#document laminators

[rubberbandballqueen]

does the fact that i am having a rogue translation of legal forms made so that the local immigrants can also participate in city programs they otherwise would've been kept out of due to illiteracy make me chaotic good, or do i have to be doing more expressly illegal things for that to count

[a-tiny-jigumi]

Me: I should sabotage this project so I am not asked to do it again

Also Me: does not do that (intentionally) and is asked to perform same project again

[justprintoholics]

Bulk Lamination Service | Just Printoholics

In the realm of printing and document protection, Just Printoholics has emerged as a trailblazer, offering a Bulk Lamination Service that combines cost-effectiveness with uncompromised quality. This blog post will delve into the world of laminating services, explore the unique offerings of Just Printoholics, and shed light on why they are recognized as the best printing company in Naraina.

Understanding Bulk Lamination Service

Lamination is a process that involves applying a protective layer to printed materials, typically in the form of a thin plastic film. This layer not only enhances the appearance of the prints but also provides durability and resistance to wear and tear. Bulk lamination services, as offered by Just Printoholics, cater to businesses and individuals with large-scale lamination needs.

Whether you have a stack of important documents, marketing materials, or promotional posters, opting for bulk lamination ensures cost savings without compromising on the quality of protection. Just Printoholics understands the diverse needs of their clients and has curated a service that addresses these needs efficiently.

Cheap Custom Laminating Service in Delhi

In a city as dynamic as Delhi, where businesses thrive and individuals seek cost-effective solutions, the demand for affordable yet high-quality services is ever-present. Just Printoholics fills this gap with their cheap custom laminating service, making professional document protection accessible to all.

The affordability of Just Printoholics' bulk lamination service does not imply a compromise on quality. On the contrary, their commitment to excellence ensures that each laminated document retains its clarity, color vibrancy, and structural integrity. The cost-effectiveness is achieved through streamlined processes and efficient use of resources, allowing clients to enjoy the benefits of lamination without breaking the bank.

Printing Company in Naraina: Just Printoholics

Nestled in the heart of Naraina, Just Printoholics has earned its reputation as the go-to printing company in the locality. With a diverse range of services, including bulk lamination, they have become a trusted partner for businesses and individuals seeking top-notch printing solutions.

The strategic location of Just Printoholics in Naraina makes it convenient for businesses in the area to access their services promptly. As a local printing company, they understand the unique needs of the community and are committed to delivering services that exceed expectations.

Best Printing in Delhi: Just Printoholics' Holistic Approach

Just Printoholics' commitment to being the best printing company in Delhi goes beyond just providing printing and lamination services. Their holistic approach encompasses understanding the needs of their clients, offering a wide array of services, and ensuring that each client receives personalized attention.

The bulk lamination service is a testament to this commitment, catering to businesses that require large quantities of documents, certificates, or promotional materials to be laminated efficiently. Just Printoholics' emphasis on quality, coupled with competitive pricing, positions them as a frontrunner in the quest for the best printing services in Delhi.

Exploring the Benefits of Bulk Lamination with Just Printoholics

Just Printoholics stands out not only for its affordability but also for the myriad benefits it offers through its bulk lamination service. The protective layer provided by lamination shields documents from moisture, stains, and physical damage, significantly extending their lifespan.

Moreover, laminated documents are easier to clean and maintain, making them ideal for long-term use. This is especially crucial for businesses that deal with frequently handled materials such as menus, price lists, or instructional guides. Just Printoholics understands the practical implications of lamination and has designed its service to cater to these specific needs.

[identity2110]

Tent Cards are a versatile marketing tool that can be used both, commercially as a card-body and personally. These ingenious creative tent cards can be used to uniquely endorse products, offers, and services, or even showcase simple information.

WhatsApp Us = 91 8920 951 048, +91 9873 455 131 Email Us = identity2110@gmail.com Address = D-21, 3rd Floor, Sector 10, Noida 201301 (U.P.) For More Info Vist Us = Tent Card Designs And Printing

[dante-mightdie]

content warnings: john price x reader, reader is a high-paid escort, sex work, smut, nude photos, mentions of various kinks and fetishes

john and laswell have long since retired from the action-packed military lifestyle they were used to. and it's years before they finally meet for a catch-up and when they finally do, they get onto the topic of stress and how laswell has seem to adapted to the laid back civilian life quite easily

"d'ya not get bored? pent up? miss the thrill of the battlefield?" john asks, nursing his pint and occasionally swilling the amber liquid around the empty space of the glass

laswell just smirks, taking a sip of her whiskey before looking back at john. "let's just say i've recently inherited a business which keeps me busy. come by sometime, i've got a way for you to releive all that pent-up energy."

she winks before sliding a business card across the table. john picks it up, the immediate side decorated with a simple "kates." laminated on the front. when he flips it over, he finds a london address in the same font on the other side. he shoots her a confused look before pocketing the card and speaking no more on the subject

a few weeks later and john finds himself in mayfair, outside a building he imagines cost a fortune in rent whilst he stares at the card to make sure he's at the right place. there's no sign on the front, no way to indicate this place is a business as it blends right in with the monotonous row of houses that run down the long street

he walks in and breathes a sigh of relief when he finds kate stood at the front desk of the apparent reception, speaking to the receptionist in a quiet tone. the furniture and indoor architecture of the building is divine, luxurious. far too fancy for his dirty, blood-stained hands

kate turns and a fond smile makes it's way onto her face as she walks to greet him in a way that suggests she knew he would be coming. she leads him into her office, sitting him down and hand him a clipboard with a form as thick as two of his fingers. she doesn't say anything other than, "fill that out and we'll talk afterwards." before smiling warmly and leaving him alone

john huffs, not feeling very relaxed as he quickly flicks through the thick stack of papers in his lap. he gets to work, filling it out as quickly as possible. the questions start of simple, age, occupation, marital status and he thinks nothing of this whole situation. soon, the questions take a bit of a turn as the next page is full of in-depth questions about his sexual health and history

his gut tells him to stop here, that nothing orthodox would be asking invasive questions like this and yet he finds himself continuing to fill out the form. the questions slowly become more specific, more detailed. john feels his cheeks heating up at some of them, shifting awkwardly in his chair

"please select any preferred dominant titles;

daddy? check.

sir? check.

other? please specify below:

captain."

he clears his throat as he ticks off the boxes, his eyes scanning over the paper for the next question;

"what are your preferred kinks/fetishes? tick any that apply below

pussy-eating? check.

squirting? check.

overstimulation? check.

anal play? check.

spanking? check."

he feels like a pervert as he ticks off box after box. he soon gets an idea of what kind of place this is. he reaches down to adjust his cock in his jeans when he feels it begin to chub up uncomfortably against the tight denim. kate comes back in soon after john finished up the huge pile of forms, some full of questions, others legal documents. liability forms, discretionary forms and such

kate takes it and hands it off to her secretary, giving her a kind smile and whispering something to her before she leaves the room. laswell hands john a glass of aged scotch before taking a seat opposite him

"I'm sure you've figured out what kind of place I run, john. and I'm sure you understand why I like to keep this place under wraps. my girls respect their privacy and I respect my girls." kate says, taking a sip of her own drink at the end of the sentence. john nods to show his understanding before she continues speaking

"If you aren't interested, that's fine but I expect you to keep what you know to yourself. you can keep a secret, correct, john?" kate questions with a small hum, looking john directly in the eyes. john doesn't get the chance to respond before kate's secretary waltzes back into her office, a much smaller file in her hands this time

"I ran the answers through the database and paired mr. price with (y/n) based on the results." she says, leaving the file on the desk and exiting without a word

kate smiles, sliding the file across the desk towards john. "lucky man. (y/n) is my favourite. she'll treat you well." kate hums, tipping her glass forward as signal for john to pick up the file. he does so reluctantly, opening it up to be greeted with a pile of polaroids falling into his lap

his erection only worsens and he has to force himself to hold back a groan when he picks the picture up and looks at the first one. his eyes greeted with just the sweetest thing he's ever seen, dolled up in pretty lingerie, the same colour he specified, and kneeling on the floor below the camera. a coy look on your face and a submissive look in your eyes

the next one shows you tied up to a bed and blindfolded, bra off and panties still on but a small wire peeking out from under the skimpy fabric. whatever it is, its causing the blissed out look painted on your face and curled toes against the fabric of your stockings

a quiet "fuck me" leaves john’s throat in his usual guttural tone when he flicks to the next picture. you on your hands and knees on a plush looking bed, the camera level with your cleavage but all john can focus on is the dildo shoved all the way to the back of your throat, a prominent bulge sticking out

john flicks his eyes back up to kate's,

"when can I meet 'er?"

[reanimatech]

Protect Your Documents!

Are you the type that has a lot of documents to keep for future reference? Gone are the days when you needed to keep the document in a file that does not assure your document’s safety. The laminator machine has now made the keeping of documents and photos safe and protected for years easier. If you have a document that you need to protect, enhance, and reuse, The laminator machines is the right option for you. The lamination machine protects papers from tears, wrinkles, and any other conditions that can distort the script on your documents. The laminating machine protects your documents by covering them with a protective plastic film on each side.

To know more visit, ReAnima.Tech

[notwhelmedyet]

A Fire Shall Be Woken, by Ealcynn. A pair of bindings using the K118 structure, one as a gift for the author and one to keep.

Chapter page illustrations are by Alphonse Mucha, all other illustrations are hand-drawn.

I hope to make a long post later explaining the process in more depth & another to document all my mistakes, but here's the basics.

New techniques learned: Paper marbling, edge marbling, uncial calligraphy, making paste papers, drawing on bookcloth, making paste-filled cloth, fold-out maps

I began work on this project in early September and am completing the finishing touches this week.

