#how to fix kitchen sink handle

[gillianthecat]

The non-gendered urge to sit out in the sun to do my homework vs. the modern reality that I can’t see my screen in the sunshine.

[sophrosynesworld]

Katsuki Bakugo would literally rather die than let another man handle something as simple as installing a garbage disposal.

Like, imagine your kitchen sink is dripping, and instead of bugging your lovely boyfriend for the hundredth time, you decide to hire a professional. I mean, the guy's busting his ass every day; the last thing you want to do is inconvenience him with is your household repairs, right? Seems considerate enough.

But the second he finds out you called someone? Oh, fuck no. You barely have time to explain before he's landing outside your house, marching into the kitchen, toolkit in hand. Suddenly, it’s not about the sink anymore—it’s about his pride.

"What do you mean, you called some random guy to fix it?" he snaps, wrench in one hand. "You don't just invite strangers into your home."

You shrug, trying to stay calm. "Well, you’ve been busy, and I didn’t want to bother—"

"I don’t care if I’m up against the biggest villain of the century; you call me!" he snaps, already crouched down and grumbling about how professionals don’t know shit.

Katsuki insists on doing it all himself, but you’re nicer than that. So, being the kind soul you are, you take on the role of flashlight holder. All those years of helping your dad with repairs is finally paying off, as you keep the beam steady, illuminating the sink while Katsuki works.

“Make sure you shine it right here,” he says softer, tapping his finger against the pipes.

"Thank you, baby," you reply when the job is finally done, but instead of a warm smile, your boyfriend shoots you a look.

"Yeah, yeah," he grumbles, pushing himself up off the floor. "Just don’t pull this stupid crap again."

[shadowwfoxx]

Hurt

Logan Howlett x Reader

summary: Logan takes care of you when you get hurt. fluff. Logan is a softie just for you.

You and Logan were supposed to have a romantic picnic date at the park. That plan was quickly ruined once you looked outside the window and saw dark and angry clouds surface the sky. Not too long after that, the thunderstorm had started. 

Since the weather was so shitty you and Logan decided to stay in, watch a movie, and have him spend the night. You also threw in that you would make him your famous pasta dish that he absolutely loved.

Your apartment felt extremely warm and cozy compared to the storm unfolding outside. You were in your kitchen stirring the pasta to ensure it didn’t burn at the bottom. Logan insisted on helping you but you didn’t allow him, telling him to sit and relax. He was on the couch nursing a beer while watching the football game, looking over his shoulder a few times to check on you. 

The blaring sound of the timer for the pasta went off. You turn off the timer before going to turn off the stovetop. You then grab your pasta strainer and place it in the sink. You grab the two handles of the pot, pick it up, and walk over to the sink to strain the water. 

Just as you were tilting the pot, a huge flash of lighting, followed by the loudest rumble of thunder you’ve ever heard struck. Startled, you swing your head to the side to look out your living room window, the trees outside swaying harshly. Your lights then flicker a few times, your TV shutting off in the process. You hear Logan curse under his breath. 

No longer focused on what you are doing, you tilt the pot full of boiling water further down without realizing it. A huge amount of hot water escapes the pot and comes into contact with the inside of your arm. 

“Fuck!” You hiss, immediately dropping the pot in the sink, making a loud bang when it drops. The pasta spills all at the bottom of it. You groan, and hold your other hand over the burn, trying to relieve the pain spreading throughout your arm. Tears now threatening to spill.

“What happened?” Logan asks, his voice rough and demanding. He is quick to be by your side, his hand warm on the small of your back. 

“I-I burned myself with the pasta water.” You whine, squeezing your eyes shut. Tears start to roll down your face. You were never someone to have such a good tolerance for pain. Logan rubs up and down your back soothingly.

“Let me have a look baby,” He says softly but firm, guiding you to face him. You slowly move your hand that was covering your burn, wincing at the pain. 

Logan holds your arm out, inspecting your wound. “You got yourself good huh bub.” All you do is sniffle.

He guides your arm to the sink, turning on the cold water and letting it pour on your burn. You hiss at the relief and pain it was providing you. 

“I know, I know.” He whispers. He kisses the top of your head while still holding your arm underneath the water. His other arm rubs up and down yours.

“Keep it under the water okay? I’m gonna get some bandages.” The warmth of his body disappears from behind you. You hear him rummage through the bathroom cabinet, groaning when random pill bottles fall on the floor. After a few minutes, you hear his footsteps behind you. He reaches from behind you to turn off the water. 

“Let me fix you up bub.” He grabs your hand, leading you to the couch. He sets his stuff down on the coffee table before taking a seat on the couch. Logan puts a hand on your hip to guide you to sit across his lap. He cleans your burn and wraps it in a bandage. You don’t even notice how you’re still silently crying. 

“Why the tears princess? Hm?” Logan squeezes your thigh. You haven’t made eye contact with him yet, still upset. “Hey look at me.” His hands going under your chin. You finally meet his gaze.

“Cause everything is ruined.” Your bottom lip trembles. “Our picnic date, dinner, and now my stupid arm.” You let out a shaky breath, trying not to cry more. 

“Hey hey, nothing’s ruined. C’mere.” He turns you to straddle his lap. He wraps his muscular arms around your body for a hug, putting one hand on your head cradling it. “We still have that movie to watch. How ‘bout that?” His voice was low and raspy. You nod, looking at him.

He wipes your tears before giving you a peck on the lips. He gives your butt a light tap signalling you to stand up. You stand up as Logan moves to lie down on his side. You lie in front of him, his arm wrapping around you immediately to pull you close to his body. Maybe it wasn’t all ruined after all.

[moonlight-prose]

HEART MADE OF GLASS

a/n: this is totally not to make myself feel better. totally not self indulgent cause i couldn't finish cooking my dinner last night. that gif is also self indulgent. but also hopefully a distraction from how angsty this kind of is. divider as always by the lovely @saradika-graphics.

summary: you couldn't control when they could come. the waves of nothingness - of battling with your body and mind in the hopes it would cause a shift. you wanted to control it. he simply wanted to help.

word count: 1.1k

pairing: logan howlett x reader

warnings: angst, fluff, disassociating, depression isn't outright stated but that's what it is, meat eating (sorry i'm an iron anemic bitch), logan's love language being acts of service.

The fire alarm never went off when you were in the kitchen. So he felt his heart jump at the sound of it blaring through the small apartment. Even down the hall and in the bathroom he smelled the bitter smoke as it rose from the pan you were currently staring at. A blank expression on your face and hand gripping the handle.

He meant to grab his flannel and join you for dinner. What he didn't expect was the emptiness of a silent kitchen not filled with your usual music. Your soft hums as you try to keep in tune with the song.

Logan's favorite pastime was standing in the doorway watching you cook whatever creation came to mind. Whether it tasted good or positively vile, he'd eat it one way or another. He'd swallow happily with a grin simply to see that smile bloom across your face. A look he did everything possible to keep right where it was meant to be.

"Bub?"

You startled, flinching at the sound of the alarm as you shoved the pan away from the burner. "Shit. Sorry."

A frown etched onto his face at your quick apology—your eyes never quite meeting him. "Everythin' okay?"

"Yeah," you said, lying right through your teeth. "I just got distracted."

Logan could hear the bullshit louder than the alarm. He knew something was wrong, because he'd seen it before. The silence that filled a once loud household. How you slowed down during the day, unable to finish simple tasks without pushing yourself over the edge. He watched you dwindle down to the barest bones your body had to offer and yet you never asked him for help.

You never explained why it occurred.

This wasn't in part because you didn't want to. You did. You simply held no real reason for why your body—your mind—chose to betray you at the oddest of times. At first you figured it was the lack of sleep. The restlessness that ate away at your body each night—keeping you up and active until finally you wore yourself out.

But this wasn't that.

This came from deep inside your chest, lingering beneath the surface—waiting for something good to happen before it struck with a vengeance. This protruded out of your very nightmares.

"Need some help?" He knew the answer before it came. No.

What could he possibly do that you hadn't tried a million times over? There was no easy fix for something this brutal. Silently, you begged him to leave the kitchen and find something else to occupy his time. He stubbornly stood behind you, watching over your shoulder as you dumped the now burned pan in the sink. What might have been a delicious steak now looked like a charred brick.

The sight of it still smoking only seemed to dampen your mood further.

You fought to keep yourself there, in the moment. But the dazed expression from earlier began to slowly trail its way back up your face. Until you could do nothing but stare at the mess you made, exhaustion slicing down to your bones.

His looming presence became an afterthought to all that filtered through your head. All the brittle and vile thoughts you tried to keep at bay. Some days they managed to weasel their way past your infinite walls. Some days...they found joy in tearing you up inside little by little.

Voicing it aloud though would never be an option to the havoc you tried to tame.

"C'mon," he muttered, his hands pulling at your hips to move you. "Out of the kitchen."

"I can finish–"

His glare was devastating.

Most of the time you'd ask him to tell you what he was thinking. Tonight you understood his demand. Get out of the kitchen before you hurt yourself. Let him do what you often did for everyone else.

Give him the chance to put you first.

He points to the chair originally pulled out for him. "Sit down."

But unlike other people he encountered, you were far more stubborn. "I don't–"

"Sit on the chair bub. Or I'll tie you to it." The grin he gives you is filled with sarcasm, but you can see the truth shining in his eyes. He wouldn't hesitate to follow through on a promise like that. He wouldn't even blink. "Your choice."

There was no argument left to throw at him, because his attention was elsewhere. So you sat. You allowed yourself to rest as he stumbled his way through the kitchen. Logan couldn't really cook. He picked up what he could through the life he lived, but nothing came out exactly perfect. That wasn't what warmed your heart at the sight of him standing there intent on delivering a meal worth eating.

He didn't shy away when you tried to push. When the horror that you needed someone to help was no longer a fact you could ignore. No matter how hard you shoved and bit and did what you could to scare him off. Logan pushed back. He quelled your bite with a stature of resolute stoicism.

With an exhale, he flipped the burner off and slid whatever he'd made onto a clean plate. Watching him move felt as if you were being placed in a trance. You almost told him that once in your first week of dating. Something told you he already knew by the way your eyes tracked him from the kitchen to the table.

"Steak," he said, sitting with a grunt.

A quick glance told you one thing. Logan didn't know shit about cooking steak.

You grinned nonetheless.

"There's..." Red spilled down the side, pooling on the plate as steam hit your face. "How long did you cook it?"

He shrugged, slicing it with ease and plopping a piece into his mouth. "Tastes fine to me."

"I'm sure it does."

"Watch it bub," he muttered mid chew, his lips curled into a smirk.

Making a show of zipping your lips shut, you took the piece he offered you. And as he did each time before, you ate it with a grin simply to watch his smirk turn into a smile. There may have been no salt, no extra flavor, and strangely a charred sensation with each bite. But you could taste the love spreading across your tongue with ease.

"Delicious," you garbled in the hopes he'd understand how much you loved him.

He snorted, shoving the plate to the center of the table. His thumb swiped at the juice that leaked from the corner of your mouth, causing your heart to jump erratically in your chest. Even on your bad days he managed to flip the switch in your mind with simple touches and soft looks.

"'M gonna order a pizza."

Leaning into his hand, you pressed a kiss to his wrist. "Thank you."

[paperultra]

back of house.

Pairing: OPLA!Vinsmoke Sanji x Fem!Reader Word Count: 1,113 words Warnings: Mild swearing

If it weren’t for his principles regarding women, you’re fairly certain Sanji would’ve throttled and strung you up to dry by now.

“I … I’m impressed, sweetheart,” he says with a bright smile, though under the swinging lights of the kitchen it seems more out of pain than pleasure. “You managed to burn water.”

