#bar carts for small spaces

[carefreehomefurnishings]

Bar Carts for Home | Bar Cabinets & Trolleys for Small Spaces | Carefree Home Furnishings

Discover a stunning collection of bar carts for home at Carefree Home Furnishings. From compact bar carts for small spaces to elegant bar cabinets and high top bar tables, find the perfect piece to complement your dining and kitchen area.

[on-the-clear-blue]

Dead Man's Diner pt 2

Danny had to admit, Lunch Lady was an excellent teacher.

Sure they were blitzing though a cook book thst was more tape and hope the paper, but Danny was for once actually understanding and enjoying being taught.

Cracking an egg into a bowl, Danny held it close while whisking quickly, not fully incorporating the flour in his pancake batter before dumping a good sized dollop on the flat top, smiling from the brief sizzle that he heard.

There was a sudden cacophony sounds from the front of house (which was the dining area? He never knew that before) putting the flat top on low, Danny looked over to where Lunch Lady was floating only to find nothing.

Blinking a bit, Danny wiped his hands off OK his apron as he poked his head out, frowning at the diner car, "What was that..." his words were cut off by one of the blinds slats bending as if pried open, and as he squinted, Danny saw two figures watching from a distance ontop another rail car.

Vigilantes

Danny felt his heart flutter with excitement, while not as cool as maybe Martian Manhunter or StarFire (since y'know...fucking aliens, Space) the Gotham caped community were interesting, if only since Batman and his Flock were Sam's low key obsession, she had even gone out as Robin for multiple Halloweens, and don't even get him started on the fan theories about them all.

Smirking he tapped the bar, allowing thr blinds to snap closed, "Sam is so going to flip that I saw the Birds before her." Letting out a little giggled, Danny quickly swore as he smelt a bit of burning and rushed to flip his pancakes.

---

Tim was, in Dicks opinion, the most concerning member of the family, sure most days he gives of "miserable wet cat" energy but even then Dick had seen his little brother easily take down guys that even Bruce had trouble with.

That wasnt even touching on his um...mental quirks

The less he speaks of the time period between Bruce's and Kons deaths till their eventual return, the better.

Putting down the binoculars, Dick stole a glance over at Red Robin, who was frowning deeply at his wrist computer, scooting a little closer Dick leaned over to see what was happening, "Whatcha do~oing?"

So entranced by what he was reading Tim jumped a little, an elbow flying out to where Dicks face had been a second ago as he turned and glared.

"Don't...! Do that Wing! Ugh..." shaking his head as he let out a huff Tim took his eyes off the small monitor and looked up at the diner car, pointing at it as he spoke scornfuly.

"That place does not exist."

"Like, legally? I am sure Batburger doesn't either-"

"No." Tim said, cutting the older vigilante off, "It doesn't exist physically."

"Timmy..." Dick said as he ran through the protocols for when RedRobin got a little too many insane things in his head.

"Get that look off your face Wing, it really doesn't exist, like..." letting out a sigh, the teen tried to put his words right "Don't look straight at it but a bit to the side so it's to the side of your eye." Pointing to a middle distance a bit away from the diner cart, Dick sent a small frown at his brother but did as he was asked.

"Holy leaping lizards..." Tim, somehow, was right, since when Dick just looked about a few feet away from the diner, it started to waver turning...transparent? And a little blue? But when he looked at it closer it was just a normal, abet run down looking diner.

"Exactly, no need to bench me till Agent A stuffs me full of anti-psychotics!"

"That was one time Tim, and you were having a mental break down."

"I am not lying when I say we killed Santa Claus Dick!"

"Sure Tim...sure"

---

Danny drummed his fingers on the breakfast bar, nursing a cup of coffee as he waited for something to happen.

He knew thst he was being watched, he had a vague idea who was doing the watching, but was starting to get a bit bored waiting for them to get closer.

Pausing mid sip, a grin spread across Danny's lips, "Hey cart? Can you do something that might draw those guys over here? Let's get some customers!"

Some how, Danny's grin only grew at the rumble of the cart, and he xould hav sworn he heard a sound that was a mix between a train horn and a chuckle.

---

Tim shot his brother a stinging glare, swatting at his arm as he blushed, he did every much indeed accidentally killed Santa Claus and took an impromptu trip to Apokolips to give DarkSeid coal.

His next rebuttal to Nightwing was cut off as the diner cart shuddered as if it was in an earthquake before it stilled, and the banner that was across it suddenly gained a new line.

[JUST NOW! VIGILANTES AND HEROS GET ONE FREE SIDE OF FRIES! COME ON IN BEFORE THE OFFER ENDS!]

Tim was silent for a moment, watching the cart to see if there was any more changes before turning to Dick, who had lost the joyful energy that he always seemed to have.

"RR, plans changed, we are going to investigate inside."

Tim gave a sharp nod, his bo staff elongating as he grappled down to the train tracks below, his boots crunching gravel underfoot as he slipped from shadow to shadow, getting closer to Big C's diner.

---

Danny was in the back, flipping through his cook book as he heard a bell ring, jolting up, Danny could see through the service window and see who came in.

He had never met a real hero before, not like the two that had just came in, feeling nervous, Danny fumbled with a small notebook as he came out from the kitchen, grinning at the two Birds.

"Heya! Thanks for coming to Big C's! Names Danny and I am kinda the only one in today, what can I get you both?"

His eyes flickered between the two vigilantes, noticing new things each time he looked at them, like how Red Robin's cape had buttons instead of being sown on, or how Nightwings suit wasn't slick but actually textured.

---

Dick looked at everything he could as he stood in the diners door, it looked like a typical 50s styled mom and pop kinda place, an old radio buzzed with songs of a bygone era while the seats were cracked pink leather vinyl.

He could hear someone moving in the back, resting a hand on his eskrima sticks, Dick stalked further in, it felt real enough...

He could feel Red Robin knock into his back as the person from the back came into view, it was a teen, and holy hell did he look like Bruce Wayne adoption bait, raven hair, blue eyes and a cheesy looking grin.

He couldn't be older than Damian, who had turned 16 a few months ago, the teen was just so...tiny.

Danny, that's the name given to them, and Dick can see it, he looked like a Danny.

Pausing to look to Tim, Dick smiled back at the teen, "Well...can we see a menu?"