Structures:

Binding: K118 tightback

Endpapers: Simple cloth-joined endpapers

Map fold: Turkish map fold

Materials:

Sewing supports: linen tapes

Thread: 30/3 linen thread

Spine lining: Medium weight kozo tissue bonded to linen fabric

Interior paper: Hammermill Ivory, 11x17, hand-cut to 8.5x11

Endpapers: Blick sulphite paper hand-marbled, with masked stenciled silhouettes created with freezer paper

Adhesives: Jade PVA, wheat starch paste, wheat flour paste

Covers: Davey board, laminated full thickness to half thickness

Cover fabric: Studio E shot cottons in Jungle and Emerald; filled with wheat starch paste

Cover decorations: Speedball india ink and Dr. Ph. Martin's calligraphy ink in Copperplate Gold

Inks for maps and illustrations: Speedball black india ink and a selection of watercolors thickened with gum arabic

Dip pens used for calligraphy: Combination of Brause calligraphy nibs and Leonardt tape nibs

Dip pens used for illustration: Nikko G pointed pen nib

Typesetting:

Typesetting program: Scribus 1.5.5

Body font: Coelacanth in 10 pt caption weight

Headings, titles, chapter titles, drop caps: Hand lettered uncial calligraphy, scanned

Illustrations and References:

Frames on colophon, copyright, author's notes and title page: Hand drawn, with inspiration taken from the vellucent bindings of Cedric Chivers

Frames that illustrate each chapter start: Alphonse Mucha from Cloches de Noël et de Pâques

Cover illustrations: Referenced from a photograph of an European beech tree found on iNaturalist.org

Maps of Imladris: Hand drafted with inspiration from the maps of Barbara Strachey, and Daniel Reeve

Map of Eriador: Traced from a map by Karen Wynn Fonstad, with edits made to coordinate with the geography of the fic

Frames on maps: Referenced from a drawing by Alphonse Mucha that @zhalfirin found for me

Special Thank Yous:

To the tightback council of problem-solvers in the Renegade server: Zhalfirin, Eka, @spockandawe who helped figure out many issues with the structure and technique

To the marbling experts in the Renegade server: Marissa, Aether, AGlance, Jenny, Catz, Badgertide, Rhi, and everyone else who helped me figure out beginnner marbling

To Spock for finding the K118 structure and introducing it to the server!

And to Bruce Levy, who discovered the method and shared his discoveries freely with the bookbinding and conservation world.

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

Pinned FAQ

How do I request a card?

You can request up to 3 cards for free during openaskbox events! During those, the /ask inbox opens up for a few hours, during which I try to write as many as I can live on twitch and post them on tumblr.

After the event is over and I close that inbox, there are still a BUNCH of leftover requests. This is how I fill the daily content queue, I use those up til it's empty again and then run another openaskbox.

On Sundays at 3pm EST I write all 28 cards due to go up for the week from that pool of leftover asks live on twitch and then queue them to go up after stream

What if I don't wanna wait?

If you'd like to throw a bit of cash around instead of waiting, you can buy via the etsy listing or you can tune in to those^ Saturday livestreams, there's a variety of ways to donate to get cards written for you on the spot

How do I buy the card I've requested?

The etsy listing is available here! Please remember to include in the notes of the purchase which card(s) you want to buy. If you'd like me to bundle together all the cards you've requested over a period of a few years, dm me here on the blog and I can quote you on a cheaper bundle price

Why did you answer all those asks, it messed up my dash?

Sorry about that! So to keep all of that ^ organized, at the end of the month, I answer about 112-140 leftover asks in order to record them to a proper "to-write document"

It helps me keep organized, it allows me to easily search for spelling issues, and it gets a few eyeballs on the request in case someone tries to slip an obscure slur into their request that I'm not cool with writing (it has happened)

Lots of the regulars are used to this dash nonsense, but there are folks who want to avoid it entirely. If you're on mobile I'd just recommend unfollowing for a while, but if you're on desktop, you can blacklist the tag "added to notepad" and go to xkit to tick the "fully hide blocked tags" option so it clears up your dash

Wait I thought requests were closed, why can I still send things?

That's because requests use /ask, but /submit is always open because it's for YOUR calligraphy, pet photos, fanart of man... etc. Requests are NOT open when it's not openaskbox day but feel free to send me cool shit YOU made anytime

Wait you have a twitch, do you do anything other than calligraphy?

I try! my schedule at work (restaurant) varies week to week so I try my best to stream whenever I've got free time to, nothing's really planned out though

What are your regular writing tools and paper?

I mainly just use speedball nibs, specifically the c-series (c-0 through c-4) because they're angled flat nibs that let me do most blackletter hands I write. I have a supply of leonardt thin tips for detailing and illustrating

As for paper, the cards you see on the daily are on plain index cue cards I buy from staples. When commissioned/doing larger pieces, I work with a variety of paper, including a 32 lb xerox paper that has juuuust a perfect amount of lamination that avoids ink feathering, black paper that I bought a hundred sheets of in 2019 and I no longer remember the label, and a BOATLOAD of southworth's ivory parchment paper at both 32 and 64 lb weights.

[not-thenauts]

Has anyone considered that Shellington could be walking around with stone paper notebooks and astronomer pens?

The books that he reads could also be stone paper, laminated, or synthetic papers. I think stone paper sounds more in character for him since he is an otter, and the idea that they use space pens (which you can use underwater) is icing on the cake. Because they’re like Astronauts but for the ocean. All this I found in a quick google search, but I don’t see anyone posting anything about this. 😔 I’m sure Shellington would be proud of me.

I think he uses a pencil in all instances of writing or documenting though, probably not as reliant as it’s barely readable. 😂

I had to edit this twice because of my brain malfunction

[porcelainseashore]

Into the Ether (2)

Series Masterlist

Pairing: Vampire! Toreador! Leon Kennedy x Fem! Reader

Summary: At the all-night events cafe you run, you’ve become acquainted with an elusive patron, Leon, though you can never remember the last moments of your interactions together. After a harrowing encounter, a love-hate relationship develops between the two of you as you grapple with your newfound status in a world of darkness and investigate the reasons behind the untimely attacks.

Content & Warnings: 18+ Resident Evil x Vampire: The Masquerade crossover, horror, mystery, romance, slow burn, strangers to enemies to lovers, angst, fluff, eventual smut, swearing, smoking, alcohol, drug references, non consensual blood drinking, blood bond, vampire turning, violence, injury, mild gore, torture, religious themes, minor character death, RE ensemble, VtM concepts.

Taglist: @admirxation @angelstargel ❤️‍🔥

AO3 Link

Chapter 2: Dead City Blues

Eight years ago…

Claire rapped loudly on an inconspicuous black steel door, one among many within a dreary, gray slab building. The sound echoed off the concrete walls, but there was no answer.

“Fuck,” she muttered under her breath, checking the address written down in marker on the palm of her hand again. Yeah, this was the place, alright.

Banging on the door a second time for good measure, she whipped her head from side to side, skittishly surveying her surroundings while she tapped her foot on the ground impatiently. After what had recently happened, she was on edge, wanting to make sure she hadn’t been followed. Unfortunately, she was met with nothing but silence.

Where the hell was this guy? Trying the door handle, she rattled it and it clicked open, unlocked. Gingerly, she took a step inside, closing the door behind her. Well, she didn’t come all the way here for nothing. Might as well snoop around and see what she could find.

On the other end of the room stood a work desk overflowing with papers, some neatly stacked in piles, others scattered across its surface which was haphazardly littered with sticky notes. The desk lamp shone brightly, illuminating the dust motes circling lazily in the air, and a laptop lay open beneath it, the text cursor blinking on a blank document, seemingly mocking her. Next to the desk were a bunch of filing cabinets with some of its drawers open, as if someone had been rummaging through them but had left in a hurry. There was a worn leather couch to the side, along with a large potted plant and a couple of cushioned chairs. For clients, she presumed.

The laminated wooden floors creaked underfoot as she moved forwards cautiously. She sensed that she wasn’t alone, but wherever she looked, there was not a single soul in sight. Everything was completely still. Too still, she thought, playing with the rings on her fingers nervously. This wasn’t her territory. She was risking her undead skin, but there was no other choice.

“You have some balls, showing your face here,” a voice from the shadows taunted.

With a jerk, Claire pivoted sharply to confront the source of the disturbance, leaping backwards as she bared her fangs and hissed aggressively.

The voice tutted, “Defiant brat.” A man with dirty blonde hair and icy blue eyes appeared from the corner of the room. “You Anarchs really live up to your name.”

Her brows furrowed in confusion. “Leon Kennedy?” she questioned, the name spilling out from her mouth like a foreign object. However, she regained her composure, relaxing her stance as she smirked, unable to resist another one of her sassy comebacks that often got her into trouble. “Tell me, Camarilla pretty boy, how’s it like being the Prince’s lapdog?”

With blinding speed, Leon raced in front of her, holding her neck in a vice-like grip as her feet lifted off the ground. “You have ten seconds to explain before I rip your fucking throat out!” he snarled, while she choked and sputtered, struggling to break free from his grasp.

Summoning her strength, she tucked her chin, raising her arms up before using the momentum to swing her hips to one side, while simultaneously slamming her elbows into his forearm. A deep growl escaped his lips as he let her drop to the ground. “I need… your help,” she coughed violently. “My brother…”

He squatted down beside her, eyeing her with barely masked contempt. “And why should I help a filthy lick like you?”

“Please,” she begged, even though groveling in this manner made the hairs on the back of her neck stand. “They said you were one of the best. That you’d know how to find even those who don’t want to be found.” Tears lined her lashes as she looked away in humiliation, willing them not to fall.

His features softened in reflex action, as he saw brief vignettes of the past flash before his eyes of people coming to him for help, and the despair seeping through their pores. Their silhouettes morphed with Claire’s, blurring reality with fiction. It was inherent in him to help others. He hadn’t forgotten it, even though he was no longer human. 

“Fine,” he managed to make out through gritted teeth. “I only take payment upfront though.” Reaching his hand out towards her, he helped her to her feet, as she dusted off her red leather jacket.

“Yeah, about that…” she scratched the back of her head sheepishly.

“Let me guess, you’re not exactly rolling in riches, are you?” he sighed, his expression drooping suddenly in weariness.

