actually earned his certifications.

Because what his training was telling him now was that the wound was too deep for mere stitches and would actually require surgery. Virgil couldn’t exactly duck into a hospital for that kind of help though, especially without raising suspicions. What would he even say?

“Hey, I’m Virgil Tracy from International Rescue. I’ve got a big ass stab wound on my leg that needs surgery, please ignore the pathetic attempt at stitches and please don’t ask who stabbed me, I promise you they didn’t mean it.”

Nah, that wasn’t going to cut it.

He could do this, without the Doctors and without the surgery and without his brothers ever finding out. He just had to focus and breathe and it will all be over and he can claim that he has some repairs to do to his Thunderbird over the next few days as his full range of motion returns.

Virgil hissed as the needle slipped in all the blood, scraping against his already ravaged skin and everything went black.

“What the fuck Virgil?”

He was on his back, staring up at the bathroom light with two blurs hovering above him and he felt what was left of his resolve slip away as he gave off a pathetic sob.

“Oh Virg,” Gordon sighed, crouching down next to him. “Please don’t cry, I didn’t mean to yell at you.”

But it was too late for that, the mixture of pain and frustration only made him cry harder knowing that Alan and Gordon now knew that something was wrong. He had failed to protect them, failed to keep them from seeing all the blood. Virgil had failed not only a medic with shoddy stitches but now he had failed as a brother too.

“I can yell at you if you like.” Alan said helpfully. “Though, I am a bit busy holding pressure on the, you know, stab wound you apparently have.”

“Go away.” Virgil sobbed.

“Absolutely not.” Gordon said. “How long have you been like this?”

Maybe if he didn’t answer then Gordon and Alan were going to give up and leave him alone and maybe then he could finish stitching and maybe then he wouldn’t feel like his leg was on fire.

“Virg?” Gordon prompted, setting a hand on his shoulder. “You with me?”

“Go away…” Virgil tried again. “I’m fine.”

“Yeah,” Gordon scoffed. “You’re absolutely stellar. Answer the question dumbass, how long have you been hurt like this? That’s a lot of blood for just one injury.”

“It’s not all mine.” Virgil said.

Gordon stared at him but thankfully did not ask who’s blood had become mixed with Virgil’s, not that Virgil would answer him anyway.

His head was spinning but when he closed his eyes it just made him feel worse so he settled for trying to sit up instead. Virgil balked, pain flashing white hot throughout his entire body. It was a miracle that he didn’t fully pass out this time around though that same miracle meant that the pain was a lot worse than it was earlier.

“Gordie?” Virgil mumbled. “It didn’t hit an artery did it?”

“No,” Gordon said. “It’s not quite that much blood but it is still serious. Stitches aren’t going to be enough but you would have already known that.”

He closed his eyes regardless of the dizziness because at least that meant he didn’t have to look at either of his brothers right now. When Alan broke the silence it wasn’t with the sarcastic tone he was using earlier. He sounded young, younger than he has been for a long time and Virgil yearned to give him a tight hug if it only meant that it would cheer him up but the thought of moving right now was simply too much.

“Did you go to the bar again?”

“I didn’t drink.” Virgil said quickly.

“That’s not what I asked.” Alan mumbled.

Even when Virgil tried to sit up and look directly at the youngest Tracy, Alan did not meet his eye. If anything that hurt Virgil more than his leg did, knowing that he had disappointed Alan even if he hadn’t gotten so far into his own head that he had drunk to excess again.

“So who did you fight?” Gordon asked casually, picking through a med kit.

Virgil didn’t want to talk about this. He just wanted to sleep and forget all of this.

“Trent.” Virgil whispered.

“Fucking Trent.” Gordon whistled. “He probably deserved it no doubt but please don’t tell me you stabbed him too.”

“Of course not,” Virgil said. “He was drunk, running his mouth like always. I, uh, kind of punched him.”

Gordon’s gaze flicked to Virgil’s leg.

“You punched him,” Gordon said. “So he stabbed you. That seems like it escalated somewhat.”

“It was an accident.” Virgil said, feeling a little numb. “Like I said, he was drunk. He tripped over his own feet and by the time I realised that he had dropped the steak knife, it was already sticking out of my thigh.”