Your cheeks flame as you peer into the blackened pot with him, all traces of the water you’d been tasked with boiling completely gone. Vanished. You have no idea how or why.

“I’m sorry, Sanji.”

“No need to apologize. Everybody makes mistakes –”

“Sanji!” you hear Zeff before you see him round the corner. “Why the hell do I smell something burning in my kitchen?”

“None of your business, old man,” Sanji snaps immediately, murmuring a quiet excuse me, dear to you before taking the pot by the handle and heading to the sink. He twists the faucet open and running water roars like thunder in your ears as he thrusts the pot underneath. “I have it under control.”

“Under control, eh?" Zeff says. He suddenly turns his squinted gaze upon you, and you shrivel. “This your doing, missy?”

“I –”

“Leave her alone,” Sanji interrupts. “I didn’t give clear enough instructions. It was my fault.”

“Oh, there’s no doubt about that.” Eyeing your guilty and defeated figure next to the stove, Zeff shakes his head with a sigh and points you to the door. “[Y/n], go out and wait tables for the rest of your shift.”

Immediately, you make a move to remove your apron. “Oka –”

Sanji makes a noise of dissent and turns the faucet off. “Wait tables? She can still chop the vegetables and help me plate.”

“You’ll do that yourself. Front of house needs the extra person, anyway.”

“I’m her mentor.”

“And I’m the damn boss.”

The rest of the staff roll their eyes and carry on while the two men argue in the middle of the kitchen. You swallow and take your apron off, balling it up in your hands. This isn’t the first time they’ve butted heads over your incompetence, and watching them now cuts at your last shred of dignity.

Clearing your throat, you grimace when Sanji’s head whips around to look at you.

“Zeff’s right,” you tell him. “Dinner rush is coming up soon and I’ll just be in the way, anyway.”

Zeff grunts with satisfaction.

The expression on Sanji’s face reminds you of a kicked puppy. “But …” he begins to protest.

“Oi, you heard what she said. Get back to work! We have customers waiting!”

Sanji blusters about before heading back to his station, casting you one final, forlorn look as he does so. You imagine that your own face looks just the same when you turn to leave.

—

You take orders and serve customers for the remainder of the day, as promised, and help with cleanup after closing time. And then, long after the sun’s dipped below the horizon, Sanji joins you on the upper deck with a steaming bowl of seafood fried rice.

“For the madam,” he says with a smile, offering you the bowl.

You accept it silently and take a bite as he sits down next to you. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach. You’ve never known a home quite like Sanji’s cooking.

His eyes remain fixed on you as you eat all of the rice, scraping the bowl for every last grain and setting it down beside you once you’re finished.

“Thank you.”

“It’s nothing. I figured it would cheer you up.”

“It did.”

It did, and yet, your lips tremble and your throat closes up. You clench your hands into fists in your lap.

Sanji’s hand immediately presses your shoulder as you sniffle. “Are you alright?” he questions worriedly.

(His attentiveness strikes you like a hot iron sometimes, even now.)

“Why haven’t you given up on me yet?” you whisper.

His brow furrows. As if it’s obvious, he answers, “You want to be a cook. A lady’s wish is my command.” Sanji pauses. “And I can’t call myself the greatest cook in the East Blue if I can’t teach others to be great cooks as well.”

“I think you’d be the greatest regardless.”

You glance at him through watery eyes in time to see his face flush a deep red. He looks away hastily, chuckling with feigned modesty. “I’m flattered that you think so highly of me.”

Your shoulders lift in a shrug as you look back down at your hands. You reach up to blot away your tears.

How could you not think the world of Sanji? Or the world of anyone at the Baratie, for that matter? When you were kicked off the merchant ship you’d stowed away on two years ago, you had been sure that you’d be banned from setting foot in such a fine-looking restaurant. Years of scorn and slammed doors had not given you the chance to think otherwise.

But Sanji spotted you on the docks, called you madam like you really were one, cooked you a meal in the kitchen and talked to you. Zeff gave you a job and a bed of your own. The staff gave you a family.

“We’ll try again tomorrow. I’ll figure out something that’ll make everything click for you, and you’ll be a proper cook in no time.” Sanji leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees, and winks up at you. “I promise.”

As always, your heart skips a beat.

“Okay.”

Maybe, you realize suddenly, you don’t necessarily want to be a cook so much as you want to love the way Sanji does.

“That’s my girl.” Standing up, Sanji takes your empty bowl in one hand and offers the other for you to take. “Now, shall I walk the madam to her room, or does she wish to stay out on the deck for a while?”

You allow yourself to grin, considering. “The madam wishes to stay out here and …” you hesitate but then decide to soldier on, “and possibly chat with a dear friend for a few more minutes?”

Your pulse pounds in your ears.

Sanji’s eyes widen a bit. Then he blinks, and then he smiles, drawing his hand back and quickly sitting down next to you once more.

“A lady’s wish is my command,” he says.

He takes out a cigarette, making a quip about Patty while he lights it, and your combined laughter rings out across the Baratie. It’s perfect like it always is – savory and warm on your tongue, happy and gentle in your stomach.

Indeed, this is home.

[alisonsfics]

too good to me

pairing: carmen berzatto x reader

summary: after weeks of stress and being on edge, carmy blows up and yells at marcus, but carmy holds such a special place in your heart that you go to his apartment afterward to see how he’s doing

word count: 3.2k

warnings: swearing, arguing, general angst and then fluff

You all knew that something had been on Carmy’s mind. The past few weeks, he’d been more than just anxious. He was really putting his perfectionist tendencies to the extreme. It had been three weeks since officially opening The Bear.

Carmy knew that the first few weeks were crucial to a new business, especially one as volatile as a new-age restaurant. He’d been stressed, which was nothing new for him. But, it was more extreme. He had gotten into an hour-long screaming match with Richie about what specific angle the hostess stand should be pointed.

Everyone was trying to keep Carmy calm, but it had to be done carefully. If he picked up on a tone that was too sympathetic, he’d yell “I’m fine,” and storm off.

With everyone walking on eggshells around him, the tickets for the orders got a little jumbled and in a backwards order.

“Somebody better fucking fix this.” Carmy said, running his hand through his hair. You’d seen him do that move a hundred times, and it usually meant that everything was getting overwhelming. “It’s alright, Carmy. I can handle this. Just go take a quick break outside for me, please?” You asked him.

You were Carmy’s weak spot.

He’d always had a special place in his heart for you. He was wrapped around your finger. If anyone else had told him to take a break, he would have told them to fuck off.

Carmy walked around the corner, where Marcus walked up to him with a new pastry in hand. “Hey, chef. I was thinking we could add a new pastry to the menu for that special event next week?” Marcus asked. It was a perfectly innocent question, especially since Marcus didn’t have any urgent work to be done. In that moment, Marcus was just lacking in reading the room.

“Tonight’s service is a disaster, and you’re wasting your fucking time doing this?” Carmy yelled, smacking the dish out of Marcus’ hand.

That was too far. Farther than Carmy had ever pushed it.

You inserted yourself between the two men. “Marcus, you okay?” You asked him. He nodded his head, but looked down at a small cut on the back of his hand. You placed your hand on his forearm. “Go get that cut washed, and then help Sydney sort out those tickets please.” You said, remaining calm.

“Yes, chef,” Marcus said, walking towards the sink.

Carmy was frozen in place, like even he couldn’t believe what he’d just done. “You,” you started to say, turning around to face Carmy.

“I know,” he said, softly.

“Go home, Berzatto. You need to cool off.” You said, trying to be firm but also gentle. Carmy huffed and ran his hand through his hair again. “But I just…one more—” he started to say.

“Home, Carmen.” You repeated, firmer this time. You called him many things: Carmy, Carm, Bear, and the occasional pet name, but never Carmen.

He walked away, but you heard him slam his hand against the wall as he left.

Still rattled from the whole encounter, you tried to get back on your game. “Syd, you’ve got this,” you encouraged your friend, as she directed the kitchen. The rest of the service was a little bumpy as all of you were still a little distracted.

At the end of the service, you were all silently cleaning up your stations. Normally at this point in the night, you were all catching up and joking around with each other. But instead, you all were recalling the night’s events in your heads.

You lightly knocked on the door of the office, where Sugar was sitting and looking through some forms. “Hey, Nat. You mind if I head out a little early? Richie said he’d clean up my station. I was gonna go check on Carmy and see if he’s alright. I’ve been really worried about him.” You told her.

“Yeah yeah, go for it. I think he’ll want to see you. And it’ll be good for him to talk to someone, and you’re the only one he really talks to.” Sugar told you, pulling you in for a quick hug before you left. She hesitated. “Let me know how he is…I’m worried about him,” she told you, softly.

“I will, I promise.” You said, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze. You turned to leave the office. “Carm’s lucky to have you,” she told you as you walked away. You turned backwards as you kept walking. “The feelings mutual,” you added.

You walked up to Carmy’s apartment and knocked on the door. “Carmy, it’s me, please let me in,” you said.

You heard silence on the other side of the door. You fished your spare key out of your pocket and slid it into the lock. You turned the key slowly and let yourself into his apartment.

You walked into his dark apartment. You saw Carmy’s silhouette as he sat on the couch, staring out the window.

“I gave you that key for emergencies.” He said, coldly. You flipped on the light switch, bringing some light into the dark apartment. “I think what I saw earlier calls for a little intervention, don’t you?” You asked. Carmy sat in silence, continuing to stare out the window. You walked around to the front of the couch so you could face him.

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He said, still refusing to look at you. Carmy felt guilty about what he’d done. He’d never yelled at you before, and he was ashamed that you had to see him scream like that. Carmy cared more about your opinion than he did about anyone else’s.

You walked towards Carmy, only stopping inches in front of him. “When was the last time you ate?” You asked, blatantly. He leaned back against the couch, trying to add some more distance between you both. He shrugged, genuinely not knowing the answer to your question.

You dug into your work bag and pulled out a takeout box. You stopped by Carmy’s favorite burger restaurant in Chicago to grab him some food. You knew Carmy would sometimes forget to eat when he was feeling anxious. “Eat it,” you told him, handing the box over to him.

He reluctantly opened the box and started eating. You set your work bag on the ground and sat down on the chair that faced the couch.

Carmy shifted nervously in his seat as your gaze was set on him. He was unnerved that you weren’t talking about what happened at the restaurant.

Carmy could normally read you like the back of his hand, but something about your current expression was throwing him off. He couldn’t tell if you were going to scream at him or not.

“Are you here to yell at me like everybody else? I already know I screwed up. I shouldn’t have yelled at Marcus, and I shouldn’t have argued when you told me to leave.” He told you, hoping he could apologize and avoid you yelling at him.

“You know that I’m not here to yell at you. You really fucked up, but Marcus knows that you were just stressed. I’m here to make sure you’re doing okay because I’ve never seen you blow up like that” You said, finally showing your cards. Carmy frowned, looking guilty.

“God, you’re too good to me. I acted like a piece of shit today, and you’re still trying to make sure I’m okay.” He said, still amazed by the love you had for him. He was looking at you like you were his whole world.

He set down the takeout box and used his hand to call you over to him. You stood up and walked towards him, and he patted the seat next to him.

You joined him on the couch. You both were sitting so close together that you were practically in his lap. He turned his body so he could face you.

He let his hand rest on your thigh, feeling more grateful for you than he ever had. You let your fingers caress his bicep, “you deserve to be okay. I want you to be okay,” you said, softly.

You studied his face. You noticed the small bags that had formed under his eyes. You wondered when the last time he’d actually gotten a good night’s sleep was.

