#the fridge is unusable at this point

[bunnyreaper]

𝓷𝓸𝓫𝓸𝓭𝔂 𝓭𝓸𝓮𝓼 𝓲𝓽 𝓵𝓲𝓴𝓮 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓭𝓸 𝒶 𝒿𝑜𝒽𝓃 𝓅𝓇𝒾𝒸𝑒 𝓍 𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝑒𝓇 𝓈𝑒𝓇𝒾𝑒𝓈 𝓅𝓉 2 𝒽𝑒𝓇𝑒

wc - 5.7k warnings - 18+/nsfw (eventually), cheating (not from reader or john), older male younger female, future daddy kink) notes - dropping chapter one just because i need to get it out of my head ! a lot of setup really, but i swear we will get somewhere soon!! also on ao3! ♥

The rain had been threatening to come for days now—thick grey clouds lurking in the sky like a promise, but so far no drops had seemed to fall. 

It's easy to get lost looking out the window, as the gunmetal sky gains an amber hue. The dinner you'd cooked had long gone cold—your boyfriend staying late at work again instead of coming home. It's easier now that it's almost a habit, to take your mind off things by staring at the sky, the record player crooning in the background. 

You suppose if you took him out of the picture, life wasn't all that bad. The house the two of you shared was nice and homey, your job was mundane and untaxing and exactly what you desired, and your friends were solid. 

James was the only sticking point, with his eyes that were never quite blue and his heart that was never quite yours. You suppose you knew deep down, without ever really knowing. 

The creak in the floorboards and the sound of a voice pulls you from your thoughts, bringing you back into the room.

"Knock knock." A sonorous voice rings out as a head pops around the door of the living room, before John Price—your boyfriend's father, makes his way inside.  

You force yourself to be present, offering an unbridled, warm smile at your guest as you playfully greet him. "Captain." 

"Darling girl." He replies, your smile mirrored on his face. He sets down a box of beers on the table and starts to take off his jacket. "Tried texting you to let you know I was headed over, saw the light on, and the door was unlocked." He explains, as if he hadn't made his own way inside before. 

It never bothered you, your place feeling more like home to John than his own little house on the other side of town. 

You rise to your feet, heading through to the kitchen on instinct—he brought beers, which means you'll grab the bottle opener for him before he even needs to ask. "Sorry, John, I kind of zoned out for a good while there." 

His footsteps are heavy as he follows you through, with an easy swagger to his steps as he brings through the beers to put in the fridge. "You should lock it even when you're in." Authority laces his tone, as he directs his paternal instincts at you.

"Yeah, I know." You laugh, nodding along, as you're so used to the way John can't help but look out for you at every opportunity. You move on autopilot, taking the box from him and setting the beers in the fridge before taking one, uncapping it, and handing it back to him.

His gaze follows your every movement, observing you as his thoughts tick over with every passing second. "Everything okay?" He asks, seeing right through you, as he always seems capable of. The concern that's clear in his voice almost makes you flinch—you get so unused to being cared for when he's not around.

You force a tight-lipped smile onto your face as you force yourself to whisper some excuse, even if it isn't too far from the truth. "Tired, it's been a long week." 

John's brows furrow momentarily, and the slightest frown plays at his lips, which you know from experience means he doesn't believe you, but he won't push it for now.

He wraps his hand around the neck of the beer, taking a deep gulp before wiping his beard with the back of his hand. "Where's James? The two of you should be cuddled up on the couch, unwinding." 

"Still at work." You shrug, turning away from John to try and find something to busy yourself with—currently, wiping down the counters and loading the dishwasher. 

"Guess I'll keep you company then." John chuckles, his voice soft. Despite only being here for mere moments, his quiet presence is already starting to lift your mood. 

You turn to him, naturally falling into a more playful spirit as you lean over the kitchen island, pausing for a moment. "Hopefully my company won't be too much of a disappointment then." 

"I don't think that's possible, love." He answers without missing a beat, his eyes serious even if the smirk on his face isn't.

John always knows how to make you feel better—you couldn't have asked for a better support system when it comes to your life with James. His mother is lovely, endlessly self-sacrificing, and sweet, but now more focused on her growing children than her adult son—especially since James never seems to appreciate her as much as he should.

She raised James without John by choice—rightly or wrongly deciding not to tell anyone who the father of her teen pregnancy was. John was leaving for the army and wanted a different life for himself than the one she and a baby could offer, so she kept the burden to herself and let him go. That's how she told it, that's how it seemed to be when James showed up at John's door over two decades later and confirmed his father had no idea he existed. 

The two have been making awkward attempts to make up for lost time in the years since, with you and your unfolding relationship witness to the whole thing. James had gained another father, you had gained... a friend?

"You say that now." You wink, knowing full well that you've found ways to exhaust and annoy John Price before. 

He takes another sip of his beer, longer and slower this time, as if savouring the taste. "Getting as much of you as I can before I ship out on Monday." He admits. 

Your heart sinks just a little. Even though it's been years of John disappearing to god knows where, it never seems to stop causing you to worry. How would James deal with it if he never came back? How would you? 

Like so many other things in your life with John, you've become practiced in the way you are around each other. Despite having a million questions, you know he can answer none of them, so each time he gets dragged off to someplace unknown, you find a silly way to get something out of him. 

Last time, you asked if the nation's flag had a star in it, and it did. You could almost imagine him in a different country every day that he was away, until he came back to you both. 

Today, you fell back on an old favorite. "Flip-flops or snowsuit?" You ask with a giggle. 

"Ha, flip-flops." He answers quickly, confirming that wherever he's headed, it's hot weather, he drinks some more as if to silence the rest of the words on the tip of his tongue. 

You know by now that John prefers the cold.

"Hopefully I'll be able to catch the kid before I go." He adds, referencing James—he always tries his best to say goodbye to you both before he goes, now he has a reason to come home. 

You grit your teeth at the mention of your boyfriend, knowing you won't see much of him this weekend either.  "Sunday is your best bet, he'll be hungover after the stag do he's going to tomorrow." The one he only told you about two days ago.

"Those were the days, eh." John smirks, tilting his head as if to recall a memory. As an army man, you can only imagine the shit he's gotten into with his squads, the places around the world he's gotten drunk out of his mind and done god knows what. He has so many years on James, so many stories you'd love to hear.

"Too busy playing lawn bowls with your comrades now?" You can't help but tease him as you always do, the two of you falling into your back and forth with a familiar ease. 

He tuts, sending you a playful glare that forces you to ignore the way it makes you feel. "Less your lip, young lady." 

You have to ignore the way that makes you feel too— fuck, you're lonely, and you need James to just fuck you already. 

"Absolutely, old man." You snap back, never able to resist the urge to tease him for his age. He's only in his early 40s, hardly an old man at all, but you still love to wind him up about it.

"You're the one listening to Otis Redding." He huffs, raising a brow as if to suggest you don't have any room to mock him with your own habits. 

You suppose you do listen to golden oldies, knit for fun, and prefer nights in rather than nights out.

"You're the one who bought it for me." You counter, as John had bought the vinyl for you, along with many others. If anything, he was transforming your music taste into his, one album at a time. 

"That I did." He chuckles, before finishing his beer with one final swig. You're setting a fresh one down in front of him before he can even ask. "You won't drink with me?" 

Perhaps he feels left out drinking alone.

You wrinkle your nose, catching a whiff of hops that makes your stomach churn. "Even you can't convince me to drink that swill, I'll grab something, though." You concede that at least, turning to reach the shelf up high to where you keep your liquor. 

John is offering his bottle up as soon as the clear liquid is poured into your glass. "Cheers, love." 

Your glasses clink as your eyes connect, a soft, sincere moment passing between the two of you that makes your heart beat a little faster. You were awfully fond of the older man. "To your safe return." 

"I'll drink to that." He toasts, before downing half of the beer in one go. "You still owe me the dinner that you promised me last time, I'm coming back to collect." 

"I actually have some I can reheat, it was for James, but since he's staying late..." You offer, your sentence trailing as you battle to keep your thoughts on the man in the room with you, rather than the one who isn't. 

"Can't let your lovely cooking go to waste now, can we?" He grins, deeply pleased to be getting one of your meals. 

You turn to the oven, pulling out the two plates that are still warm, food piled high on top of them. "Glad it's appreciated." 

John pauses, his eyes trying to meet yours, yet you continue to avert your gaze, focusing on grabbing cutlery for you both. You said too much. 

"You don't feel appreciated?" He asks, voice softer—concerned all over again. 

As you sit down beside him, setting the two plates down, you struggle to meet his eye as your feelings swirl and conflict inside you. If anyone offered the perfect understanding ear, it would be John, and under any other circumstance, you'd happily tell him all about what ails you. "I don't... think it's appropriate to talk to you about my relationship troubles." 

His posture stiffens, his voice hardens, and his food is temporarily forgotten as his protective instincts kick in. "But there are troubles?" 

Now, you find the strength within you as you force a laugh from your throat and a spark into your eyes. "Oh no, I meant hypothetically." You joke, hoping he takes the bait. 

Instead, a hand reaches out to settle on yours, warm and firm and reassuring—ebbing away at your propriety. "Love, you're a terrible liar." He whispers, yet unable to keep the smallest of smiles from tugging at the corner of his lips. 

"Or you're just used to reading people for a living." You counter—after all, you tell James you're fine all the time, and he's never suspected any different.

"That too." John laughs, as he pats your hand and begins to rub circles over the back of your smaller hand with his calloused thumb. "You have to talk to someone." 

There's that commanding, authoritative, caring voice again—the one that makes you relent every time he uses it on you. 

"I will, just... not my boyfriend's dad." You whisper meekly, guilt stabbing through you as the words leave you. 

He nods understandingly, patting one more before he pulls his hand away, and goes to twirl pasta around his fork. "Why? I might be his father but a blind man could see the way he takes you for granted." 

Hearing the words out loud, verbalised by someone else—verbalised by John of all people, feels like a stab wound to the chest. You'd felt it for so long, assured yourself that you were just going crazy, ignoring the way James cares for you, assuring yourself that nothing was amiss. But John sees it too, sees it in his own son.

"Well, I don't think men who wouldn't take me for granted actually exist." You laugh bitterly, stabbing at your own plate of food before swallowing a bite—you're sure it would've tasted nicer when it was actually fresh. 

John's jaw clenches, a hint of frustration passing through him as he watches you, hurting and hiding it all away. "Then you're dating the wrong men, darling. We exist."

You take a deep breath as you try to let go of the ugly feelings within you. Men like John do exist, good men, caring men. 

"And yet you deprive women of your company, how cruel." Your eyes roll back sarcastically as the grin breaks out onto your face. 

Any woman would be lucky to have John, but for as long as you've known him, he's kept himself to himself. Now he preaches his own virtues like you have something to look forward to, and yet men like him always seem to be out of reach. 

"I'm a busy man." He shrugs, taking a bite of his food before rushing down another as gentlemanly as he can. 

"And yet here you are." 

He nudges you with his knee, flashing you a smile. "Spending time with my favourite girl." 

It takes everything within you to remain calm and remind yourself that he doesn't see you like that. You're just his son's girlfriend, that he happens to get along with, very well.

You giggle anyway, shaking your head at the ridiculousness of his statement. "Ah, waiting for the main event."

John sets his fork down with a clatter, his attention now fully on you. "Love?" 

"Yeah?" You swallow, wondering just how he's going to chastise you for your self-deprecation. If you had a pound for every time he's told you to be kinder to yourself, or gently corrected you when you make jokes at your own expense, you could probably afford to pay for the therapy you clearly desperately need. 

"I didn't just come to see James." He admits, the words a quiet confession.

He's right—the two of you have become fast friends ever since your introduction, and find nothing uncomfortable in each other's company as you wait for James to come around. 

You nudge his knee back, making your chair spin more than his. "You came for Otis and some lovely pasta." 

"And good company, couldn't ask for a better way to spend my evening." 

Your stomach flips at his words. You know he isn't flirting, but you'd be lying if you said his constant compliments didn't make you feel better than you had in ages. 

Maybe you should tell him about things with you and James, maybe he would have some good insight. After all, he must have a wealth of relationship experience under his belt.

"John..." You start hesitantly. 

"Bunny?" He asks, the intensity of his blue eyes firmly fixed on you—the nickname he reserved when he was feeling especially fond. 

The front door all but crashes open, and a frustrated growl rings out from the hallway as keys are thrown down and shoes are kicked at the shoe rack. "Fuck, I need a drink." 

James appears in the kitchen just a few seconds later, practically ripping his hair out the roots as he snarls to himself. His expression softens when he lays eyes on you and his father. 

"Hi." You greet him, feeling rather apathetic at his late appearance. 

"Hey babe. John." He nods, giving his father a manly slap to the back before he gets to work on tugging his tie.

"Alright son." John greets, lips quirking into a smile at his son's appearance. 

James steps forward to press a kiss to the top of your head, which you receive with a forced smile and no affection of your own. Both of you are blind to the frown that flashes onto John's face. 

As James pulls away, he rips his tie from his neck, bundling it up before throwing it at the hamper and turning away.  "I'm heading straight for a shower, I'll be back down soon." He calls out, disappearing up the stairs two at a time. 

"Yeah, see you soon." John offers, a hint of frustration to his voice—he's never been all that fond of his son's manners, as he's mentioned on numerous occasions. 

The mood feels a little stifled now, as both you and John eat your meal with an uneasy silence hanging over you. You hear doors slam upstairs as James makes his way around the house, likely leaving a mess behind that you'll have to clean.

You knew why you felt worse at this moment, your opportunity to talk to someone snatched from you by his untimely appearance. He's always late home, couldn't he have been a little later? 

What puzzled you was John's shift in demeanour—it didn't sit right with you. Perhaps he felt ignored by his only son, the one he'd been waiting for this entire time. It's funny, you supposed, the way you both find solace in each other over the similar treatment you get from the younger man. 

"Everything okay? You've gone quiet." You ask John, it being your turn now to play the concerned friend.

You know him well enough too to know his smile right now is forced—you don't need to be a trained SAS operator to notice the way his smile doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Fine, love, just thinking." 

John was a man who could probably stand to think a little less, especially when he's at home. It's one responsibility you found yourself picking up all this time, as you tried to make his days away from war lighter.

You nudge him again, practically trying to force the playfulness into him with the push of your knee. "Well, we can't have that, can we? I hear it's dangerous." 

He barks a laugh, pulled out of his glum mood, and back into the room with you. "You never fail to make me laugh, darling." 

"Might be my proudest accomplishment." You giggle, feeling oh so pleased with yourself. "What would your soldiers think if they knew the fearsome Captain Price had such an atrociously bad sense of humour?" 

He rolls his eyes, but that bright smile that splits his handsome face doesn't waver. "Eh, not sure if it's atrocious, most of the lads' jokes make me groan." 