“Virgil,” Gordon said. “If all this happened at some bar then how the hell did you get home and why didn’t you go straight to the ER?”

He really didn’t want to talk about any of this, especially when he didn’t have a good explanation. It was all stupid and avoidable but Virgil sometimes got stupid where he let stupid things happen to him.

Virgil really was feeling dizzy now and he dimly realised that he couldn’t feel Alan’s hand keeping pressure on his leg. He knew that he should probably tell Gordon that, explain that he was finally going into delayed shock now that the adrenaline had fully drained away from his blood stream, but it was honestly taking all of his strength just to stay awake at this point.

“Virg?” Alan’s voice echoed. “Hello, Virg?”

“Alan,” Gordon said. “On my mark I need you to move back so I can bandage his leg. He’ll still need the hospital but it should hopefully minimise the bleeding.”

Virgil knew that he should have expected the agony as soon as Alan’s hand lifted off of his wound and yet he still screamed anyway because why wouldn’t he want to traumatise his poor brothers more than he already had.

The darkness took him swiftly and Virgil knew no more.

@mediwhumpmay

#my writing #whump #mediwhumpmay #mediwhumpmayday2 #Thunderbirds Are Go!#virgil tracy #fanfiction #implied alcoholism #stitches #stabbing

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ivymarquis · 1 month

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The Neighbor

Hello friends I fucked off for a month but I’m back and I bring Price smut as an apology for my absence. @sky-is-the-limit’s “Im here to do what your boyfriend cant” prompt has lived in my brain rent free ecer since I read it and while I didn’t follow it verbatim, I did keep in spirit with the theme :)

Also womp I was gone for the Price challenge by @glitterypirateduck but this actually checks off a couple of the prompt options (first time being intimate, a confession/secret is discovered/revealed) so I’m submitting it.

There are a lot of tags. Make sure you read them.

Pairing| John Price x Reader Rating| M Word Count| 4.8k Kinks/Content/Warnings| Accidental voyuerism by virtue of living in an apartment, the reader has a dogshit boyfriend at the beginning of the fic (there is no cheating), slut shaming (from the dogshit boyfriend), these two idiots are down bad for each other, sex toys, oral (F!receiving), unprotected PiV, gratuitous squirting because I’m me, not really heavy on BDSM elements but mentions of the following: bondage/restraints (John uses his hands, nothing crazy), something akin to subspace from how good the nut is, aftercare, John is a prick to the now-ex, very brief angst due to a quick misunderstanding, very vaguely implied somnophilia, rampant abuse of italics. Lemme know if I missed anything.

His neighbor is clearly used to Price being deployed.

She’s a sweet thing, really, and on the whole isn’t that disagreeable of a neighbor.

He just has one problem with her (not even her, really) that is a thorn in his fucking side- her boyfriend.

The boyfriend was not an issue when they first met- wasn’t in the picture at all.

And no John most assuredly hasn’t had it out for the guy since Day 1. The fact that John had gathered himself up to ask his pretty neighbor out when he came back from his latest mission, only to find out about the new boyfriend, does not color his impression of the other man. He’s grown and this is not the first time his advances have been turned away for whatever reason.

But there are, to his knowledge, no true redeeming qualities about the man and he is about as useful as a screen door on a submarine.

He catches bits and pieces through the walls. The boyfriend is not attentive, caring, or sweet to her. She is treated as a guest in her own home, and twice he’s heard bellowing shouts that had Price at the door with his fist banging against it- both to shut him up and make it exceptionally well known that if the boyfriend thinks intimidating a woman is going to fly, that Price will not hesitate to kick the door in.

The most appalling part of it all is that John has a front row seat to just how atrocious he is in bed.

For the life of him John does not understand. It’s not even like the lad’s a good lay.

He’s heard many stories of women tolerating absolutely atrocious behavior from the muppets they were with because he knew how to make them see stars.

That is exceptionally not the case here. And John is rapidly finding his patience wearing thin at continually being subjugated to his pathetic performance.

So what the hell is it about the boyfriend that keeps his neighbor so enamored with him?

John stares at the ceiling, watching the blades of the fan turn as he tries to tune out the thumping of the headboard against the wall.