You softly brushed his hair out of his face. When he was stressed, Carmy liked to pull on a certain strand of hair right in the front. You knew him like the back of your hand. You noticed all of his quirks; quirks that most people never picked up on.

Carmy watched as you gently tried to soothe him. He was sure you could see the adoration in his eyes.

“I hope you know how perfect you are. You always know exactly what to say.” He said, smiling at you. He pulled your hand away from his hair and interlaced your fingers. He’d wanted to kiss the back of your hand, but couldn’t push himself to do it.

“Do you wanna talk about why you’ve been so stressed recently?” You asked. You were treading lightly, but you wanted to understand what was making him so anxious. You hated seeing him push everyone away, and you wanted to help in any way you could.

He shrugged. “It’s just the restaurant,” he said, not knowing how else to explain it.

“The restaurant is doing amazing though, Carmy. You have no need to stress about that. You’ve been doing such a great job.” You told him, sincerely.

You watched him get a little more nervous. He was looking down at his lap, avoiding meeting your gaze. You ran your thumb over the back of his hand, trying to silently reassure him.

“You can tell me anything, Carm,” you said, softly.

“You just mean so much to me,” he started to explain. You were a little confused as to where he was going with this conversation. The room was silent as Carmy gathered his thoughts.

“Everything at the restaurant has been going so well. Every time my life has ever gone well, something terrible has happened next. I feel like I’m just waiting for everything to…I don’t know, crumble? Losing the restaurant would be terrible, but losing you and the rest of the team would be devastating. You guys are my family.” He told you, his voice cracking with emotion.

Tears threatened to spill from his eyes. You quickly pulled him into you arms, giving him the tightest hug you could. He clutched onto you like he was scared you’d disappear if he let you go.

“You aren’t going to lose anybody,” you said, holding back tears just from watching how emotional Carmy was.

The soft leather scent of Carmy’s cologne occupied your thoughts as you held him close. You both stayed attached like that for a few minutes. The room was silent, but a comfortable silent.

When you both finally pulled apart, Carmy dried the tears off his cheeks. “Nothing bad is going to happen with the restaurant. We’re all family, and that doesn’t go away based on what happens with the restaurant. You will never lose me, or any of us.” You promised him.

You earned a small chuckle from Carmy when you held your pinky up to him. “You won’t lose me either,” he said, dutifully going through with your pinky promise.

You both stared into each other’s eyes, unsure what to say next. The tension in the air nearly made it hard to breathe.

“I should probably get going and let you have the rest of your evening. I’ll see you tomorrow.” You said, standing up from the couch.

You had never felt so awkward around Carmy. Just the task of walking to the front door felt like a giant opportunity to embarrass yourself. Carmy also quickly jumped up from the couch, feeling equally self-conscious.

His hand lightly grazed your back as he led you back to the front door. “Thank you for coming over and talking to me. You really helped calm me down.” He said, sincerely. You smiled and nodded your head at him.

“Make sure to call me if you ever need to talk about anything. I promise that I’ll always be here to listen,” you assured him.

The tension returned.

You both chose to avoid it.

“Well, goodnight,” you both quickly said, at the same time. You rushed out the door, and Carmy closed it behind you.

The door clicked into place and seemingly broke you both out of your trance.

You both realized you had missed the perfect opportunity. The perfect opportunity to finally confess those feelings that had been weighing you down.

You lowered your head, almost shamefully, and started walking down the hallway.

Carmy leaned his head against the closed door, wondering how he could have missed it. The girl of his dreams was walking down the hallway away from his apartment, away from him.

He started to walk towards his bedroom when he suddenly thought “fuck it,” and turned around.

At the same time in the hallway, you had the same thought.

Your heart beating in your ears, you turned on your heel and headed back towards Carmy’s apartment.

Carmy started walking back towards the front door. Before he could reach the door, he watched the knob spin and the door fling open.

You were back and standing in front of him.

Realizing you both had the same idea, Carmy quickly closed the gap between the two of you. His strong tattooed hands cupped your cheeks as he finally kissed you. You kissed him back immediately, wrapping your arms tightly around his waist.

He moved one of his hands away from you, but just a second, so he could quickly close the front door behind you.

He pushed you against the back of the door. The back of your head bumped against the door causing you to grin against the kiss. “Oh, shit, sorry. You okay?” he asked, cupping the back of your head. You quickly nodded your head. “I’m fine, I promise.” You said, grabbing his collar and pulling him back to kiss you.

He smirked against your lips at your eagerness to not break the kiss for even a second. He held onto your waist and pinned you against the door, while you wrapped your arms around his neck and toyed with his hair.

His lips felt perfect against yours. The kiss was somehow everything you’d dreamed of but completely unexpected.

You shifted your weight against him, gently nudging him away from the door. Carmy picked up on what you were doing. You noticed his signature smirk as he guided you towards the couch.

You fell back onto the couch, pulling Carmy down on top of you. All his weight landed on you, causing you to wince. “Sorry, that more violent than it was supposed to be.” He said, sheepishly. He quickly shifted his weight, so he was holding himself above you.

You both were giggly as these little mishaps continued to happen. It suited your relationship. You both had always been able to joke with each other, especially because of your matching sense of humor. It made sense that when you both finally got together that Carmy would accidentally bump your head against the door. But it didn’t make things awkward. You both were so comfortable just giggling with each other.

“Get back here, Berzatto,” you said, connecting your lips again. He quickly obliged. While Carmy loved laughing with you, he had been waiting years to kiss you and wasn’t going to waste the opportunity.

“You look so fuckin’ pretty,” he mumbled as he kissed you. You quickly slipped his tshirt over his head and tossed it to the side.

Then, you both heard a strange muffled sound. You pulled out of the kiss and gave Carmy a concerned look. It sounded like someone was in the apartment.

Your face completely changed when you realized what it was. “Carmy, that’s your phone. You butt dialed someone,” you whispered. His eyes also grew wide. He quickly grabbed his phone out of his pocket, hoping he could hang up and not say anything.

Once his phone was in his hand, he realized it was a FaceTime call and he was now face-to-face with his sister.

“Oh, shit. Sugar?” He said, the shock clear on his face. You immediately held your hand over your mouth, trying to remain completely silent.

“Hey, uh yeah. You called me? Are you okay?” She asked, confused by the whole situation.

“Oh, I must’ve done it on accident, sorry. Listen, I’m really sorry about yelling tonight. I’m gonna come in tomorrow and apologize to everyone though.” He said, sincerely. You were finding it so hard to not giggle. He was on the phone with Sugar while lying directly on top of you, and you just had to stay silent.

“It’s okay, Carm. Everyone knows you’ve been going through a lot. Y/N was going to head over to your apartment. Did you talk to her?” Natalie asked, genuinely invested.

Carmy quickly nodded his head. “Yeah, she came by earlier and we talked. I’m doing a lot better. Yeah, she’s umm—” Carmy stalled as he tried to come up with a lie.

Natalie picked up on his hesitation immediately. “Oh shit. Is she— are you two— wait is she there now?” She asked, putting it all together. You froze, trying to anticipate Carmy’s next move.

He quickly sat up on the couch before pulling you into his lap. “Hi, Nat,” you said, smiling at the camera and bracing for her reaction. You both watched her jaw drop.

“Did my two favorite people finally confess their love for each other? Oh, you guys,” she awed, being able to read you both just from the way you both were blushing.

Carmy buried his face in your neck. He knew how long Natalie had been rooting for this to happen, and he was having a hard time controlling how red his face was.

“You’re good for him. I’m really happy for you guys,” she said to you. You smiled in return and thanked her.

“Well, I’ll let you both get back to it.” She said, winking at you both and ending the call.

“So, how long before everybody knows?” He asked you. You just laughed in response, knowing it wouldn’t be long.

“I think she’s already sent an all-caps text to Sydney and Richie, and the rest of them will know before we go into work tomorrow.” You told him, honestly.

“We could just stay here tomorrow. We don’t really need to go in, right?” He said, pressing kisses to your cheek.

“Would that be the responsible thing to do?” You teased him. He chuckled and pecked your lips. “You know I would spend every second with you, whether it was responsible or not.” He told you.

You giggled, stopping him from kissing you. “Awww we’re only fifteen minutes in and I’m already your biggest weakness? You big softie,” You continued to joke around with him.

“You’ve always been my weakness, sweetheart,” he said, quickly picking up and carrying you to his bedroom.

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Let me know if you want to be added to my taglist for all my imagines or for a specific character/fandom!!

[keeksandgigz]

my guy

eddie munson x fem!reader

Eddie being your personal handyman and stupidly in love.

cw: 2k words. no warnings just two kids being absolutely smitten for each other. tooth rotting fluff. teeny allusion to smut. Eddie being a flustered mess bless him. 18+ mdni

AN: this is literally the most low stakes thing i've ever written i just started cheesing at the idea of eddie cheesing at being called your guy

The sputtering of the washing machine startles you.

Huffing, you put your book down on the couch, rising from the depth of the cushions in which you had settled yourself into after finishing your chores and go assess the issue.

"Shit," the floor is wet and you shudder at the feeling of the cold soapy water getting into the bottoms of your socks as you slowly make your way to the washing machine to unplug it.

You try your best to dry the floor, wincing at the feeling of wet socks on the linoleum floor, cursing under your breath at the cold feel of the fabric against your skin.

Despite the floor being dry, your washing machine was broken, and you couldn't afford to buy a new one. Fortunately, your neighbor, Eddie had been your own personal handyman ever since you mentioned in passing that your sink was leaking a bit after moving into your place a couple months ago. The day after he was at your door, toolbox in hand. Your sink was fixed in less than a couple hours.

You knock at his front door, three precise, well timed knocks. Your mind cannot help but start counting just to see how long it will take him to open his door.

One, two, three, four, five, si--

The rattling of the door handle distracts you from your counting. Eddie's eyes are wide as they stare at you. His hair is tied in a low bun and he's fidgeting with a guitar pick in his hand. He must have been playing.

He's really quiet for a second, then clears his throat. "Oh, um. Hey, what's up?"

"Hey, nothing much? just wondering if you're busy right now" your tone always softens up with him around.

He looks around his apartment, almost as if he needed to remember if there was anything he should've been doing.

"Nope, don't think so. Why?" He leans against his doorframe, and he's cute in the way his pitch perks up, his smile expands just a bit to let a few crinkles form around his eyes.

"Well um... my washing machine broke and I can't afford to buy another one. I have a really important interview tomorrow morning and I need a clean dress shirt to wear. I thought I could get my guy to take a look at it and assess the damage?" you lightly punch your fist across his chest and he blushes a bit. You can tell by the way he starts blinking a bit faster that he's flustered.

"Your- your guy?" he stutters, almost as if he heard nothing else aside from that.

"Yeah, silly. My guy, like, my handyman" you smile at him, and if someone could get even more nervous, you're sure that Eddie just did, because he lets out a breathy laugh.

"Right. Your handyman guy, of course" and he shakes his head, smiling to himself a bit.

"So... can you do it?" you ask, breaking the silence.

"Yeah, no of course, sweetheart. Gimme a couple minutes and I'll be right over to you" he says smiling.

You head back to your apartment, leaving the door open for him to follow you with his toolbox, and Eddie feels like he’s lost every sense of reason when he enters and becomes surrounded by your scent.

The fabric softener you use has taken over every corner of your house, but he’s not complaining. Taking one last sniff for courage, he steps into the kitchen, where you’re sitting at, waiting for him.

“Alright, can I take a look at your washing machine?” he asks, tilting his head.

“Yeah, it’s right this way” you lead him to the laundry room, and Eddie’s suffocating. You’re everywhere.