You roll your eyes at that comment. "Most things make you groan." 

"You don't." 

"Not for lack of trying." 

There's a solid second of silence before you realise the heavy yet accidental innuendo in your comment. You feel your face burst into flames, mortification taking over you as you meet John's shocked expression. "I mean—" 

"I know what you meant, love." His laugh warms you as he seems to take the whole thing in stride. "That blush is quite something, though." 

You throw yourself into your curled-up arms, hiding away as you're unable to look John in the eye any longer. He's your boyfriend's dad, almost twice your age, and you're making jokes about him groaning. It's a tough battle to force the thoughts out of your head lest you blush any harder. "I'm gonna go stick my head in the oven." 

"And ruin your pretty face?" 

"You're making it worse." You whine, pushing yourself further into the safe cocoon of your arms.

"I'll stop." John laughs, hand coming to settle on your back as he soothes you. "But it's nice to have cheered you up." 

"I suppose..." You sigh, feeling overwhelmed with emotion. Your blush abates as the two of you continue to eat until your plates are clean. 

 "All done?" You ask, gesturing to where John is setting down his cutlery atop the plate. 

"It was perfect. Thanks, love." He says sincerely, a hand resting on his stomach as if to add to the sincerity of the gesture. 

"Anytime." You smile, taking the plates and heading over to the dishwasher. "If I'd have known you were coming, I'd have gotten dessert."

John knows you wish you would've had more notice—even if he's had to tell you many times that you don't need to clean the house and cook a three-course meal every time he happens to pop over. "Only got the marching orders this afternoon." He shrugs as if to absolve himself of any responsibility. 

"Do you know how long you'll be gone?" You ask, voice quieter as you return to his side. 

"A month, probably not too much longer." 

A month was fairly typical. "Well, make sure you come home to us." 

Come home to me, you think selfishly. 

"Always, darlin'." His eyes burn with a promise, and a sense of joy at hearing those words. "Someone's gotta keep that old soul of yours company." He winks. 

"So, I'll get initiated into the bowls team soon?" You wink back. 

John finishes off his beer before laughing once more, the sound filling you with warmth. "Maybe you can be my pool partner." 

"I can't play pool for shit, John." You whine, remembering the last time you tried to play pool and ended up injuring yourself, as well as sending balls flying all over the pub.

"Guess you're due a lesson then." 

Once more, you're interrupted at the most inopportune time. 

"Keeping the old man company for me?" James asks, meeting your gaze over his father's shoulder as he rubs a towel at his dripping hair. 

"Somebody has to." John teases, more poking fun at himself than at anyone else, and the two of you share a laugh. 

You begin to mourn the light moments you've had, as the atmosphere shifts once more at James' arrival, and you feel yourself growing tense and unsettled. You watch in silence as James looks around for the bottle opener, and you make no effort to help or tend to him.

It's John who breaks the awkward silence. "I won't stay too much longer, leave you two to enjoy your night." 

You stand, the stool scraping back loudly against the floor as you do, making your hair stand on end. "Uh, actually, I think I'm gonna sleep. You should enjoy some father-son time." The smile on your face is polite and perfunctory. 

"Goodnight love." John smiles, soft and genuine, as he watches you walk away. 

James speaks up too, but the words barely register. "Night babe." 

As you reach the threshold of the kitchen, you turn back once more—John's eyes are still on you.

"Stay safe, John." 

"Yes ma'am." He nods, holding your gaze until you disappear up the stairs. 

You try not to think of the look in his eyes when you fall asleep that night.

———— 

Time seems to go differently when John is deployed. Despite not being anything more than your boyfriend's father, you're still always filled with worry waiting to hear from him. Outside his military family, you and James were the ones waiting for him to come home with bated breath, and with John's disastrous love life, you found yourself the only woman waiting to welcome him back to civilian life. 

As you stare at your inbox, waiting for anything to come through, you find your thoughts drifting easily to other things in life—to John.

You're his friend, if you can even call yourself that—but you miss him when he's gone. Back on English soil, he's visiting you and James pretty frequently, coming over for dinner or helping around the house—since James is useless with a drill. 

Things are different when he's gone, though sometimes you feel like you're the only one who thinks that. 

Your boyfriend doesn't worry like you do, despite being closer to the man, though James has never been the most emotional of guys to begin with.

Despite work keeping you busy, and friends inviting you out for drinks, you often find yourself waiting for a text, or anything from John—just to know he is safe. 

Your phone chimes one Monday afternoon, interrupting your monotonous work day with something different. The timing makes your heart soar, as it must be from John letting you know he's back in Hereford—the notification you see instead is the end of everything as you know it. 

A message request from an anonymous account: "I'm sorry for you to find out like this, but I couldn't keep the secret any longer." 

Attached to the message is a series of pictures, and a video from a bar, of James entangled with another woman in a way that couldn't be mistaken for anything else. You recognised the tie, the one he'd worn for the first time only a month ago—the one he'd thrown in the laundry before rushing off to shower. 

The nausea overwhelms you in an instant, sending you rushing for the bin beside your desk as the content of your stomach leaves you in harsh retches. 

Everything that happens after is a blur, as your co-workers rush to your aid—your closest work friend seeing the messages on your phone as she pulls you to the bathroom, cleans you up, and makes sure you get home safe and sound. 

She doesn't want to leave you alone, but you know that company right now will only make the whole thing worse. You wander around the house in a haze, tending to your chores like nothing has changed, and your world hasn't been turned upside down. 

That deep, unsettled feeling you've been getting as of late? It all makes sense now—why you never truly felt at ease around the man who was supposed to love you. And yet, a part of you felt relieved. Relieved that you weren't crazy, relieved that you weren't to blame for the way things had changed lately, relieved that you finally had the chance to walk away. 

You haven't stopped thinking about the text all day—wondering how the fuck you're going to confront James and not rip his head clean off of his body, how you're going to end your years-long relationship and upend because your boyfriend couldn't keep his dick to himself. 

The clock on the wall ticks away, counting down the moments until he comes home from work, late as always. At least now you know why. 

Your phone chimed again a while ago, probably whatever excuse he had cooked up—you hadn't even bothered picking the damn thing up to check the notification.  

A knock at the door pulls you out of it all, as you move on autopilot to go answer.

Did he forget his keys? Or has he gotten himself drunk to the point he can't put them in the door anymore? 

On the other side of the door isn't James, isn't your cheating, good-for-nothing boyfriend but John. 

His beard untrimmed and eyes dull—the scent of cigars rolling off of him in waves. "Hello, darling girl." He says his usual, as a smile tugs at his cheeks. 

"Hi." You offer in return, your voice almost completely motionless. Time seems to slow as you stare at the man before you—usually, you'd greet him with a quick hug and a bright grin, so pleased to see him safe and on your doorstep. Yet, the day's events have stolen that joy from you. 

John picks up on your mood almost immediately, head tilting in concern as his eyes roam over you. "Bad time?" 

"No." You shake your head as you step aside. "Come in."

John scrapes his boots against the doormat before he takes them off, along with his jacket.

"Tea." You whisper, snapping into action as you turn and head to the kitchen. You almost always make tea when he comes over—you don't even have to ask anymore. 

"Thanks, love." His voice rings out after you. 

Focusing on making the tea helps calm you somewhat, and you pull out two mugs to make a cup for yourself too. 

How were you going to tell John? The news would ruin him. How are you going to tell John that you'll be leaving his son's life, and therefore his? 

Your heart falls deeper into a pit of misery at that thought alone—the loss overwhelming you. 

"James home?" 

"Still at work." You whisper, not trusting yourself to speak properly without the bitterness unfurling and the truth spilling out. 

John scoffs from behind you, but you know he isn't really all that bothered. "Oh, right. No heroes welcome from my lovely son then." His sarcastic words are graveled. 

"Saves you from all his silly questions, I suppose." You shrug, still not turning to look John in the eye. "Though you put up with mine, so." 

"Yours don't ask me to break the law." He huffs, short and sharp, before he perks up again. "Didn't actually get to bust out the flip-flops this time, though." He offers, a hint at your last conversation. The weather was milder than he expected then, you suppose he was rather pleased about that. 

You let the silence settle over the two of you as you continue to make your drinks, focusing on the way the unfurls from the bag and changes the hue of the boiling water. Next is the milk, semi-skimmed because James doesn't like full fat—at least that's something that'll change for the better once you leave. 

The thought makes you freeze. 

"Love, what's the matter?" John's smokey voice is soft and sweet and coming closer—laced with concern. 

Your chest tightens, impending doom feeling like it's right over your shoulder—everything is going to fall apart in 3. 2. 1.

The milk bottle falls free from your hands, crashing to the floor with a wet splash—the cold milk is easily ignored as a hand comes to rest at your back, pulling you away from the edge of the abyss of your pain.

"Talk to me, what's going on?" His voice is more insistent this time, but still just as concerned. He ignores the pool at both of your feet in favour of consoling you. His features are knitted together in a terrifying amount of worry that makes you crack completely. 

"John." You whisper shakily, finally meeting his eyes. 

His baby blues are filled to the brim with care for you, with concern and confusion and a million unanswered questions. "Yes, darling?" 

"He's cheating on me." 

There's a beat before John explodes. It's not the bombastic, showy anger where things get screamed—he's quiet and seething and eerie, his words spat through gritted teeth. "He's fucking what?" 

Your whole body begins to shake as the truth tumbles free, solidifying itself as reality now it's spoken aloud. "He's cheating on me with one of his coworkers, Lucy." 

Not that it mattered whether it was Lucy or Georgia or some girl from the club or whatever. 

John stiffens—his shoulders squaring up, his jaw clenching and his body tightening like he's going to war. You've never seen John Price the soldier, but you imagine it's something like this "When's he due home?" 

"I don't know." You answer honestly. You don't know, and you don't particularly care. At least you'll never have to wait for him to come home ever again.

"I'm gonna ring him—" John snarls, shoving his hand into the worn pocket of his jeans as he grabs his phone. 

"Don't." Your hand shoots out to still his wrist, though you know the effort would be futile if he truly chose to ignore him. "Please." 

"If only I'd have fucking raised him." John seethes before launching into action, he moves around you to grab the kitchen towel, ripping off piece after piece as it soaks up the spill. He throws the half-empty bottle into the sink, as milky white sprays up the backsplash. 

"It's okay." You whisper, genuinely feeling that in a sense, it is. You've been betrayed, but at least now you'll be free. 

"It's not okay." John moves to stand before you again, his arms braced on your shoulders as he looks down upon you, craning a little to get closer to your height. "Love, you're perfect, you're too lovely for him, how could he hurt you?" 

"How could anyone hurt something so precious?"

"Not precious enough, clearly." You scoff, wondering where it all went wrong. Right now you felt the furthest thing from precious, from loveable and perfect and everything else John said. Fuck, you feel like you're turning him against James. "Sorry, I feel like I shouldn't be talking to you about this—" 

"I'm on your side, yeah?" He interrupts you with good reason before your thoughts can spiral any further. His grip tightens a fraction as his thumbs move, slowly and reassuringly, across the bare skin of your shoulders. "He's my son, but he's a fucking bastard for this. You deserve better, love." 

The sweetness in his voice makes you snap. Why wouldn't you have a man like John? So caring and kind and knowledgeable—older and experienced and so out of your reach. 

"I don't—" The tears start to flow freely, as you desperately search John's eyes for answers. 

"Shh, come here, I've got you." He pulls you in close, his arms wrapping around you in a warm, secure embrace. His smell surrounds you, the soothingly familiar smoke coating your skin. Lips press against your forehead delicately, as he holds you like he's holding every piece of you together, bit by bit. His body is like his presence—solid, unwavering, ever-present.

"I've got you, everything's going to be okay." He whispers, over and over and over again, chanting it like a prayer.

In his embrace, firm and reassuring, you might actually believe him.

taglist: @ramadiiiisme @pterodactyal @hexqueensupreme @ivymarquis @djaarinn @oilfics @ghosts-cyphera @bookwyirm @msdrpreist @kmi-02 @ohworm-writes @mockerycrow @nakedcrackers @caoradubh @cassiecasluciluce @cloudsovercoffee @lovewithasideoflust @elysian0612 @astraluminaaa @sesh-goth @ninman82 @bootboob @evivarys @dangerkitten1705 want to be tagged? click here! want to be untagged? dm me or comment, i won’t be offended ♥

#captain price x reader #john price x reader #captain john price x reader #captain price #captain john price #john price #call of duty x reader #call of duty fanfiction #lmaooo here we go #such a boring first chapter tbh but you know we need the setup

[angstyhikka]

Lev in touch! Hikka’s out, I possessed her))) she’s eating chips with her brain turned off while I’m explaining the lore to you >:D

So.*loud long surp*. in Anarchists there is a LUZ. she ended up on the Islands after falling into a lake, which turned out to be a portal to the world of demons. the King and Jester quickly picked up her there. she seemed fun to them. Philip mistook her for a kitten, and she, in fact, now walks under this nickname. she lives in their castle above titan’s head. and when she wants to get out of there, she asks Collie (specifically Collie because if Phil lets her down, firstly, it will be unsafe, and secondly, Luz cannot be picked up, she has daddy issues). sometimes they forget to feed her, but she copes with it herself. fortunately, anarchists have a fridge and, in principle, all the best things from the human realm. they even have a TV on which they watch anime. once they organized a “One Piece Month”))) then they flew around the islands, found more or less suitable candidates for the roles of characters, turned them into these characters and forced them to act out the roles (precisely they forced them, because making them obedient puppets was boring, not Interesting, Phil said)

Luz watched these idiots having fun for a while and was like, “Well, I see that they have no intention of harming people. They’re just idiots who don’t understand what they’re doing.” at least she hopes so. at some point Luz thought, “I can fix them.” and she had a moralizing conversation with the boys, trying to somehow reach out to them. but, as you understand, moralizing conversations affect people only when they are rubbed into them by someone with authority and force. and Luz has neither one nor the other, she's just a kitten.

Luz realized that she didn’t belong here, that her attempts to affect on K ‘n J were pointless, and decided to go her own way. She said goodbye to the boys. they got upset and after she left they started fighting because of what had happened, saying, “It’s your fault that Kitten left us!”. word for word, Philip went to let off steam, and Collie stayed at home. aaaaaand then the plot of the comic that we’re working on now happened. We're already half done! heading towards the 30 page mark......