Claire bit her tongue, trying to hold back on making another snarky remark about the elitist Camarilla sect and its bullshit Ivory Tower. Leon cocked his head, staring at her curiously, unveiling his fangs deliberately like a shark. Shit, maybe he was one of those Kindred who could read minds.

“Look, wait—” she raised her hands in front of him as though placating a raging bull. “If you find him, Chris…” There was a long, pregnant pause, as she shuffled her feet anxiously. “I’ll owe you a life boon,” she breathed, sealing her fate.

A life boon. She must be completely desperate, he thought. He’d never been owed one before, seeing as how he was just another mundane neonate in the underworld of upper class Kindred, which meant that he’d graduated from being a fledgling under the wing of his sire without fucking up. He was good enough to be considered a cog in the machine for his elders to use like a pawn in their silly games. But for the past 15 years, give and take, of his unlife, he always played by the rules, or around them, never going beyond the point of no return.

Life boons were rare in these nights and he wasn’t about to say no, but at the same time there was that nagging conscience within him that wondered if he was taking advantage of her. No, the Kindred world worked differently from the Kine’s… well, actually they were pretty similar, but— he shook his head to snap out of it before he could sink deeper into the rabbit hole.

Clearing his throat, he extended his hand again, offering it to her. “You got yourself a deal then, uh, miss…?”

“Claire.” She grabbed his hand and shook it firmly, nodding tersely at him. “Claire Redfield.”

“Right, Claire, tell me everything you know so far.” He gestured towards a pair of seats near his desk.

After he had gathered all the information he needed, he sent her off to the door like the gentleman he had been raised to be. Before heading out, she turned around, unclasping the silvery chain that hung around her neck. Attached to it was a matching pewter feather and a robin’s egg blue gemstone set within it. 

“Take this.” She released it in his hand. “Show it to Chris and he’ll know I sent you.”

With that, she disappeared into the cool, dead of night.

The next time they saw each other was a week later, inside an abandoned motel. There was trash strewn across the entire floor and an overhead light buzzed and flickered.The plaster had been torn apart from the ceiling board and loose cables hung from its opening.

A gruff, bulky man leaned against Leon’s shoulder which acted like a makeshift crutch, as Leon steadied him with a firm grip, half-carrying and half-guiding him to a soiled mattress in the middle of a room. The man patted Leon’s arm, indicating that he wanted to take a break. He slid down against the wall, resting in a sitting position on the mattress. His clothes were caked with mud and half of his face had been severely burnt, as charred black flesh curled at its edges. There was a gaping bullet hole in his thigh, and rusty colored blood soaked through his tactical pants.

Apart from the scratching and scampering of rodents, the place was silent. Though the uncanny peace was disrupted just a split second later, when a screech could be heard from the other end of the room. “Chris!”

In a blink of an eye, Claire dashed forward and knelt in front of her brother, grasping both of his shoulders as tears streamed down her face.

“Some FIRSTLIGHT agents got him real bad, but he managed to get out of the thick of it,” Leon explained. “They were searching for him, so he was stuck there for a while.”

Chris brushed his sooty fingers against his sister’s cheek, leaving charcoal marks in their wake. “Don’t worry, we got them back,” he rasped, shifting his gaze between Leon and him, as he grimaced through the pain.

“Shhh, don’t speak.” She brought a finger to his lips, trying to hush him. “Fucking SI bastards,” she seethed.

The Second Inquisition. The bane of every Kindred’s existence. They targeted everyone indiscriminately, regardless of sect, and had been around in one form or another since the beginning of time. Today, they were a conglomeration of intelligence agencies who made it their life mission to eradicate the undead. Apparently, even the Vatican was involved, Leon scoffed at his internal monologue, before directing his attention back at Claire. “Your brother’s had a blood bag, he’ll need—”

“Shit’s fucking disgusting, 10 out of 10 would not recommend,” Chris warned hoarsely, before erupting into a coughing fit.

Claire groaned, shaking her head in exasperation. “I swear, it’s like talking to a brick wall with this one.”

Leon peered around the room, double-checking to ensure that no one else was there. He shouldn’t stay any longer than necessary. “Since my job here is done, I’ll take my leave,” he said, stuffing his hands into his pockets, as he turned towards the exit sign.

“Leon?” Claire called out and he looked back at her in puzzlement. “I can’t believe I’m saying this, but… thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.” He shrugged, flipping his bangs away from his face.

“I owe you,” she declared, her serious demeanor reflecting the sincerity of her words.

Chris glanced between the two of them. “We owe you,” he chimed in.

━━━━━━━━━━━

Present day…

Jasmine incense and fruity puffs of shisha smoke wafted throughout the room he had just entered. Translucent red silk sheets draped around the ceiling and the side walls, giving off the illusion of being in the hull of a ship, as well as a false sense of security. The beaded curtain he passed through made a tinkling sound as the pearls clacked lightly together, alerting others to his presence. This was a place where gossip was woven, secrets were spilled and deals were made. Leon knew this all too well, especially since he had his share of many such dealings with his sire in the past.

He was in luck today. Apart from her, there were only ghouls here, ordinary humans whom she recruited into her service and imbued with her strength. One of them nodded at him in acknowledgment, offering him a cordial glass filled with claret liquid. “Our finest.”

Clearly, they had anticipated his arrival. How nice of his sire to inform them, he ruminated sarcastically. Taking the glass from her, he swirled it, noting how smoothly it strained down the sides before sniffing the rim faintly.

“We also have live vessels, if you prefer,” she suggested.

He frowned slightly, signaling with a subtle hand wave to decline her proposal as he drank from his glass. She backed off, allowing him to walk past towards a majestic set of marble doors, lavishly decorated with ornaments and intricate figures carved into them. Tracing an outline of a distorted face of a child with his finger, he recalled how in his early years, he’d been so enraptured by everything in this godforsaken place, and most of all, her. He lifted the aged bronze knocker, tapping it twice before pushing open the double doors.

And there he saw her, in all her terrible glory, basking like a queen in an elegant kimono robe on her opulent, plush bed, adorned with a velvet headboard and its frame crafted from the finest woods. Every inch of it was covered in luxurious fabrics, from the embroidered duvet to the pile of sumptuously soft pillows. Kneeling beside her on the ground was a half naked ghoul, lapping hungrily at the crimson fluid flowing from her wrist. A blood-stained dagger lay on the bedside table.

Ada caught Leon’s gaze and smirked at him.

“That’s enough for now,” she commanded, and immediately, the ghoul straightened himself, averting his eyes as he retreated from the pair of them.

The gash on her wrist closed up on its own. “Just the monthly top up.”

Leon made a face at her elaboration; the betrayal and hurt were still raw in his memory, as if they had only occurred yesterday.

“Oh, don’t be so sour, Leon,” she laughed. “You can’t possibly be still hung up about that?”

“You used me, Ada,” he simmered. Despite the infrequency of their meetings in the recent years spent apart, she knew how to push his buttons. “So, I’m sorry if it’s a little hard for me to act like nothing ever happened between us.”

She let out an irritated sigh. “You sound like a child throwing a tantrum right now,” she retorted, picking at her nails in growing boredom. “And tell me, which sire doesn’t use their own progeny?”

He clenched his fists in anger but held his tongue. This wasn’t the hill he wanted to die on. He reminded himself of the purpose of his visit and chose not to let her snide comments ruffle him.

“Good boy,” she cooed approvingly. “I see you haven’t lost all of your manners. Blood bond, or no blood bond.”

He winced at the term, as a sudden wave of nostalgia, combined with ensuing nausea, hit him. The visions were so vivid:

“Do you love me?” She stroked the side of his cheek tenderly as he lay naked and panting on top of her pale breasts. 

“Yes, yes, of course,” he fawned.

“Prove it.”

Cradling her hand, he brought the underside of her wrist to his lips. “I’ll do anything! Say the word and I’ll die for you, a thousand times over.”

“Then drink, my love.” Her eyes glowed violet as her mouth shaped into a cruel, yet alluring smile.

And he sank his teeth into her, like a good little boy.

Back then, she only needed to say “Jump,” and he would ask, “How high?” without realizing that drinking from her so often would result in a nearly unbreakable blood bond. He committed despicable acts in her name, things he would rather scrub from his mind and forget about, but they continued to haunt him.

When he lost his shine and the appeal of being something new, she discarded him like yesterday's newspaper, chasing after the next high she could find. The problem with the bond was that he was obsessed with her, often breaking out into insanely jealous fits that tormented him for days when she took on a new lover. He had almost killed one of them, which, in turn, could have resulted in his Final Death at the hands of the Prince, had he been successful. Time away from her was all it took for the bond to wear off, though it was not without its difficulties. He whined like a lovesick puppy during the moments he was alone, rotting like waste on the stone cold floor. His vulnerability was like a disease; he hated every bit of it and swore never to descend to such a state.

When he returned to the Court like a new man after an agonizing period of being weaned off the bond, he suddenly found himself no longer in vogue and stumbling his way through the dark, seeing as how it was always his sire who called the shots around town. In a twisted turn of events, he ironically ended up falling back on the career he had originally given up to be with her, in order to be of use to the Camarilla, or polite vampire society, if you will. 

And then, there was the vessel business. To keep up with the expectations and obligations impressed upon him due to their formal relationship as sire and childe, he continued to bring her the vessels she requested. The only requirement was for them to be of ‘exquisite taste’ and he obliged whenever he could, though this time, he put in just the bare minimum to get by. Yet, some part of him still cared for her, in spite of what she had done, even if he would never let himself admit that.

Coming back to his senses, his eyes adjusted to the scene before him. Leaning back on her bed and propped up by the pillows, Ada patted the empty side next to her, inviting him to take a seat, and he followed her lead.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Negotiating was never one of his strong suits, especially not with Ada, but he had to try. He gulped the rest of the liquid down, fiddling with the glass in his hand. “Ada, since I joined you, you know I’ve never asked you for anything…”

She cast him a prolonged sideways glance. “You’ve piqued my curiosity. Go on.”