He thinks that if the man was just a bad lay and completely incapable of getting her anywhere, that would be one thing and John would continue to be frustrated but ultimately understand. But it’s the way he seems to actively ruin it anytime she has the audacity to enjoy having sex with him that truly grates on John’s nerves.

It’s not often, but even a blind squirrel finds a nut every now and then. The thumping of the headboard is accompanied by her sweet voice moaning lowly in short staccato notes as the boyfriend appears to finally be doing something right.

The thumping comes to a halt, and John groans in frustration.

“Why’d you stop?” He can hear his pretty neighbor lament through the thin walls.

“Why the fuck are you being so loud? Trying to give the neighbor a show?”

John squints his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose in annoyance. The fucking muppet can’t do anything right.

If the neighbor was his, John wouldn’t give a fuck who heard. Let all the neighbors know that he could fuck the sense clear out of her pretty little head. John could show the muppet what loud is.

“No! I’m not trying to do anything- it just felt good,” she defends herself.

“Well, be quieter about it, no one needs to hear that. You sound like a whore,” the muppet snaps at her irritably, and John is nearly at his fucking limit when the god damn headboard starts to thump against the wall again.

“Get out.”

Oh.

John is impressed- pleasure and pride coursing through him as his sweet neighbor stands up for herself rather than letting that ungrateful swine continue to berate her.

Good fucking girl.

“What did you just say?” The thumping stops.

“You don’t get to call me names. Get off of me and get out.”

For all his sins, it seems even the muppet has a line he’s not willing to cross.

There’s a shifting as he presumably pulls out and gets off the bed- the words are muffled but the tone is clear. The muppet isn’t above laying into her verbally though consent is (smartly) a line he won’t toe.

And good thinking on his part- John would probably tear through the drywall and turn him into a chew toy had that conversation gone in any other direction.

The door slams loudly, announcing the boyfriend’s departure.

John can’t help but keep his attention on his neighbor to see what her reaction is going to be. It is taking every ounce of self control he has to not follow the boyfriend and wring his neck in the parking lot.

There’s no conventional guide for how to address this situation with your neighbor. ‘Hello, I’ve fancied you for quite some time and that ungrateful prick somehow swept you up before I got the nerve to ask you out. I've had to hear you have the most lackluster sex ever for the past several months, and equal parts want to check in on how you’re doing emotionally after his latest stunt, and also want to bend you over and pin you to the mattress until you’re squealing. May I come in?’

He can’t say he is too surprised to hear things slamming about in the apartment- his pretty neighbor sounding more pissed off than upset, catching snippets of “Who the fuck does he think he is, talking to me like that” and “Motherfucker couldn’t find my clit with a map and a headlamp but can find the audacity to call me names-”

Okay, John has to fight back the urge to laugh at that last one lest she hear him. She’s quite the viper when (finally) provoked, and it just endears her more to him.

She doesn’t appear particularly distraught, the slamming and huffing and muttering concluding with her tossing herself on the bed.

It’s a very common occurrence that after the neighbor’s rendezvous with her lazy boyfriend, John is treated to a show where she finishes herself off with her toys.

The boyfriend, like many inadequate men, is threatened by them and John has heard the snide remarks.

Hilarious, he finds it, that a man incapable of getting her off is so adamant that she gets rid of them.

She hasn’t listened, clearly, as the low sound of her vibrator can be heard through the wall.

John is soon graced with the sound of her panting moans. His cock stiffens in interest at her voice, which is a frequent occurrence. She makes such pretty noises, mewling and whimpering as she works herself up.

Tonight is a whirlwind of emotions for his pretty neighbor, and at the end of the day her no-good boyfriend left her high and dry.

John will gladly enjoy the consequences of the boyfriend’s actions, one hand wrapping around his cock and beginning to stroke in time with her whines.

What he wouldn’t give for a chance to make her see stars. He’d be so good to her.

The reality of his job makes dating a logistical nightmare, part of what stayed his hand for so long.

He’s not blind. His neighbor is kind and sweet with a killer smile and wandering eyes. He’s caught her more than once ogling him when he’s returned home in uniform, or more nondescript tactical clothing.