He kneels in front of the machine and opens its door.

"What's this interview for anyway if it's got you actin' so nervous?" He says from inside the washing machine. He's fidgeting with the rubber at the opening, the hose.

"It's for this job at the school. I applied to teach at the middle school, but I'm not sure if they'll give it to me" you say, panic settling in. He's taking too long, you're done for. No clean shirt, no job.

"Nah, sweetheart, there's no reason why they shouldn't. You're incredibly smart, from all the books I've seen you read, your apartment is all books, you nerd" he starts laughing, and then stops.

"Sorry, I didn't mean to call you a nerd." He takes his head out of the washing machine. "I just- I know you're gonna do great. And if you don't maybe you can become my apprentice, would you mind passing me my flashlight?" he gives you a half smile.

Reaching for his toolbox you pass it to him.

"See? You're already perfect for the job, you're hired" he says, making you laugh. He smiles proudly to himself, and he's happy that you can't see him from inside the washing machine, because he's sure he's bursting with joy at the sound of your laughter.

"Thanks, Ed. I'll consider it." you say, and immediately after you hear a oh shit! coming from inside the machine. Concern washes over your face.

"Ed? What's wrong?" you say, as you carefully step closer towards him.

“I know what the problem is." He takes his head out again The rubber thingy that helps you close the thingy is broken” he says, like you understood what he meant.

“For a handyman you sure have your way with words” you laugh, and he doesn’t even care that he’s made a fool of himself by forgetting what the rubber gasket was called. Because he’s made you laugh.

"So how do I get this rubber thingy fixed, mr handyman?" you ask, voice still amused at how flustered he is.

"Well, I'd need to go down the hardware store and get a replacement, but it's 8PM, so I can't do anything about it now, sweetheart. Sorry" he says, and it breaks his heart to have to say no to you.

"Oh, okay." your voice sounds sad, it hurts him. "Thanks anyway, Eddie. I'll stop by the hardware store tomorrow morning before my interview if you wanna stop by in the afternoon and finish this?"

He thinks about it, about the interview. About how much you said you want the job.

"Wait, I have an idea. What if you wash your clothes in my washing machine for tonight? So you can have your shirt ready for your interview, then tomorrow I can go and get the gaskets to fix it. It's called a gasket, not rubber thingy" he says, playing with his hair.

"Ed it's fine, I can go get it" you say, trying not to blush at how gentle and kind he is "I'll take you up on your offer of using your machine, though. Thanks, Ed. You're too nice" you say, reaching for the basket of wet clothes on top of the dishwasher.

"Anytime, sweetheart. Y'know I take good care of my clientele" he says, smug smile on his lips. You giggle and fake a gasp.

"Are you cheating on me? Are you being someone else's guy?!" he laughs and goes along with it.

"Well, Mrs. Davis did ask me to fix her bathtub, after learning from someone that I fixed their sink" he said, a fake accusatory stare at you.

"You should get paid for this, Ed. You've already fixed my sink, my door hinges, helped me change my lock and now my washing machine. Soon the whole complex is gonna ask you to do their maintenance" you laugh.

"I do it out of the kindness of my heart" he says, taking a dramatic bow , then rises and leans against the washing machine. "Really, though, I don't mind doing it. I enjoy being helpful. I don't want your money, sweetheart"

"No, Eddie, I insist. I need to pay you, especially after you said you're getting the rubber thingy for me, what was it called again? A gusset?"

"Gasket" he says smiling, pointing a cheeky finger at you. Then the air becomes a bit tense, he stiffens up. You see him takes a deep breath, he's suddenly nervous which puts you on edge. Did you say something wrong? Then he speaks up again. "Tell you what, as a payment for my services, I pick you up Friday night at 7 and we have dinner. What do you say?"

Shit. You would not have pegged him for the type to be that smooth, but he had you. He liked you and he was sweet to you and he wanted to take you out to dinner. It helped that he was cute. There was no hesitation when you nodded your head yes.

"I say that's a great idea, Ed. I'll let you know how the interview goes. Should we go to your apartment?" you say. You notice the quizzical, borderline alarmed, look on his face.

"So I can wash my stuff, I mean" an awkward laugh escapes you as he motions for you to lead the way.

His apartment is the same layout as yours, but rather than books, his walls are filled with painted figurines, guitars, notebooks and DnD game sets. A true nerdy den.

"Um, the washing machine is down the hall. We have the same one, let me know if you need anything, okay?" he says, heading over to the couch, setting his toolbox down and picking up his guitar.

His laundry detergent is strong. The thought of this load of washing smelling like him makes your head spin.

After you've started the load, you head out of the laundry room and head over to the couch, where Eddie is. You swear his eyes glint a little when he sees you.

"Hey mr. handyman." you say, plopping down next to him "Keep playing, I'm just gonna watch you." You smile at him.

His face is concentrated, tongue darting out of his lips every once in a while. Cute, you think, a silly quirk that makes your mind travel to places that it should not even dare to go, you haven't even had your first date yet. God, you wanna kiss him.

He plays some aggressive guitar chords, one after the other, music sheets scattered on his knee, balancing precariously as he taps the rhythm with his head, his hair falling out of its confinements with each bob of his head.

"I hear you play sometimes." You interrupt. He raises his head, his hair has all fallen out of the bun and lays on his shoulders.

"What?" he says weakly.

"Sometimes, in the afternoon, because you're so respectful, I hear you play. And I- I just stop whatever I'm doing and listen to you and- and it's so cool. Your playing is so cool" you stop your ramble, because now he's staring at you and he's making you nervous. He's closer, and closer, and closer. And he's kissing you.

His lips are soft, albeit a bit too wet from all the times he's licked his lips to focus. His hand is on your cheek and it's big and warm and his breath is on you and you just melt into him. Soft kisses, quick kisses.

After what feels like hours, your mouth is open and you're reaching for his shirt, but he stops you, a puzzled look on your face. "Let's save this for another time, sweetheart." He says, and you can tell he's struggling to say no to you "I wanna take my time with you. Maybe after our date?" he gives you a sly smile and you think you have melted into the cushions.

"Can we cuddle, then?" you say shyly and he opens his arms for you to fall in, you take a deep breath. He's warm and smells nice.

"For a handyman you kiss really well" you say, laughing a bit. He jerks his head and quirks an eyebrow.

"How many handymen have you kissed?" his tone is dramatic and you know he's joking.

"None that I am aware of, but y'know, it could be a side job" You giggle.

"I thought I was your guy!" He says with a whine, and he makes you laugh like no man has ever made you laugh before.

“Maybe you can be my guy for real then” you say, smiling, finally holding eye contact with him.

“Yeah, I can be your guy, sweetheart.”

[neosimi]

🪑 4t2 kkb's my cherish things ☕

hi everyone, happy wednesday! as promised, here is kkb's my cherish things set converted for ts2. i thought i was more finished than i truly was, there ended up being lots of little fixes. anyway, i was finally able to complete it over the holiday break! i do apologize for being fairly absent the past few months, i hope to get back into the sims again. that is if my game will stop crashing but we all know how that story goes- as always, please lmk if you run into any issues. enjoy!~⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

addt'l photos + object list under the cut. files are compressed.

update 2/24/2024: fixed sink cutout, no longer linked to veranka's vanadium sink. download the file separately here.

download: [sfs] | [box] ♡

credits: @kkbsmm, veranka's vanadium sink as a base.

OBJECT LIST:

Cushion Chair

Induction Burner

Iron Basket -> Pastel Teacup + Powder Case Repo'd

Kitchen Towel

Pastel Fridge [Functional + Animated]

Pot Hanger -> Bread Box, Drink Box, + Cushion Stool Repo'd

Ribbon Kettle -> Ribbon Bowl, Low Pot, Pan w Handle, Pasta Pot, Stew Pot, + Teacup Repo'd

Kitchen Sink [Functional]

Tablecloth Table -> Wooden Chair Repo'd

Three-Tier Lunch Box -> Two-Tier Lunch Box Repo'd

Two-Tier Dish Dryer

note: there is no dirty state, i cloned from veranka's which didn't include one. also, i didn't include the cupboard, idk i guess i spaced it out sry!

[darkbluekies]

Silas & King Edmund drabbles: darling drinking to deal with the situation

Yandere!mafia & yandere!king

Warnings: alcoholism, wrong ways to fix addiction (edmund), yandere, throwing up, mentions of murder

Silas:

He's had enough of you drinking. Frankly enough, he's worried about your health. He has his men grab all of your bottles and dump them out in the sink.

"Don't do that!" you burst out and try to run over to stop them.

Silas grabs you before you have the time to reach them. He holds you still, grimacing slightly.

"Your breath stinks, little one", he scolds you. "This is for you, you should actually thank me."

"I need that to fucking deal with you!"

"Oh, really? Is that so?"

You start to cry. The only reason that you have been able to deal with being Silas's wife/husband have been by being blacked out. If not, you can't handle the knowledge that the one holding and kissing you is the same person who murders behind your back.

Silas hugs you and kisses the top of your head. He cups your cheeks.

"If you continue like this you're going to kill your fucking liver", he says. "I'm not going to let you do that. You're stuck with me whether you like it or not."

A sudden wave moves through you and before anyone has the time to react, you throw up on the kitchen floor. Silas hurries to hold you up and gestures for his men to bring a bucket and cleaning supplies. He gives the men who empties the bottles into the sink warning gazes and they turn their back to you quickly.

"This is only the beginning, Y/N", he says in your ear. "Tomorrow, you'll be so hungover ... and that will be enough punishment to keep you in your lane."

"I fucking hate you", you mutter.

"You can hate me all you want, but you still wear my ring around your finger, and you will always belong to me. You better accept it."

"Boss, should we send them to the hospital?" his second in command asks as you throw up in the bucket. "To make sure that they haven't gotten any alcohol poisoning?"

You throw up again.

"Fine", Silas says. "You hear that, Y/N? You'll go to the doctor. Better lay off the alcohol and pick up some apples."

King Edmund:

He doesn't mind it at first, because you're kept where he wants you, in your bedroom ... but after a while he notices that when he wants to be with you, you barely respond coherently and you've lost the spark he loves.

He holds your wobbly head in his hands and scoffs.

"That's it", he says firmly and turns to his guards. "Destroy every snigle bottle of wine in the kingdom. Every, single bottle. We will have a total abstinence of alcohol."

"That's bullshit", you mutter.

"Language!"

You glare at him and pull your head out of his hands, tripping on yourself. Edmund cocks an eyebrow at you.

"Don't give me that look", he says. "You brought this upon yourself, Y/N. I'm doing this for you."

"No, you're doing this for yourself, because you don't like me when I'm drunk", you spit at him. "You don't care about my feelings and why I feel like drowning myself in your wine."

Edmund rolls his eyes. "You're not only drunk, you're wasted. You can't handle any type of conversation, you can barely eat properly and you're not the one I like to spend time with. People will talk. This is not how you should behave."

You sigh. You can't remember the last time you've been sober, and you're not sure that you want to be. Not with Edmund.

"To make sure that you sober up completely and won't be able to get any more alcohol", Edmund starts, "you will spend the night in the dungeon with a whole lot of water."

"No, not the dungeon", you beg drunkenly. "I hate that place. I hate the rats, and the moldy walls, and the screams, and-"

"I don't care. You need to be away from the wine."

When you start craving for alcohol tomorrow in the dungeon, you're afraid of what you'll do. The abstinence will be worse if you're down there.

"Start walking", Edmund says and gives you a push. "I'll get rid of this addiction once and for all."

You wobble.

"Fucking- ... do I need to carry you?" he mutters before throwing you over his shoulder. "I need to do everything myself around here, for fucks sake."