“I want to Embrace one of my own.” The words tumbled out of his mouth in a rush. Better to get it done and over with.

“You? Becoming a sire?” she snorted in disbelief before bursting into giggles. “I mean, you’ve always been a bit of a mommy’s boy, haven’t you?”

“I can handle it,” he responded curtly with a cold and unbroken stare.

“Hmph.” Pulling herself into a seated position against the headrest, she folded her arms and turned to face him. “I have to say though, this is even more interesting than when you joined the Anarchs.”

A disgruntled noise escaped his throat. “I didn’t join the Anarchs—”

“No matter.” She raised a hand to silence him. “Wesker seems to think it useful of you to be our unofficial emissary. And what the Prince says, goes, after all.” A sly grin spread across her cheeks, barely concealing her fangs.

Clearing her throat, she continued her line of questioning. “So, who is this prospective childe?”

“One of the owners of Café Noir on Blake Street, just east of Circular River,” he mentioned, racking his brains for any viable excuse to make you sound like the best possible candidate for the Clan of the Rose, the Toreador. His and Ada’s clan. Like sire, like childe.

There were some who thought of them as divas and perverts, but these Kindred were wrong — they were so much more than that. Passion and obsession were their greatest strengths. They could make or break minds with it, crushing you until you were nothing but a tiny speck on the Earth, to be shunned and forgotten. Everyone had something to bring to the table, and let’s just say what counts as an art has always been a purely subjective matter.

“I was tipped off that the Anarchs are looking for ways to claim the area as their domain,” he explained further. “She’ll give us the edge we need to prevent that.”

“Anything else?” she probed.

“She’s young, idealistic—”

“A lot like yourself, back in the day.” A rueful laugh escaped her lips.

Leon continued forward without missing a beat, he needed to convince her without letting her statement get to him. “Hot-blooded, but not to the extreme like those Brujahs, just the right amount of fight in her. I’m sure you’ve heard of the events they’ve hosted over there—”

“Ah, yes,” she nodded. “Very underground and avant-garde.” There was a twinge of dismissiveness in the way she said it.

“Yet pandering to the people,” he added quickly, attempting to cram in even more noteworthy achievements he had recognized in you. “Well, you can’t deny that she can stir quite a crowd—”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you?” Ada interrupted him for the third time in a row, and he was struggling to maintain his composure in response to her accusation. “How predictable.”

“That’s besides the point,” he snapped, turning away from her to avoid her mocking scrutiny.

She tutted, stretching herself out leisurely like a cat who had a mouse trapped between its claws. “The real question is, why don’t you ask the Prince yourself?”

“You know why,” he muttered, still unable to look her in the eyes.

“Say it.”

Swallowing his pride, he pursed his lips before speaking. “I’m just a simple whelp. But you, as an esteemed Harpy, know how to please him.”

“Very good.” She reached out and ran her lithe fingers through his silken locks of hair as he shuddered at her touch. “Just like I taught you.”

Curling her fingers under his chin, she turned his face back towards her. “You know this won’t come for free…”

“I am well aware.”

The look of determination in his eyes nearly startled her. She hadn’t seen that fire in him for a while. “Sometimes, you surprise me,” she admitted. “No wonder I keep you around.”

“Do we have a deal?” he pressed, trying to keep the conversation on track.

“If I were you, I’d be careful what I wished for.” She trailed one of her taloned nails along his bottom lip. “In any case, I’m counting this as a major boon, so you better be ready to pull your weight when the time comes.”

She was always playing games. With him. With everyone. It was what she thrived on. But his choices were limited. “Have I ever failed you?”

“Don’t make it the first,” she warned, a gleam of danger flashing across her eyes. “Well, come then, kiss me.”

Suppressing his reluctance, he leaned forward and pressed his lips against hers as she asked, submitting to her entirely as the deal was sealed.

━━━━━━━━━━━

“Leon?” he heard you call out from behind the bar the minute he’d stepped through the entrance. You looked like you had seen a ghost.

It had been a while since he had returned, but there were other more urgent matters he had to attend to in the meantime. Did you miss him? Was this what it was all about? He strolled over, watching you chew your lip apprehensively.

He tried to place his hand on your shoulder in concern, but you shrank away from him like a wilted flower. There was a pang in his chest. He didn’t know how you had the power to unintentionally hurt him in this way. “Is something wrong?”

You were trembling so badly, the cup you were holding rattled noisily against its saucer. “What did you do to me back then?”

A pained realization swept across his face. You had remembered the last words he had said this time, waking up confused to find yourself unsullied, not a hair out of place, wondering what on earth he meant by his remark. God, he wanted to hold you now and beg for your forgiveness, but it was too late.

“You know, I liked you…” Your mouth had contorted in anguish. “If you wanted something, you could’ve just asked.”

“Please, I can explain,” he pleaded, finding himself on the opposite end of the table for once. “I swear, I won’t do anything to harm you. I just need you to trust me, please.”

Your forehead creased as you pondered your next move, eyeing the man in front of you with suspicion. He seemed so earnest and had treated you with nothing but kindness before. Yet, beneath the surface, there lurked a predatory nature intrinsic to him. Although it scared you, you found this side to him fascinating, and it drew you in at the same time.

Finally, you came to a decision. “Patrick?” you motioned towards your curly-haired brunette colleague while not once shifting your gaze from Leon. “I’m gonna take the night off and spend some time with this gentleman here.”

Sliding Leon’s business card along the counter towards him, you made sure to talk loud enough for the blonde man to hear it. “If you don’t see me in the next day or two, you know what to do.”

You tried to laugh it off as a half-serious joke, just so they wouldn’t worry… too much. And with that, you grabbed your jacket and headed off into the night with him.

[fuck-customers]

we do printing, copying, laminating, and one or two other things. we do NOT provide photoshop or other design services. but if one of us has free time (which isvery rare) and sees you having trouble we MIGHT help. i did it once when i saw two poor 90 year old ladies who barely new how to use text boxes or center things on a document. but the fact that you will never see charges for this on your bill hould make it pretty obvious that we're doing this to be nice. idk maybe it's not obvious but whatev.

woman comes in FIVE MINUTES BEFORE CLOSING. and says she wants something photoshopped and printed. so like even if we did offer that service you're fr coming in five minutes before we close????? anyone since like i said we dont have photoshop services no one over there is required to know how to use photoshop and the guy who was there didnt know how to use photoshop.

"but james did it for me last time i was here!" cool. james was being nice, james isnt here, and the dude currently here literally does not know HOW to use photoshop. it's like thirty past closing and this point and the manager says "ma'am we are way passed closing and you have to leave." "no i refuse to leave until you photoshop and print what i need."

employees on duty weren't able to leave until an hour and a half after closing coz of this bitch.

gm told am that if there's a customer like that again to tell them that he'll call the cops if they don't leave

Posted by admin Rodney.

[lou-struck]

Re: Enchanted Pudding Part 1

Obey Me! x MC!

Featuring: Lucifer, Mammon, and Leviathan

Part 2, 3

~ I loved the Enchanted Pudding Devilgram story and wanted to do what I think the brothers and the Datables would do if they had uninterrupted time with MC after they accidentally had a bite of Lunatic pudding.

Lucifer~

He finds you doubled over in the doorway of the house of lamination trying to catch your breath after running all the way from the castle with a trail of Lesser demons and incubi who have all been enthralled by your increased pheromone production on your tail.

It only takes a stern glare in the direction of your pursuers to get them to scatter but as he looks you over he notices that you smell better than normal.

Your breath comes out in exhausted pants as you try to explain to him that you accidentally had another bite of the Lunatic Pudding. he understands immediately but the irresistible smell your are giving off makes him only want to keep you in his arms till the end of time.

“Mc, my desires to hold you and keep you close are only amplified.” he says softly, a heavy blush on his fair skin. “Until the effects of the Pudding wear off I’m keeping you at my side. I simply cannot allow anyone else to touch what's mine."

His soothingly protective words wash over your fatigued body as the events of the day catch up with you. Now that you are no longer in danger of being hunted down you can rest easy. Lucifer captures your tired form in an gentle embrace just as you legs give out beneath you.

You give him a tired nod as he carries you bridal style up the stairs and into his study. Once magically barricaded in the room, he keeps your dozing form secure on his lap while he attempts to get a bit of work done. But you just smell so good, it makes him feel a little lightheaded and dizzy.

He doesn't even make it halfway through the first document before his eyes start to droop and his head falls into the crook of your neck where he stays for the rest of the night.

Mammon~

Right when Mammon enters the RAD cafeteria he can tell something is up. Your bookbag is left abandoned at your usual table along with a barely touched cup of Pudding as a few Lesser demons whisper amongst themselves glancing between Mammon and the hallway.

It's only when an intoxicatingly sweet aroma hits his nose he realizes what is going on.

That sweet smell belongs to you, his human, and it smells almost like how it did when Lord Diavolo gave you a bite of his Pudding...

In a flash Mammon takes off down the hallway following the trail of your pheromones using his superior speed to surpass  Demon after Demon who have dark intentions written all over their faces.

He finally is able to find you running through a corridor without your uniform jacket. His senses get the better of him as he grabs your wrist and pulls you into him as you scream, blindly twisting in his hold in fear. Seeing you react this way to him breaks his heart, and he vows that no matter how good you smell, he will keep his Treasure safe.

"MC, its me, The Great Mammon. Yer Okay, I got ya." he soothes as you peak open your teary eyes and meet his blue-gold ones. Upon seeing the Avatar of greed your chest heaves in relief as you sob into his jacket. His hands run up your arms trying to calm you down enough for you to tell him what happened.

Between gasps you explain that as a prank, one of your classmates switched the labels on your dessert to trick you into eating the forbidden sweet. 

The effects were instantaneous as the demons around you fall victim to the effects of the pudding and begin to chase after you mercilessly. You had to throw your jacket off to throw a few off your trail.

“You did a great job waiting for me. That's my Human." he says a few stay tears from your face has he breathes in deeply inhaling the effects of the pudding. “ Let’s get ya home, i'm not letting anyone else touch what’s mine.”