Feeling her gaze on him always makes him puff up with pride, enjoying holding her attention no matter how fleeting. If he takes his time after a run and makes a point to pull the hem of his shirt up to wipe at his brow where she can see it, that’s his business.

So John thinks he’s dreaming when he hears that lovely voice whimper his name from the other side of the wall.

He stiffens, quietly waiting to see if he hears it again.

“John- Oh, fuck- please,” is all he needs to hear before he’s well and truly lost any semblance of patience.

Only having the presence of mind to dress himself enough to not warrant any errant looks from the other neighbors, he is at her door in a second.

It’s only after he knocks that he realizes he may well have killed whatever momentum she’s built for herself- given her muttering as she approaches the door- but he fully intends to make up for the stolen release.

She opens the door without looking through the peephole, obviously expecting it to be the ex based on the vitriol poised to spill at John’s chest, approximately eye level with where the (hopefully ex) boyfriend would be.

Once again he has to stifle a laugh, finding her a comical vision when the anger on her face melts away as her eyes flick up to his face with the realization that it is him at the door and not the object of her ire.

“What are you doing here, John?” Christ, he’s always been a sucker for pretty doe eyes. If he held even an ounce less of restraint he’d be mounting her right here for everyone to see.

“I’m here to do what your sorry excuse of a boyfriend can’t.”

Even as he reaches out to pull her in for a kiss, he’s watching her body language- gauging if she stiffens or shifts away.

She doesn’t.

In fact, her arms loop behind him and pull him closer, tugging on his hair and his shirt.

John’s not wasting any more time than he already has, walking her backwards into the apartment and shutting the door with his foot before reaching back to lock it- he’s got no desire for any interruptions from wayward former boyfriends.

They separate for a moment as she paws at the hem of his shirt, clearly wanting it off of him. John is all too happy to oblige, preening under her attention. He’s always had the stockier build of a man who’s fitness came from utility in the field, opposed to the hard defined abs of someone who spends most of their time in the gym.

It’s cute, the way she has to pry her eyes up to his face- clearly liking what she sees and flustered by the fact that John can see her staring.

“I broke up with him,” she clarifies.

“Good,” is his simplistic response, although if John’s being honest with himself he doesn’t really care about the finer details. The little prick never deserved to have her and John finally has his chance to prove himself worthy.

“The bedroom’s this way,” she prompts between kisses.

Their clothes are peeled off in turns as they stumble towards the room. The layout is inverted to John’s own flat nextdoor, so despite having never stepped foot inside before he guides her to keep her from crashing into something behind her.

By the time they are collapsing against her bed, they’re stripped of everything except a scant thong on her and his own boxers.

She’s just so delightfully soft in his grip, John can’t keep his hands or his mouth off of her.

The feeling is reciprocated as she pushes up off the bed to grind against him. As much as he’s relishing in them dry humping and making out like teenagers, he’s wanted her for so long and now that she’s finally willing and pliant underneath him, he’s itching for a taste of her.

Kissing his way down her body- starting at her jaw, the column of her neck, across her collar bone, down her sternum; latching onto each nipple and teasing them to hardened peaks before continuing his path down.

He’s compelled by the urge to turn her into a chew toy as he reaches her belly, although he stifles that urge and keeps his teeth to himself.

He can’t quite resist giving a small nip as she squirms, clearly excited by the implication of where he’s heading.

There’s a damp spot on her underwear already as he kisses along the waistband while his hands tease with the elastic on either side of her hips.

The sound of her breath hitching in anticipation makes him smirk, attention drifting further south.

The fabric is in his way as he presses a kiss against her clothed cunt, gripping handfuls of her hips to keep her still as she bucks in his grasp.

“Easy, sweetheart- we’ve got all night,” he soothes before moving his attention up one thigh to the backside of her knee.

Those sweet thighs are splayed open for him, giving John unfettered access as he continues to tease.

“When’s this sweet cunt been eaten last, hm?”

He knows he’s heard her give that undeserving muppet head, but can’t recall any reciprocation occuring. There’s not much that can shock John at this point in his life, and he’s willing to roll the dice by dragging up her now-ex because he knows this poor thing hasn’t been eaten until she’s begging him off in ages.

“I couldn’t even begin to tell you,” she answers breathlessly, anticipating having her thighs twitching in his hold.