Quite ironic while being the king and having a castle full of servants.

[delaber]

A Date (Bucky Barnes x Reader)

Summary: you have a date and Bucky’s not exactly happy about it.

Words: 3.8K

Trope: friends to lovers 💞 with a jealous Bucky trying his best to be brave, and failing horribly.

Notes: another fluff piece to mend Bucky’s heart ❤️ honestly, I have a problem with all these fluffy fics I’ve been writing recently. I just cannot stop myself lol.

"You have a date?" he manages to splutter just before the panic takes over and makes his heart skip a few beats.

Fuck!

A fucking date?!

His fingers are slipping on the wet handle of the pan he's in the midst of cleaning, and in that moment, all he can think about is how happy he is that he's currently bent over the kitchen sink so you can't make out the shocked expression on his face.

You're nodding beside him, playing with the dishtowel you're holding but Bucky can hardly make out what you're saying when you return his question with a quiet "yeah".

His ears are ringing bells and he just wants to get the fuck out of there.

Silently, he's begging for you to stop talking. He doesn't want to know more. Doesn't want to hear what you've agreed to and who you're... - fuck, what if it's someone he knows?

What if it's Sam?!

Shit!

The panic in Bucky's chest runs amok! If he walks in on his two best friends fucking, he's gonna kill himself!

With dread, he realises that he has to know how careful he needs to be around the compound...

"With - uh - with whom?" he clears his throat and curls his toes in prepared mortification, his narrowed gaze firmly fixed on a wet piece of broccoli that's lying lonely and sad at the bottom of the sink.

Please don't say Sam, please don't say Sam...

"You know the cute guy from the coffee shop?" you answer proudly, and it makes Bucky's heart spring violently back to life. That guy??? "- he finally asked me."

Well, it's not Sam - yet somehow, it's worse.

Deep breath, he tells himself and plasters on a neutral expression as he looks up from the pan and directly into your eyes.

At least you look excited, he concludes as he takes in your dreamy little smile that's usually reserved for when vibranium fingers briefly brush over your warm skin but that he now has to share with... him. The moron in the green apron. Mr I'm-too-busy-flirting-with-your-girl-to-get-your-order-right.

Fuck, he's burning up!

"That's great, sweetheart," he hears himself croak from far away, trying his best to sound like he's happy for you and not as if his heart is in the process of being ripped out of his chest. "I'm real happy for you."

"Thanks, Buck," you playfully bump your hip against his while looking down at your hands as you once again twist the towel between your fingers.

You seem almost... nervous. This date must really be a big deal to you.

He gulps and pushes away another incoming wave of nausea. It's not as if he hasn't long ago accepted that nothing will ever happen between the two of you. You're friends. That's it.

"Are you excited?" He asks without really knowing why. He doesn't want to hear your answer. To hear you verbally confirm the look you already have on your face.

Slowly you look up at him and he has to chomp down on his inner cheek to keep himself from doing something stupid.

"You know what?" you ask quietly with a tilt of your head and Bucky's heart starts racing even harder. "- I actually am."

Even you sound surprised - not that Bucky can really blame you.

"Mmh," he merely hums and pretends there's a particularly stubborn area on the dirty pan that needs his attention.

"Is that weird?" You ask.

He can feel how the sincere question in your voice laces itself around his abdomen, squeezing him tight.

Is it wrong of him to want to snap the stupid piece of teflon-coated metal in his hand in half? You're his best friend and he should just be happy you're happy.

Fuck it, he is happy! He loves you more than anything and you deserve to feel this way - he just wishes it was because of him and not someone else.

"No, sweetheart," he mumbles, trying to untie the invisible knot behind his navel as he starts scrubbing again. "Why would it be weird?"

Thankfully, you don't answer.

...

Cold droplets of water are running over your forehead and down the length of your nose, desperately trying to reduce the tension that's been resting right between your eyebrows since your conversation with Bucky last night.

Splashing your face with water is a stupid attempt to make yourself feel better - you know that - it hasn't worked the other times you've tried it and this must be the tenth attempt since you woke up this morning. The only thing that'll truly help is if Bucky would tell you what's going on.

He's been acting weird since last night, and even though you aren't sure what reaction you'd been hoping for, this definitely isn't it. You know he isn't exactly the biggest fan of the man who's taking you out for dinner later, but getting so annoyed he can barely uphold a conversation? Well, that wasn't really a scenario you'd even considered at all...

You suppose you could just tell him the truth - maybe that would make him more accepting of your choice of date - but it's not as if you can really tell him that the only reason you're going on that date to begin with is to force yourself to get over, well, him.

You've known Bucky two years now and apart from small moments here and there, nothing's happened. It's been two excruciating years full of pining and painful almosts and ifs but he clearly doesn't look at you that way and you don't want to keep putting yourself through the heartbreak. You deserve to spend your friday nights with someone who actually sees you for what you are: beautiful, smart, desirable, a woman.

And as you stand looking at yourself in the mirror, you realise that you need this date to get Bucky out of your head. Fuck if he doesn't approve of the cute guy from the coffee shop. It's none of his business who you're going out with and if he wants to be annoyed about it, then so be it.

Yet you still cannot stand the thought of him sitting by himself all night. He hasn't seemed like himself all day and you know how he can spiral over the smallest of things.

Thus, you check for Sam in the kitchen, the gym, and in the spa area in the basement of the compound, but eventually find him in the common room on the third floor, completely hypnotised as he stares at the television screen in front of him, the playstation controller grabbed tightly in his hands.

You do a quick scan around the room to confirm that it's just the two of you before you approach him. "Wilson, have you seen Bucky today?"

"Bucky? Uh - no," Sam mumbles without moving his gaze away from the animated character who's running through an abandoned city. "I assume you've already tried the dark cave he calls his room?"

"I know where he is," you sigh and flop down on the sofa next to him, stretching your legs and putting your feet in his lap. "I was just hoping that maybe you'd talked to him."

He doesn't answer apart from a few incoherent noises you're sure are for the game and not for you, so you poke at the controller with your toes to get his attention. "Sam..."

"Hey! I'm trying to save humanity from a zombie apocalypse here. Keep your stinking feet away from me," he playfully flicks the underside of your foot without sparing you a glance. "I already told you I haven't seen your siamese twin all day."

"Yeah, but do you think you could... go check on him maybe?"

"I'm busy. You go check on him."

"Sam..."

At the sound of your soft-spoken words, Sam sends you a brief side-eye before he finally tosses the controller down on the sofa table with a loud sigh. "What'd you do?"

"I didn't do anything," you shake your head innocently. Is it really your fault that Bucky is too childish to accept the man you're going out with? No.

Sam runs his eyes over you and squints hard. "You guys are usually so dependent, you're practically joined at the hip. And now you want me to go talk to him even though you didn't do anything?"

"Look, he's being weird," you sigh, "- can you just check on him? Please? Maybe have a guy's night in with beer and that stupid zombie-game you're always playing or whatever?" you gesture to the television screen where the character from before stands panting, saying random stuff every few seconds. "I don't want him to be alone."

"First of all, The Last of Us is not stupid!" Sam raises his index finger at you, feigning an insulted huff. "Secondly; a guy's night in..? While you're doing exactly what if I may ask?" he arches an eyebrow, urging you to keep talking.

"I - uh - I have plans," you say quickly and try and look determined although you can feel your entire face heating up. "...a date of sorts."

The dead-panned look on Sam's face is quickly wiped off, instead replaced with an annoyingly broad smirk. "You have a what now?" he chuckles teasingly.

"You heard me," you roll your eyes.

"Oh I heard you loud and clear," he hoots, "you are going on a date!" he says, emphasising the last word with a wriggle of his eyebrows.

"Don't be a dick about it."

"My, oh my. We're finally gonna see what kind of man that can sweep the rug from underneath you."

"Okay, I'm leaving," you make a move to stand up, but Sam interrupts you by putting his palm to your shin.

"Come on, I'm just teasing," he laughs, "tell me about your date. Who's it with? - Not Bucky, I assume."

"Why would I go on a date with Buck?" you shrug nonchalantly although you can once again feel the heat radiating through your every feature. "It's the cute blonde from the coffee house down the street."

"Oooh, the guy who looks like a young Brad Pitt but with humour?"

"That's the one," you press down on your lips and avoid looking directly at Sam. God, this is embarrassing.

"He's a cutie!" Sam teases with a chuckle.

"I know," you play with a loose thread on your shirt, avoiding his eye.

"Then why aren't you more excited about it?" He asks but immediately emits a groan, "Jesus... do not tell me it's because of Bucky?!"

"I'm worried about him," you whine and bury your face in the sofa cushions.

Sam rolls his eyes. "You're going on your first date in forever and you're worried about that sourpuss?"

"Sam, you didn't see the look on his face when I told him about it! He hates the guy - I think it really upset him."

"Of course it upset him," Sam scoffs, "It's like taking candy away from someone who really wants to fuck said candy!"

Your eyes snap over to Sam in an instance. Completely taken off guard, your voice dies in your throat. Did he just...? No, surely, you must've misheard.

"Come on, don't pretend you haven't noticed," Sam groans, "I swear to god, he's two days away from crawling behind you just so he can lick the ground you're walking on!"

The earth has stopped spinning. "W-what?"

"The puppy eyes? The 'pick me' behaviour?" he rolls his eyes at your shocked face.

Your heart starts pounding so fast you can barely keep up. "Are we talking about... Bucky? As in our Bucky?"

"Uh, huh," Sam nods as if it's the most obvious thing on the planet. "That guy's practically begging you to take him by the hand and lead him to your bed. He's so in love with you, it's disgusting to look at."

"He's what?!" You exclaim loudly, completely out of breath. This is definitely news to you! "No, no, no! Bucky's not in love with me, we're friends," you pant with the blood rushing past your ears.

Sam shoots you an unimpressed side-eye, "yeah keep telling yourself that"

"What do you mean?" you pant, trying to puzzle together Sam's suspicion with your disbelief.

"I swear to god, the two of you don't even have a single brain cell put together..." he rolls his eyes, "I've seen that boy almost snap his neck because you were laughing and he wanted to know what you were laughing at. Trust me when I say that he's not annoyed that you're going on that date - he's jealous."

Well... fuck!

...

You don't think you've ever been this nervous as you pace the hallway outside Bucky's bedroom. You've been here ten minutes now, desperately trying to force yourself to actually make contact with him, but you're holding yourself back. There's so much on the line and what if Sam's incorrect? Then, you will truly have mucked up and everything between you and Bucky will be ruined.

Shit!

You stop pacing. You can hear his favourite album from the forties playing on the other side of the wall but apart from that, there hasn't been a single sound from in there.

You pray he's in a better mood than when you walked in on him angrily hunched over his bowl of cereal this morning, but the fact that he put on the only type of music that can calm him down, doesn't really scream 'put-together'.

It makes you even more nervous though you know you have to talk to him at some point. It's not as if you can avoid him forever - so before you can truly think about the upside of postponing the inevitable conversation, you raise your knuckles and carefully knock on his door.

Everything inside you tenses up. You vision becomes blurry, and you seem to automatically focus all your attention on the sounds coming from inside his room. There's a short shuffle, a sigh and then an irritated "what?!" muttered from somewhere behind the walls.

This is bound to go wrong.

You consider running away and pretend you've never even been near his room, but it's too late to back out now. You have to talk to him at some point, you remind yourself.

With your nerves running wild and the blood pumping through your every vein, artery, and fibre, you open the door a little and poke your head inside his room with a small "hi," your throat so dry it comes out as a hoarse whisper.