Leviathan~

Levi gets drawn away from his bedroom after a sweet smell wafted under his doorway. It smells so good and makes him feel so safe it makes him think of you.

Maybe the two of you could curl up in his new beanbags he got off of Akuzon and watch one of those Cheesy romance animes that normies watch

He’s so excited thinking about spending such uninterrupted time with you he doesn't realize that he is blindly following his nose out the front doors of the house on lamination and into on of the sheds in the gardens. That is where he finds you trying to hide yourself.

“Mc, why are you hiding in the Garden? He asks. But as soon as you flinch he realizes that you are scared of something. You cling to The Demon as his face turns beet-red but now that your in his arms he doesn't want to let you go.

You mumble something about accidentally having a bite of Lunatic pudding at RAD and having to find some place to lay low for a while to avoid the lesser demons before they do something Crazy

The Idea of anyone getting to be that close to his Henry angers the Avatar of Envy to no end and he quickly whisks you away to his bedroom so he can keep you all to himself. Levi's room is certainly one of the best places to hide in till the effects of the Pudding wear off since he is always prepped to shut himself away.

There is hundreds of hours of entertainment to enjoy, tons of comfy chairs, a well hidden snack stash, and of course the adorably handsome demon who loves you more than anything.

As you curl up together on the beanbags, he internally curses himself for doing such a normie activity, but any shame or embarrassment he feels dissipates as soon as he gets hit with another waves of your Pheromones as he pulls you closer to him. His face never losing that initial blush as he lulls you to sleep.

As you rest in his arms, he cant take his eyes off of you even for a second. The anime stays ignored as he enjoys the effects that the Lunatic pudding has on the both of you.

[ri47]

The LMR47 (known more simply as the rail) is possibly the most infamous of the KHU's service rifles. While the exact circumstances of its adoption are poorly documented, it was doubtlessly the end result of a vicious bidding war between the arms-manufacturing families of the seneschal board.

A marvel of standard technology, those familiar with the rail often remark on how little recoil it generates. Although not quite the "zero-recoil" promised by the standard foregrip's branding, the rail remains a surprisingly manageable weapon, further eased through the liberal use of alloy laminate in its construction.

The rail is technically capable of automatic fire. Realistically, the thermal limits of its onboard power unit constrain this to controlled bursts.

[identity2110]

Print Your Own Catalog, Magazines, or Booklets By Doing A Few Clicks And Get Them Delivered Door-Step. We Are Expert At Branding And Printing Related Services.

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[eddies-house]

The Under-Ground

Chapter One - Welcome to The Under-Ground

Ch. 1 | Ch. 2 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 4 | Ch. 5 | Ch. 6 | Ch. 7 |

Modern!Barista!Eddie AU - In which you work at the local Hawkins coffee shop where you thought you'd be able to escape the horrors that were high school a few years after graduating. Until one of those horrors lands a job in the closing shift with you...and you have to train him.

Enemies to Lovers, Modern!Barista!Eddie AU, Eddie x Fem Reader

5K Words

Warnings - Eddie is an asshole, eventual smut, I don't think there's anything else but please let me know if I missed anything

Author's Note: I finished this sooner than I thought I would...pls let me know what you think, I am having so much fun writing this so far and I can't wait to keep going

Masterlist

Next ->

The chill Autumn air infiltrated the apartment and left you shivering, the wool blanket atop your comforter did little to aid you in getting warm.  That’s what five hundred dollars a month got you in small town Hawkins, it's what you could afford.  Old striped wallpaper that alternated a faded baby blue and pale yellow that seemed to have been glued to the wall since the 70’s barely clung to the walls, a majority of it peeling and begging to be torn off.  The stained white linoleum throughout the kitchen had seen better days and the carpet in the living room and bedroom was dingy, so dingy that no vacuum could possibly come close to cleaning it.  The lock on the door was on the verge of breaking and almost didn’t work–almost.  And of course the heater was definitely broken, the creepy landlord would take his sweet time to fix it, leaving you with a freezing apartment as the seasons changed and Hawkins welcomed the fall.  A broke college student by day and a barista by night, these are the cards you were dealt for now.  

Classes at the community college had finished for the day, rotating to the night courses.  A few papers were due next week, one for your business class on the effects of product promotion in business growth that happened to be stressing you out extra.  Your fingers tapped away at your laptop from your mattress nestled in the corner on the floor of your tiny bedroom.  4:30PM, the time in the corner of the screen read, just half an hour before your shift at The Under-Ground.  With a groan, you click save on the document and shut the laptop which was certain to be opened later tonight after your shift only to continue the torturous essay.  Begrudgingly you began your pre-work ritual of grabbing whatever snack or meal you had in the fridge, scarfing it down, and then tidying your appearance a bit while listening to your daily playlist named “Eh” on Spotify.  Today’s vibe was set by Dreams by Fleetwood Mac.  

The rusty bathroom faucet sputtered water before allowing a full stream to flow into the sink.  You splashed some water on your face to feel more alive although it may have been a mistake in hindsight since the apartment was already cold and rather than feeling refreshed, you felt like a wet dog.  Dabbing your face with a towel hanging from over the rod where the tie dye shower curtain hung as well, you collected any leftover mascara from the previous night beneath your waterline and around your eyelids.  Moving to the compact closet in the bedroom, a simple outfit of jeans and a maroon knitted sweater you’d ‘claimed’ from the lost and found at the college were chosen and paired with your only signature docs.  Lastly, your apron was tied around your waist in a neat knot.  

Grabbing your keys from the laminate countertop and shoving your laptop in your bag, you make your way through the damaged and scratched up wooden door that was the entrance to your apartment, the number seven nailed to the front of it.  “God dammit.” you jam your key in and out of the lock, twisting and repeating until it finally clicks in place.  The door leads right outside into the biting air and you scurry down the concrete stairs while avoiding touching the nasty railing, Mrs. Harrison’s chubby cat, Raphael is perched right at the bottom like he always is.  His large green irises stare up at you, giving the appearance that he was just a fluffy ball of black fur with eyes.  “Ralphy” you mumble your nickname for him affectionately as you steal a pat from his head on your way out of the apartments, a small meow chiming through the air.  

The Under-Ground wasn’t a far walk but it sure did seem that way the colder it got.  You’d been working there since the Spring and so far had no issues with weather but you knew it would bite you at some point.  The walk through downtown Hawkins is crisp and cloudy, leaves blowing delicately from the trees and laying perfectly in the street, colors varying from red, orange, and brown.  It was mid September.  Patrons wander about the streets attending to their daily errands.  Teenagers mess around at the entrance of The Hideout, no doubt attempting to use their fake IDs only to be turned away by the bouncer, Stan.  

Joyce Byers cleans the storefront window of Melvald’s, taking care to not miss a single streak.  Her face lights up as her son, Will approaches the store.  Max Mayfield skateboards past you down the sidewalk at lightning speed, the only reason you know it's her is a flash of her flaming red hair as well as Lucas Sinclair trying to keep up with her on his own board, a nervous expression written on his features as he carefully maneuvers.  Nancy Wheeler hurriedly gets into her car, wrapping up her workday at The Hawkins Post while Jonathan Byers gives her cheek a kiss and heads over toward Will and Joyce.   

The Under-Ground comes into view as you round the corner, the brick building vacant of customers at the moment from what you can tell through the windows.  The evening rush hasn’t picked up yet, usually kicking in at around six when the college students like yourself would make themselves at home and study over lattes and espresso shots.  The bell chimes above the door as you pull it open, the smell of coffee beans and pastries flooding your nose and some upbeat jazz playing through the speakers.  Robin sits atop the counter much to the boss, Ronnie's dismay but he’s not around to scold her.  Her dirty blonde bob is freshly trimmed, bangs laying just right across her forehead while she has a lollipop sticking out her mouth and she skims through a magazine lazily.  One leg is hitched up onto the counter with her bright yellow converse on display, knee to her chest.  She’s wearing jeans with a few holes and a vintage tee.  Her bright blue eyes glance up and land on you, face lighting up as she greets you.  “Hey, Robin!” you greet back, making your way behind the counter to clock in on the computer.  

“You’re lucky, it’s been dead for hours.” she says while setting aside the magazine.  “Think it’s gonna rain too so it’ll probably stay that way.” she continues.  

“Good, I can probably catch up on some homework then.” you hum, punching in your employee number.

“Oh and some new guy is supposed to close with you tonight, I think you’re training him.” she mentions.

“So, no catching up on homework then.” you sigh.  Training someone new wasn't necessarily difficult however it was draining since you already knew how to do everything like the back of your hand.  Dumbing it all down always took a minute since you had to slow down and give them time to catch on.  

“Did Ronnie say who?” you ask, turning to face Robin.  Hawkins was small which meant that everyone knew everyone.  Which was unfortunate sometimes since that also meant everyone knew everyone's business.

Robin hops off the counter, hair bouncing as she does.  “Nope, I just know that it's some dude.” she crunches down on her lollipop and discards the stick in the garbage a few feet away.  

With a sigh, you head to the back room to put your bag in your locker only to find Steve lounging at the lunch table, his feet crossed on top of it while scrolling through his phone and two legs of the chair he occupies off the ground as he balances.  Today he sports some red corduroy pants and an ivory crewneck sweater finished off with converse, just like Robin’s, only black.  “What’s up?” he greets, not once looking up from his phone.  

“Scrolling through Tinder again, Stevie?” you mock while setting your bag in your locker for safe keeping, hooking the lock around the metal and clicking it into place.

“Actually, it’s Grindr.” he says matter of factly.  

“My bad, you find anyone cute?” you ask, peering over his shoulder, his aftershave smelling subtle and pleasant.   

He lands on a cute blonde guy with green eyes, most likely from a town over.  “Not really.” he exhales, running a hand through his voluminous hair.  

“Well what about him?  He’s pretty cute.” you encourage.  

“Dude, it says he likes to do Karaoke for fun.” he glances behind at you with a raised brow.  You shrug, unaware of why that would deter him.  