Hikka in touch! finished eating my chips and is ready to briefly explain the rest of the pictures while you are already stuffed Lore about Luz phpphphphp

The second picture is what the pocket found just after getting out of the lakes. K ‘n J were racing through the forest on “beepbeepkas” (they maneuvered right through the air between the trees), but belatedly they stopped to check out what kind of person that was, standing there sticking it in, not understanding anything. Collie's first line was "you look interesting" and then Phillip were like "we're taking her with us"

Third picture: we will have Hollow Mind. Not saying any more context yet because there are spoilers :))

Fourth: Phill can do gypsy tricks, which are valued among them precisely because without magic they rely on sleight of hand and cunning. Luz was not impressed

Well, the last one is an unused frame for a comic that we turned into a meme. Don't thank us :3

#the owl house #toh anarchist au #phillip wittebane #belos #emperor belos #luz noceda #hunter #hunter clawthorne #toh collector #jester collector #phill the demon king

[zorrasucia]

Teach Me Tonight - Part 7

[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3] [Deleted Scene] [Part 4] [Part 5] [Part 6] Part 7: [Deleted Scene] [Part 8]

Reader x Carmy Berzatto (The Bear FX)

Rating: Explicit (3k)

Tags: Smut, Set sometime after the opening of The Bear, Porn with a little plot, Virgin!Carmy, Fluff, Miscommunication, Angry Sex, Nightmares, Domesticity, Morning Sex, Mutual Masturbation, Both Carmy and Reader have a bit of a praise kink

Summary:

Glimpses of every day life and sharing an apartment with Carmy.

"I'm sorry, okay? I am! I won't use your ingredients without asking- just- please calm the fuck down!"

Your small argument from closing time had escalated on the way home to the point where you were screaming at each other by the time you slammed the apartment door behind you and followed Carmy to the bedroom. You had fought before, of course you had. But this was probably the worst one so far.

Carmy stood on the opposite corner of the room, hands on his hips, breathing heavily.

"Do you know how fucking expensive imported black garlic is?"

"I don't, but I have the feeling you're going to tell me," you spat, petty, the whole sentence leaving a bitter taste inside your mouth. You backtracked."I'm sorry. I'll pay for it, okay?" you tried to appease him even as your blood was boiling. "Listen, when I moved in, I was ready to make some compromises. I downsized my closet, I sold some furniture-"

"I didn't ask you to do any of that," Carmy interrupted you.

"Carm," you gave him a stern look. "I'm only saying that you could be more understanding about shit like this. We share the fridge and the pantry. I'm sorry I assumed I could use the stuff inside without asking, it will not happen again," you repeated, then inhaled deeply. "Just- I can't help feeling this isn't about that."

Carmy looked red in the face, angry like you had only seen him inside the kitchen, pacing and flexing his fingers. You couldn't believe he was actually losing his shit so severely over a steak and some garlic - even if it was a super expensive steak and black garlic.

He looked at the ceiling. "It is about you touching my shit without asking. It is about you leaving your things on the kitchen table when I need it to work-" he clenched his jaw. "I'm sick and tired of not knowing where anything is in my own fucking apartment!"

You had organized the closet to fit your stuff, and  put Carmy's vintage denim and your bigger dresses in storage. You still had to get a desk for your sewing machine and work stuff, in the meantime it had stayed on the kitchen table, which, in your defense, had remained unused for most of your stay.

"Why didn't you say anything?" you asked in exasperation. "I've been living here for three weeks! You could have said something instead of bottling it up until it was-" you gestured vaguely in his direction, "whatever this is!"

"I like you being here, I didn't want to scare you off!" Carmy groaned.

"Carm, did you think I would leave if we didn't agree on where the shirts are supposed to go?"

He shrugged. "Dunno. Dunno!"

"You can tell me things, Carm!" you crossed the room until he was close enough to touch. His eyes looked like the sky before a storm. "You can tell me anything."

"Then why are you so fucking mad?" he said defiantly.

"Because I don't like when you yell at me like I'm just another chef in your fucking kitchen," you said, it was something you had been keeping quiet since your fight started. "I'm not getting paid to put up with this shit."

It struck Carmy completely quiet. And you regretted it the moment it left your lips. You had almost found some middle ground and you had trampled all over it. He took a step closer and stared at you, his eyes dark and angry, the space between you felt charged.

Before you knew what was going on, he grabbed you by the back of the neck and kissed you roughly, biting on your lips, mouth wide open. You pressed on his chest with your hands - you were still too mad at him. But his hands were strong and his tongue was relentless and you could feel yourself getting wet from the mixture of anger and lust - and who knew those two emotions were so close to each other?

"Fuck, I can stop," he said, barely separating his lips from yours, breathing hard. "You want that?"

You pulled on his shirt, bringing him towards you, kissing him back with just as much fervor. Then, using that same grasp, you moved him to the edge of the bed and pushed him hard, his curls bouncing as he fell on his back.

"I want you to fucking apologize, Carmen," you climbed on top of him, straddling his waist. You leaned over and trapped his wrists with your hands, above his head. Even putting all your strength into it, he could wiggle himself free at any moment, but he didn't; he stayed down and looked at you hungrily.

"I'm sorry," he said, a little too cocky for your taste, a smirk barely hidden on the side of his face.

You ground your hips against his, feeling his cock harden underneath you. He rolled his eyes and arched his neck. He looked beautiful, like a marble statue.

"What was that?" you asked, stopping your movement abruptly and getting close to his face.

He whined. "I'm sorry," and it sounded more truthful this time.

"Mhmm, that's more like it."

You kept holding both of Carmy's wrists with one hand, while the other moved downward, going underneath his shirt and playing with his nipple, massaging and pinching gently until he closed his eyes and hummed in bliss. Then you stopped.

"Fuck you," he said, letting out some leftover venom from your fight. 

You smirked - why was this so hot?

You got your answer immediately after, when Carmy got free and turned you over, fast and aggressive, like he rarely was in the bedroom. He caged you with his arms and legs, all taut muscle and shaking breaths.

"What about you?" he said, his voice low.

"What about me?" you tilted your head. "I apologized like ten times, Carm. And I meant it."

"You said some fucked up things just now," his breath tickled your face as he studied you from every angle, like he was a wild animal and you were his prey.

"I did," you admitted. You arched your neck, trying to get close and... What? Kiss him? Bite him? You weren't sure. He put one hand on your throat, not quite a caress, closing his tattooed fingers around it. You squeezed your thighs together, blood flowing with need. "I meant some of that too."

"Which part?"

"That I don't like when you yell at me," you said honestly, the moment a little cheapened with how horny you sounded.

"That all?" Carmy's voice had turned hoarse from screaming and you wished you didn't find it so attractive.

"Yeah," you exhaled.

"Good," he said dryly and got up, freeing you, but you remained immobile.

Suddenly, he yanked hard on your jeans and underwear, leaving you bare in seconds.

"Fuck, Carmy."

You hated how needy you sounded, how wrecked you felt as he licked his hand and finally put his fingers inside you, how good he was at making you crumble... You let out a pleading and pathetic sound as he touched your clit roughly and finger fucked you a little too hard.

Then, he took his fingers out without a warning, leaving you empty and out of breath; his hands ghosted the insides of your thighs. You grabbed at his wrist, begging to be touched again. Carmy climbed on the bed instead, hovering above you, kissing you ferociously.

"Eager?" he teased when you started raising your hips to rub on his jeans.

"Impatient," you replied, trying to wind him up.

It worked - his eyes darkened again.

"Hands above your head," he ordered and you obeyed. He took your shirt off carelessly, your bra was almost spilling out with how forceful he was being but he didn't bother taking it off. The whole thing was angry, urgent, and so fucking hot. Carmy was undoing his belt and you used the pause to scoot backwards, just enough to reach your bedside table.

"Hurry the fuck up!" You threw a condom at him, hitting him square on the face.

Carmy gave you a look that was half exasperation, half amused lust. He unbuttoned his jeans just enough to take his cock out, then threw the empty wrapper back at you. He grabbed your legs and dragged you closer, forcefully, the duvet wrinkling underneath you.

"I swear I'm gonna-"

You didn't let him finish. You fisted the collar of his t-shirt and brought him down to kiss, biting on his lower lip, then soothing with your tongue. You opened your legs wide and tugged at the belt loops of his jeans - there was something arousing about him being almost completely clothed and you being almost naked.

"Fuck me, please, fuck me," you begged into his mouth, way past any sense of pride you had at the beginning of the fight. Carmy wasn't any better, rushing to obey the moment you said it.

"Fucking need it," he groaned as he entered you. It wasn't clear if he was talking about you or him - not that you had time to think about it before he started pounding into you. You felt every inch of Carmy's cock as it went in and out.

"So fucking good," you rasped to the side of his face. It spurred him on and made him go faster and harder - your moans got louder and louder. He covered your mouth with his hand.

"The fucking mouth on you," he mumbled low. You clenched your pussy in retaliation and watched as he rolled his eyes and lost his rhythm. "Holy shit, you're gonna kill me."

You ran your hands under his shirt, tracing the contour of his muscles, feeling them quiver and strain as Carmy tried his damnedest to keep going, one hand on the mattress and the other keeping you quiet. Part of you smiled in satisfaction knowing he was getting tired and wouldn't last.

"Shit. Fuck me," he whined and stopped for a moment, sweating and panting. He finally uncovered your mouth, conceding defeat.

"Want me to take over?" you asked with a chuckle.

Carmy sighed and fell on the mattress beside you. "Still mad at you," he said, the sound pitiful with how hard he was breathing.

"Good to know," you climbed on top of him, straddling, lowering yourself on his cock, making him arch his back with pleasure. "I'm still mad too."

You rode him mercilessly, your hips slamming against his, hands on his chest, his eyes marveling at the bounce of your breasts. You took him right to the edge and left him hanging, the veins of his neck bulging as he groaned in frustration.

You clicked your tongue, swaying gently. "Not coming until I do."

"Yeah?" he arched his eyebrows, taking the challenge for what it was.

His hand moved from gripping your hip to where your bodies connected, his thumb finding your clit and caressing it. Your legs shook involuntarily, a spark going through you.

He grinned.

"Oh, fuck you," you sighed, your neck arched, looking at the ceiling while you bounced on his cock. He knew just what he was doing - making you tremble and moan with every gentle touch.

"Come on," he urged you, meeting your thrusts, fucking into you, hitting your G spot almost by mistake.

"Fuck," you gasped, biting your lip to stop from screaming.

You rode him much faster, something desperate and feral taking over you. Carmy's eyes widened when your walls started fluttering around his cock.

"Are you-? Can I-?" he asked in a choked out voice.

"Yes, yes," you managed to say, squeezing the wrist of the hand that was touching your clit so deliciously as your orgasm started taking over every one of your senses. "Yes, Carmy."

He tensed underneath you, flushed all over, eyes closed, and his lips forming a beautiful 'O'. You stared, waiting patiently for him to open his eyes.

He looked up at you, soft, grateful, a smile curling his lips.

"C'mere," he beckoned you downwards, meeting you with relieved kisses, breathy laughter filling the space between you. He caressed your back, tugging on your bra straps until you were somewhat covered again. The tenderness of the gesture warmed you all over.

"You okay?" Carmy asked and you nodded, nuzzling your nose against his in the process. A pause. "Hey. I am sorry. I was angry and-"

"I know," you fixed his hair, all sweaty and sticking on his forehead. "I'm sorry too."

He kissed your shoulder lovingly.

"I like you being here," he said. "I just- I need time to figure it out. That okay?"

"Yeah," you traced the line of his nose with your finger. "We'll figure it out together, baby."

You kissed him sweetly and he rolled you over to your side.

"I'll go to the thrift store tomorrow," you said, cupping his face. "Buy a desk and shit."

Carmy smiled. "I'll fix the pantry. Put labels on my shit. Make room for your things."

"I think that's the most romantic thing you've said to me," you joked, giggling when he tickled your sides.

"Shut the fuck up!"

He laughed with you, leaving kisses on your face and throat.

~

You woke up to the sound of Carmy talking in his sleep. Most of it was gibberish, quiet mumbles as he thrashed on the bed, the one word you could make out was 'Mikey' - over and over. He winced and let out a pained sound. You got closer and held him, your arm across his chest.

You knew he had nightmares, you'd been there for a couple of them, but sleeping every night with him meant you saw much more of it. It broke your heart how many you had missed, how bad he hurt...

"It's okay, Carmy," you soothed softly. "I'm here, baby, it's okay."

He woke up with a startle, breathing fast.

"Fuck, sorry," he sat up and ran his hands over his face. "Bad dream."

"I know," you waited for him to settle, giving him space.

After a while, he laid back next to you. You moved slowly, gently, touching the side of his face and caressing his hair, calming him down.

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"Uh," Carmy looked up at the ceiling, blinking hard, "there was a fire. Just so much smoke," he cleared his throat. "And, uh, Mike was there." There was a long pause. "Did I ever tell you he planned to set the restaurant on fire?"

"What?" you froze.

He hummed. "To cash the insurance money, you know," he reached for your free hand, intertwining your fingers and bringing them close to his chest; his heart was pounding.

"I'm sorry, Carm," you waited for him to say something but he stayed silent, vacant. "It feels so weird that I never met him."

"Probably for the better, to be honest," he said dryly. There was something dark about the way he said it.

"Hey," you squeezed his hand, trying to ground him. "What'd you like about him?"

"About Mike?" he said looking at you. "Uh- He was warm. He told the best stories, took care of Nat and me, gave the best hugs... A real big brother, you know?"

You nodded.

"Started getting tattoos because of him," he said, flexing his hands to show the ink on them. "He was so cool, and I wanted to be that."

"I think you're pretty cool," you said sweetly, kissing his knuckles.

"Thanks," he said through a sad smile. "Richie says he was all wrong by the end of it..."

"Wrong how?"

"He wasn't warm anymore, he was, uh, like a fryer fire, I guess. His stories didn't make sense. Kept forgetting shit. A mess, you know?"

"Maybe that's why he pushed you away," you said softly. You knew Carmy felt guilty for his time in New York. "He wanted you to remember him like he was before."

"Maybe," he conceded, looking up at the ceiling.

You stayed like that for a while, caressing his arm, tracing lines on his skin.

"Would you-" he said, then stopped.

You turned to face him. "Yes?"

"Would you hold me?" Carmy asked, his blue eyes open and vulnerable.

"Of course," you smiled and shifted on the bed to spoon him, his back to your chest, your arms around him, leaving gentle kisses on his shoulder blade. You could feel his heartbeat settle as he went back to sleep.

"Love you, Carm," you said right before you drifted off.

~

You woke up to the feeling of Carmy kissing your face softly. You hummed, content. When you opened your eyes, the bright light of late morning was all over your bedroom.

"Didn't hear you coming in last night," you said, your voice raspy with sleep.

"Got in late. Bad day," he raised his hand to touch your hair, staring at the way it caught the light. "Nat forced me to take today off."

"That bad?" you asked, a little concerned.

Carmy moved his fingers to the worry lines on your face, soothing.