He's sitting on the bed with his long legs crossed at the ankles, his hand buried inside a book that's lying closed in his lap. He looks angry at everything and everyone - as if he's minutes away from strangling someone - but when he finds your eyes from across the room, the tense muscles in his cheeks seem to unclench a little.

"Oh, hey," he breathes and runs a hand through his hair in embarrassment, licking his lips. "I thought you were Sam..."

You smile, so relieved to see him softening that you automatically step inside his room without waiting for him to ask you to. "Sorry to disappoint."

"You're not," he shakes his head with a small gulp, "I thought you'd left already. Don't you have that big date?" he asks in a weird voice and sends you a stiff smile.

"Not until seven," you shrug and sit down next to him on his bed, immediately noticing how he's started avoiding your gaze.

"Right," he nods and occupies himself by putting his book on his bedside table. "So - uh - still looking forward to it?"

How do you tell your best friend that no, you're not looking forward to it because he's the one you really want to go out with?

"I don't know," you shrug, suddenly so anxious your temples have started pounding, "not really."

He finally looks up at you again, his slate blue eyes jittery as they meticulously search your face. "What happened?" He asks with tightly knitted eyebrows, "you were so excited for it yesterday."

You hesitate. "...Honestly?"

"Yeah, honestly," he sits up a little straighter, a serious look on his face, "- he didn't upset you, did he?" He says on impulse, his voice suddenly dark and dripping with venom at the mere thought as he reaches out for you and puts his fingers on your arm.

"No Buck," you shake your head and take a deep breath to get your pulse under control. "He didn't upset me."

"Then what?" He squeezes your arm softly, his eyes concerned as he tries to read you, "you can tell me anything."

"I know... It's just that..." you hesitate and consider ending your sentence with I'm in love with you, but the words die in your throat.

"What sweetheart?" he shuffles a little closer to you.

"Bucky," you heave a big breath of air to prepare your bold question that can potentially change everything between you dependant on his answer. "Do you not want me to go on that date?"

"What?" his eyes immediate travel over your face and you can almost hear his pulse running haywire as his fingers let go of your arm. "What makes you think that?"

"It's just..." your breathing picks up as you scan his every anxious feature. It makes you anxious too. "- you started acting weird the minute I told you about it. You've been avoiding me all day."

His fingers find your arm again, his grip a little tighter than before as he desperately looks at you. "No, no, no, sweetheart! That's not what happened," he licks his lips and plasters on the fake smile he's been practising in the mirror all day. "- I mean... I'm not the biggest fan of the guy but who you're dating is really none of my concern. I'm sure he's great, and as long as he treats you well, I'll make sure he stays on my good side," he says softy and sends you a smile that seems a little too genuine for your liking.

You hesitate again as you check his face for cracks, but his smile stays intact and happy. "...So you're really okay with it?" you ask in a small voice, mortified.

"Are you kidding me? Sweetheart, of course I'm okay with it!" he slides his fingers down your arm, capturing your hand inside his fist. "I really just want you to be happy. That's what's important. And you deserve to be taken care of for once instead of being stuck here with me and Sam." He reassuringly squeezes your fingers tight, but it just feels as if he's in the process of letting you go.

Slowly, you can feel your heart breaking.

You knew it... You knew Sam was wrong. Bucky isn't in love with you. Never has been. Never will be. Things are exactly the way they've always been and you're left pining after a man who doesn't want you back.

God, you feel like a idiot for getting your hopes up like that.

"Good," you nod resolutely, fighting hard to not let the heartbreak slip through your well-feigned mask. "I'm happy to hear you feel that way."

"Of course I do," he smiles solemnly.

"I should probably go get ready then..."

"Yeah," Bucky nods and lets go of you. "It's almost six."

With a sigh you hope he doesn't hear, you stand up from his bed and brush down the front of your jeans, not really sure you even want to leave his room.

He's looking up at you like a deer caught in headlights. "Have fun," he says while his hands grab the sheets underneath him, fisting the fabric. "- can't wait to hear all about it."

"Thanks, Buck," you feign a smile to match his, "I'll see you tomorrow."

"See you, sweetheart..."

You turn around with a wave of your hand, but the smile on your face falters the minute you've turned on your heel.

You can hear his heavy breathing over the music playing in the corner, and when you reach out for the door handle, a delicate sound finally breaks the reticence between you.

"Don't go..."

At first, you're not sure if you're imagining it, but then you hear him shuffling behind you, and when you turn around and face him, he's on his feet. "Don't go on that date," he whimpers in defeat, "I'm begging you. Please... don't go."

"Bucky..."

"I'm in love with you," he says guiltily with a gulp.

Your heart stops.

"- and I can't pretend I'm okay with you going on dates when I'm not."

You're completely speechless. You want to comment on everything. Run to him and proclaim that you're his. That you've always been his. But you're nailed to the spot and all that manages to escape your lips is a tight whimper.

"- I know it's probably not what you want to hear right now..." he closes his eyes and looks as if he's in pain. "And I know I'm risking everything by telling you this," he gulps, "but I've been keeping it in for so fucking long, trying to protect our friendship. I just can't keep pretending I don't want... more. It's stupid, I know."

"Bucky, it's not stupid," you finally manage to croak and it's as if the force that've been gluing you to the spot finally lets go. "It's not," you whisper as you take a few long strides over to him, stopping right before your chests touch. "It's not stupid," you repeat and reach a hand upwards, caressing his bearded chin.

His eyes are glistening, and his breathing is coming in ragged as he searches your face. "Sweetheart," he gulps in confusion, "I don't... - what does this mean?"

"It means -" your hand reaches up so it can rake through his hair, coming to a halt on the back of his neck where you can feel the goosebumps travel through his entire body. "- that I'm in love with you too. Have been for quite some time. Since I met you, actually."

Now it's his turn to be glued to the spot.

His mouth falls a little open and you can tell by the look on his face that he's in the process of questioning everything, so you underline your confession by putting your forehead to his. "I want to be yours," you whisper and observe him closely.

At first, he tenses even harder, but then a small smile starts tugging on his lips as he finally relaxes in your arms and pulls you closer. "I want you to be mine, too," he declares sweetly as his heart blossoms in his chest. He reaches down and kisses your cheeks, your nose, your forehead.

"It's you," he whispers against your skin, "- It's always been you."

"Kiss me," you beam and almost cannot stop smiling silly when you reach up for his mouth, finally claiming the softest, most pillowy lips you've ever had the pleasure of kissing.

[oceanreveuse]

𝗡𝗢𝗪 𝗥𝗘𝗔𝗗𝗜𝗡𝗚: 𝗴𝗶𝗺𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝗺𝗲 𝘀𝘂𝗴𝗮𝗿, 𝗳𝗲𝗮𝘁𝘂𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗳𝘂𝘀𝗵𝗶𝗴𝘂𝗿𝗼 𝘁𝗼𝗷𝗶.

◟fem!reader, dom!toji, sub!reader, (ooc) toji - he deserves his own warning, probs doesn’t fit canon au but who cares its porn, sweet little baby reader in a short skirt, size difference (insinuated that reader is smaller than toji), reader referred to as 'girl,' petname (baby), degradation (whore), blowjob, dacryphilia, not proofread + based on my beefy men post here ◟anastasia's footnote : happy late 100 followers! it’s been a really difficult few months for me mentally and i’ve struggled to wrangle some writing fairies but i’m ever thankful for your support! mwah, many kisses - anastasia xox

“yeah, that’s it-” his hoarse voice is momentarily cut off as his gaze trail down your figure, watching you hopelessly tiptoe for that last canned food on the kitchen shelf, “need a hand?”

you scowl, your glossy lips pursed as you send a narrowed look over your shoulders and TOJI could almost chuckle. almost. he doesn’t, instead those sharp eyes darken and linger on the exposed fat of your ass that peeks out from under the short skirt you’re dressed in - you 100% knew what you was doing and toji wasn’t stupid.

“i can handle it myself, ‘ji.” you mumble, trying to disguise the pout in your voice as you keep reaching, small whimpers of frustration starting to bubble in your throat. sure seems it, toji scoffs mentally, thick arms crossing over his broad chest as he continues to watch. he has no idea how he ended up with such a persistent little thing, unable to ask for a hand to the point where it frustrates him but as the tent in his grey sweats grows, toji knows that no matter how much you seem to piss him off, you can fix it just as well.

he watches you, observant in the way that tiny skirt sways with your wiggles, the plush of your thighs on perfect display for him. a groan escapes his lips, catching your attention as he shoves a chair out from underneath the table, throwing himself down into it. you’ve been with toji long enough to read his actions, his emotions too. he’s not adherently upset with you, no, you can see that by the prominent bulge that could almost have neon arrows pointed at it.

suddenly, your focus is shifted and god, if he wasn’t so stoic and grumpy, you’d be able to see the way he could grin at the little sparkle in your eyes illuminated by the sun coming through the kitchen window behind him. you don’t need to be told, although he likes to give the order sometimes - you’re already sinking down onto your knees before toji gets a chance to part those mildly cracked lips.

his tongue darts out, wetting his lips and running along his scar and a deep chuckle rumbles from his chest, “what? see something you like, baby?”

you was almost drooling, salivating when you pushed your soft cheek up against his bulge. the warmth matches that of your flustered state, pressing sweet kisses along his clothes length and toji almost growls. the feral noise resonates deep in his throat, his big, calloused hands wanting to reach out and grab your hair - he restrains himself. it takes him a lot of effort but he manages it, staring down at the way your long eyelashes flutter around your half-lidded eyes, brushing up against his sweats.

“always…” you mumble softly, your voice sweet like honey when your much smaller hands grab at the hem of his sweats and pull- no, tug the fabric just down his thick thighs, the muscles tensing slightly under your touch. heavy cock standing at attention, bobbing against the dark happy trail on his abdomen, toji finally sits back properly until the chair creaks. he’s always commented about the size of these damn chairs, too small for a man of his stature but perfect for a little doll such as yourself.

it amazes the buff man how easily you’re almost hypnotised by the sight of his cock every damn time it springs free, no matter how many times you’ve seen it or how long you’ve been together. it’s like a moth to a flame, a cat to its favourite toy or even a child receiving a present - you really do love this dick, huh?

toji's thoughts are cut short when your warm tongue licks up the vein of his cock, starting at the base and following its way up, up, up until it circles around the angry red tip. the action draws a hiss from his mouth, dark brows knitting together as those glossy lips wrap around the head, swirling your tongue around it before sinking further and further down the length. your nose buries into the thick pubes at the base, inhaling the familiar musky scent that has your eyes rolling back; other than the thick cock of your partner shoved to the back of his throat.

finally, a large hand reaches up to grab the hair at the back of your head. his fingers find purchase there, nails scratching at your scalp and he groans, loud and deep in his throat, "that's it, y'got a real filthy mouth y'know that?"

he could almost chuckle at the way your eyes - now hazy - peer up at him from this position, a slight gloss along the waterline that makes him grin. after a few more seconds, you pull your head off with a gasp, saliva stringing from your lips to his fat cock with a sinful giggle breaking the tense silence. toji's narrowed eyes follow the way you swallow, placing sloppy kisses on his heavy balls cupped in your hands.

not that toji would ever admit it, he could never admit it to anyone because god forbid his ego would be bruised but seeing you like this, so cockdrunk and littering him in kisses and kitten licks as if he's a piece of candy, it truly has him all heart eyes for you; just like he falls in love with you a little more every time he feasts on the sight of your drooling lips and his cock shoved into your tight warmth.

crystalline tears pool in the corners of your eyes when toji drags his hips back and forth, testing the waters every time pubes tickle your upper lip. the sight above you is sinful, the sunlight behind toji casting a glow around his shadow like some holy figure, someone for you to worship on your knees - you could do that. you gag with every jagged movement of his hips with the placement of your small hands on his muscular thighs. toji's aware he's pushing limits - hell it's his favourite thing to do - but he's watching, observing your actions and movements. the hands on his thighs, the tears running down your cheeks, no matter what you haven't tapped on his thigh, you haven't pushed yourself away.