“If that's not a red flag, I don’t know what is.” he states, shutting his phone off and shoving it in his pocket while standing, making his way to the vending machine.  “What happened to me, Socks?  I used to pull 'em left and right and now no guy or girl will give me the time of day.”  Socks was your nickname given by Steve and Robin after the dreadful incident where a pipe burst from one of the sinks and you happened to be standing in front of it, the bottom half of your pants along with your socks becoming soaked.  The rest of the evening you worked your shift without shoes, only in your sopping wet socks with your jeans rolled up.  It had been an ongoing joke since, although you always reminded them how horrible it is to go around in wet shoes, the squeaky sound they would make against the floor and the squishiness of the soles.  They always disagreed, insisting that it would be worse to work in only socks and how they’d just opt to continue wearing the drenched shoes.  

“Steve, I think Grindr and Tinder and all the dating apps might be giving you unrealistic expectations.” you tell him truthfully.  

“Okay, but who the hell else am I gonna find in Hawkins?  Been there, done that, this is my only option."  He inserts a dollar into the vending machine and punches in his selection, shortly after a bag of pretzels falls.  

“Pretzels, Steve?  Really?” you taunt.  “How bland of you.” you deadpan.  He pulls open the packaging and tosses a pretzel in his mouth all while giving you his signature pout.  “Maybe that's your issue, you dumb yourself down for these people you don’t even know.” you continue.

“Wow.” he raises his arms in disbelief, a hint of humor evident.  “That…” he flings a pretzel at you, hitting your chest.  “...was mean.” he sasses.  “But probably true.” he finishes.  “Don’t you have a job or something?” his head tilts toward the door.  

“Yeah, and so do you.” you shoot back, grabbing his apron from where it hung over one of the breakroom chairs and throwing it at him.  

Exiting the room, you hear Steve chime in one more time.  “I’m off in like fifteen!”  Your shifts always overlapped with Steve and Robin’s, them usually taking the morning to afternoon shift and you taking over closing.  Ronnie would always hang out in the back office so you didn’t have to close alone but that was pretty much the extent of his labor.  The beans needed to be ground for the next day, chairs stacked on the tables, bathroom tidied, ingredients prepped, counters wiped down, etc.  And you were always the one to do it, not that you minded so much.  Ronnie never micromanaged and you had gotten good at closing so it became somewhat of a meditation time.  The town winded down and the dim lighting provided a relaxing glow, almost as if you were in a spa.  You could at least pretend anyway.

Robin was making herself a latte, carefully pouring the milk over the coffee in an attempt to make a design.  She’d been practicing for weeks with no success.  “Dammit!  Another wasted latte!” she slams the small pitcher of cream onto the counter.  

“That for me?” you question over her shoulder, spotting the blob of white draped over the coffee.  You ended up drinking them most of the time, always looking forward to your daily latte handcrafted by Robin.  

Letting a breath out, she hangs her head in defeat.  “It is now.” 

Steve saunters out from the back, stopping in his tracks right next to Robin.  “Another one?  Seriously?” he mutters before continuing to the espresso machine to make probably his fourth drink of the day.  

“When is the new guy scheduled to come in?” you ask as you pour yourself an iced coffee.  Everyone was allowed one free drink a day however it was never enforced unless the owner, Ronnie’s mom was around.  She owned The Under-Ground while her husband owned The Hideout.

“5:30, I think?” Robin answers.  The clock on the register currently reads 5:20.  Steve glances at you, trying to hide a smirk as he quickly looks in the other direction.  

“What?” you demand.  Shaking his head he continues pouring an espresso shot into paper to go cup.  A tug on his sleeve doesn’t get him to budge.  “Steve, why did you give me that look?!” you hound him.  

“Nothing!” he raises his hands in defense, a shit eating grin on his face.  

“Steve.” you narrow your eyes at him, brows knit in frustration.  

“Yeah, Steve.  What do you know that I don’t?” Robin steps towards him while crossing her arms in offense.  

“Nothing!” He lies, taking a sip of his coffee.

“Steve.” Robin glares at him.

“Y’know, this is already getting to me.” he points to his cup.  “I gotta run to the bathroom.” he rushes to the back once again, holding his stomach and pretending to grimace in pain.

“What’s up with him?” you look at Robin, the two of you left standing there without any idea.  She shrugs, handing you the botched latte she just made.  

Pushing aside your theories, you begin setting up for your shift, restocking the cups and making sure there’s enough whip cream in the canister.  The Under-Ground had a very cozy vibe, dark mahogany woods decorating the interior, little twinkly lights draped above the windows, and a snug book nook tucked away in the back corner with large shelves that took up the whole wall.  Accompanying it are a few tables and chairs, their wood matching the counter and on top of each table sits various houseplants that you’d have to remind yourself to water.  

Robin tops off the pastries as she always does at the end of her shift, adding some chocolate croissants, blueberry muffins, brownies, and a brand new lemon loaf to the case.  She finishes off by wiping off the glass with a rag and then ensures the display of gift cards and bags of coffee beans on the counter is dusted off and pristine.  

You busy yourself by restocking the to-go sandwiches in the open cooler at the front of the counter, making a note to also grab a few more parfaits from the back since those were running low as well.  A few books are scattered among one of the tables so you take it upon yourself to collect them and tuck them neatly back on the book shelf.  Other than that, nothing else is left to do and you should be ready to start training the new hire without any distractions.  You reward yourself by sipping on the latte, the bitter taste gracing your tongue and warmth coating your throat.  Robin disappears to the back briefly, coming back out with her bag while shoving her apron into it, ready to clock out the second it hits 5:30.

The roaring of an engine suddenly echoes in the streets, an obnoxious sputtering filling your ears as you glance up and out of the front window.  It comes to a screeching halt as a motorcycle pulls up into one of the parking spots horizontally rather than vertically like the rest of the vehicles.  Jackass, you think to yourself as the owner kicks the kickstand down.  He wears a standard black motorcycle helmet, a leather jacket, ripped black jeans, and some combat boots, a walking stereotype for some kind of punk ass kid.  

Jim Hopper catches him, his cop car parked a few spaces away while he does his crossword in the driver’s seat.  You can’t quite make out what's being said but as Hopper exits his car in a hurry,  you can tell they have most likely had run-ins like this before.  The jackass looks up in aggravation as he still straddles the bike, the sky reflected in the visor of his helmet.  Hopper appears to be telling him off but not giving him a ticket when he most definitely should.  Jackass reparks the bike correctly, gesturing to it as if he’d performed a magic trick, Hopper with a hand on his hip and a scowl on his face.  He points a finger at him, muttering one last thing before retreating back to his own car, eyes never leaving the guy.  

Steve emerges from the back again, carefully.  “Shit.” he mumbles.

Your gaze moves from the scene outside to behind you at Steve who is also now looking out the window.  This provokes you to look back outside.  Just as you’re about to ask, the jackass removes his helmet, revealing a head of wild brunette curls, his hand adorned in chunky rings as he grips the helmet.  Rolling your eyes, you turn your attention back to inputting some inventory in the computer.  Out of the corner of your eye you can see that he’s making his way toward the door.  “Are you kidding me?” you say under your breath.  

“Thought trendy coffee wasn’t his style.” you say to no one in particular.  Steve inhales as if waiting for some kind of impact.  

“Oh…” Robin says in some kind of realization.  

The bell above the door rings as he swings it open, striding across the shop and in front of the counter, his eyes are a dark abyss as he looks from you to Robin and then to Steve.  

“Munson.” Steve acknowledges him.

“Harrington.” he says back, a tinge of disgust rolling off his tongue.  Robin’s eyes are wide as they shift between you two.

“What do you want, Eddie?” you bite, voice full of malice as you glare up at him.

Bringing his hand to his chest, his face contorting into a mock pout, he sets the helmet on the counter.  “Ouch.  That make you feel better, sweetheart?”  Sarcasm drips from his tone.

You scoff about to tell him to leave but he just continues.  “Make you feel all big and bad?  Get it out of your system yet?” he taunts, a smirk playing on his lips.  

“Oh no.” Robin says quietly, leaning over you to clock out and then subtly making her way around the counter.  

“Why don’t you get the hell out of here and find someone else to dick around with?” you snap, grabbing his helmet and forcing it into his hands. 

A cocky look takes over his features.  “Well what if I’m a paying customer?” 

 “I have the right to refuse service so, I’m refusing.” you can feel anger coursing through your veins, blood running hot.  

“That’s unfortunate.” he frowns, moving to make his way behind the counter.  “For you.” his stare burns into you, two black holes nearly swallowing you up.  

“I don’t have time-” you begin but are cut off when he reaches over you and starts typing away at the computer, clocking in.  His cheap cologne and cigarette smoke flood your nose.

Steve looks at you apologetically as Eddie passes him on his way to the back.  A silence lingers as you process that you’ll be forced to work with the one person in this town you can’t stand.  Eddie Munson was the new hire and of course he had to be scheduled on the closing shift with you.  Life couldn’t get any worse than this, a shitty apartment, and now a shitty job that you used to love combined with mountains of homework.  Your eternal hell.  Work was supposed to be a place you could briefly escape.  Sure it was still work but you didn’t mind.

“Steve!” both you and Robin scold him at the same time.  He squeezes his eyes shut in preparation for more yelling.  

“You knew Ronnie hired him and you just didn’t tell me!” you seethe.  “You could have warned me!  I could have switched shifts or something-or, or–or tell Ronnie he’s a criminal or something!  So he wouldn’t get hired!” your eyes are bulging out of your head as you reprimand the poor guy.  

“Okay, see, the way you're reacting right now doesn’t give me any confidence that you would have reacted any differently if I told you earlier.” Steve explains while clocking out.  

“So you think springing it on her like that was any better!” Robin says loudly.  Steve contemplates for a moment.

“Look, Socks.  I’m sorry.” he apologizes sincerely.  

“Socks?” Eddie stands in the doorway that leads to the back, now free of his leather jacket and wearing a black Metallica tee.  “What kinda fucked up thing did you do for a nickname like that?” he asks, a smug grin on his face.