[archivegyu]

masterlist

I’ll Grow If You Grow

The first time you met Kim Mingyu, you were six years old and very, very lost.

One moment, you were beside your mom, holding onto the shopping cart like a responsible kid. The next, you were staring at a box of marshmallow puffs, and when you turned around—poof. She was gone.

The supermarket, which had once been full of fun things like free cheese samples and toy displays, suddenly felt way too big. The shelves were taller than you. The people walking past weren’t your mom. Your throat tightened. You weren’t going to cry, of course—you were a big kid. But your fingers curled into the hem of your shirt as your heart thumped a little too fast.

Then, a voice popped up from behind.

“Hey! You look like a lost kitten.”

You spun around to find a boy; tall, a little lanky, with messy dark hair and a juice box clutched in one hand. He had a big, gap-toothed grin and a small stain on his shirt, like he’d been in the middle of some important snack mission before deciding to talk to you.

You frowned. “I’m not a kitten.”

“Well, you look like one. Your face is all—” He scrunched his nose and made a dramatic, wide-eyed expression that you assumed was supposed to be you.

You crossed your arms, unimpressed. “I’m not lost.”

The boy took a loud sip from his juice box, looking completely unconvinced. “Sooo… you totally know where your mom is?”

You pursed your lips. “I was about to find her.”

His face lit up. “Oh! I can help! I’m really good at finding things.”

You eyed him skeptically. “Why would I trust you?”

“’Cause I’m taller than you, so I can see further,” he reasoned, standing up straighter as if that proved his point. “Also, I’ve never been lost before. Not even once. That makes me, like, a professional.”

You didn’t think that was how it worked, but he seemed confident enough. Then, without waiting for your answer, he held out his free hand. “Here. Hold on so you don’t get scared.”

You stared at his outstretched fingers, then back at his face. He had the kind of eyes that were always a little too bright, like he was waiting for an adventure to happen.

“I’m not scared,” you mumbled.

But after a second, you took his hand anyway. His palm was warm and slightly sticky from his juice box. Gross. Comforting.

“Don’t get used to this,” you muttered as he led you forward.

Mingyu just grinned wider. “Too late.”

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Years later, at the playground where your moms used to sit and chat, Mingyu knelt in the middle of the wood chips, holding up a candy ring pop like it was a diamond.

The playground near your house had been yours for as long as you could remember. You knew every swing that creaked, every slide that got too hot in the summer, and exactly which monkey bars made the best hiding spots.

Which was why, when Kim Mingyu suddenly dropped onto one knee in the middle of the wood chips, holding up a sticky, half-melted ring pop, you stared.

“What are you doing?” you asked flatly.

He puffed out his chest. “Marrying you, obviously.”

Your nose scrunched. “What?”

Mingyu grinned, his knee digging into the dirt. “We’ve known each other forever,” he declared, despite the fact that you were both only eight. “It’s the next step.”

You crossed your arms. “I told you I wanted a prince.”

“I am a prince.”

You gave him a long, doubtful look. He wasn’t wearing a cape. He didn’t have a horse. Just a messy t-shirt and the same sneakers he always wore, the ones with the untied laces because he kept forgetting to fix them.

“I also wanted a castle,” you pointed out.

Mingyu nodded solemnly. “We can build one. I have Legos.”

You glanced down at the ring pop. It was red, probably cherry-flavored, and definitely a little melted from being in his pocket.

You sighed. “I wanted a diamond.”

Mingyu grinned. “Candy is better! You can eat this one.”

You rolled your eyes, but your fingers twitched at your sides. Mingyu was annoying. He was loud, clumsy, and always in your space.

But he was also the only person who shared his snacks without asking for anything in return. The only person who never left you out of games. The only person who made even the most boring days a little brighter.

“…Fine,” you muttered, snatching the ring and slipping it onto your pinky.

Mingyu gasped. “You said yes!”

“I said fine.”

“Same thing.” He bounced to his feet, absolutely beaming.

You took a bite of the ring pop, scrunching your nose at the sweetness. Mingyu did the same, and you both sat on the swings, pretending the playground was your kingdom.

✮ ⋆ ˚｡𖦹 ⋆｡°✩

Later that night, there was a sleepover at Mingyu’s house. You were both curled up on the floor of his living room, wrapped in blankets, while he flickered a flashlight against the ceiling, making weird patterns in the dark. His parents were already asleep, but neither of you felt like closing your eyes yet.

“Do you think we’ll always be like this?” Mingyu asked suddenly, his voice softer than usual.

You turned your head to look at him. “Like what?”

“Y’know… together.” He waved his flashlight vaguely. “Like, even when we grow up. When we have driver’s licenses and… taxes and stuff.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Why are you thinking about taxes?”

Mingyu groaned dramatically. “I dunno! I just—” He flopped onto his back, sighing. “It’s weird thinking about growing up.”

You stared at the ceiling again.

“I think we’re stuck,” you said finally.

Mingyu peeked at you. “Like glue?”

You shook your head. “Like gum on a shoe.”

He snickered. “That’s gross.”

“Exactly.” You smirked a little, closing your eyes.

Mingyu nudged your foot with his. “I think we’re more like ring pops.”

You cracked an eye open. “What?”

“Sticky,” he said matter-of-factly. “And kinda impossible to get rid of once you’ve had one.”

You thought about it. Thought about the ring pop still tucked in your pocket, even though it was just a mess of candy and plastic now.

“…Yeah,” you murmured. “I guess that works.”

Mingyu grinned, satisfied.

And as the flashlight dimmed, the two of you drifted off to sleep—stuck together, somehow, always.

[thesewordsareallihavetogive]

3: The House - Jack Abbot x reader (Life imitates art Series)

Summary: 5.6k words. Domestic moments & milestones in Jack’s happily ever after ❤️ Life imitates art Series masterlist

The Art: “My House” (1938) is an oil painting by Johanna W. Hailman (1871-1958), an artist from Pittsburgh, PA. The Carnegie Museum of Art houses several of her works. I really enjoyed researching Pittsburgh art and artists for this series. I highly recommend checking out her body of work.