Out of the corner of his eye, John spies a torn condom wrapper that didn’t quite make it into the bin. Well that keeps him from having to ask two questions, then. Smart girl.

“What a shame,” he tsks lightly, peppering kisses back up and down her thigh.

Deciding that she’s waited long enough and he’s had his fun being a tease, John is quick to remove the scant lace and pull it off of her legs before tossing it to who-knows-where.

The sounds she makes as he makes a meal out of her is music to his ears. Each hitched moan and breathy whimper makes him stiffen in interest.

His attention shifts to focus on her clit, tongue circling the sensitive nub as his hands hold her hips in place.

As focused as he is on what’s right in front of him, it takes a moment for John to realize that she’s stifling her noises. One hand is fisting the sheets beneath her while the other is clamped across her lips.

Well. That simply won’t do.

The ex may have trained and shamed her into silence, but John didn’t make it as a military captain without learning how to break someone else’s bad habits.

He ignores her whimper of protest as he stops, one hand abandoning the softness of her hip in favor of grabbing her wrist and pulling her hand away from her mouth.

“None of that,” he admonishes gently, pressing a kiss to one thigh. “Let me hear you.”

“I-I’m too loud,” she protests and for a split second John sees red.

To his credit, he does not leave her wet and leaking on the bed to go bludgeon her ex to death with a blunt object.

“No such thing, sweetheart,” he soothes before having a thought to tease her. “Who are you worried is going to hear you?” He asks kindly, a shit eating grin as he speaks again, “the neighbor?”

Her wide eyed expression is thoroughly scandalized and John can’t fight the chuckle that escapes him.

He hasn’t released her wrist yet, deciding that it’s time to get back to his meal. If she abandons gripping the sheet with her free hand to cover her mouth again, he simply plans to hold both of her wrists.

It’s tentative at first, still not entirely trusting John at his word that he wants to hear her.

But John is all for positive reinforcement as a motivator, crooking his fingers to stroke that one spot that makes her see stars to encourage more from her.

She’s a quick study, although when she releases the sheet John is watching her like a hawk.

Rather than clasping over her mouth again, John is pleased when her fingers end up burying in his hair.

More than happy to let her guide him, John takes his cues from how she pulls at his hair. The feel of her thighs twitching as she breathes in staccato breaths is all the reward he needs.

“You’re getting close,” he says against her cunt, pointing out the obvious before getting back to work. She’s anxious, he thinks, the closer she gets to her climax. Poor girl doesn’t know what to do with herself with an orgasm she hasn’t had to put all the work into.

“D-don’t stop,” she stammers, rewarded immediately with John redoubling his efforts.

He’s not going to stop. Pretty thing like her deserves nothing less than laying on her back and enjoying getting her cunt eaten out.

“O-oh fuck,” is his only warning before she’s gushing on his face and John is like a kid on Christmas morning.

He doesn’t even know if she realizes she’s squirted, too caught up in the pleasure of her high.

He’s always thought it was hot- now that he knows his pretty neighbor is a squirter he is more than willing to get on his knees and pray to whoever is listening that this isn’t a one time event. He’ll do anything to get her to keep him.

Even as her high fades he doesn’t let up on her, continuing to work his middle and ring finger inside of her. All he wants is to see her cum- wants to see those eyes roll as she squeezes them shut in anticipation.

Despite pulling his face away from her wet pussy, he doesn’t leave her clit unattended for long before his thumb is gently circling in time with the thrusts of his fingers.

Kissing his way back up her body, John can’t help but be pleased as she pulls him in to make out with him. Snatched gasps and bucks of her hips grace his ears as he works her from orgasm to the next, the wet sound of his palm slapping against her.

“John Im gonna cum again,” she whimpers in warning.

He feels like a god with the way she stares up at him reverently, eyes wide and desperate for another climax.

“Come on,” he goads, “Show me- let me see your face when you cum.”

Christ if her leg twitches any harder it’s going to start vibrating, serving to only encourage him.

“O-oh,” she mewls, “God- don’t stop, don’t stop, don’t-“ she’s pleading with him like he wouldn’t sit at her feet if she asked him to.