“Oh, kill me now.” you drag your hands down your face in agony.  Steve and Robin slowly make their way toward the front door, looking at you sympathetically.

“See you tomorrow?” Robin awkwardly points finger guns at you before they speed up and shuffle out the door.

You sigh heavily, dropping your arms limply to your sides.  Turning around, Eddie is about to speak up again but you cut him off. 

“I don’t wanna hear it.  You don’t talk unless it's about work.  I’ll train you today and then I’ll ask Ronnie to move you to mornings or something.” you tell him in one breath.  

He laughs before replying.  “You’d like that wouldn’t you?  Hate to be the bearer of bad news but you’re stuck with me, doll.” he chuckles lowly.  “I only work nights.” he says with that stupid grin.  

“Who did I piss off for this to happen?” you mumble to yourself, rubbing at your temples.  “Put this on.” you shove an apron at his chest.

He grunts at the impact.  “No.” he simply says, refusing to grab it from you.  His expression is blank.

Scoffing, you shove it against him even harder.  “This is work.  We work here.  Stop acting like a damn child.” you say sternly.  

Now taking the apron in his hand, you think he’s finally come to his senses until he bunches it up and tosses it onto one of the counters, eliciting a groan from you.  You were foolish to think he would play nice.

–

Trying to train Eddie was as useful as training a fly.  He didn’t listen and would purposely mess things up claiming he didn’t know any better and he almost charged one of your only customers that night double the actual cost.  It was like watching a toddler, you couldn’t take your eyes away from him or all hell would break loose.  The cherry on top was all the snide comments he would make which led to more bickering.  

When it came to closing time at 9:00, you were exhausted and could practically feel the eyebags hanging off your face.  There was not enough espresso in the world to keep up with Eddie’s antics.  You were counting the money from the register, making sure all was accounted for, Eddie watching as he was supposed to be learning when really he was zoned out.  

“Alright, Socks, are we done here?” he says with a bored tone.  

You glance between him and the cash, still counting under your breath while ignoring him.  Poking your arm, he tries again.  “Socks.  I got things to do.” he continues.  “Hey, I’m talking to you–”

“--Oh my god, just go.” you break, finally completing your counting and setting the money back in the drawer neatly.  

“Fuck yeah.” he whispers, rushing to the back to collect his things.  Pinching the bridge of your nose, you only hope he quits before you have to work another shift with him.  Eddie wasn’t just an asshole, he was the asshole who was partially responsible for your shitty high school experience.  You know it's dumb, there’s no reason to let something keep a hold on you for so long but it just does.  It makes you cringe, it's like the equivalent to peaking in high school but opposite, and yet you can’t seem to look past it.

Nothing but the twinkly lights and the dim overhead lights lit up the shop, a moment of peace taking over you while the town outside laid itself to rest.  Shutting off the music and untying your apron to drape it over your arm, you do one more scan to make sure everything is set for tomorrow.  Satisfied, you head to the back to retrieve your bag.  Eddie passes you, almost running you over on his way out, his stupid helmet in hand.  

“See ya tomorrow, Socks.��� he salutes as he clocks out, shortly after you hear the bell chime signaling that he had left.  He was overusing that nickname but you knew it would only please him to call it out.  You had to keep your cool until he figured out he didn’t fit in here and quit.  Exhaling, you unlock your locker, grabbing your bag and tossing your apron in before exiting and heading for the door.  

The door is locked and double checked as you step out onto the sidewalk only to find that it was still raining.  Just my luck.  Eddie’s dumb motorcycle roars to life again a few feet away from you, a nuisance to the tranquil town around you.  Rolling your eyes, you begin your damp journey home.  It’s not until you’re in front of the movie theater that you hear that damn bike behind you.  You think he’s going to speed past you, maybe splash some water on you while he’s at it but the engine rumbles as if right next to you–which it was.  

“Are you lost?” you spit, continuing to walk.  

He rides beside you slowly, irritating you to your core.  “Need a ride home?” he asks, slightly muffled by his helmet.  

You huff before responding.  “No.  I don’t need anything from you.  Get the hell out of here.”  You keep your gaze straight ahead as you walk, him still following behind.

“Sweetheart–”

“--Do NOT call me that.  Ever.  Again.” you scold, taking a moment to point your finger at him, your face displaying disdain toward him.

“Look, I may be an asshole but it's raining.  I can give you a ride.” he coaxes but it doesn’t work.  You keep on, the rain drops collecting on your eyelashes.  

“Get bent, Eddie.” you say, now walking faster, hoping to evade him.

He lifts the visor on the helmet, now showing his eyes as he keeps up with you.  “Get on the damn bike.”

“Fuck you.” you snap at him.

Desperate, you start jogging across the crosswalk and that's when he gives up.  Glancing behind you, he flips the visor down and revs the bike before speeding off.  You weren’t stupid and you weren’t going to play into his little sadist games.  Life was already steamrolling you and you did not need some jackass to factor into it.  After a few minutes of walking, you finally rounded the corner and the faded powder blue apartments came into view, street lights illuminating the way.  The streets were sleek with rain and oil, giving off reflections of the traffic lights and buildings.  You were careful to scurry your way across the parking lot to avoid any of the creeps that hung around late at night.  It wasn’t exactly the best area, being notorious for drug deals and any other illegal side hustles.  

Raphael’s spot on the stairs was vacant due to the downpour which you frowned at, you always looked forward to seeing him upon coming home.  A few skeezy looking men stood nearby however they seemed to be involved in their own drama as they argued and took no interest in you.  Gratefully, you continued quietly up the stairs and hurriedly unlocked the door, jamming the key in the lock until it gave out to you.  

Slipping into your nightly routine, you begin to unwind as much as you can.  A quick shower awaited you since the hot water was limited and you couldn’t wait to munch on one of the sandwiches you snagged from work.  In your defense Ronnie had ordered way too many for the week and the back fridge was overflowing with them.  The local deli they came from, Anderson’s had some fairly good quality meats and cheeses so for that you were thankful as they pretty much kept you fed.  Tonight’s would be turkey and swiss with mayo on sourdough, your favorite.  The lights flickered on as you hit the switch, another quirk that came with the run down apartment.  The living room and entryway were now bathed in a warm and quite dim glow, or in other words if you wanted to read a book, it’d be quite difficult to see.  Shivering from being drenched in rain, you set your bag on the kitchen counter adjacent to the entryway and start taking off your damp clothes, peering into your room to toss them into the hamper and slipping into the bathroom.  It was a tight space, not a whole lot of room to do much but it was home.  

Turning the faucet to ‘hot’, you wait for the water to get warm enough to bear, the fluorescent lighting of the bathroom still bothered you no matter how long you lived there.  You stood on the bath mat feeling the water with your finger until it was to your satisfaction, stepping in and feeling welcomed by the sudden warmth you’d been waiting for all day.  In that moment you feel relief from the pressures of the world, the deadlines, bills, loans, essays, all of it.  Everything melts away for approximately three minutes and that's when the water starts to turn cold again, returning you back to the dreadful reality you wish you could neglect.  

But to your dismay, the cycle just starts all over again, keeping you hostage.

~end~

Next ->

Masterlist

tags - @mmunson86 @haylaansmi

[marblemoovt]

Tipsy Cuddles - John Price/Reader

Masterlist

Rating: Teen

Word Count: 2.3k

Warnings: Fluff with Angst, Reverse Hurt/Comfort

Summary:

You take up John's offer and show up at his door with a bottle of whiskey. Except, he doesn't seem to be doing so well....

------

“Are you ok?” you ask, and he meets your worried gaze.

“What makes you ask that?” John says. The words come out scratchy, and he takes another sip to feel the burn. 

You take the bottle from him and set it on the table. “Because alcohol doesn’t make your eyes red, John,” you whisper. His lips purse into a frown, and he looks away. “Am I moving too fast? Or maybe you realized that this isn’t what you want? Because you can tell me; it’s alright.” 

Note:

This is a direct continuation of this fic, I recommend reading it before this one but it still works as a stand-alone.

I was expecting to dip for another month or two before returning with a fic. But y'all are so fucking sweet. I appreciate all your comments so much!! It gave me enough motivation and inspiration to quickly whip up a part two.

I also was not planning for any angst at all lmao. This was supposed to be really cute and fluffy but I accidentally saddled our boy Price with some heavy stuff.

Happy Reading! ヾ(•ω•`)o

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

John stumbles out of Rose’s room and shuffles to his own. A little sister. John gave up that dream a long time ago. It shattered the second he held Rose in his arms after scrambling to come home during a deployment and noticed the grim expression on the doctor’s face. He went home two weeks later with only a tiny infant in his arms and a bag of belongings he will never unpack. The dream became nothing more than what it was; a dream. He doesn’t bother turning on the lights, doesn’t want to see his reflection in the mirror anyway.

There’s a drawer in the bedside table—the one at the very bottom—where the handle has fallen off, and the wheels squeak like hell. John traces the wooden edges, jamming his finger into a crack to pry the damn thing open. The drawer stutters amid its screaming, and he has to force it the rest of the way out. He pauses and listens. No signs of activity coming from Rose’s room.

Like clockwork, he takes out the photo album first. John always made fun of her for wanting to document every moment of the journey. Now, these are among the few tangible memories he has left. A reminder that his heart did know how to beat once before it chronically ached. He flips through the pages, every image already burned into his mind, but that does not deter him from taking his time. The fetus in the ultrasounds grows, and her bump becomes more prominent. John keeps flipping until the images are blank and bites his lip because he knows only a third of the album is filled. He wipes the fresh splashes of tears off the laminated pages and puts it away on top of the other photo albums collecting dust.

John knows that he shouldn’t hide this from Rose. It’s not like she doesn’t know, but she never asks about her mother. And yes, that’s not an excuse. He’s aware that it’s his fault for not trying to keep the memory of his late wife alive. But it���s been six years, and he still struggles with how to deal with these feelings, so he doesn’t. He compartmentalizes and forgets. Forgets until he’s lying in bed at 3 am, and the bottom drawer calls his name. Forgets until he’s changing clothes, and the duffel bag in the corner of the closet mocks him.