Warnings: 18+ish content. Nothing too explicit, but mdni anyway please :) Age gap,, gen X, millennials, and gen Z are all catching strays. sorry :) colorful language, angst, fluff, everything in between.

a/n: So this might be my favorite thing I’ve ever written. I took my time with her and I maybe waxed poetic at certain points, but I really love this. I listened to “Unknown / Nth” by Hozier while writing this. do with that information what you please. Divider credit!

It isn’t long before you take the liberty of adding some zest to Doctor Abbot’s apartment. It looked like a barren bachelor pad. If it weren’t for the larger than necessary flat screen TV and luxe sofa, you might’ve compared it to a prison cell. It was bare bones, with an exposed ceiling and concrete floors—that was part of the appeal of the “historic” building Jack moved into. "Rustic”, the realtor had called it. Unfinished, Jack corrected in his mind. Nevertheless, Abbot moved in and paid more money than he ought’ve.

You start small. A throw blanket laid across the back of the couch. You claim it was one from your smaller apartment that you just happened to bring along. You don’t admit that you bought the blanket at a recent art market from a local knitting vendor with the specific intention of bringing it into Jack’s space.

Things really snowballed when Jack gave you a key to his apartment. He liked coming home to you and often invited you to sleep at his place when he worked. His apartment was in a safer neighborhood and he felt better knowing you weren’t sleeping alone at your apartment—despite the door chain, two comically large and loud locks, and the doorbell camera he installed for you.

A singular knitted throw blanket turned into multiple decorative pillows on his couch and king bed. One morning he came home to see a coffee and tea bar cart had been assembled in his kitchen, complete with more ornate mugs than either of you needed.

During a night shift, he got a text from you that made him pause.

23:14   How emotionally attached are you to the sanctity of your bare walls?

Oscillating bubbles danced at the bottom of his phone screen as you typed out another text.

23:15   Follow up question: If I were to have hypothetically nailed multiple holes in some hypothetical drywall and studs to hang some art on a hypothetical whim, would you be opposed? Should I patch it up with some plaster and paint and we can pretend we never had this conversation? Hypothetically?

Jack chuckled and received a not-so-subtle stare from the charge nurse. Since when is Doctor Abbot the type to look smitten at his phone so late on a weeknight?

The one thing you don’t touch in your decorating crusade is Jack’s medical journals. The organization system—or perhaps lack thereof—is beyond you. It makes no sense, and you’re honestly not sure if there is any rhyme or reason to it. You don’t want to add anymore chaos to Abbot’s life, even in the minute form of shuffled journals. Instead, you wordlessly placed thrifted book ends and trinkets on his book shelf, thinking he might take it upon himself to migrate the medical journals to the shelf himself.

He does, after you’ve gone to bed. There is an order to it, a method to the madness that is the array of journals, however not even Doctor King is likely to decipher it.

Jack eventually slipped under the covers next to you and pulled you close to his chest. He kissed your forehead and muttered a soft “thank you.” You don’t hear him in your deep slumber, but you did nuzzle closer to his warm body. Even in sleep, you gravitate toward his safe and steady figure.

One night, Robby came over to Abbot’s apartment for a post-shift beer when Pittsburgh’s winter made it too cold to sit outside in the park.

Robby eyed his surroundings. You’d clearly been here, blessing the walls with your touch as you went.

There’s a framed photo of Abbot and Robby displayed on the couch’s end table. Based on the frame’s ornate details, Michael seriously doubts that Jack had anything to do with it. Abbot has a good sense of humor, but he’s often otherwise cool and clinical. His style is… utilitarian. It was only recently that Robby noticed something other than a spare set of scrubs and some Advil in the night shift attending’s locker. A single 4x6 photo of Abbot and his girlfriend, taped to the inside of the cold metal door alongside a polaroid picture of you painting.

Robby smiles warmly at the framed photo in Abbot’s living room. You weren’t decorating to transform Jack’s apartment into your place, but rather, you hoped to make it a place that felt like home for him, complete with pictures of his closest friend.

It was a good look, both on the apartment and Doctor Abbot. The night shift attending was the happiest Robby had seen him in a long time.

You arrive at Jack’s apartment following an after hours private tour at the museum. It’s a few minutes past 8 when you show up. Jack and Robby are resting their weary bones in the couch’s plush cushions watching the puck drop of a Penguin’s hockey game when you waltz through the door. A few tiny snowflakes linger on your parka, the rest have since melted in your hair. Despite the below freezing temperature outside, you refuse to abandon your dresses, so you compromise with thermal flannel leggings underneath to preserve your warmth (at Jack’s gentle behest). Your boots aren’t nearly as functional as they are fashionable, but they get the job done until you strain to remove them at the door. Jack is just about to get up and help you before you resolutely tug the last one off, settling to your feet a few inches shorter than you were with the boots on.

“Hi Robby!” you greet as you round the back of the sofa, wordlessly pressing a soft kiss to Jack’s curls. You continue through the apartment toward the kitchen, mindlessly lighting a candle as you go.

“Tea, anyone?” you ask, pouring water into the kettle. You’re considerate not to distract from the game, even though you know Jack would’ve turned the TV off completely at the drop of a hat to give you his undivided attention.

“No, thank you,” Robby responds, your name warm and kind on his lips. “What a nice host.” His voice is soft, the compliment about you directed to Abbot. “Unlike someone…” he jokes, dodging a piece of popcorn Jack aimed at his head. There were many years Michael was left to fend for himself whenever he visited Jack’s apartment.

“You have two legs, you can walk to the damn fridge and get your own beer,” Abbot says pointedly, his eyes not leaving the flat screen TV.

“Touché,” Robby ceeds.

Jack left your apartment with no time to spare before his night shift. What was supposed to be a nap in your bed quickly evolved into something much more stimulating. He did eventually get some shut-eye with your naked form pulled against his after he took care of your worn-out body in the shower. Abbot supported your weight on his sturdy form when your legs were too shaky under the hot stream of water.

He was pleasantly aroused from his sleep when your featherlight touch morphed into your legs straddling his hips, challenging the “old man” to round 2. Unfortunately, quickies with Jack were never really quick. Hence, why he was tying the drawstrings of his pants as he jogged into the Pitt at 18:59.

You laid in bed, satiated after the evening’s activities. Just like you had left your mark on Jack’s apartment, evidence of him lingered in every room of yours. A quarter of the closet had been cleared out to make room for his stuff, though he insisted he really didn’t need that much space. Two drawers in your bedroom dresser served as the permanent residence of his essentials. Scrubs, socks, underwear, and his watch.