"Not really. Someone talked about work life balance in her last Al-family meeting and she's all about that shit right now," he smiled. You loved to see how he looked soft with sleep, relaxed for a little while.

"Have I told you I really like her?"

"You might have," he said playfully, then leaned over to kiss you. It was a gentle thing, his lips lazy on yours and his body flushed as he hugged you.

You took his shirt off, not out of lust, just wanting to get more warmth from his skin on yours. You slowly started kissing his tattoos. You liked the ones on his arms and hands; they were familiar, whenever you thought of Carmy it was the image you conjured. But you loved his other tattoos, the ones nobody else saw, the secrets he kept and only shared with you. You left kisses on his shoulder and his chest, running your fingers on the ink on his ribs and right above his hip bone.

"I've missed you, Carm," you confessed.

It had been a hectic couple of weeks. You had barely seen each other, mostly just sleeping on the same bed, saying good night and good morning before each of you left for work.

"Missed you too," he replied.

His hands roamed your body, tugging gently at the fabric of your sleep shirt, helping you out of it, all while kissing you. You melted in his arms, pliant as he rolled you over and started leaving pecks on your skin.

"Carmy," you sighed. His lips left imprints on your jaw, your neck, your collarbone, and your chest. He stayed there, kissing the top of your breasts, the side, the valley between them, and your nipples. Your pulse was racing and you wondered whether he could feel it with his mouth.

"You're so soft," he said, his exhale giving you goosebumps. "Smell so nice."

"You smell nice too, baby," you giggled. Carmy's hair still had a lavender-like scent from his night shower.

"Mmm..."

He kept kissing. Your belly, your hip, the wrinkle that formed between your mound and your thigh. There was something so like devotion in the way that he moved; it wasn't about filling some selfish need to get his dick wet, he wanted you to feel loved.

"C’mere," you called him back up, to kiss his lips fervently, your hands buried in his hair. When you parted, he smiled, his eyes were still sleepy. He looked so comfortable, so soft...

Your hand traced again that tattoo on his hip, then moved downward, to the hair on his navel, and lower, touching him over his boxers. He was half hard, his nose buried in your neck. When he groaned, his chest rumbled against yours.

"So nice," he said. "’m too fucking tired to fuck you like you deserve, though."

Your free hand caressed the back of Carmy's neck, holding him closer.

"Just want you to relax, make you feel good," you whispered, moving the hand on his cock back and forth, slow, loving.

He moaned, then shifted a little on the bed. You didn't realize why he was moving until his hand snaked its way inside your shorts.

"Oh," you squirmed a little at the feeling of his fingers.

"Too cold?" Carmy asked.

"No, it's okay," you leaned to kiss him. "It's okay," you repeated.

You kept on touching and kissing, everything in that sort of clumsy haze, one of your legs over his. You needed this: being with him without the rush of being late, no urgency, no fucking as fast as you could before Carmy had to run to the restaurant. You had all the time in the world - you could count the freckles on his face and stare at the blue in his eyes as he mumbled sweet nothings into the morning air.

His free hand touched your wrist, guiding it to the head of his cock, the sluggish rhythm you had set just enough to make him roll his eyes and kiss you hard, drowning a whine against your lips as he released.

"Love you so much," Carmy mumbled.

You kissed the side of his face. "I love you, I love you," your voice came out choked and high.

Without you noticing, the constant massaging between your folds had built up too. You came with a long exhale, closing your eyes for a moment, lightly squeezing his side.

"Wanna stay here forever," he said after a while of just looking at you and caressing your back.

"Just sleeping and fucking all day," you replied tiredly.

"I'd like that."

~

[Deleted Scene]

[Part 8]

~

@th3h0nkz @faephoria @wadupppp

#reader moves in with carmy; shenanigans ensue! #it's three separate days/nights in case it wasn't clear lol #carmy x reader #carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fanfiction #carmen berzatto x you #carmy berzatto x you #carmy x you #carmy berzatto smut

[suashii]

꒰ა ☆ ໒꒱ 𝒞𝐻𝐸𝐸𝑅 𝒰𝒫 𝒞𝒜𝒩𝒟𝒴

info ⭑ suna rintaro x reader. 1.4 wc. sfw ﾉ fluff ﾉ reader is a bit sad

note ⭑ inspired by a scene from the webtoon comic act like you love me!

there’s a guy who comes into your work every wednesday—after the rush of high schoolers who stop by following their tutoring sessions but before it’s late enough for you to clock out and call it a night. he hums in acknowledgment every time you offer him a cordial, customer service “welcome” when you hear the motion sensor bell ring. his movements are predictable now and, as much as you try not to, you catch yourself following him with your eyes as he strolls down one aisle where he grabs a bag of jelly candies (the flavor alternates every week) until he disappears behind the tall, stocked shelves. he always emerges by the fridges where he grabs his usual energy drink before making his way to the counter.

over the span of the past several weeks, the formal utterances you’re required to deliver have evolved into fledglings of conversations. the phrase “did you find everything okay?” is eventually ditched and traded in for more personable questions, ones having to do with his choice of candy or the character printed on his hoodie. he smiles when you ask—not the kind that meets his eyes, but a genuine one nonetheless. when you hand him his change, he’s always sure to tell you thank you and offers a two-fingered wave before taking his leave.

the interactions between the two of you give you a short moment highlighted by something other than boredom during the five-hour shifts. he’s far from a friend, barely an acquaintance, hell, you’re not even sure what his name is—all you know is that you like seeing him.

today should be no different. it’s wednesday, it’s after ten, and the store is deafeningly quiet—too quiet for your liking, truly. you normally wouldn’t mind listening to the low of whispers the refrigerators and fluorescent lights, but the silence allows your mind to wander and it keeps going back to that godforsaken text; one that you wouldn’t have seen until after work if you had kept your phone in the back like you were supposed to.

we should break up. things aren’t working anymore.

“what an asshole,” you say out loud to yourself, wiping the stray tear from your cheek with the sleeve of your shirt. the prick didn’t even have the decency to do it properly—to say it to your face. he’s not worth wasting your tears on, at least, that’s what you’ve been trying to convince yourself for the past ten minutes. but it’s easier said than done. no matter how much you want to be unaffected by this, you’re hurt.

you would have been better off leaving your stupid phone in that stupid, unused breakroom.

you can feel another wave of sadness coming on as the automated bell chirps, signaling the arrival of a customer. with a deep, shaky breath, you turn your head in the opposite direction of the door to hide your tear-streaked face. you’re too busy hurriedly dabbing away at your eyes with the sleeve of your shirt that you forget to greet the customer—the one that happens to be your favorite regular. that much doesn’t go unnoticed by suna.

the absence of your typical “welcome!” makes the corner of his lips turn down. it’s worrying, he thinks, how reserved you are tonight. he used to find your enthusiastic greetings a little strange—how could someone be so chipper working the night shift as a cashier? but now given its absence, suna is starting to realize that, at some point, he’d gotten used to it. he’d even go as far as saying he prefers it.

his grayish-yellow gaze lingers on you as he makes his way down the aisle filled with sweets, but you never meet his eye. reluctantly, he looks away from you to what he came here for. his eyes scan over the selection of jelly candies in search of which flavor he wants this week. he usually picks whatever he has a taste for, but some other factor is swaying his judgment. his hand comes to hover over the lychee ones—he’s sure you said those ones were your favorite. lithe fingers pluck the pack from its box before he’s off to get his drink.

he can see you through the glass of the fridge door as he aimlessly reaches for the cold can. your head is tipped down, eyes glued to the counter in front of you. that’s weird, too, he thinks, fingers finally grazing the tab on one of the cans. on any other day he comes in, you’re mindlessly staring off into space or not-so-discreetly scrolling on your phone. suna knows it’s probably not his place to think so, but something’s definitely wrong.

he knows that much, but isn’t quite sure what to do about it.

nothing, he supposes. you’re not his friend—he’s a customer and you’re an employee. he has no obligation to do anything about your dampened mood, so why is he thinking so hard about how he can cheer you up?

suna tries to shake the thoughts from his head as he approaches you at the checkout. he sets his things on the counter, unknowingly staring you down to see if you’ll make eye contact with him. he’s almost sure you won’t but, surprisingly, you drag your eyes up from the surface to meet his.

they’re puffy and red, like you’ve been crying.

suna isn’t well-known for his ability to comfort others. in fact, he’s incredibly awkward around people when they cry—and you’re no exception. is it better to ask what’s wrong or try and help take your mind off whatever’s bothering you? he doesn’t know the answer to that question, so he simply musters up a tight-lipped smile, one he’s sure is a little inappropriate given the circumstances, but he’s not sure what else to do. you offer him what you think is a smile in return, but all suna sees is the slight wobble of your lips.

the scanner in your hand beeps twice before you read out the price from the screen ahead of you. suna fumbles around his pocket for the money he had stuffed in there earlier. the thousand yen banknote he passes to you is a bit crumpled and you would have laughed if you weren’t feeling so pathetic. the register rings as you open it to fish out the money you owe him.

closing the drawer with one hand, you hold out his change with the other. suna is stuffing the currency back into the pocket of his hoodie when you speak for the first time since he had come in. “have a nice night.”

the familiar sound of your voice, despite its scratchiness, causes suna to perk up. though, his shoulders slump when he realizes you’ve ducked down to busy yourself with something behind the counter. his feet feel like blocks of concrete, weighed down to this spot. he can’t leave without doing anything. he knows that you’d likely prefer to be alone right now, but he only needs to stick around for a few seconds longer before he’s out of your hair.

you don’t rise from your crouched position until you hear the automated bell that signals the man’s departure ring. hiding away after ringing him up might have been a little unprofessional but the thought of crying in front of him was too humiliating for you to even risk letting it happen.

you sniffle as you stuff your hands into the pockets of your uniform vest, eyes wandering to focus on anything but the source of your sorrow. unconsciously, you tilt your head down to look at the counter. there are pops of color against the white surface; four individually wrapped lychee jelly candies—the same kind that guy had just bought. your favorite.

you peek out the window to see if he’s out of sight yet. you’re relieved to see he hasn’t made it far, maybe a couple squares down the sidewalk. his hood is pulled over his head now but you’d never be able to miss those eyes. with a grin plastered on his face, he points at you and then tips his chin up with the same finger. keep your chin up.

in his other hand, the pack of candy he’s holding is torn at the corner.

your eyes begin to water as you breathe out a laugh, your lips tugging up for the first time tonight since you’d read that text. the tears threatening to spill over your lashline aren’t the same as the ones you had already shed—they’re tears of gratitude, the kind you cry when you can’t effectively express how thankful you are through words.

swallowing the lump in your throat, you pull one of your fists out of the pocket it resides in, sticking your thumb up and mouthing a silent “thank you.”

hihi~ sua here :3 ! thank you for giving this a read! if you enjoyed, please consider reblogging and/or leaving a comment! much love from me to you ❤︎

#₊˚ପ⊹ signed: haikyuu #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #hq x reader #haikyuu x reader #suna x you #haikyuu x you #suna fluff #haikyuu fluff #suna drabble #haikyuu drabbles #suna imagines #haikyuu imagines #suna scenarios #haikyuu scenarios

[the-californicationist]

Good Fences (Fluffuary #14)

FEB14: Cooking Together

“C’mon, love. We’ve gotta get this cake ready for tomorrow or Garrick is going to pout,” John reminded you, shaking a box of cake mix at you as he stood in the kitchen. 

You had promised to bake Kyle a cake for his birthday, complete with homemade icing and candles, and he had been practically glowing with excitement. He’d begged for funfetti, 

“I’ve never had it, and it looks fuckin’ grand. You’d be makin’ my birthday wish come true, babes.”

“Alright, alright. Cake-in-a-box, coming right up,” you laughed, holding up your hands in mock surrender.

That’s how you found yourself dragging your mixer out of the cabinet and following John’s orders as he read them off of the box.

“It says two eggs, love. Why’d you add the third yolk?” He warned, peering menacingly over your shoulder.

“Makes it a little richer. Just mind your business, sir,” you winked, elbowing him as you scraped the sides of the huge metal bowl, “What’s the next step?”

The batter came together in your mixer and you watched as the suspiciously-bright rainbow sprinkles dotted the inside of the pale cream, dancing in circles around the beater. John held the bowl while you filled each greased tin, making sure to leave some room. 

“Alright, chef,” he smiled, “Thirty minutes at three-fifty in your ridiculous Fahrenheit.”

John was wearing your oven mitts on his hands, using them to pull out the hot racks so he could place the cakes inside. They were shaped like fish, and their mouths were the hands. 

“What icing for the birthday boy, do you think?” You opened your fridge and stared at some of the ingredients you’d purchased.

You were planning on strawberry vanilla buttercream, but you could manage chocolate if you needed to.

John pulled off the mitts and shut the oven door. He wrapped you in his arms and stared into the fridge with you,

“Mmm. I know he’s a vanilla fan. Tha’s your safest bet, love.”

“Is he still planning on borrowing your car? He said he had something in town, but he didn’t elaborate,” you asked, wondering why you had to plan a birthday party in the middle of the day instead of around dinner time.

“Said he has a hot date…” John raised his eyebrows at you and helped you find a clean bowl to make the icing.

“Oh, God. Cana,” you realized, laughing as you started to prepare the buttercream, combining the ingredients manually rather than going through the trouble of washing the stand mixer.

“Yep,” John smiled, stealing an unused strawberry from the bowl he’d pulled from the icebox. 

The juice ran down the corner of his mouth and you caught it with your finger, licking it up and handing him a napkin.

“There,” you said, folding in the vanilla extract, “Give this a try.”

You held up the bowl of icing for him to taste, and he wiped some from the side of the bowl, painting it onto his finger and sucking it into his mouth. 

He groaned, low and deep,

“Mmm. It’s good, love.”

Then, he stuck his finger back in for a second taste, and you pulled the bowl away, giggling at him,

“Hey! Save it for the cake…”

He grabbed you around the waist and held you to him so you couldn’t escape. Using his finger filled with icing, he pointed it toward your nose, threatening to wipe it on you.

“C’mere, pretty girl,” he chuckled, letting you writhe against him, giggling and trying to get away.

“John! No! Oh, my God. I’m gonna pinch you,” you threatened.

“Mmm,” he purred, “Careful. I kinda like it when you pinch me, love.”

You gasped, and he took advantage of your shock, smearing the icing on the tip of your nose. He grabbed your face, smiling and laughing with you, sticking his tongue out to lick it off. 

“John Price!” You screeched, craning your neck away from his wet tongue. 

“Mm. Just a taste. C’mere…”

John covered you in icing, kisses, and his lustful caresses until the oven timer beeped loudly in the kitchen, nearly forgotten.

Check out the schedule here.