"c'mon girl, you can take it better than that, can't you?" he scoffs, fingers digging into your hair just a little tighter at the sight of a spark in your eyes, something igniting deep in you that he knows he can fan the flame, "what? is that pretty little whore mouth too full of my dick for you to speak?"

he wants to chuckle - he might chuckle, actually because the moment those words escape his mouth, his voice husky from the sensations in his lower half, he notices the way your thighs clench together and one of your dainty hands travels down under your skirt.

dinner can wait. suddenly, something is much more appetising to the likes of toji and with your whimpers and choking as the melodic backdrop, he has no intentions of stopping without his fill.

© oceanreveuse 2024 | reblogs appreciated | do not repost, steal, translate, etc. on any social media platform & do not feed to ai.

◟the waves call for . . . @kentophilia @kokonoiis @reonaissance

[ the magazine is affiliated with @houseofsolisoccasum ]

bonus:

[rikiws]

ORANGE SLICES. ꩜

▸ non-idol!jay x gn!reader ┆ established relationship, DOMESTIC [fluff]

꩜ There is no better way to relax after a long night of assignments than to share an orange with your boyfriend at an ungodly hour.

ps: NOT proofread and written in 30 mins, you've been warned

. . . UNDER THE CUT ⊹ (0.5k words)

Your fingers were sore from typing all night. Your hands were cramped, your head throbbed, and your eyelids felt as if they had anvils tied to them. Most importantly, however, your throat felt dry. And there was only one way to fix that before you jumped into bed.

A glass of water felt the most refreshing in the dead of night. Yet when you stumbled into the kitchen to quench your essay-induced thirst, you hadn’t expected to be met with your boyfriend’s back turned towards you, busying himself with…you weren’t quite sure. As if on command, however, Jay spun around to face you, carrying a small plate of oranges neatly sliced into wedges. “Oh, I was just about to call you over.” He mused, blatantly ignoring your very obvious look of annoyance. You had insisted your boyfriend go to sleep without you that night while you pulled an all-nighter to finally finish the assignment you had been putting off for too long now. You didn’t want him to lose sleep, but he just didn’t listen. Taking a few steps closer, you placed your hands on your hips, but Jay popped an orange slice into your mouth the second you opened them to give him a scolding. 

“Sorry,” He grinned sheepishly, “I can’t sleep when you’re not with me.”

There was no way you could ever stay mad at him. Not when Jay knew exactly how to melt your heart and perfectly mould it into the shape of his palms, for only him to hold onto. 

You smacked his shoulder playfully and bit into the orange slice, but the juice was anything but sweet. A stinging wave of bitterness crashed over your tongue, and you spat out the empty peel back on the plate. Jay didn’t get the chance to worry over you, since you gave him an answer immediately.

“I just brushed my teeth.” You cringed, the corners of your eyes watering with the acrid feeling in your mouth, but Jay replied with a roar of laughter, and you couldn’t keep your fake-indignation up for very long. “A little sympathy would have been nice.” You laughed instead, stuffing a slice of orange into your boyfriend’s mouth just to quieten his laughter.

Eating a few slices of over-ripe oranges seemed so insignificant, but it was moments like these that you cherished the most. Hunched over a miniscule plate, juice dripping down your fingers and leaving them sticky, enjoying the comfort of silence only broken by little giggles when the oranges begin to taste just a little too bitter for you to handle. That was what made spending time with Jay so beautiful. Enough for you to wish that you could spend the rest of eternity right there at the kitchen table, enough oranges to keep you full till the end of time, making little jokes, stealing chaste kisses, and now hovering over a plate that was emptied long ago. Jay planted a final kiss to your lips just before he walked off to throw the plate into the sink. 

The oranges were still bitter, but they tasted so much sweeter on his lips.

꩜ want to read more? check out my masterlist

[ktsumu]

retired apartment neighbour!john price who just misses protecting someone warnings: he's tampering with your stuff, implied home invasion, stalking

belatedly dedicated to @soumies who brainstormed this!!!

-

Your sink isn't working again.

Two months ago, it was a worn washer and something else the repair guy that your landlord sent told you. The last time, the drain wasn't up to fighting anymore.

This time? You don't know what the fuck it is.

Sometimes, you can fix it yourself— save some good money. Sometimes, something's obviously loose, because you remember that you tightened it well the time before. You make it right again and leave it, but then it just drips again. It makes you worry about the day you don't notice the sound and the wood starts to rot.

You've asked down the hallway a bit about whether their kitchens suck too, but they give you funny looks. You don't know why you've got the cursed unit, but it seems that everyone else is doing just fine.

Everyone but John, at least, because he worries about you.

John Price is half-neighbour, half-friend, half-stranger. That's too many halves, but he's big enough to fit them all.

The five months he's lived next to you, he's been nothing but kind. He's caring, funny when you're tired, helpful. You call him Price in passing, John when you need him for something; he answers dutifully to both.

(He's protective, too, frightens boys you bring back for yourself. You guess that nature came with the dog tags.)

He's kind, but you don't know him outside of when you need him, really. Neither of you seem to mind, though, since you're sure he's a busy man and he probably thinks you're too young to waste time on.

Now is one of those times that you need him.

The wrench in your cramping hand clatters against your kitchen floor, sweat beading at your hairline and under the neck of your shirt. It's the hottest night recorded in a decade and here you are; working on your fucked up sink instead of taking a cold shower.

Being too loud isn't a concern— your hallway is full of rabbits and your building manager lives below you; you hope he hears you groaning.

When you hear a knock, knowing who it's from, you start to care a little bit.

"Everything right?"

"I'm fine," you tell him, but it's wheezy. "Sorry for being loud."

Price simply opens your door, enters your home. It's barely ever locked when you're here, you aren't as careful as you used to be. Sometimes, if he's talking to you, he walks right in.

You never really say anything about it. You don't mean it as an invitation, but it comes out as one.

"It's that sink again?"

"How'd you know?"

Price is already in your space— looming over you, squatting to a kneel. One of his hands guides you away from the cabinet and you follow him without question.

He takes the wrench you gave up on. "S'always the sink with you, kid."

You see glimpses of history in Price. Like how he slides himself under your sink even though it's small, almost silent. Like how he grips your rusty wrench like a knife, backhanded, thumb closed over the handle's end.

His skin is covered in sweat, too, dewy under your kitchen light. It beads by his beard.

There's an ugly grind of metal versus metal, something tightening or being forced back into place. Price drops his thick arms again, lifting himself out from under your counter, and he hands you your tool back.

"How did you," you trail, "how did you know—?"

"Knew where to look, love." He laughs quickly when your face is blank. Price is taller than you remember when he stands, leaning on your kitchen island. "I've seen worse than some sink pipes, yeah?"

Of course he has.

It's why you mostly get him to fix things up in your place. Always knows what's wrong with your stupid apartment.

"Yeah, sorry."

Price doesn't leave when he helps you, either.

He waits, eyes trained on you when you get around your kitchen, getting the water jug and your tray of half-frozen ice cubes, asking if he wants some water. You think most people would kindly refuse, but Price always sticks around.

This time, though, he seems like he's gotten his fill, eyes lidded as he waves a hand when you go for the fridge. "M'good, love. Just call me when it goes again."

Your kitchen is uneasy. You know it isn't him, and it's probably you and the stress from the fact you can't sleep in the heat. The AC sounds like it's fighting in your window.

"How do you know it's gonna break again?" you ask. You know it sounds dumb, because you know your whole unit is a bit of garbage, but he's quiet. "Didn't you fix it well?"

John isn't looking at your eyes, he's looking at where your arms are crossed over your chest, hiding the sweat under your arms and collar. He's looking at your bare legs.

"I did," he assures you, always. "It's just a bad sink, lovie."

Just a bad sink, s'all it is.

"Yeah, it is, huh?" you ask, breathing a laugh at the stupidity of it all. At this rate, he'll be coming in to help you until you move out.

He steps toward you again, resting a heavy hand on the small of your back. You don't realize, don't even notice the fact he's nearly guided you out of your apartment until you're at the door.

Are you seeing him out, or is he seeing you?

John feels intimate when he's this close— head tilted, brows slightly raised, thumb tapping on your spine.

"Call me next time, alright?" he tells you, like you'd imagine he'd coo at a rescue. "I'm always around.”

You just nod. Something is pushing you closer and something is pushing him out.

"I will, promise."

"Have a good one then, kid. Take it easy tonight.”

"Thanks, John. I really, really appreciate you helping."

"Just what neighbours do, aye?"

He waits by the door as you close it, watching your smile just as you watch his, warm like a fire. Something makes your hand rest on the lock.

(You know you shouldn't need to, but you kneel in front of your sink when he leaves, knees pressed against the cold floor.)

Something itches in your stomach, not intuition but not ease either, nipping at the back of your brain. You almost feel stupid, using your phone flashlight to feel around the pipe that's never right, looking for something to tell you that you aren't acting crazy for doing this.

There's something you remember seeing earlier, right? Something obvious that you checked to see if it was the issue, or something you replaced last time, or something you paid for.

Your fingers feel nothing where there should be something— a piece is definitely gone, a washer or a nut, maybe old putty you remember cringing at.

It could be lost under the lip of the cabinets, maybe. Maybe that's where it is. It isn't him, surely. He wouldn't do that. There's nothing for him to do that for.

John Price has does done nothing but be kind to you— who are you to blame him for anything?

-

A missing handful of little metal pieces is dropped into a duffel, out of his fisted hand. It clatters against the rest of them.

[moonlight-prose]

this one from the touch-starved prompt list w logan 😩🫶:

when the other holds onto their waist briefly as they're passing by and it just send chills down their spine

don't mind me

a/n: i need you to know this is pure softness and i am swooning at the thought of how sweet it is. logan is such a gentlemen (cue his words in the wolverine about being old fashioned) and just this thought of him being gentle with the reader, but also respectful. i'm dead. i'm also attached af to this dynamic and would be so open to exploring more with these two. i see the logan here as dofp!logan (especially at the end with that shirt).

summary: you refused to admit that you were smitten with the man who melted your otherwise intelligent mind. you were however...horrible with subtlety. luckily the same could be said for him.

pairing: logan howlett x reader

word count: 1k

warnings: none, fluff, logan howlett is a tease, blossoming of a relationship.

Chaos remained the baseline state when it came to life at the mansion. You couldn't find a way to escape something so natural—a piece of your existence that settled in close to your heart. You liked hearing the children's voices raise in pitch the more excited they got. You liked being showered in hellos as you passed through the halls.

You'd even grown fond of the way you always somehow found yourself stuck in this particular situation. Standing in the kitchen, searching for food, as Logan attempted to make his way through the busy environment.

Few things made you smile the way seeing him in the mornings did. Mussed hair, eyes glazed in partial drowsiness, as he sought for the largest mug tucked in the back of the cabinets. A gag gift from Scott with the claim that the Wolverine needed a cup that could handle him.

(Neither of them would admit it, but the gift remained Logan's favorite piece in the house. A staple in his usual rushed breakfast.)

"Have a nice night?" you asked, attempting to keep your gaze from dropping to his chest.

The white beater he wore never seemed to get old; you absolutely didn't mind seeing him in it at the start of your days.