His watch.

Abbot never worked a shift and seldom left home without it. The tactical watch was set to 24-hour time and was outfitted with a 3-axis compass, LED flashlight, precise GPS coordination, and biometric tracking. It was a little over the top, in your opinion. There were very few situations you could fathom him needing a compass in the ED, as if he couldn’t navigate the halls blindfolded.

Jack didn’t really need the watch to get through this one shift. There’s large digital clocks in each trauma bay, and the nurses and residents around him are bound to have watches of their own. The med students would jump at the opportunity to tell him the time if needed.

Abbot doesn’t need much to survive. As long as he had a few MREs and his police scanner, he was set. His watch, though, was far up on the list of essentials.

You don’t think twice before getting out of bed and throwing on some clothes and fixing your hair; you want to at least look semi-presentable when you show up at the Pitt—not like you’d been freshly fucked within an inch of your life.

Jack didn’t have time to eat or pack food when he stumbled out of your apartment with his pants barely pulled up to his hips. You’re not sure what he calls the meal he scarfs down at 3 a.m., but the cafeteria certainly isn’t serving it at that hour. The food you whip up for him is a simple, quick dish. The sooner you and his watch get to him, the better. The food gets packed into pink tupperware and you slip a handwritten note alongside it in his lunch box. His watch is carefully tucked into your tote bag for safe keeping before you set off.

19:47   I’m on my way to the ER

In retrospect, you could have worded that text much better. Especially since your phone died right after you sent it to Jack.

Abbot doesn’t see the message until ten minutes after you sent it. He would’ve seen it sooner if the notification came through on his watch, he gripes internally. His blood runs cold when he squints enough to decipher the small text on his phone’s screen. Jack immediately calls you, but it goes straight to voicemail. Shit.

He’s instantly on edge, to the point where he brushes past an otherwise innocent med student who begins to ask him a question before they clam up at his shift in demeanor. Abbot’s head starts spinning as his mind goes to worst case scenarios. He’s an attending trauma physician, for Christ’s sake, but a seven word text has him ready to spin out.

Jack’s tunnel vision shifts to the Pitt’s internal lobby doors, where the triage RN calls his name as she leads someone toward him. He’s breathing heavily and he’s not masking his panic nearly as well as he hoped when you emerge from behind the nurse. The smile on your face quickly drops and turns to concern. Jack looks… unwell, for lack of a better term.

“Hey, honey,” you tread lightly. Abbot’s shoulders rise and fall unsteadily as his eyes rapidly dart over your unharmed body. The doctor grips your hand and drags you to a private area in the ED where he pulls you into a bone-crushing hug. You squeak in surprise but ease into his hold nonetheless.

“You scared the shit out of me,” he mumbles into your hair, showing no signs of letting go soon.

“I- what?” you’re confused, eyebrows scrunched together as you lean back to assess him. Jack begrudgingly allows some distance, but his hands never leave your hips.

“I’m on my way to the ER?” He parrots back at you.

Oh. You wince. Poor choice of words is an understatement. You frown apologetically, before shifting your weight to your tip-toes, pressing a lingering kiss to his firm-lined lips and assuring him you’re okay. Jack sighs heavily and pulls you back into him, resting his chin atop your head. His breathing evens, syncing with yours, and you both relish in the quiet, though neither of you dares to utter the Q word out loud.

When Jack is back to his baseline—when he’s okay because he knows you’re okay—you clear your throat and poke at his taught obliques to get his attention.

“Before you get whisked away to a trauma, I brought you something.” You hold up the black lunchbox into his view and dig the watch out of your tote bag.

Jack smiles despite his settling anxiety.

To be loved is to be known.

He accepts both gratefully, securing the watch around his wrist in a few swift moments. He’s still not ready to let go of you, though he knows the tide of the Pitt will drag him back any minute now.

“You know, I much prefer it when you come here, not in a gurney,” Jack half-teases. You scoff.

“Funny you should say that, because I also like not experiencing a medical malfunction,” you poke back.

Two residents come running around the corner, searching for Doctor Abbot. He hesitates with you still loosely tucked into his side, but you gently push him toward the action with the promise that you’ll put his lunchbox in the employee lounge and you’ll see him at home.

A few weeks later, it’s Jack’s unscheduled turn to visit you at work. You meant to lend your copy of The French Revolution as Blasphemy to a coworker, Beth, in the thick of their masters program. Frustrated rifling through your tote bag proved that you had left the book at home. You begin to apologize to the woman, offering to bring it to her after work tonight, when Jack appears in your periphery. He smiles that boyish grin as he walks towards you. His limp is infinitesimal, barely noticeable to anyone but you. Hypocritically, you wonder when the last time he took a break from his prosthetic was.

Jack comes to a stop beside you with a paper bag of aromatic Union takeout in one hand and the exact art history book you left at home in the other. The doctor offers your coworker a polite smile and nod before his attention is back on you like a gravitational pull. 

You’ve told him a few times that he has a staring problem.

“I saw it on the entryway table and I knew you meant to bring it in today,” Jack explains, raising the book in his hand as if it’s featherlight. “Besides, I was in the neighborhood,” he finishes with a kiss to your forehead and you lean into him instinctively. Your eyes flutter shut briefly before his words register and you pin him with a disbelieving look.

“No, you weren’t,” you call him on his bluff immediately. You know him, and you know that he should be sleeping right now after working a night shift.

“No, I wasn’t,” Jack admits quietly, a soft smile gracing his leathered, weathered face. “But I missed you, so who am I to pass up an opportunity,” (read: excuse) “to visit my beautiful girlfriend.” He seals the statement with another kiss to the crown of your head.

Beth looks on in awe. She doesn’t mean to intrude on a private moment, but she’s dumbfounded at the stunning specimen before her. You’ve mentioned your boyfriend, multiple times in fact, but she’d never actually seen him in the flesh, despite his frequent visits to the museum. Beth thinks that you also never mentioned that he’s a devilishly handsome silver fox that could make any woman with a competency kink weak in the knees.

A quiet cough from Beth pulls you back to your senses and manners. You introduce the two.