AO3 Link

#the californicationist does fluff #fluffuary 2024 #fluffuary #john price fluff #john price #captain john price #captain price #john price x reader #john price x you #captain price x reader #captain price x you #captain john price x reader #captain john price x you #cod #cod fanfiction #call of duty #call of duty fanfiction #cod mw2 #cod mwii

[kendrene]

oooOOOOOOH how's about avatrice with "You’re so warm.” ?? :)

The paper is thin under the pads of her fingers. 

Ava smooths it flat against the surface of the table, holding it there. Presses hard enough she can feel the ridges of the old wood through it, where age and neglect chipped the paint job away. Her thumb catches against a deep groove. Some past accident. The table meeting a knife. 

She pushes down harder. Her fingers, her hand, all the way to her elbow it’s just one big ache. She aches all over today. Then again, she hurts all over most days. Her free hand scrambles past a stack of unused paper for the pencil she’d let go to shake off a cramp. It skidded far across that sea of white and Ava is forced to stretch, bow over the table in order to grasp it. The motion tilts her halfway out the chair, which rolls back; Ava shifts her hips forward and sets herself back to her task. 

The book she's copying words from is the one Bea had gotten for her second-hand the first and last time they were here. The apartment is the same too, down to leaking pipe beneath the sink Beatrice still hasn't figured out how to fix.

It's Ava who's different. And everything else that has changed.

In the textbook, rows upon rows of German words and phrases march alongside their Portuguese counterparts. It had taken several tries for Beatrice to find it, days of scouring flea markets in the small towns nearby. Sometimes alone, most often with Hans. 

“It’ll be easier to learn if you build up from your native language.” She explained after Ava had pointed out an English to German book would have worked just as fine. It had been. Easy.

Except now it’s hard.

Today’s lesson is about the items used in the kitchen. Der Wasserkocher, Ava writes diligently, eyes flicking to the battered red tea kettle sitting on the stove. Der Ofen, she adds on a whim. Even though it isn’t in the book, she knows the German word for stove.

She’s about to write down the word for dishwashing detergent, which is long winded and sputtery both in letter count and in sound, when another cramp hits.

This is the worst one so far. It starts at her fingers, trailing up from her hand to the hinge of her wrist in increasingly powerful waves. Ava’s entire arm seizes. She watches her hand contract like it isn’t her own. Clench, release, tighten, release. The final shock has the pencil tear a hole through the last, half-written word, then snap against her palm.

Ava sucks in a breath at the sting. A sharp fragment of wood scores in her skin. She wills her hand to relax so she can take a look at the damage, but it’s an impossible ask, as though her internal wiring has been cut. Ava thinks about her fingers uncurling, face fixed in a frown. Thinks about it so hard she makes herself dizzy. Her hand stays exactly the same, and droplets vivid red, more viscous than ink, patter down on the page.

The rest starts while she watches the droplets expand. Ava knows, logically, that she’s not bleeding that much. Wherever she looks, though, she sees red. Red kettle, red microwave, old red radio on top of the fridge. 

Ava closes her eyes, or maybe it’s her vision that crawls dark at the edges. There is a shift, a tilt to her axis, and the next thing she is aware of is her cheek, bruised, pressing against linoleum warmed by the sun. 

“Ava?” Beatrice calls, voice uncertain, from what could be the opposite side of the world. “Ava I heard a noise. Are you —?” Ava blinks hard. Next to her, one of the chair’s rear wheels revolves slowly. “Ava?” Beatrice again. Closer. “Do you need me to — oh.” 

Strong hands cup beneath her armpits. Lifting, pushing, pulling away. Ava’s world spins with the faltering speed of a merry-go-round that’s finally come to a stop, and she finds herself propped against something that is, at once, solid and soft.

“Hey.” Beatrice’s lips are pressed to the shell of her ear, mouth half slanted in the hair behind it. “Ava, I think that you’re having a panic attack. I’m going to put my arms around you now. I don’t want you falling again. Is that okay?” 

Ava just nods. 

She feels as battered and old as this house, where some things are broken and others don’t work like they should. Her body isn’t even her own anymore; she’s along for the ride, but doesn’t control it. Walking and running — something as stupid as writing. She can’t seem to be able to consistently do any of it anymore. 

“Hey, hey, hey.” Beatrice’s arms wind around her middle and she’s rocking the two of them gently, back and forth, in time with the sobs Ava hadn’t even realized are shaking her shoulders. “It’s alright.” One of Beatrice’s hand worms its way under her shirt, to the spot where the Halo sits heavy and idle and so very cold. “Just breathe with me. Do you think you can do that?”

Beatrice takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. “Like so. Now we do it together okay? On my count. One. Two —”

On three Ava opens her mouth. The first breath is torturous, like pulling in air through a straw. It doesn’t help that her nose is runny and clogged, and that the hand she lifts up to wipe it only makes it as far as her chest.  

“Here.” Beatrice’s fingers guide hers around a handkerchief she must have had in her pocket, then help Ava bring it to her nose. The fabric is the kind of soft that comes with a lot of washing and the pattern — Ava thinks it was once a herd of stylized galloping horses — is pretty much gone. She blows her nose, and the next breath she takes comes a bit easier.

“Better?” 

“I think so.” Her voice still feels off, as if she’s speaking a language she doesn’t quite know. Ava fights down another sob. “I don’t know.”

“Okay.” Beatrice scoots them backwards so that they’re further away from the table and fully sit in the sun. Ava watches her legs trail along; she’s starting to regain a measure of feeling, and with it comes the pain from her fall. It will be a while until they can move, longer until she can heave herself up on the wheelchair on her own. If she’s lucky, tomorrow will be a good day and she’ll be able to walk. If she’s lucky.

Lately, she’s not been very lucky at all.

“Have you heard of the 3-3-3 rule?” Beatrice asks, breath a warm wash against the side of Ava’s throat. Her hands have never stopped moving. One splays over the Halo, steady and grounding. The other covers Ava’s nerveless fingers, thumb tracing the network of veins at her wrist, that look bluish-black in the sun. 

“I know the 5 seconds one.”

Beatrice snorts. It tickles.

“That’ll do. Can you tell me three foods that you like then, Ava?”

Ava frowns. She’s starting to come back to herself, and with her mind clearing up and the fear wearing away it’s easy to see what Beatrice is doing.

“I know what you’re doing.”

“Then humor me, please?” The hand at her back pauses, and a hum rises from under Ava’s skin in response. It’s nothing. It’s nothing. The Halo has barely kept her alive as it is. Ava tries not to get her hopes up. She did at the start, after she came back through the Arc, and it was a big disappointment. 

She can’t afford to get hurt that way, not again. She wouldn’t survive. 

“Ugh, fine.” Afternoon sunlight, buttery smooth, streams in through the window, coating the entire world gold. “Mint chocolate chip ice cream.” 

“You have horrible taste, but go on.”

“Tacos al pastor.” 

“Okay, I can get behind those.” The hand on her back travels lower, following the ridges, the dips of her spine, and Ava feels it again. The tiniest hum, a buzzing. It’s almost a sigh. “What’s the third food?” 

“You.” 

The hand falls away. Beatrice’s arms around Ava tighten. Chin hooked over Ava’s shoulder , she rests her head there for a beat, face naturally tilting into the space between collarbone and jaw like a comet unable to resist a planet’s orbit.

“Ava.” A flash of heat spreads across Ava’s back, and she can’t tell whether it comes from the Halo or if Beatrice is blushing.

“What?”

“I just —” Bea smiles against her shoulder, plants a kiss there. “I’m not very nutritious, calories wise.”

“True.” Ava twists around in Bea’s arms, makes herself comfortable there. Given a choice, she’ll stay like this for the rest of the day. “But you’re tasty.” 

Beatrice clears her throat. “We should get you off the floor.” She suggests, deflecting. Her gaze cuts away to the floor, and she swallows. Ava will never tire of it, of how even the slightest flirting will have Beatrice in knots. Of how she’ll swallow, cheeks suffused red, pulse racing, near visible, under the cut of her jaw.

“Wait.” Ava digs in, hand gripping the front of Bea’s light pullover. She sways forward and in, and her lips brush on purpose right at Bea’s throat. Her heart pounds so fast Ava can taste it. Or maybe it’s her own. “Can we stay here a while longer? You’re so warm.”

Beatrice pulls back to look at her, mouth quirking into a bigger smile.

“We can stay here a while.”

//

“Die Schwester” Lilith has picked up Ava’s textbook after dinner and is making her way through some words, mangling them all. 

“Your German is terrible.”

“My German is perfect, thank you very much. It’s simply accented.”

“Whatever. Give me my book back.” Ava braces one elbow against the wheelchair’s armrest and stretches up, the other arm fully extended. Lilith puts the book down, just out of reach. 

“I’m so gonna run you over.”

Lilith scoffs. “And how do you plan to do that?” 

“We’re in the Alps. I’m going to wait until you’re on an incline, then let gravity do the rest.”

“Sure.”

Lilith phases. Reappears behind Ava a second later to help her closer to the table where Camila and Mary are setting the pizza they ordered for dinner on plates. 

“Why are you learning family vocabulary anyway? You and Bea are pretty fluent already.” 

“I’m not.” Ignoring the plates, Ava grabs for the box of pizzawitheverythingonit nobody else has the stomach to touch. The first bite is delicious but hot. Ava juggles the food in her mouth, speaking around it. “I have the best family ever already.”

Everything’s changed. 

Nothing is ever the same.

Ava will not walk today and she may not walk tomorrow. But as the sky fades to black and they crowd on the old couch, fighting over whose turn it is to pick a movie, Ava thinks change is alright. 

#warrior nun #avatrice #ava silva #sister beatrice #ava x beatrice #I have to do the positive disabled!ava representation around here #dren writes

[mj-iza-writer]

Trigger Warning mentions of mental breakdowns that led to rash decisions. Possible suicide ideation. Reader beware.

"Oh, hello Whumpee, you're early", Caretaker looked up from some paperwork, "please come in."

"Is-is that okay Caretaker? I can come back", Whumpee looked down as they leaned on the doorframe.

"No, no, did your nurse or guard accompany you?", Caretaker looked around for them, "we can get started early."

"N-no sir", Whumpee sobbed and wiped their face with their sleeve.

"Hey, hey its okay. Here, come sit down, I can easily text them and let them know you're with me. You just can't leave them though, they're their for your safety", Caretaker quickly stood and walked over to Whumpee.

"Okay there, the text was received", Caretaker looked up at Whumpee, who now sat on the couch.

The phone vibrated, "they said you made them worry when you went missing, but they're glad you went to me. You seemed off after lunch."

Caretaker looked up again at Whumpee, "are you okay? Did something happen around lunch time that affected you?"

Whumpee looked down and nodded.

"Okay", Caretaker stood and pulled a chair closer to Whumpee, "let's start there."

"I feel like an abandoned building Caretaker", Whumpee looked up with new tears started to fall.

"Oh, can you elaborate for me", Caretaker started to take notes.

"During lunch, Nurse Hannah and George started to talk about the abandoned wing of the hospital being abandoned for so long, and it's now unusable. They said the hospital attempted to make use of it for so long, but nothing worked out. They had plans to tear it down and do something else with it", Whumpee was full on crying now.

"Yes the wing is part of the old hospital, and unfortunately has fallen into disrepair", Caretaker looked up from his notes, "how do you mean that you feel like an abandoned building though? Can you explain yourself, I'm interested in what your thought process is."

Whumpee squeezed their eyes tight hoping to squeeze out their tears.

"I once was a part of society, I was employed, I was useful", Whumpee almost seemed to plead as they spoke, "now I have to have a guard watch me, and have almost daily meetings with you so I don't... you know", Whumpee was getting to the point of frustration. "I feel like I'm now sitting empty, no longer of use, more than likely forgotten by those that knew me. There are a few people who still take care of it, that abandoned building, but they may grow tired of it, and come to the decision that it's of no use, it's too broken, and at one point they might walk away too. I'll be there abandoned, until I'm torn down or I fall apart myself. I feel like an abandoned building Caretaker."

Whumpee looked up to see Caretaker's expression. They had a feeling they had said too much, and George would have to watch them like a hawk... again.

"Caretaker I...", Whumpee looked down and wiped their eyes, "I'm sorry to have dumped that out on you, um, can we forget I said half of that at least... please."

"No", Caretaker continued to write, "give me one second while I finish writing, do you need some water? I just stalked the fridge."

Whumpee nodded and went to the fridge, "do you want one?"

"No thankyou, I appreciate that", Caretaker looked up, "do you feel better getting that off your chest?"

"Um a little, I'll see if I feel even better after I know what you'll do to me after this meeting", Whumpee sat back down.

"What do you mean?", Caretaker eyed them.

"George is probably going to have to watch me closer, right?", Whumpee questioned before taking a drink.

"Eh, not really. You can't leave your room like you did today though. That's the only thing", Caretaker looked back at the notes, "let's wait to talk about this until tomorrow, we can talk about some other things today, maybe some good things that happened, maybe that will help you feel better. I want to study these notes so I know what I can do to help you better with these feelings."

Whumpee nodded.

They talked for a while, and then Whumpee yawned.

"How about I get you back to your room? You can take a nap. You can easily tucker yourself out when you cry like that", Caretaker stood.

Whumpee nodded, "you're not mad at me, right?"

"No, of course not. I'm proud of you actually. You knew you didn't feel okay, and you seeked help. Then you opened up about your feelings. I only wish I could tell you the fix-all right now, but I've never heard it put this way before. I hope it's okay that we come back to it tomorrow."

Whumpee smiled tiredly, "yes Caretaker thats fine."

They started down the hall.

"The only thing is you leaving without George or Nurse Hannah. Next time, just let them know you need me or your doctor, and they will take you to us, no questions asked", Caretaker smiled.

"Yes sir, I'm sorry", Whumpee looked down the hall and saw George at the nurses station talking to Nurse Hannah.

Caretaker and Whumpee stopped at the station.

"There's our runaway", George announced, "please don't do that again, I almost ran the entire hospital looking for you."

"Go easy on them. They were having a hard time, and needed to talk to me. I've already told them", Caretaker sighed, "they're a bit tired, so they may take a nap."

"Was it something we said?", Nurse Hannah looked at Whumpee concerned.

"I'll tell you about what happened once Whumpee is comfortable", Caretaker looked at Whumpee, "they had an emotional day, so they are tired now."

Nurse Hannah came around the counter and followed Whumpee into their room, and started to help them into bed.

George watched from the doorway.

"Are you both mad at me?", Whumpee questioned as Hannah covered them up.

"No, we were concerned though", Nurse Hannah booped Whumpee's nose, "we are glad you made it back to your room."

George agreed.

Caretaker came back a bit later and peaked in at Whumpee.