The bewildered look on her face is darling, and John nearly finishes untouched; he's so wound up it’s not going to take much.

A few choice thoughts keep his own eminent climax at bay and buys him enough breathing room. She bucks and trembles in his hold, a high pitched squeal escaping her as he proves not only can he make her cum twice, but he can make her squirt like a faucet twice.

As soon as she’s starting to come down from her high she’s pulling at him, drawing up her knees to spread her legs in invitation.

“Greedy girl,” he teases as he kisses her- wet fingers abandoning her cunt in favor of manhandling her, wrapping her legs around his waist as he positions himself.

“Please, please, please-“ she begs so prettily for him, pleading for him to do exactly what he’s been fantasizing about for months.

He’s not a small man and mindful of that fact, but she’s well prepped and takes him easily. The desperate whimper that escapes her sears into John’s memory.

The buildup of everything finally gets to him as he wastes no time setting a steady pace.

“That’s it, sweetheart, just like that. Let me hear you,” he encourages as she cants her hips in time with his, whines of pleasure escaping her on each thrust.

“John, please,” she begs, eyebrows furrowing in pleasure as she watches where they’re joined.

“Eyes up here,” he instructs and Christ he almost loses it when her gaze flicks from between their bodies up to his face.

His hands find hers, fingers lacing together as he lowers his torso in order to kiss the ethereal creature underneath him.

She whimpers into his mouth, her sounds only encouraging John.

Everything about her is warm and inviting, from her soft skin to her warm cunt and the way she sings for him at every thrust.

Maneuvering them so he can grip both her wrists with one of his hands, the other immediately dives between their bodies to find her clit again.

His pretty neighbor has spent months not having an orgasm she didn’t give herself, and John is determined to prove to her that he can give her as many as she can handle.

“John I can’t cum again,” she pleads even as her thighs shake on either side of him.

“Yes you can,” he assures her. “One more time for me, yeah?”

Now, should she insist she’s done and satisfied then John would leave her clit alone and finish up their fun. As it is, though, she nods in acquiescence before the trembling in her thighs increases.

“Good girl,” he praises, fingers continuing their steady pace around her clit as she creeps closer to the edge.

She’s babbling in his ear as he presses a kiss to her temple and he knows she’s almost there.

“Good girl,” he praises again, a cocksure grin pulling at the corners of his lips at her immediate response.

“My good girl,” he ups the ante, testing her response to John staking a claim on her. And God did it ever work. That last little bit is all it takes to finally tip her over.

She clenches down on him like a vice and John immediately loses it, groaning low as the haze of his orgasm washes over him.

It’s everything he wants- she’s everything he wants as he recovers enough from his climax to finally notice that the bed is an utter mess beneath them.

It’s not his immediate concern however, more interested in soothing her through the come down of her high. She’s shivering underneath him, eyes glossy from the intensity of her last orgasm.

“Easy, sweetheart,” he murmurs reassuringly. “Just breathe for me.”

He gathers her up in his arms, listening as her heartbeat relaxes in time with his own.

Eventually when enough time passes she’s more alert and happily snuggling against his chest. After giving her a chance to rest he herds her along to the bathroom so she doesn’t give herself a UTI. She tries to brush him off but her legs are taking their sweet time cooperating again.

Of course, she’s not exactly a recruit taking a piss test so he gives her her privacy and she’s able to return on her own albeit on shaky legs.

John pets at her head idly, attention drifting in post coital bliss as his hand strokes down along her back.

“I can’t believe you’re actually in my bed,” she giggles deliriously after a stretch of quiet.

“Only reason I wasn’t here sooner was because of that muppet,” he assures her. He doesn’t want her thinking that this is a one time thing for him. He’s wanted her for so long he can’t possibly be expected to turn her loose at the end of the night.

“I only dated him because I didn’t think you liked me,” she scoffs at herself.

“Oh, it was nearly the first moment I laid eyes on you. But with my work I kept talking myself out of doing anything,” he tells her. “Kept telling myself you deserve better. And then you brought the muppet home and kept him around,” John grouses good naturedly at her. “Think they say the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.”

“I plead temporary insanity,” she jokes, snuggling closer against his chest. “But I got rid of him. And you finally made your move.”

He hums in agreement, sleep pulling at him now that he has her tucked up against his side.