“Beth, this is Jack, my boyfriend. Jack, this is Beth, future museum director and my lovely coworker,” you smile kindly at the younger woman.

Beth sputters something that sounds like nice to meet you with a blush. You get it, you were her once too. Jack pretends not to notice her bashfulness and instead reaches out his hand to shake. He doesn’t comment on how clammy her palm is.

You can’t remember the last time you slept alone when Jack wasn’t working. The one year dating anniversary flew by and you looked forward to all the years with Jack to come. During one of your visits to the Pitt, a new nurse called you Mrs. Abbot and you didn’t correct her. It felt right.

Not too long after your anniversary, Jake mentioned going to some open houses.

“Like… real estate open houses? Like residential homes?” You laid the book you’d been immersed in for hours down on your lap, memorizing the page number and turning your full attention to your boyfriend.

Jack stood at the kitchen counter fidgeting with a mug of hot black coffee.

“Mmmhmm,” he confirmed around a sip. He’s trying to act casual, but you can sense the underlying hint of unease in his body language. He might be the doctor, but you had an unparalleled skill for assessing him. Abbot’s shoulders are tight, like he’s preparing for a rejection. As if his taut muscles will soften the blow. Your face softens and you patiently wait for him to continue.

“You and me. Looking at houses. To live in. Together.” He’s walking toward you now and he never breaks eye contact. That damn staring problem again. Jack has his plain coffee in one hand and a glass of your fancy iced latte in the other. He’s no barista, but he’s pretty damn close to perfecting your favorite home coffee recipe. You smiled wide at Jack. He thinks your cheeks might crack if they stay in that position much longer. Thankfully, you narrowly avoid it when you gently grip the collar of his shirt to pull him in for a kiss. Balancing two cups of coffee with his eyes closed as he leans into your sweet lips is a bit harrowing, but this isn’t his first rodeo, and he’s certain it won’t be the last.

“I’d love to,” you say it against his lips like a promise. When he reluctantly pulls away, he passes the iced latte to you and you take a sip, appraising his work. It’s perfect.

Two months later, you and Jack move into a two bed, two and a half bath home equidistant from the hospital and art museum. It’s a quaint brick home built in the 1960s; modernized enough for comfortable living with the home’s original character still preserved. Abbot doesn’t bat an eye when the real estate agent shares the list price. Meanwhile, you nearly sprayed a mouthful of water everywhere. The only place you’d personally seen a dollar amount so large was on your cancer treatment bills. It’s a significant change from Jack’s apartment’s open concept floor plan and vaulted ceilings, but as long as he got to share a bed with you, surrounded by nearly a dozen decorative pillows that you handpicked, he would be happy. It would feel like home.

When you first toured the home, it was more square feet than you knew what to do with—three times the footprint of your current “shoebox” apartment, as Jack called it. You quickly warm up to the layout when you note the abundant wall space, perfect for displaying art work.

The first order of business upon moving in—besides christening every surface—is building a new bookshelf to accommodate all the medical journals and art publications you could ever dream of owning. You and Jack were neck and neck tying for who had the most items of your respective academic interests claiming residence on the stained wooden shelves. The new ornate bookshelf proudly erected in the living room dwarfs the original one in your old apartment. It comfortably houses all of the reading material with room to grow.

Aside from your contributions to Jack’s previously bare bones bachelor pad, he doesn’t have much to contribute to the home’s interior. Before you, he didn’t spend much time there anyway; it was just a place to crash and bide time in between the borderline unhealthy amount of overtime shifts he picked up to keep himself busy. Abbot’s therapist informed him that simply not sleeping to avoid night terrors was not a healthy adaptive coping strategy.

The spare room of the new home is turned into your art studio. Robby and Abbot are careful to not disturb your supplies when they install a Murphy bed along the wall for when Michael inevitably stays over.

“Gone are the days when I can just cuddle up with you in bed after too many beers, brother,” Robby jokes as he passes a power drill to Abbot. Jack doesn’t find it funny nor does he laugh, but the deadpan look on his face makes you snicker as you walk past the room.

Real Housewives plays at a low volume on the TV opposite the foot of the master bedroom’s king bed at the end of the night. The his and hers closet doors had been removed from their hinges. A stained glass-inspired upcycle door project came to you in a fever dream, or maybe a targeted ad on pinterest. The two were one in the same, lately. Inside the closets your prosthetic leg stands side by side with Jack’s. The appendage with floral designs and pastel details contrasts Jack’s monotone prosthetic.

Abbot felt out of place in the big brand jewelry store. Most of the men in the store wore gaudy Rolex watches and flashy cufflinks, a far cry from his laidback style for a day date with you. This store is the first stop of however many it takes to find your engagement ring. 

Apparently, there were taboos about a woman being directly involved in shopping for her own engagement ring. Reddit and Facebook users had a lot to say about the dos and don’ts of proposals, rings, and every other topic under the sun. None of the noise mattered to Jack though. Ultimately, he knew you would marry him regardless of what ring he proposed with, but he wanted it to be perfect. You deserve nothing less.

A sleazy salesman with greased back hair and a superiority complex approached the couple with a wolfish grin. As you spoke about ring styles you were interested in looking at, the man’s eyes never met yours. Instead, his gaze burned on your body, staring at places only Jack could touch. 

You had to repeat yourself twice now to the salesman. Words were going in one dense ear, bouncing around his empty skull, and straight out the other. Abbot’s breaking point was when you leaned over the glass display case to look at a ring and the salesman used it as an opportunity to view your cleavage, complete with a pervy lip bite. Jack’s balled up fists remained steady by his side

The sharp click of Abbot’s tongue from the roof of his mouth got the salesman’s attention. The satisfied smirk on his face dropped at the deadly cold glare he received from Abbot. The two of you don’t stay in that store much longer.

“It’s a shame they didn’t have that many marquise cuts,” you said passively while looking up directions for the next jewelry store, not that Jack even needed them.

“Yeah. Shame.” Abbot’s jaw is clenched, but you know he’s not frustrated with you. You pressed a series of short and sweet kisses along his jawline, your fingers’ grip on his chin gentle but firm. You felt the tension leave his body in waves as you continued your ministrations. Your soft eyes meet his hard ones and he melts toward you in the middle. Jack understands all your unspoken words.