George and Hannah were sitting inside the room, whispering to not wake up Whumpee, who was fast asleep.

"Pssst", Caretaker whispered, and motioned to them.

Caretaker had a nurse step in to watch Whumpee while he talked to George and Hannah.

"So your conversation about the abandoned hospital wing brought out some hard thoughts for Whumpee", Caretaker handed them the notes they had taken while talking to Whumpee, "though I appreciate that Whumpee was able to express this to me, and it will help them in the end, please I beg of you, we need to be careful with our conversations around Whumpee and other patients even."

They both read the notes.

"Oh poor Whumpee", Hannah sighed sadly.

"I didn't realize", George sighed, "I noticed they were different after lunch. Are they okay? Were you able to help them on this?"

"I told them I'd look into this tonight and bring them in tomorrow to talk about this", Caretaker reached for the notes, "I've never heard it put this way before, and I find it very interesting."

"It's too bad you can't take them into the abandoned wing or even find a way for that wing to be repurposed", Hannah thought out loud.

"That may be an idea, what is supposed to be there now?", Caretaker looked at George.

"I think they talked about a garden or something like that", George pulled out a paper and gave it to Caretaker, "yes this was the announcement."

Caretaker looked it over, "I wonder if I can get Whumpee in there, if it's safe enough."

"I can get you in. The guards still go down there for storage and breaks, we hide from staff down there", George chuckled.

"That explains where you guards disappear to", Caretaker sighed.

The next day George led Caretaker and Whumpee to the abandoned wing.

"Whumpee this is the abandoned wing you heard Nurse Hannah and I talk about. Pretty soon, this will be removed, and they'll have a garden built", George led them down the hall, "I read some of what you told Caretaker, just so I know what was going on. I'm sorry we made you upset. Just know though, although this area will be removed because of safety, the hospital has plans to make a new place for us to enjoy. A new garden will be put up right here."

"Really?", Whumpee looked down the halls, "it's sad in here."

"Yes Whumpee, and when it's up we can go out and explore it", Caretaker smiled, "unfortunately sometimes things lose their service. This wing was once used to house many people and help them. Unfortunately, when the hospital expanded, this wing became older and, in turn not usable anymore. The hospital is going to give it a new life so it can help people again in a new way."

Whumpee listened.

"Just like for you, you may not be able to go back to how your life once was, but this hospital is going to give you resources to help you. Whether you get to leave the hospital, or you live here for a while or for the rest of your life. Who knows. With those resources you might be able to do some great things you wouldn't have been able to do before your breakdown. Is this making sense?"

"Yes Caretaker", Whumpee wiped a tear and smiled, "thankyou."

"You're welcome", Caretaker smiled then looked at George, "thanks for bringing us down here, I think it helped me know what to say."

"I'm glad", George grinned, "Whumpee just know I'm on your side, as is Nurse Hannah, we won't abandon you. We are happy to take care of you and our other patients."

Whumpee nodded, and wiped another tear, "thankyou", they sobbed.

Taglist. As always please let me know if you want to be added or taken off of the list. It's not a problem at all. @villainsandheroes @the-beasts-have-arrived @sacredwrath @porschethemermaid @monarchthefirst @generic-whumperz @bloodyandfrightened @freefallingup13

Hey MJ here, um this one is one of those stories I wanted to cry while writing because Whumpee is me. I have abandonment issues, and these are real thoughts.

I was once talking to someone, about abandoned buildings. I love abandoned things so much. I can't even explain it. I was talking to someone once though, and they knew I had these issues. Then they asked me, "do you like abandoned things, because you see yourself in them?" To say I was dumbfounded is an understatement.

So I just wanted to be real with you. I am okay mentally just saw and abandoned building being tore down today and it triggered these memories and a story. So I hope you enjoyed, and if you have these issues to, they are hard, but we will make it through. You are loved, I promise. Signed, MJ

#whump community #whump stuff #whump writing #whump ideas #whumpee #whump #whump scenario #whumper #caretaking #oc #caretaker #mental health #therapy

[ontheoddoccasioniwritestuff]

Pop to the Shop (Kyle "Gaz" Garrick x Reader)

Summary: Your roommate has a strict routine to follow when he comes home from work, and you couldn't be more delighted by it.

AN: Finally! I've written for Gaz! One of my fave tropes for the COD fandom too is the roommates to lovers, so I wrote it for him because he deserves all the love <3

Reader is GN, no use of Y/N

Masterlist // AO3 Version

Kyle Garrick always returned from his work with a carton of milk.

Upon first moving into the shared flat, he’d disclosed his occupation was being involved with the military and that the schedule was an erratic creature that evaded any knowledge until mere minutes before he was required to leave, giving him enough time to scrabble his going away bag together and send you a text that you could have his leftover takeaway sitting on his fridge shelf.

Initially, you were fine with it. You liked having the flat to yourself, and, as much as you liked your new roommate, having this amount of space to yourself without the debilitating price tag was appealing.

When he returned three weeks later at half nine in the morning, Kyle bought a bag for life’s worth of comfort foods. First thing he did was make himself a strong coffee, splashing some of the milk on the side, and he chugged it back as if it didn’t burn his throat all the way down to his stomach.

“Need to keep myself up,” He excused whilst a little out of breath, “Fuckin’ hate jet lag.”

“You could have a short nap later,” You suggested, noticing how his shoulders sagged at the idea, “And I could wake you up if you’re worried about oversleeping.”

He took you up on that offer. A few hours later, when he’d dropped off just after eating a hearty lunch with you, you tiptoed into his room and touched his bare arm that clutched the duvet to his chest. He awoke straight away, grumbling a little until he opened his eyes and gave you a bleary-eyed smile.

“Thanks,” He said, his voice deep and groggy.

“I’ll drag you out so you don’t drop off if you’re not careful,” You teased in an attempt to cover up the little fluttering in your chest.

Unfortunately, your tactic failed. Your heartrate only increased at the deep chuckle that Kyle let out at the idea. Being a military man, you had no doubts he’d overpower you if he wanted to. Instead, he humoured you and let you take him by the wrist and tug until he was sitting up, pyjama bottoms wrinkled up his leg.

As thanks, he used his milk to make you both a hot drink. Your afternoon was spent on the couch together, grateful that your days off had aligned. It was that afternoon that Kyle kissed you for the first time, his lips warm from the drink and struggling to keep kissing you from how much he was smiling.

From then on, he always made sure to stop off at the nearest shop and get some milk – just in case.

His return time was never guaranteed. His key had and would continue to hit the front door at all times of day (and night) meaning he sometimes stopped off at a 24hour garage to pay an extra quid on the same amount of milk, just to carry on the gag. Sneaking into the flat and dropping it into the fridge: in the door if there was room, and on the top shelf if you’d recently opened a different carton.

Just so that, when you woke up in a few hours and saw it up there, spied his boots by the front door in their own piles of dirt, or sand or leaves, you’d know. You could leap in to where he’d fallen asleep in his oft unused bed – the excuse being that he didn’t want to wake you up. You didn’t have this problem and planted yourself down against his side, beaming as he stirred and wrapped his arm around you to stay in bed for a while longer.

His next point of business was to sit together on the couch, mugs warming your hands, bodies warming souls as they leant against one another and you talked about anything that had elapsed in his time away.

Kyle’s arm always found its way around the back of the couch before dropping around your shoulders, tracing a circle over and over the fabric of your shirt’s sleeve. Occasionally, he’d cup over that spot to pull you closer for a kiss and a cuddle.

His work schedule might be unpredictable but Kyle’s welcome home routine more than made up for it.

#kyle garrick x reader #kyle garrick #gaz x reader #kyle garrick fanfic #kyle garrick imagine #kyle garrick fluff #gaz fanfic #cod #mw2 #cod fanfic #mw2 fanfic #cod x reader #my writing #r: gn #wc: 1k<

[sixosix]

hiii!! can i request best friends to lovers troupe with shōyō please?? thanks a lot!! hope you have a great day/night!!<3

best friends to lovers trope with hinata shouyou would go down like this:

shouyou is the kind of person who easily admires anything and everything, from the flowers growing on the pots his mom bought, to the little giant he saw on television, then especially the neighbor that moved in just yesterday.

there wasn’t anything special when you first met—it’s the same as everyone else, a sky that could be sunny or stormy, a lawn of grass that could be reaching for his knees or trimmed short— him introducing himself first always because he’s competitive like that. it was an average day, and shouyou never thought too much of it.

shouyou had a one-track mind when he first started getting into volleyball. all he yearned for was to improve, get better, and fly higher; you only saw each other as neighbors that know each other’s names and see each other from time to time.

but you joined him, once, when he was practicing tossing onto the wall outside of his home, despite his sister’s wails of complaint. you knew as much as he did when it came to volleyball, which is practically nothing except for not dropping the ball. but in his eyes, you were an angel sent from heaven. he always—still does—gets excited whenever he sees you because of it.

befriending hinata shouyou would mean you’re willing to put up with someone unbelievably clingy. and by clingy, you mean he started becoming more and more of a familiar presence in your home. at this point, your family would be unused to not seeing shouyou in your room or raiding the fridge.

shouyou gives affection easily. he’d hug you from behind, laugh softly by your ears to not startle you, and sway the both of you to some beat that only he can hear in his head. he’s the type to fall asleep on your shoulder and then end up on your lap, have to stand on his tiptoes to pat your head, and insist on sitting next to you in class.

shouyou slowly falling in love with you is such a gradual process that when tanaka asks him if he likes you more than a friend, the “yes” in reply comes as naturally as his smile grows at the sight of you.

it’s pretty hard to get rid of shouyou, just warning you. the moment you say yes to him, too, he will not let go. not that you’d want to get rid of him anyway—you’d be with him wherever he goes, and he’d shower you with everything he can give.

dating shouyou is also natural. it’s meant to happen, shouyou insists when you wipe away ice cream that he haphazardly smudged on his cheek. the boy next door and you now live in the same house, always together, rarely apart. he kisses you so you get ice cream on your face, too.

dating shouyou means he’d brag in interviews that he has the bestest significant other in the world. during awards, he’d always mention your name when expressing his gratitude. all these achievements and goals and still he’s the sweetest boyfriend first and foremost.

sometimes, sugawara still wonders how their little crow, hinata shouyou of all people, got engaged to someone before them.

but shouyou has always liked to go first, and then he’d always have you right beside him.

a best friends to lovers trope with hinata shouyou would be as easy as breathing.

haikyuu taglist [ @crystal-lilac @jaepann @bun-ina ]

#606:HQ #606:KRSN #haikyuu scenarios #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #hq fluff #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagines #haikyuu drabbles #hinata shouyou x reader #hinata shoyo x reader #hinata shoyo imagine #hinata shouyou imagine #hinata shouyou fanfiction #hinata shouyou headcanons #shoyo hinata x reader #x reader

[newx-menfan]

Hot Take

Marvel Comics has completely ruined Laura Kinney and made her more or less unusable.

The original Laura was basically killed off via fridging with Talon in a horrible story that fans hated. The “Copy” is just a Wolverine clone, complete with full adamantium skeleton and bad Percy writing…

The “soft reboot” via Erika Shultz was disappointing and poorly met by fans. Tamaki’s “X-23” was similarly disappointing.

Her only villain is dead and was comically bad under Shultz’s recent writing anyway.

Where I used to pick up any book with Laura, good or bad, now I can’t be bothered to care because there isn’t any writer that’s doing anything remotely interesting.

As bad as things were with Bendis and Hopeless…Taylor was at least salvageable.

I just feel like Laura is completely unrecognizable at this point and just frankly…don’t even really enjoy the character anymore.

I just don’t see how Marvel can fix “the Laura Problem” at this point 😒.

#Laura Kinney #x23 #x 23 #laura x23 #Wolverine #Talon #x men #Marvel #Hot Take

[imagineredwood]

“I was hoping you’d say that.”

Request: imagine for Gilly being into a girl that works at a bar and trying his hardest to get her attention. Secretly she’s had a crush on him the whole time

Pairing: Gilly Lopez x female reader

Warnings: Shitty men, derogatory language 

Word count: 1,031

You smiled immediately as soon as you saw the wall of a man saunter into your bar. You looked down and willed the smile to go away but it was easier said than done. The muscles in your face were being puppeteered by your heart and weren't relaxing easily enough for your liking. Even still, you managed to have a straight face on by the time Gilly got to the counter. He placed himself off to the corner as he always did, the other two in tow as per usual. It was Angel who complained first as they took their seats. 

"Don't know why you always wanna come here instead of staying at the clubhouse. It ain't even that good here."

Gilly rolled his eyes and forced himself to look around, already having spotted you but not wanting to make it obvious. Typically Coco and Angel would go off to play a game of pool or chat-up girls, but they were tired tonight, the desert having taken a toll on them. So they sat beside their friend and waited, making small talk. Gilly entertained them, but they knew him well enough to notice how his eyes lit up at something passed them. They both turned and saw you walking towards their end of the bar and shared knowing smiles, Angel's hand rough as he pushed and squeezed at Gilly's shoulder. 

"Ahhhhh, now I see." 

Gilly scoffed and rolled his arm roughly, tossing off Angel's hand right as you stopped in front of them. He offered up a cheesy smile and you returned it before nodding toward Angel and Coco. 

"How are you guys doing?"

You didn't pay too much mind to Gilly, as usual, not wanting to blow his head up. You also didn't fully trust him, or any of the men in your bar really. It always felt like they had ulterior motives and at the end of the day, you were here because it was your job. You had a crush on Gilly, that much was certain, but you had seen how the others went after a new girl every time they came in and while Gilly's focus always seemed to be on you, you were pretty sure it was because you feigned not having interest. You figured he just enjoyed the chase and was happy to play a game of hard-to-get. You didn't feel like being a prize or notch on a bedpost. 

Yet here he was again, eyes on you. 

You took their orders and then poured their drinks, making sure to move around the bar, refilling for all of your patrons, not just the ones in kuttes. At some point, he had given up the act of trying to impress you with his pool skills. He had gone home with enough money to pay rent plenty of times, and it hadn't ever seemed to really matter to you. He'd gone to the ends of the earth to impress you and get your attention, yet nothing had really worked. 

It was the sound of fingers snapping that got your attention, your head turning to follow the sound. There you found a middle-aged man with his hand still up, a permanent scowl etched into his features. 

"Bout damn time. Running around here worried about cleaning the counter when you should be worried about getting my order."

His tone was harsh, his scratchy voice even more so and you forced a tight smile, answering him while still not being a doormat. 

"You wouldn't want to sit at a dirty bar, now would you?"

You were still professional while letting a slight edge into your voice, but the interaction had caught Gilly's attention, his eyes on the man who scoffed and leaned back in his seat. 

"I don't wanna sit at a bar with no drink either, now come on. Get me a beer."