John doesn’t remember falling asleep but he wakes with a jolt to the sound of pounding on her door.

He’s only been out for an hour or so when he checks the clock on the nightstand, his neighbor sprawled out next to him.

Well, now he knows she snores. The sound is light enough to have never heard it through the wall, but curled up next to him she’s like a cat purring loudly in his ear.

And he’s exceptionally pissed right off at the fact someone has woken him up. Especially considering he has one guess who it is.

He fully debates answering the door buck ass naked to teach the prick a lesson about banging on doors after midnight but settles on tossing his joggers on.

Much like when she opened the door for John, the ex is automatically trained at where her head would be rather than looking at John’s face.

“My eyes are here,” he quips sarcastically. “Why the fuck are you banging on the door this late.”

“Why th-“ the ex starts to parrot back before cutting himself off. “Why the fuck are you in her apartment? Why isn’t she answering?”

“She’s asleep,” John answers simply. There’s no obligation to explain the why and how he ended up in her apartment.

“What the fuck do you mean she’s asleep? How is she asleep after she just dumped me? And why the fuck are you here?”

The boyfriend (the ex boyfriend, he thinks with glee) is either oblivious or…

Well. The ex boyfriend is oblivious. Let’s just keep it at that.

“I’m here because you can’t do your job right. She’s asleep because I can. What part of that is confusing?”

“That stupid slag’s been fucking you behind my back-“

“No.” John is somewhat mindful of not giving a full on “screaming at recruits” bellow, but his voice booms into the corridor outside the apartment anyway. “You watch your fucking mouth. This” John gestures vaguely at his own presence in her flat, “just happened after she dumped you. You don’t get to hurl insults.”

“She hopped off of my cock and straight to yours- what the fuck else is it?”

“You couldn’t get her off,” John hisses in annoyance. “I’ve had front row seats to your shitty little performance more than once. Not 5 minutes after you leave and she’s having to handle it herself.”

“I can’t be expected to compete with a fucking vibrator!”

“Well I sure as shit didn’t need one to get the job done. Poor girl could barely get her legs to work to go to the loo and not give herself a UTI. Your skill issues are what started all of this.”

“You know what? Fucking have her. I don’t need this shit.”

Ah yes, because John needs the ex’s permission to date a newly single woman. Absolutely. That’s entirely how that works.

“Never needed your blessing. Now fuck off. I’m trying to sleep.”

The ex responds with a two finger salute as he spins on his heel and storms off.

John is almost tempted to grab him by the back of his neck and turn him into a chew toy. Given his military career, his patience for muppets giving him attitude is virtually nonexistent.

But the siren call of his pretty neighbor is a stronger pull than the muppet can ever hope to achieve. John’s succeeded in his mission to run the prick off, and he’s going to try to get a few more hours of sleep before seeing if she’s interested in another romp in the morning when she wakes up.

The bedroom is dark and poorly lit but John immediately picks up on the silence.

Rather than being sprawled out and snoring like when he left her, she’s quiet and curled into a ball.

She’s awake.

“Sweetheart?” He calls softly.

She jolts, fabric rustling from the sheets falling off her as she sits up.

“You’re still here,” the surprise in her tone cuts, although he knows she didn’t mean for it to.

She seems to realize how that comes across and clarifies further, “I- I heard the door shut.”

It falls into place for him then- she woke up to the sound of the door and John nowhere to be found. She thought he’d left.

“Oh, sweetheart,” he consoles, making his way back to the bed. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily,” he assures her while gathering her back into his arms.

Sleep comes back readily once the two of them are situated back in the bed.

Come morning, John’s got the patience and the presence of mind to throw a towel on the bed. He finds out for himself that his neighbor makes the prettiest noises with her arse propped up in the air and her face still buried in her pillow.

He can’t help but laugh later when she texts him that one of the neighbors made a noise complaint.

Age in bio/pinned or I will block you ♡

#ocaptainchallenge #john price x reader #captain john price #price x reader #cod x reader #x reader #implied plus size reader #take a shot every time john calls the reader pretty #but dont or youll get alcohol poisoning #also I used ‘turn into a chew toy’ 3 times and I dont care :)#my writing

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