The next store offers better luck with the staff, but they don’t quite have what you’re looking for. Jack thinks he knows what you want. He’s seen your pinterest boards; he notices styles you eye curiously and others that you disregard. He knows you.

The third place is a bit of a hole in the wall. The antique store wasn’t on Jack’s mental itinerary of Pittsburgh’s jewelry store offerings, but your gasp at the eye-catching OPEN sign had Jack pulling a u-turn and parking the truck before you could even ask to stop.

“Maggie’s” is a local mom-and-pop vintage shop, owned by a husband and wife nearing retirement. You float through the aisles with Jack on your tail. The treasure trove of homewares and art long forgotten made you forget why you walked into the store in the first place until you came upon a glass jewelry case. In the very center sat an elegant ring—a sturdy but simple gold band supporting a two carat marquise diamond surrounded by smaller colorful stones—perfectly illuminated by the store’s sparse soft yellow lighting. It looks like a spotlight and feels like a sign.

Jack feels you squeeze his palm and he knows this is your ring before his eyes even meet the kind, tender gaze you share with him.

Doctor Abbot takes some uncharacteristic PTO and whisks you away to Nowhere, Pennsylvania for New Year’s weekend. The quiet rural cabin is far from fireworks that might trigger Abbot. It’s a picturesque place where the two of you can just be. The stars have never looked brighter.

There’s no cell service or GPS way out yonder. Halfway into the drive, when four bars of cell service dwindle to one, Jack pulls an atlas and a handful of folded paper maps from the truck’s glove box in front of you. His eyes flicker between the two lane road traveled only by the two of you and the stack of maps until he finds the one he needs.

CENTRAL PENNSYLVANIA. One of the map’s edges has curled into itself. Symmetrical scored indents from the map’s folded position expand across the surface. The ink isn’t as vivid as when it was first printed, faded by time and use, but it still gets the job done.

“Honey… what’s this?” You ask, eyeing the materials splayed on your lap.

“A map.” Jack states it matter of factly, offering no further explanation before returning his calloused palm to your inner thigh.

“What, like from the 1900s?” Your side-eye becomes a full body rotation to stare at Jack across the truck’s bench seat. He pinches the skin of your thigh and you yelp, not expecting the harmless sting.

“Don’t act like your birth year doesn’t also start with ‘19’,” Abbot pokes, placing emphasis on the number. At this point in your relationship, he’s long gotten over any insecurity about the age gap, but that didn’t mean you weren’t still going to have fun calling him archaic.

“Barely,” you mutter with your face scrunched. Caught in between millennials and gen z, you’re equally intrigued and disturbed by whatever the fuck is wrong with both generations.

The winter weather is forgiving enough to allow you to enjoy fireside s’mores under the stars as the clock winds closer to midnight.

Your head rests on Jack’s lap beside the campfire he built by hand. Your mind drifts to visions of him that afternoon prepping. You offered to help him carry the firewood, but Abbot scoffed at the insinuation, as if he was offended you suggested lifting a finger. You can give it as good as you can take it, so he compromises by allowing you to carry the box of matches. In retrospect, it’s a good thing you weren’t holding 20 pounds of firewood anyway, because you can’t tear your eyes away from how Jack’s arms flex as he carries the load from the cabin’s shed to the stone firepit.  Watching Jack build the fire was hot, even with the windchill. Your man was good with his hands—something you were well aware of, but it didn’t hurt to see it in action. Abbot positioned the firewood to a tipi position over kindling interwoven between the larger blocks before gratefully accepting a few matches from you. Jack was an eagle scout before he entered the military, but both ensured his fires were flawless. You’re certain you’ll smell the smoke in your hair tomorrow morning, but it will have been well worth it.

At 23:57, Jack’s thigh twitches and shifts underneath you. You hum softly, eyes still trained on the sky with Jack’s warm hand still encapsulating your smaller, colder fingers. Out here, there’s no light pollution—just you and Jack, endless trees, the aromatic expertly-built fire, and stars. So many stars. You see constellations that otherwise could’ve been disregarded as fictional if you’d never seen them like this.

Abbot clears his throat and says your name. Not honey, or love, or sweetheart, or baby. The depth of love in Jack’s eyes, his tender stare and gentle hold of your bundled body let you know that this is it.

You knew the proposal was coming, obviously. You picked the ring out yourself.

As the holiday season winded to a close, you never pushed Jack or asked him when he’d finally pop the question. Abbot would ask when the time was right. You trusted him implicitly, and this was no exception.

Once, he came home to you watching a Hallmark movie, half-asleep with an empty mug of peppermint hot chocolate balanced on your abdomen. The first of many throw blankets you introduced to his home was draped over you, pulled down just far enough to offer a view of your festive sweater. Doctor Abbot’s night shift nurses kindly gifted you a custom pullover for the Pitt’s ugly holiday sweater party. The deep navy blue sweatshirt was covered in multicolor snowflakes with cut-outs of Abbot’s face sprinkled across the fabric. Jack isn’t even sure where they got the picture from, but it quickly became your favorite piece in your ever-expanding wardrobe.

The film played on a low volume as the predictable corny ending scene wrapped up. The ridiculously attractive lumberjack proposed to the business woman who swore she’d never leave the city, in front of a Christmas tree farm with a beautiful ring. Not as beautiful as yours, though.

Abbot admired the scene for a minute—the film, you sleeping soundly, and his winter wonderland of a living room—before he carefully scooped you up and carried you to bed where he knew you’d rest much more comfortably.

Soon, he promised with a kiss to your temple.

Jack carefully shifts you off his leg, cradling your head with care. He supports you to stand, and you hold his hands while he settles down on one knee. Jack’s eyes are watery before he’s even begun his speech. They match the happy tears on your waterline. Your smile is wobbly, and you’re trying your hardest to be patient. Abbot worked on his speech for a long time; like the ring, it needed to be perfect.

Abbot’s speech is beautiful. For a moment, you forget how cold it is. You can only focus on Jack, handsome as ever, kneeling on one knee, extending the ring you picked out together as the winter’s wind blows embers through the night. 

The fire illuminates the marquise stone and the jewelry box’s soft light highlights the smaller complementing stones. On the inside of the gold band, there’s a date engraved on the ring that wasn’t there before at Maggie’s. In small script, the day of your first date is followed by a heart. It looks exactly like Jack’s scrawly handwriting.