Your eye twitched but you held it together, not unused to shitty demanding men. Reaching over to the fridge, you grabbed him a beer and popped the top, handing it over. 

"Enjoy." 

You attempted to walk off to the other side then but he just wouldn't quit, his grating voice sounding out again. 

"I'd enjoy it more if it didn't take 6 years to get, bitch." 

You turned slowly, ready to speak up for yourself when you saw Gilly stand from his seat and calmly walk over to the man. He placed his hand on the back of his neck and squeezed, the shirt collar scrunched up in his grasp. The man winced and tried to turn and get a look at him but Gilly was already leaning down, mouth close to his ear. He spoke quietly, not nearly loud enough for you to hear what he said, but the way the man's eyes widened, it must've not been nice. You looked over at Angel and Coco, both of which were simply watching with entertained smiles. 

And then just like that, Gilly was releasing the man. He backed off and you watched as the man hurriedly dug into his pocket, pulling out a crumpled wad of cash and handing it over to you, his voice shaky. 

"Sorry about that, ma'am. Won't happen again, I promise. I apologize for my behavior."

Your eyes narrowed as you looked at him, never once having seen any manners from him. He was leaving quickly then, stumbling over his own feet as he tried to leave the bar. Grabbing your tips, you looked back at Gilly, who was now back in his seat, the anger from before slowly dissipating. 

"Thank you."

You let your smile from before come out now, eyes twinkling as you looked at him. His smile returned too, the boys getting up and going off to the jukebox to give you guys some privacy.

"You're welcome. I wasn't just going to let him talk to you like that."

You nodded, the Mayan finally getting your attention and approval. Glancing at the clock, you read the time and looked back at him. 

"I get off in about 25 minutes. Maybe we could hang out?"

Gilly's smile was all teeth as he nodded enthusiastically. 

"I was hoping you'd say that."

General taglist

@piccasoe @ateliefloresdaprimavera @gemini0410 @woahitslucyylu @my-rosegold-soul @that-chick212 @everyhowlmarksthedead @glimmerglittergirl @elcococruz @fanaticfangurl21 @encounterthepast @iambabyharry @svintsandghosts @starrynite7114 @saturnsaree @multiyfandomgirl40 @destynelseclipsa @sadeyesgf @queenbeered @iamthegraham @emoengelfurleben @all-the-boys-to-the-yard @otomefromtheheart @rosieposie0624 @papa-geralt-of-cirilla @beeroses @weirdosandhopelessromantics @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @xonickibaby @cruzwalters @myakai13 @mrsstevenbuchananstark @lyly00 @kaystacks17 @cole-winchester  @alexxavicry @kaykaysuh @savagemickey03  @fanfic-n-tabulous   @gangstaliciou06 @carma-fanficaddict​  @xbloodyxangelx​

Mayans MC taglist

@dazzledamazon  @abunnykisses @briana-mishell24 @angelreyesgirl @wrcn9fvlcver @peaches009 @capt-canadian @thesandbeneathmytoes @krysiewithak @darklingveracruz @appropriate-writers-name @cind-in-real-life @blessedboo @montanaraed @kkim120 @megapeacelovemusic-blog @emoengelfurleben @blowmymbackout @abby-splace @kola95 @black-repunzel99 @redpoodlern @xonickibaby @myakai13

@cruzwalters @yosoynicolexo @mrsstevenbuchananstark @danimals1096 @po3ticb3auty @lyly00 @im-just-a-mississippi-girl @kaykaysuh @angel-121 @fanfic-n-tabulous @90sisthenew80s @lovelytricia @carma-fanficaddict

#gilly lopez #Mayans MC #mayans imagine #gilly x reader #gilly lopez x reader #imagines

[fieldofdaisiies]

modern!Azriel x Reader | Ashamed?

type: angst-y warning(s): Azriel being an insecure and sad boy, talk about money, I guess word count: 2.9k words request: Hiii ik it's been a while but can you write a fic which is az x reader and the reader is kinda well off with cash but like az needs some help with it but he's shy to tell the reader he needs cash cuz it might make him look less in front of her? modernAU where Azriel and Reader are roommates, and since Azriel no longer works for the major and rather wants to focus on his musical career he doesn’t have that much money which becomes quite obvious when he cannot pay the rent

-all rights reserved-

“Azriel?” Your voice hollows through the flat and although the letter you are holding in your hand is everything but positive you still try to not sound too gloomy.

At this point you simply think that Azriel has forgotten to pay the rent, wouldn’t be the first time that you have to remind your roommates, Cassian and Azriel, that their rent was due. Cass has given you the money a week ago before he left for holiday with his girlfriend Nesta. But Azriel’s part is somehow still missing. He has been been working a lot on his music lately so you think it probably has just slipped his mind.

You open the door to the fridge while you wait for an answer from Azriel. Your lips pout when your eyes scan the empty interior of the fridge, nothing but one carrot left. You quickly glance to side, looking at the small note board to figure out whose job it has been to go shopping this week.

Azriel. Great, what has been going on with him lately?

“Azriel!” you shout once again, frustration taking root in your chest. Still no answer. You quickly slip your phone out of your back pocket to check the time–five past ten. So he has to be up. 

Sliding your phone back into the pocket and holding the letter tightly in your other hand, you hurdle to his room, knocking loudly. 

You are not mad, not really at least, but a tiny bit angry. You all have the same duties in this shared flat and it is really frustrating when some does not fulfill theirs because it means another person has to make up for that. 

“Yes?” Azriel’s voice sounds sleepy, slightly hoarse and grumbly. 

“Can I come in?”

“Yes.” So you enter and find Azriel sitting in his bed, one knee bent, his laptop in front of him. His gaze is trained on the screen, his jaw clenched, his brows furrowed.

“What are you up to?” you ask, slightly surprised that he is already sitting in front of his laptop. Normally Azriel would always do some songwriting or guitar playing in the morning.

“Nothing…” he says and does not even deign you a glance. 

What Azriel is really up to should be a secret as he is currently looking for a weekend job as he is in a desperate need of money. He does not want you to know, he does not want you to think he is a loser who has failed at making money with music. He can’t even afford gas for his motorcycle; it has been standing in front of the building since weeks, unused. Also he would love to go on holiday as well, take you on holiday maybe? But that is a sheer impossibility at the time being.

“Why are you here?” “Oh good morning, my dearest roommate, it is such a delight seeing you on this wonderful morning,” you sarcastically express and toss the letter to him. Finally the male looks up at you and you internally cringe. Dark circles surround his eyes that are slightly bloodshot. Has he been up all night? His hair is ruffled, his shoulders hunched and you quickly glance back up at his face.

“Sorry, I am a bit stressed. Good morning, Y/N,” Azriel says in a calm voice, offering you a small smile. “What is this?” 

“Rent for this month. Cass and I have both paid but your part is still missing,” you say, trying not to sound accusatory. Azriel’s shoulders hunch even more and he seems like folding into himself.

One hand coming up, he first rubs it over his chin, then the back of his neck. “I must have forgotten.”

“Yeah…” you say and step from one foot to the other. 

“I will give it to you sometime soon.” You really don’t want to be annoying, especially since you may have this tiny, little crush on your roommate, but you need the money to give it to your landlord.

“What about now?” Your voice is barely above a whisper when you lean back onto the doorframe, watching Azriel’s throat work on a swallow.

“Now is not so good. I don’t have any money,” Azriel says and quickly adds, “here. Here at the moment, I mean. I will go to the bank tomorrow. I promise.” He seems so sad, so vulnerable in that moment that your heart squeezes a little bit. You don’t really buy his lie, but you give your head a tight nod and press your lips in a thin line. “Alright.”