He grinned, polite and gentlemanly and never anything more. There came days where you wondered if the tension you felt hanging in the air was merely a figment of your imagination. Possibly a delusion to help you cope with such early time slots and late night papers to grade.

"I heard you down here last night."

A grunt rumbled from deep in his chest as he took a sip of coffee large enough to scald his mouth. Screams filtered in through the open doors, quickly followed by a group of kids ready to rummage in the cabinets you both occupied. Which meant your short allotted time with him would soon come to an end, forcing you to pick it up tomorrow morning.

"You want something to eat?" Nodding to the stove with a pan coated in leftover burnt bacon (Scott's attempt at cooking for the kids), you watched Logan's face screw up slightly.

Who could blame him. You wouldn't eat it either.

"Coffee's fine," he mumbled, pouring another helping before small hands were shoving open the door to a variety of cereal. "Gotta get to my class."

You nodded. "History. Right."

He hummed, entirely aware of what occurred inside your chest. How you fidgeted slightly with the watch on your wrist, your eyes unable to remain stuck on his for longer than a few seconds at a time. Logan wasn't an idiot. He understood the tells long before you would dare to admit them out loud.

Clearing your throat, you set your now empty mug in the sink—shifting out of the way to give the students more room. Though the mornings began with enough chaos to keep you on your toes, it was seeing Logan that put you on edge.

The emotions that rifled through your mind mere moments after stepping into his proximity. You began to wonder if there was a way to fix this. Put a stop to how you pined (rather pathetically) over a man who clearly held no interest. You had half a mind to ask Charles for assistance—knowing full well you'd never get over the sheer mortification.

He might laugh—ask if you were in your right mind—but he'd never hold it over you like the others.

But that predicament would have to be settled at a later time. As of two minutes ago...you were late for your first class. The lecture notes were still buried in a stack on your desk; you made a mental note to pick them up on the way.

"Have a good class." Offering a smile, you moved to step out of his way.

Only for the timing (and quite possibly the universe itself) to lead towards you stumbling back from three students barreling towards the kitchen.

His hands latched onto your waist, steadying your movements with a soft grunt, and you tried your best not to choke on your spit. That sound. His touch. You wouldn't make it through the day without those small aspects of him entering your mind—distracting any viable insights you might have had on astronomy as a whole.

Did he have any clue what he did to you?

Or was he merely toying with you on purpose?

Glancing over your shoulder, you caught the small grin that appeared on his face. Barely there yet bright enough to punch a hole right through your chest. He stood tall behind you. A wall you could very well fall into without any worries. That alone left you clutching for some bits of your sanity—whatever remained now sparse enough to be considered laughable.

You tried not to think about the skin you caught small glimpses of in training last week. The sight haunted you for a week—fraying the edges of your mind and turning you to mush. For fucks sake you were a professor. You held enough intelligence to keep Charles Xavier on his toes when wrapped in conversation.

Yet Logan fucking Howlett managed to undo everything that made you the person you were before him now. He muddled what aptitude you had and rendered you entirely dumb.

Some days it left you seething—desperate for a chance to get back at him.

Other days you longed for its familiar warmth.

"You alright there bub?" he rasped, hands still pressed to your hips.

Fighting against your own mind, you plastered a smile on your lips—hoping he might ignore the flutter of your heart. "I'm fine! Thanks for that."

"Have a good day," he replied, his palm brushing the base of your spine as he stepped around you.

Chills clashed with a bewildering heat and curled around your stomach, teasing you with the prospect of his touch somewhere else. You watched his grin deepen, eyes dark with something you'd never before witness from the Wolverine. Want.

"Yeah..." You sucked in a breath, flustered beyond what you could contain in your own body. "You too."

He ducked out towards the hallway long before you had a chance to melt into the floor. A small chuckle resounding in the small confines of the kitchen. Slamming into your chest with enough power to leave you winded.

On your rush to the classroom you finalized your decision.

You'd make that meeting with Charles after all.

[sxcretricciardo]

IN TIME

Daniel Ricciardo x reader

"Danny, you need to come to terms that might be a possibility." You say. You're now almost 9 months pregnant with Daniel's baby. Your due date is next weekend, which is also the weekend of the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix, the last of Daniel's F1 season. The thought of not having your boyfriend of four years by your side in the most important day of both your lives terrifies you, but you came to terms that might be a strong possibility.

Daniel sighs and says "I know... Just the thought of it makes me nauseous." His eyes are fixed on the road in front of him as he drives.

"If it happens, it's gonna be okay, I promise you." You say, squeezing his free hand in reassurance.

"I just want to be there, that's all." He says.

"I know, love. I don't want anyone but you there too, believe me. But you have a good chance of coming third in the championship and I don't want you to give that away." You say, giving him a soft smile. You know Daniel has been working his ass off this season to be on that podium and it all comes down to this last race.

"Thank you for your support, sweets." He says, giving you a forced smile.

"We're not gonna overthink this, okay? If it happens next weekend, then it happens. If it doesn't, even better. She'll come when she's ready." You say, putting your hand on your belly.

"She's a daddy's girl, I know she'll wait." He says, smiling.

"Okay, yeah." You say and roll your eyes.

He laughs and continue the journey to the nearest McDonald's. Your baby girl has been craving a Big Mac for days now, and since Daniel came home for a couple of days, it's the best opportunity to finally eat one with your boyfriend.

-one week later-

Danny was right. Your due date was yesterday and your baby girl is still warm and cozy inside your belly. Daniel boarded the plane and is now in his way to the house. You are now sitting on the couch waiting for him, your hand is gently rubbing your belly.

You hear the door open and then close. Danny calls out to you and you tell him that you're in the living room. He comes in and sits on the couch right next to you, his head immediately falling gently on your belly, as he hugs you and your unborn daughter.

"Thank you for waiting, princess." He says, kissing your belly. He lifts his head and then kisses you on the lips.

"How are you feeling?" He asks.

"Just feeling a bit discomfort but besides that, I'm okay." You say, your hand going to his hair to massage it. You can only imagine your daughter having the same brown curly hair as Daniel.

After that, you guys have a nice dinner and get ready to go to bed. In the middle of the night, you start feeling some major pain and get up from the bed, trying to not wake up Daniel. You make your way to the kitchen and grab a cup of water.

You breath in heavily, after another wave of pain goes trough your body. Suddenly, you feel a warm rush spreading between your legas. You freeze, realizing that your water just broke. Panic mixes with excitement as you realize that the moment you've been waiting for is finally here.

"Danny?" You shout, so Danny could hear you from the kitchen. When you don't hear any movement or response, you shout again, a little bit louder. You hear a "What? Where are you?"

As you answer him, you hear running from the bedroom. Two seconds later, he's right in front of you, hair messy from the bed and his eyes adjusting to the light.

"What? Are you okay?" He asks, with panic in his voice.

"I think it's time." You say. Danny looks at you, up and down and then sees the water on the floor.

"Okay, okay, don't panic. We got this." He says and walks to you, helping you to the bedroom so you can change into a new pair for panties and pants. He grabs the hospital bags and guides you to the car.

As each contraction grips you, you sink into the passenger seat, clutching the handle tightly. Danny's hand rests on your shoulder, offering a reassuring squeeze with every surge of pain. The world outside blurs as he speeds towards the hospital, each bump in the road jolting you further into the reality of labor. Despite the discomfort, there's a sense of unity in the confined space of the car, a shared anticipation of the life-changing moment awaiting you both at the end of this ride.

Stepping trough the hospital doors, a surge of nervous energy courses trough you, mingling with the intensity of each contraction. The familiar scent of antiseptic mixes with the sounds of bustling activity, signaling that our journey to meet our baby girl is entering the final stage. Leaning on Danny for support, you make your way to the labor and delivery unit, each step bringing you closer to the moment you've been waiting for.

After the nurses hook you to the machines and the doctor checks on you, the time seems to stop. Every minute that passes by feels like an eternity, because of the amount of pain you're in.

Danny whispers sweet things in your ear as he holds your hand. You squeeze it tightly as the contractions are getting closer and closer.

"I might break your hand." You joke, as you feel another contraction hitting.

He smiles and says "I love your capacity of making jokes trough something like this."

"It helps with the pain." You say and laugh.

When it's finally time to push, you surrender to the overwhelming power of your body, pushing with all of your strength as you feel your baby inching closer to the world. The room fades away, consumed by the raw intensity of the moment, as you focus all of your energy on bringing your baby into the world. Every fiber of your being strains with effort, yet there's a sense of calm within you. A calm that Danny always made you feel, even trough the hardest times. He's your rock, the calm to your storm, as cheesy it may sound.

Then, in an instant that stretches into eternity, you feel the release as your baby girl emerges, a rush of emotion flooding trough you as you hold your newborn daughter against your chest.

You start to let out tears of joy, as you look in the eyes of your baby. Danny cries into your neck and then kisses your head. When he finally holds her in his arms, he can't stop crying.

"She's beautiful." He says, looking at you. You smile at him.

And now, your family is complete.

-

instagram

danielriciardo We are thrilled to announce the newest addition to our team: Beatrice Grace Ricciardo 🐣🩷 After 8 long hours of labor, our hearts raced with excitement as we welcomed our little champion into the world. yourusername you are such a brave and strong woman, thank you for making me the happiest man alive. I love you 🤍 #borntorace

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landonorris can’t wait to meet my favorite niece 🥹 already bought her so much papaya merch

-> yourusername she’s a Ferrari fan ❤️

-> scuderiaferrari our warmest welcome to our newest and youngest fan!

-> danielriciardo she’s my fan 🥺

maxverstappen1 congratulations 😘

visacashapprb a warm welcome to our youngest team member and congratulations 💗

georgerussell63 the cutest little princess, can’t wait to meet her 😊

[thedevilrisen]

begging for quinn hughes and “How did you end up like this?” 😵‍💫

Quinn considered himself a tool-body. He was smart and good enough with his hands to fix little problems around both yours and his own respective apartments. A flat battery in a smoke detector, sorted. A leaky window sill, plugged up with silicone before anything could sneak in.

However, on a quaint, sunny Saturday afternoon Quinn went in a little too far over his head when it was decided he would tackle a small plumbing issue. A leaky faucet, which had been dripping in his kitchen.

Quinn very quickly recognised that he was in far over his head, or in this case his ankles as water flowed, ankle-deep around him. The faucet now turned waterfall was doing little but gushing into the overflowing sink and flooding Quinn’s kitchen. Sodden towels, buckets and makeshift damns were easily over run.

His situation was just plain comedy, a broken wrench in his hand, pipes floating around the kitchen in the miniature swimming pool and water leaking from places it definitely wasn’t meant to be leaking from.

The kitchen, now turned watery battle zone had pots and pans strewn around to stop the flooding, the YouTube video Quinn had been watching in which a few steps were absolutely missed.

When you swung open the door, seeing Quinn standing there like a dear in headlights you couldn’t help but let out a light scoff and smirk.

“Quinn, how did you end up like this?” You asked with mock seriousness, this situation was secretly highly amusing you.

Trying to play it cool Quinn looked back at you, absentmindedly flicking his wrist with the spanner in it, "Okay, so, I watched this video—twice, mind you—and I thought I had it under control. But apparently, there's, like, a valve... or maybe a nut? I don’t know, but I’m pretty sure I turned the wrong one, and—well—everything sort of... exploded?"

You stood there and couldn’t help burst into a fit of giggles as you very clearly remember Quinn stating, “No! Don’t call a plumber, I can handle this!” Reaching for your phone you capture some pictures for future blackmail you asked, “Need me to call that plumber now?”

Thank you for requesting my lovely Ivy! It made my day and I hope this lives up to your standards!