When you say yes—because of course you do. Yes a million times over, in every universe and lifetime with Jack—he wastes no time slipping the band on your left ring finger. The fit is perfect, and it clings to your finger like it has always belonged there, like it just found its home.

It’s midnight now. A new year, a new ring, embraced with a kiss.

Abbot would be more than happy to find Nowhere, Pennsylvania’s nearest courthouse on New Year’s day and get married right then and there, but he knows you dream of something different.

A late Spring wedding with a small ceremony at the botanical gardens. The Phipps Conservatory and Botanical Gardens wedding venues are booked out over a year in advance, but you know a guy who does event planning for the Carnegie Museum of Art and Phipps.

In May, you walk down the aisle in an elegant white gown that drapes just shy of kissing the nearby florals. Detached ornate tulle sleeves match your veil; the veil’s dainty beaded edges complement the dress’s embroidered bust and train.

Jack has never been happier, he thinks as a tear streams down his cheek before you’ve even met him at the altar. On his wedding day, he traded his black scrubs for a light navy blue three-piece suit. Doctor Jack Abbot is your something blue.

For the wedding reception, you host close family and friends in the house’s backyard.

Abbot was on a first name basis with many local hardware and home improvement store employees after his numerous trips in early Spring to revive the yard from Pittsburgh’s winter. Thriving raised garden beds lined the back perimeter of the yard, serving as a picturesque backdrop for the stone fire pit Jack built. You helped by ogling him as he worked from the porch with a glass of lemonade in hand.

The stringed lights above the garden illuminate your loved ones, along with the blazing fire, built with ashes from New Year’s eve. The first dance flows into several songs played by a string quartet (your biggest splurge for the wedding). Jack holds you in his arms like you’re the center of his universe while you sway together as husband and wife.

The next day, you and Jack are on a flight to Europe for a three week honeymoon. Jack handed a gate agent boarding passes with your new last name on it and you couldn’t help but smile.

Abbot looks pretty damn good on your passport.

a/n 2: Growing up, my Girl Scout troop had this campfire tradition; We saved ashes from each campfire and would dump them into the next one, so each fire burned with ashes of all the ones that came before it. I like to think that Jack and his wife have that tradition with the ashes from their New Year’s Eve fire.

Comments, asks, reblogs, feedback, etc. mean the world to me!! Please share your thoughts & feelings mwah ❤️

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[bunny-jpeg]

hello, could i get nanaimo bars with a martini and glass of water on the side with Max Verstappen? also love your little bakery it’s such a cute idea and love your work too!

bakery menu

want to suggest your own order? check out the menu! there are tons of prompts for you to choose from to customize your order! and thank you for this lovely person for submitting an order!! i have still been under the weather, but i'm glad that i can finally get back into the groove of writing!

nanaimo bars ("who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it.") + martini (mafia au) + glass of water (aftercare) served by max verstappen (formula one)!

cw: smut/pwp, mafia au, aftercare, librarian!reader, lingerie, gentle sex, size difference/kink, missionary, max is in love, mafia boss!max

you remembered the first time you felt max's gaze on you. most would've froze at the feeling, like getting ice in the back. but, instead you turned around from the shelf you were in front of and asked, "do you need help looking for something?"

it had been the first time in his adult life that max actually felt a little intimidated. he could easily dispose of you, you had recently moved to the netherlands and had no real social circle. but, you leveled your gaze at him. it was so kind, that it left him a little scared. people were rarely kind to a man like max.

if he had taken off his suit jacket and rolled up his sleeves, you would've seen the kind of man he was. instead he cleared his throat against his fist and said, "i was wondering if there was a pay phone, my car has broken down and i was always told that libraries were good at helping people." he smiled at you.

you looked at him briefly and said, "alright then sir, we don't have any pay phones. but we have a phone at the front desk you can use. just let me finish up here and i'll be happy to help you."

he then followed you akwardly as you took the elevator with the empty book cart in tow. he even offered to push it for you as you led him to the front desk. you didn't even notice the small whispers and lingering gazes on the both of you, instead you got the phone and held it out to him to dial.

max knew from that moment on that you were going to be a part of his life. in any capacity he could have you, at an arms length or bone crushingly close. and over time, the more you saw of him. you thought the closer the better.

now even after three years together, the lion of holland was still in your space. when he could, he'd visit you at the library branch you worked at. he'd linger around you until it was time for your break. then you two would have lunch together in the small room in the back, amongst the stacks of returned books.

by year three, you knew who max was. he didn't try to hide it from you, he was very honest about it all. what he had done, but you in return simply asked, "if we ever broke up, would you kill me for leaving?"

and max shook his head quickly and said, "no. i could never, even if you were the one to stab me in the back. i could never harm you." and you accepted him. as long as you could still work at the library, you'd love him with all your heart.

even though your job was less than dangerous, but max worried about you being so available to the public. you knew that max kept tabs on you from time to time at work, you had become familiar with the men of max's circle. and sometimes they'd sit at the library. you simply just continued your work.

but on fridays you got to go home early, so you quickly grabbed your belongings and headed into the car. you threw yourself in the passenger side and pulled him in for a soft kiss. he took you by the face and made a soft noise into the kiss.

"someone missed me." he remarked with a chuckle as he placed his hand on your thigh, giving it a good squeeze.

"i was looking forward for today all day. it came in yesterday, and it felt like my shift went even slower than usual!" you sighed dramatically before you giggled at the feeling of your lover's lips on your neck.

"i know, i know. this gift you bought and didn't tell me what it was. you know i don't like secrets. or surprises." he gripped at your thigh for a moment.

you held his strong jaw in your hands, and beamed at him, "it's not easy to keep secrets from you, max. i usually don't keep them, but i wanted this to be special for you. since you're leaving for england in a few days."