With that you leave his room, an odd feeling settling in your gut. 

~~~~~~

“So, what did he say?" you excitedly querie your friend Gwyn who is sitting opposite of you on the couch, questioning her about her date she had the previous evening. Gwyn grins and takes your hand into hers. “He said that he would like to meet me again, preferably this weekend.”

You both squeal at that, grinning and cheering which is suddenly interrupted by the slam of a door. Azriel you gather as Cass is still on holiday.

You turn your head the moment your wet —he is drenched in rain water— roommate enters the living room. His gaze is trained on the floor when he toes off his boots and brushes his hand through his hair, exhaling a loud breath, apperently not having realised that both you and Gwyn are sitting on the couch. It is now two days after you have questioned Azriel about the rent and he still hasn’t made any move to give you the money. You have decided to give him a bit more time —until Monday— as then the time of grace would be over. 

Gwyn next to you stiffens and you feel her gaze on you. She knows about your little crush on him and desperately wants to get the two of you together. 

“Az?” you carefully question and it startles your roommate. He winces and tips his head up, his gaze shooting to yours. “Y/N…” he breathes and his voice is so weak, so unsteady. 

You stare at him for a long moment, unable to find appropriate words to help him in this disheveled state. You feel Gwyn nudge your knee and start to scramble for something you could say. 

“Are you alright, Azriel?” your best friend then asks, helping you out. You are incredibly thankful for that and tap her knee with yours. 

“Oh, hey, Gwyn. I am. Just in need of a shower.” Azriel is quick to depart, giving the both of you a quick wave of his hand before disappearing into the corridor.

“He has always been calm, but I have never seen him like that,” Gwyn says to you when Azriel is out of eyesight. Pressing your lips in a thin line, you bow your head. Your fingers peel on the skin around your nails when you start chewing on your lower lip. “I think he is having trouble with money…”

Gwyn looks surprised when you lift your gaze to hers. You cocks her head and gives you a questioning look, waiting for you to elaborate. 

“He hasn’t paid the rent yet and when I asked him he said he has no money and then quickly corrected himself, saying he does not have it here. I just think he is struggling with it lately and I would really like to help him, but I don’t know how if he doesn’t reach out,” you say, your voice calm so that Azriel does not accidentally hear you. 

“But doesn’t he work for the major, Rhysand? Doesn’t he pay him well?” You chuckle lightly at that and give your head a tiny shake. “No, he quit there quite some time ago to focus on his music.” 

Azriel has not really announced it that big back then, only when you asked him why he was not going to leave the house in the morning he told you. 

“Oh, that makes sense. It is so hard to earn money in this business. 30 bucks is all I got for the show last night.”

“I am sorry to hear that. You deserve 30 million for how good you are.” A blush fills Gwyn’s cheeks and rolls her eyes. “Stop being so cute.”

You smile at your best friend, but it doesn’t reach your eyes, your whole focus on Azriel and how you can help him. Gwyn must have noticed since she tells you that she has to leave and that you should go talk to him. You say is currently showering as you can hear the water running and she laughs wickedly and tells you to join him. 

You swat at her shoulder. “It was a joke, Y/N.” She still cackles when she shoves your towards the corridor and then gives you a quick hug as goodbye. You hug her back and tell her thank you, before she slips through the door, leaving.

Bracing your in wool socks covered feet on the ground, you ball your hand into fists and draw in a deep breath. You listen to the water being turned off, not really sure if you should wait here or in front of his room or if you should wait in your own room. You somehow wish Cass was here, it would make things easier.

And what would you even say now? How would you address the problem without making him feel bad? Or embarrassed? It is the last thing you want. You want him to feel comfortable and not like he should feel less just because he cannot pay the rent. He should—

The door to the bathroom opens and reveals…Azriel…just with a towel around his waist. His gaze immediately lands on you because you still stand in the middle of the corridor, fingers still curled towards your palms. His eyes lock with yours and for a moment neither of your speaks. You force your eyes to stay on his and not follow this one, single droplet, slowly sliding down your roommate’s toned chest, to the strong muscles on his lower abdomen, to the edge of the towel—

You snap your gaze back to his, feeling heat creep into your skin, filling you with colour from your cleavage up to the top of your head. 

“We need to talk!” you quickly say and cringe at how hard it sounded. Great, that is exactly what you have wanted—not.

Azriel furrows his brows but slowly dips his chin and extends his hand, showing you to his room. You follow silently and he holds the door open for you. Once inside you can practically cut the tension with a knife. You somehow want a hole to appear in the floor, to suck you in and never spit you out again, because this is uncomfortable. And it will get a lot more uncomfortable. 

Before you can say anything Azriel shuffles over to the desk, picks up an envelope and hands it to you. He does not say anything, but the shadows in his eyes and the how hard he clenches his jaw speak volumes. “My part of rent,” he says, his voice empty of all kind of softness, leaving a rough statement behind. 

“Thank you,” you says and add, “this is partly what I want to talk with you about.” You cannot stand this odd tension and situation anymore and then do the one thing that makes it maybe even more odd.

You go over to his bed and plop down, folding one leg under yourself.

Azriel leans against his desk, crossing his arms over his chest, not seeming uncomfortable with you sitting on his bed but rather with the whole situation. Azriel has an inkling of what you want to talk about and he desperately wants to avoid this question. “Is money a problem for you? You can tell me—“ “No, it is not. I have a job now. Can you leave please?” You have expected a lot but not that answer. Not so sharp. And not so quick. You wince slightly, eyes going wide. Azriel is so cold and it hurts you. He has never been cold. He has always been calm and reserved, but always kind and warm. Nothing is left of this and you worry that you might be the reason for it. Maybe you have intruded his personal space, imposed yourself and this was now your price to pay—his indifference and cold. 

“Azriel, I am sorry, I just—“ “Just go, please.” It pains Azriel to talk to you like that, has he come to like you so much over the time he has been living with you. Gods, he has been falling for you since quite a while and this is exactly why he doesn’t want to talk with you about this. He doesn’t want you to think he is a loser, a failure, someone who does not have control over his life. 

His heart cracks when he sees the disappointed look on your face, knowing he has hurt you. 

“Alright,” you say and slowly get up from the bed. “If you want to talk or if you need anything,” —you push down the handle, opening the door— “you know where to find me.” You step out onto the corridor, Azriel still leaning against his desk. His gaze moves to the ground, he grinds his teeth so hard that his jaw aches. Closing his eyes, the moment the door falls shut, Azriel exhales loudly and wipes his hand over his head. “Fuck!” he expresses through gritted teeth. 

It is around twenty minutes later when a soft knock sounds from your door and lift your gaze. Moving your bookmark into your book, you place it on the bed beside you and open your mouth. “Come in.” 

Azriel is now dressed in grey sweatpants, still no shirt, but at least no longer just a towel. He looks like a picture of misery when he slowly waddles in and sucks his lower lip between his teeth.

“I wanted to apologise for earlier. It wasn’t fair and I didn’t want to come around as so rude. I didn’t mean to upset you.” You sit up in bed. “I didn’t mean to upset you, Azriel. And it is fine, you don't have to apologise.”

He closes the distance between the door and your bed and lets himself fall onto it, his eyes searching yours. “It is not fine. You are right. You have been right…I…”

Azriel momentarily looks at the ceiling, searching for the right words. Shame fills every fiber of his body when his heart drops into his belly. “I have a problem with money. I just…I don’t have a lot of money. None somehow. I started this job, a delivery job that is why I got home drenched in rain the other day.”

“Oh, Azriel…” you breathe and slide your hand over his, squeezing softly. “You could have told me. I could have just paid your part of the rent for this month.” “No, you could have not. I don’t want you to pay my things just because I am not able to. This is embarrassing.” “Not at all,” you argue and lean closer to him. “This is not embarrassing. Everyone can have issues with money. You just quit your job and—“ “Should be earning money with my music if I would not fail so greatly.” That is enough for you. Making a tiny leap forward, you cradle his face in your palms and stare deeply into his eyes. “Azriel, you listen to me now,” you say sternly, “your music is amazing, but you are only in this business for a few weeks. What did you expect? To earn millions after this short amount of time? It is fine. I told you already. And I am sure you will soon earn a lot with your music, but remember: good things take time.”

Smiling slightly, Azriel leans forward and places his forehead against yours. “I don’t deserve a roommate like you.”

“You do,” you whisper, giving his head another tiny squeeze. 

“The next time you ever need help or just need someone to talk, please, don't wait for that long again…”

“I won’t,” Azriel hums and it is the sincerity in his voice that tells you he really won’t. His arm moves around you and Azriel pulls you to his chest, hugging you before kissing the top of your head. 

“Want to show me the song you have written the other day? And then we could watch a movie?” you ask against his shoulder. 

When you pull back Azriel’s lips are curled upwards and his eyes are filled with so much hope, so much life agsin. “You really want to hear?”

“Of course!” It is the excitement in your voice that makes Azriel's heart race. Relieved and delighted he jumps out, dashes to his room and returns a moment later with his guitar and a piece of paper. You scoot over on the bed to make room for him and climb under the blanket when Azriel places the sheet of paper on the bed in front of you. He sits cross-legged on the bed, his guitar placed on his thighs. Both leaning agains the headboard and your head resting on Azriel's shoulder listening to his lovely voice and him softly his guitar, admiration and awe radiating from every fiber of your body and hopefully reaching him. 

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

tags (crossed-out I couldn't tag) : @juulle987 @marimorena06 @danikasthings @younxii @nightcourtwritings @mrofontaine @lunalilyf @whor-3-crux @tired-all-the-time @anni-was-here @ummmmmwat @azbracadabra @j-pendragonx @hollyismentallyillhelp @famousbasementpainter @bsenpai @lena-davina @red-highlady @thesugatoyourtae @azrielsbabyg @cityofidek @moony-thoughts @wrensical003 @cherryjain17 @moonfawnx @crushedcloudsx @devilsfoodcake22  @valeriedarkness @azrielscertifiedslut @mulansaucey @cynicalpotato95 @hanasakr @high-bi-andreadytocry @eerievixen @feyretopia @moonlightazriel @randomness-it-is @brekkershadowsinger @eliieee23 @girasoli-e-sorrisi @illyrianvalkyriecarynthian  @kennedy-brooke @highladyofillyria @theworthlessqueen @marina468 @topaz125 @illyrian-dreamer @azriels-mate 123

#azriel x reader #azriel #acotar #acosf #azriel x you #azriel shadowsinger

[chimielie]

little by little, we'll meet in the middle

summary: Oikawa x F!Reader (slight/past Iwaizumi x Reader). You and Oikawa are two moons - now that you've been pulled into each other's orbits, you can't seem to pull away. Even when you probably should. Sequel to Honeybee.

word count: 1k

cw: one mention of unhealthy eating practices. weird past-life-soulmateism. Yearning.

a/n: this is a part two, so i recommend reading in order to sort of understand the love triangle/knight x king/past life bullshit that's happening here, but honestly i don't know how much it'll help. it's a little bit of a the raven cycle au, but not quite? happy birthday IDIOT @ oikawa tooru. i love u or whatever

Your hands are calloused: at the base of the fingers and the web of the thumb. You brush a careful touch over the inside of Oikawa’s wrist, sweeping your thumb over his pulse point. Checking that he’s still alive. Warm touch and pulsing heart persisting.

You let go when he shifts the car into parking gear, pulling with both hands on the parking brake. It’s an old car, and only as reliable as its owner. 

He tries not to think about the combined delicacy and roughness of your hands, tries not to add another scrap of evidence to the pile that says he saw you first and he saw you true. It’s a pointless collection, like so many of his little passion projects. He couldn’t help building it, his jealous hoard of the moments where you were his and his alone. Guiltily, each brick had been laid and mortared from the moment he’d watched his best friend fall (clumsy and boyish, in a way he so rarely allowed himself to be) in love with you.

Even now, when Iwaizumi’s eyes are far from the both of you, even now that you are technically unburdened by belonging, the stiff line of duty is in your back and his vision. He keeps his eyes carefully away from you; if he looks at you for too long, his tongue finds words that shouldn’t be said. 

Your posture is as straight as the pines surrounding you, picking at the sandwiches you burned for lunch. Prosciutto and melted cheese you’d found unlabeled in the fridge, the crusts literally rimmed black, still a little warm to the touch even all the way into the blue mountains.

It’s a little fuck-you to him. He had called and said come on a drive with me. And you had fought him, snapped that you were in the middle of making lunch. Make me some, too, then, he had said indifferently, I haven’t eaten anything yet today. And you had been waiting at the curb, standing up straight with one hand shading your face and the other holding a bag of sandwiches. 

“Where are we going?” You asked, sliding into the passenger seat, stowing the sandwiches between you. This carefully curated space is present, always, a barrier never let down by both of you at the same time. 

“Nowhere,” he shrugged, kicking the car into gear. “Anywhere.”

The long-unused backroads are exactly in-between. Blue-green trees block out the sky, ushering in a soft not-quite night in the middle of the day, blurring that hard line. 

“They’re burnt,” you say, shoving the food into his hands. Three extras, just for him, because you worry about the way he gets distracted, gets obsessed, forgets to eat. Three burnt sandwiches, because you want to show him that love isn’t going to soften you, that whatever past you may have had (knight; king; lifetimes ago) your future doesn’t involve cooking at home while he rules the court. You wear your principals like you once wore gleaming metal armor.

He sees it in flashes. Reaching out, palms open. Hands calloused by the grip of your sword. A chalice, lifted to your lips, helmet removed and hair loose. Voice strong and sure, swearing fealty (voice soft, warning him of impropriety. Of the dangers of consorting with peasants). 

Lips, dry and still as he swallowed your fears.

“I don’t mind,” he says, and you look away from him. Everything feels raw and too real.

“What do you want to do for your birthday?” You say, because you don’t know what to do with his vulnerability. With-your-friends Oikawa is so different from talking-to-adults Oikawa is so different from just-your-Tooru. He’s water, slipping through your fingers even as he’s still rising around you, threatening to swallow you whole. 

He knows what you’re doing, too, because he knows that the boys are planning a surprise party away from his family, that you’re not supposed to snitch on the plan but would in a second if he pushed. You can’t lie to him.

He worries that the corollary is true: That he can’t lie to you. That you see him for what he is. 

He gives you a wry smile, telling you that he’s playing your game. “I want to go to the moon.” He’s been saying it since he was five, even when it stopped being true and became a tradition he was locked into.

“Of course you only want what you can’t have,” you laugh, and the words don’t lodge as painfully as he thought they might. “I can give you a star, Tooru, is that enough?”

“I guess,” he gives a prissy shake of the shoulders. “I could accept a promise.”

You don’t laugh, like he’d planned for. Instead, when he looks over at you next, you’re looking at him with an expression like—the sunset, honey melting over the horizon. Warm.

Oikawa shivers.

“I can give you that,” you say, voice small in your throat. He feels wildly unmoored in time, slipping between this life and the last; this love and the last; doom and destiny, woven together in a single thread. His head is heavy. Outside, the trees block sheets of misty rain. “Can that be enough?”

Your face is serious when he looks at you (can’t look at you too long, can’t let it show on his face), but your eyes shine. You’re looking at him—he feels dizzy with it—like he’s the sun. Like he’s a king.

You wrap gentle fingers around his wrist and tug him closer. The world is quiet, here, with you. His and his alone.

You keep your eyes steady on his, chin lifted in determination, always ready to fight. He runs a finger over the back of your hand, the one holding him. You don’t look at his mouth and you don’t let go.

He knows what you want because he wants it, too.

He lifts both of your hands and puts your palm over the lower half of your face. The center of the universe is your mouth. You stay still while he positions you, not even surprised; you know him.

Slow: he leans in, presses his lips to the back of your hand. Your eyes shut; he watches you as he lingers. The barrier hasn't been knocked down, yet, but this is him laying siege.

“A promise,” he says against your skin. “Is all I need.”

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[fuck-customers]

This guy orders a coffee and as I'm mid-way through pouring the milk into the shot he goes, "Sorry did you clean the jug just now?" I respond with, "Yeah, I always do." Not a lie, I give it a habitual wash out with hot water after and before use. He then hits me with this: "Okay I just wanted to check, cause I'm severely allergic to lactose. I've been put in the hospital a few times because of that sort of thing."

I just looked at him like what the fuck?? He didn't mention anything about a severe allergy before this point, just decided to dump it on my when his coffee was basically done. If he had've mentioned something during the order phase or even while pouring the shot I would've gotten one of the unused jugs from the fridge or maybe done a more thorough clean. But no, just decided he'd wait until the very end to let me know. No wonder he'd been apparently hospitalised before if the idiot doesn't even think to mention his supposedly very serious allergy.

I would understand if it were something that doesn't seem to involve milk whatsoever so it slips your mind - but it's a fucking coffee, are you joking?

Coffee dude you're a fucking idiot, and if that coffee was cross contaminated cause you didn't think to let me know beforehand I can't say I really care. Have fun in hospital again I guess 🤷

Posted by admin Rodney.

[let-me-use-you]

Ok! Here's a randomised list (there's always more like most things can be a dildo if u slap a condom on it) of things that can be fun to shove in a cunt (no unflared bases in ur assholes people)! I've tried not to go too big if she's tight but some might be fun goals if stretching is an aim? Like most of these can be increased up

Tried to do size order as well:

Nice bouquet of flowers - these are fun cos you can control the stretch

Pens/pencils she can then grind on some paper to make art ✨

Small liquor bottles/single shots - fun way to smuggle booze + anytime either of you want a drink you'd have to fish it out

Kitchen utensils - so many different shapes etc from handles to whisks all different fun feelings + the memory that it's been in her cunt anytime she uses them

Bed frames - if you've got one with fun knobs and bobs this is always fun 😍

Candles - either lit or unlit I'm sure she'd make a great decorative holder, plus there's different sizes!

Fruit and veg isle always has something fun and dumb (and most importantly cheap) to shove in a cunt!

Same goes for pet stores - the crossover with dog toys + sex toys is wildly similar 🤣

Silicone toilet brush - (ur not stupid so I'm not gonna impress how important that it is unused and bought for this purpose) bit of a thicker one but both the texture/feel of it + plus the knowledge that you literally have a toilet brush in your cunt? 😘🤌

All of these have the bonus humiliation points of being items that are usually pretty innocuous to have around the house (+ cheaper than most sex toys) so only you two will know that the flowers on the mantle had previously been inside her, the picture on the fridges origin etc (plus once you start incorporating normal objects in you do just start wondering about any remotely fun looking object) x

Holy moly did you write this up 😮😳 I loved reading all of this and she willl be seeing this asap 🤭 thank you very much for all these ideas

[jarofstyles]

For sugar baby!h, maybe a blurb abt him being like, apprehensive about being spoiled at first?

Ooo yes okay I like this.

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—-

“I don’t think I need all of that.” His hesitance was clear in his voice as he looked at the pile of clothing Y/N had him pick out. She had sat diligently on her phone, looking every time he came out to give an honest opinion on each piece.

It was a fantasy world for him. He hadn’t ever gotten to shop like this, let alone at a luxury store. Now with this new arrangement, Y/N had insisted on taking him shopping to show him a taste of what he could be having now and because she wanted him to have good clothing to wear to events and such with her. A double whammy, in her book.

The slight look of panic when he realized she was actually planning on buying all of the things she had nodded at was utterly adorable. Her walk over to him had him blinking fast, mentally trying to calculate how much this would cost her but was interrupted by a manicured hand running down his chest.

“Do you like the clothes, Harry?” She murmured, gesturing to the pile with her head. The flush on his cheeks made her smile, toying with the collar of his vintage band tee he had worn out with her today.

“Of course I do. I’m thankful for everything you’ve been doing for me. I just… I don’t want to be greedy.” His voice came out quiet, a little embarrassed. It melted her immediately, a look of concern flashing on her normally calculated poker face. Harry hadn’t asked for much at all. She had stated to take care of his student loan payments and paid off his car. Filled his fridge with groceries. Those things weren’t even a tiny chip in one of her accounts, but to him it was a big deal.

“Sweetheart…” she crooned, using her nail to trace the sharpness of his jaw. “You aren’t being greedy. Not at all. I took you out to shop. I want to buy you pretty things. I have to have you look your best at my side, don’t I? When you come to the country club or my brunch meetings, you represent me. As much as I do adore the vintage look… sometimes you need a more polished one. It just so happens that you love this brand too.” Her even tone calmed him down. This woman seemed to have that touch, that ability with him.

“I make a lot of money, Harry. More than a lot of people can comprehend. You are a worthy person to invest in. Okay? You deserve this, you deserve nice things and someone to treat you well. If you had the means, I’m sure you’d take care of people too. I don’t have many worthy people to take care of, and none of them are doing me favors the way you are.” A saucy grin lit up her face which had his face blushing. They hadn’t done too much at this point but… enough for him to know that their chemistry was off the charts.

“It’s worth it to me to spoil the man who is already making my life so much easier. And far more interesting. I’ve never been more relaxed.” It was true. The mouth she had experienced this morning had been heavenly and she had no plans on letting that tongue go anywhere. “So let’s ring these up and go to the next store. I love the Chelsea boots, but taping the hole in your toe won’t be allowed at the club. They have character but… I’m sure you want something that won’t let the rain in.”

Harry was unused to treatment like this. Never liking to rely on someone but also liking the idea at the same time. He had been working hard his whole life and now someone saw potential in him. Worth. Helping him with being able to focus on his career, though he hadn’t quite quit his one serving job yet- he just thoroughly couldn’t believe he had gotten lucky like this.

“Thank you.” He said quietly, taking her hand and pressing his cheek into it. “I will make sure you know how thankful I am in any way you want. M’just adjusting. It isn’t every day a beautiful woman spoils you.” That got a chuckle from her, thumbing over his stubbly cheek.

“It will be your every day now.”

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