He runs a rough hand down his face, glancing at the clock. 10:20 pm. John laughs, but it’s bitter and clogs his throat. Of fucking course. Who would be interested in broken goods? He heaves himself off the bed and accepts that he’s better off alone.

That is… until he hears a knock. It’s faint, but his sensitive ears pick up the sound. He’ll deny it if you ask, but he ‘walks’ to the door with quick steps. John turns the handle, and the world isn’t falling apart anymore. You’re standing there with a bottle in hand and a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry I’m late. Got caught up trying to find this,” you say, holding up whiskey. John recognizes the label. It’s a whiskey he’s been dying to get his hands on. Where on Earth did you find a bottle? He doesn’t realize he’s staring until you tap his forehead. “Are you going to invite me in, or should I invite myself while you take in my beauty?”

John stutters, but no coherent words form. Instead, he moves to the side to let you in. He follows you to the living room, where you plop on the sofa and pat the seat beside you. John doesn’t move, feet glued to the rug in the center of the room. “I thought you weren’t coming,” he confesses, and the apple of his cheeks tingle until they’re numb. 

You set the whiskey on the table with a laugh. “And miss out on spending an evening with a dill? Not a chance.” The tips of John’s ears glow red, and he rushes to take a seat. He can feel your gaze, and he tugs at the collar of his sweater. “I really do like you, John,” you say. “I don’t kiss just anybody’s cheek,” John’s shoulders slacken, and the rumblings of a chuckle build up in his chest. “Better?” you ask, taking a swig of whiskey and offering him the bottle.

John accepts, drumming his fingers against the glass as it rests on his lap. “You’re a saint, y’know that?” he says.

“I have my moments,” you shrug. John takes a sip and savours the flavour. Spices coat his tongue, and his tastebuds tingle. The whiskey burns lightly down his throat and sparks the kindling in his chest. He leans into the cushions with a sigh, pleasantly warm. “Good?” you ask.

John turns his head to you, eyes tracing the smile on your face. “Some of the best whiskey I’ve had in ages. Where did you find this?” he asks, wondering if you have personal connections in the alcohol industry. 

“Would you believe me if I said a mysterious stranger sold it to me in an alleyway?” you say. John can already tell by your grin that you’re absolutely bullshitting him. He raises an eyebrow, and you huff. “Ok, ok. I’ll tell you,” and you grab the bottle from him and take a long swig. You take a deep breath and say, “I bought it at the store,” staring him dead in the eyes.

“Darling, I know this specific brand is hard to come by. Forgive me, but you’re a terrible liar,” John muses. 

You laugh and scoot closer to him. “I’ll speak your language then. It’s classified.” Your scent tickles his nose, and he leans into your side. He takes another drink and closes his eyes, letting the fuzz blanket his mind. “Are you ok?” you ask, and he meets your worried gaze.

“What makes you ask that?” John says. The words come out scratchy, and he takes another sip to feel the burn. 

You take the bottle from him and set it on the table. “Because alcohol doesn’t make your eyes red, John,” you whisper. His lips purse into a frown, and he looks away. “Am I moving too fast? Or maybe you realized that this isn’t what you want? Because you can tell me; it’s alright.” 

John shakes his head and feels the whiskey loosen his tongue. The haze in his mind covers his thoughts with an invisibility cloak that allows them to slip through his filter undetected. “Christ, Sweetheart. You’re everything I want. Just don’t….” He pauses and stares at the rug, counting the stitches in each row. “I don’t think I deserve another chance,” and he looks at you with the eyes of a man who gained and lost everything all at once. The corners of his eyes sting, the words blubbering out of his mouth faster than he can stop them. “I’m away for long periods. I can barely take care of my daughter, let alone myself. Darling, what’s there to like about me, hm?” 

John reaches for the whiskey, but you yank it away before it even touches his lips. You screw the lid and set it on the floor far from him. “I don’t know the whole story. I’m sure you want to have this conversation sober, but you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” you say. “You’ll come to learn that I’m incredibly stubborn. So believe me when I say I want to stay and learn more about you and Rose.”

Quiet laughter turns into sobs that wrack his chest. John knows what deception looks like. Has pried intel from countless sealed mouths. He’s aware of all the tics and signs. You aren’t lying, and a part of him wishes you were. Because then it would be so much easier to push you away, for things to remain as they’ve always been,

“Can I hug you?” you ask, fidgeting with your hands in your lap. The silence builds as John stacks one brick on top of another. An invisible barrier that will either shut you out forever or crumble enough to let you in. 

John extends an arm, reducing the wall to rubble, and pulls you into his embrace. His beard scratches against your collarbone and sniffles hiccup by your ear. You bring a hand up and run it through his hair, eliciting a rumble when your fingertips scrape his scalp. 

You squeeze him tight and kiss the side of his temple, murmuring, “I’ve got you.” Those three words make him crumple like a rag doll, leaving you to support his weight. “Did you know, John, that people are fucked up?” He snorts into your shoulder, and you continue with a grin. “The great thing about love is that it’s a choice. So guess what? My fucked up self is choosing to love your fucked up self.”

“You’ve an excellent way with words,” John chuckles wetly. 

“I know. The CIA is begging me to write their cover-up stories.” John laughs, and the vibrations shake your entire body. Tears are leaking from his eyes for a new reason now. “What do you do, John? What’s your rank?” you ask. 

“Captain—what?” John stops when he feels you tremble. 

A sharp bark of laughter escapes your lips. “Nothing. You remind me of another captain whose last name starts with a ‘P.”

John pulls back to look at your face. “How many other captains do you know?” he asks.

“Only the ones Rose has introduced me to,” you say with a shrug. John goes through a mental list of all the other captains he’s met, but not a single match. He opens his mouth, but you parry John’s next question with your own. “You’re responsible for a group of people, right?”

John sighs, but there’s an undeniable curve to his lips. “I’m the ringleader for a load of muppets,” he answers. He wonders what the idiots are up to right now without adult supervision.

“Sounds like you enjoy their company. So you have Rose and your muppets. That’s a lot of people to look out for,” you say.

John shrugs. “It’s my job to take care of them,” and he believes it wholeheartedly. He would die for Rose and his team if it ever came to that. 

You bring a hand up and cradle his cheek. He leans into your touch, losing himself in your eyes, mesmerized by the adoration reflected in them. “And who takes care of you, John? Who makes sure you’re ok?” 

“Well, I was going to put an ad in the paper, but I keep forgettin’,” John quips.

You playfully shove his face away. “Here I was, thinking you were going to offer me the position,” you tsk.

John pushes you onto your back, caging you between his arms. “Oh, it’s a rigorous interview process,” he boasts.

You smirk and poke his chest. “I can handle whatever you throw at me.”

“Anythin’?” John murmurs, shortening the gap between you two. His warm breath fans across your face. His eyes dart to your tongue that swipes across your bottom lip. He lowers himself another inch, noses brushing against each other.  

“Anything. Now can I kiss you?” you ask.

“Reckon I’ll die if you don’t,” John whispers.

“Maybe you’ll die anyway,” you retort.

“Prove it,” John says. You grab him by the collar of his shirt and crash your lips together. At first, it’s all teeth and tongue clashing—desperate. But it softens into deeper kisses, an intimate mapping of each other’s mouth until lungs burn for air. John pulls away with a groan, resting his forehead against yours. “Definitely gonna kill me if you keep that up.” He shivers at the beaming smile on your face. You look so proud of yourself. He wants to bite and kiss your lips until they’re swollen. But the alcohol is starting to make him drowsy. John pecks your lips and sits up. Your arms remain locked around his neck, so he pulls you with him. He chuckles when you tighten your hold. “You can let go of me, Love.”

Your voice is muffled by his sweater. “I have to make sure you don’t sneak any more whiskey.”

John hums, “What makes you think you can stop me?”

You raise your head and stare at him as if he’s forgotten how you nearly killed him with your mouth alone. Bringing your lips to his ear, you whisper in a low tone, “I can be quite persuasive.” He shudders, and you chuckle darkly. You notice the clock on the wall and sigh. “It’s late. I should go.”

John refuses to let you go, not this time. He repositions himself onto his back so that you’re straddling him now, and his hands grip your waist. “Stay?” he pleads, watching you with wide eyes.

You smile and nod. “Ok, but only because you’re comfortable and a natural heater.” 

Relief unwinds the tension between his shoulders. “Your pillow awaits, Darling,” John teases, patting his chest. You roll your eyes but lay down and cuddle him.

The two of you talk late into the night. John doesn’t remember when he falls asleep, only that you snuggle into him when he tightens his arms around your waist. For the first time in a few years, John sleeps for hours uninterrupted. 

The rustling of fabric rouses him awake. He winces at the sunlight streaming from the windows and tries to get a few more minutes of sleep. Soft cotton envelopes his body in pleasant warmth. His eyes snap open when a small voice whispers harshly into his ear.

“Honestly, Daddy. You need to try to be more romantic. You let them sleep on the couch and without a blanket!” Rose admonishes, adjusting the blanket she brought. John lifts his head to see you’re still asleep in his arms, face buried in the crook of his neck. He untangles your hair with his fingers and plants a kiss on the top of your head. “It’s Saturday; I’m going back to bed. I want waffles for breakfast,” she says, walking back to her room. “And try not to be loud, Daddy. I’m six, remember?”

─── ⋆ ｡ﾟ☆: *. ☽ .* :☆ﾟ｡⋆ ───

End Note:

You know I had to do it to 'em with repurposing that line. I wanted so bad to make that the summary snippet, but I can't show off the best cards in my deck or they'll lose their wow factor.

Single dad Price steals my heart every time and I think I'm obsessed with him now. Like I keep getting random headcanons.

Exhibit A: Rose catches a fever and John paniks, so he has to rush to your apartment for help.

I'll see you guys at my next hyperfixation! (。・∀・)ノ

Reblogs are appreciated!