"i know, my treasure." he sighed, "but i promise to bring you back something. as a thank you for waiting for me to come home." he leaned in once more to kiss you softly on the lips.

dinner left you feeling anxious, once you were finished you left your boyfriend in the living room while you scurried off to the bedroom to get changed. you felt your pulse quicken as you pulled out the large black box from under the bed.

you got dressed quickly. it wasn't anything too special, it was a white mesh bra and panties, with embroidered details on it. what made it stand out to was not that the embroidery was of flowers or something sweet, but rather lions. something strong and powerful, and your lover was known as the lion of the netherlands, so it was only fitting.

the stockings you wore were a similar colour and before you knew it, you had opened the door to your bedroom and called out, "max, you can come in now!" before you shut the door and almost tripped over yourself getting to the bed. you sat down and tried to pull off a sexy pose, but ended up looking silly.

so you sat there on the edge with your feet dangling just above the floor, you kept your shoulders back to highlight your breasts which were barely covered by the embroidered designs. it was either this or a collar with max's name on it.

the door opened and max stilled in the doorway at the sight of you. his heart leapt as he admired your beauty. the air got caught in his throat and he coughed a little bit. he then said, "you're beautiful."

and you got flustered at his simple words. usually you felt a little insecure, the shape of your face, the size of your eyebrows, the softness of your stomach. you were a librarian, not a model. but max looked at you like you belonged on the cover of vogue.

he approached closer, he started to undo his button up. his chest was so exposed, lined with tattoos that were symbols of his past. he swallowed as he dropped the expensive shirt onto the floor. he worked his belt off and soon he was in nothing but briefs as he got into bed with you. those strong arms wrapped around you with his nose in your hair.

"this was your little surprise, schat." he said in a low tone, his large hands roamed your body, "this was what you had bought for me. thank you, thank you, thank you." he kissed at the side of your neck and you moaned a little bit. you felt the heat in your gut.

"i wanted to make it special for you." you said as you looked into his blue eyes. you beamed at him with your hand on his bare chest, "see they have little lions on them!"

he chuckled and leaned in for a sweet kiss, "it's perfect, my love." he could feel the thump of his cold heart as he smothered you in another kiss. his fingers found the tiny waistband of the underwear and pulled them down.

"i love you, max. all of you, every last scar and tattoo, every last inch of you. i'm lucky to love you." you giggled when he grazed a calloused thumb across your clit. you moaned a little bit and leaned into his touch.

your lips touched once more and his hands found the clasp of the bra. he groaned against the kiss and his erection throbbed against his briefs. he wanted you, this little surprise was beautiful.

the smartest woman he knew also happened to be the more beautiful. he could recall many times you'd bring him a cheesy romance novel and read it to him while he basked in your warmth.

"i love you." he said as he got you onto your back fully. his hands lightly palmed your breasts before he got up on his knees and between your legs.

he eyed your curves, bare in front of him. he palmed himself through his briefs before he got them off with a little help from you. both pairs of hands on his torso and soon he was nude. back between your legs, his hands roamed his thighs for a moment as he got your legs around his waist.

"you're beautiful." he said, "so beautiful." he leaned over you and kissed you on the lips as he slipped his cock into you. every time he had sex with you, or rather made love to you, it felt like a dream.

you blushed a little and wanted to cover your face, you squirmed a little bit at the sweet words that came from your lover's mouth.

"who's my pretty girl? c'mon say it." he coaxed out of you as he thrusted against you.

you said meekly, "i'm your pretty girl."

he chuckled and planted both hands on either side of you for a good angle to thrust his hips against you. he felt the thrill of pleasure in his head as he moved against you. oh, you looked divine. he said softly as he moved his hips against you, "je bent zo mooi, ik wil alleen jou."

you blushed a little bit, "really, no one else."

he shook his head before he leaned in for another kiss, "no one. no one else ever. since the moment i saw you at the library, i knew that i had to be with you."

the praise left a curl in your gut as the two of you moved together. the kisses were deep and you felt the warmth of your lover around you. you panted between the kisses, your heart leapt at the feeling of him so close to you.

"i could never hurt you." he said, "i'd rather skin myself alive then you be without. you are my world, the thing that keeps me human. that i still have a heart."

you replied softly, "max, you've always been human." you pulled him in for a soft kiss as you wrapped your legs around him more. you two moved against one another, you giggled between moans.

"you are my beating heart, my treasure.' he said softly as he continued to move against him. the pleasure was pin pricks across his skin as he thrusted up into you.

you moaned against him, feeling the tug in your chest from his kind words. you knew that max was a dedicated man, when he set his sights on something he'd see it through to the end. that didn't stop with just work, he wanted to make sure that he gave you the perfect life.

and you didn't ask for much, you enjoyed your job and all you needed was his love and support through anything you wished to do. as you kiss once more, you felt his warmth against you.

the two of you moved against one another, you then kissed passionately. his kisses lingered on your skin, he gripped onto the bed under your back and he groaned a little at the sensation through his body.

"please."

"mine."

"forever, my dear. i'll keep you in my heart forever."

his words were honey in your blood, you felt the thrill of him in your body as you clutched onto him.

"i love you."

"i love you too."

you clutched onto your lover's shoulders. your strong, handsome lover. one of the scariest men in the country, if not the continent. he could kill anyone if he so desired, but with you, he was so loving and sweet.

he was your man, and despite all the fear he could instill. he loved you, and that love was felt in every thing he did for you. you kissed him deeply once more as you climaxed. you moaned into the kiss and he continued to thrust up into you. a few more steady thrusts of his hips and he finished inside of you, in the process pulling you in for a deeper kiss.

he slowed his pace and said, "my beautiful girl. please, please let me love you forever."

you pressed a kiss on the small scar on his cheek, an act of sweetness as you replied, "of course, always. you and i are together till you get tired of me." you giggled.

he pulled out and laid down next to you. he draped a heavily tattooed arm across your middle and gazed at you with love in his eyes. his breathing started to even out. he wiped his forehead free of sweat with his other hand before he snuggled further into your side.

he peppered your face with kisses, asking you quietly if you were alright. if you needed anything. he was the king of after care, even when the sex was as gentle as it could be.

he worried for you, as you worried for him.

you looked at him and smiled. there was a sparkle in those blue eyes. he then closed them and stayed close to you. he sighed contently.

"thank you for the gift. i almost tore them off of you, but i want to see them on you again. if i'm the big scary lion, then you're my lioness." he linked his fingers with you then kissed the top of your hand, "now and forever more." <3

[totaly-obsessed]

Sunset Strolls

Alexia Putellas x reader Blurb

-> navigating a city's chaos for groceries, and stubbornness

-> Based on THIS post by @carolineshairtie (and Ale's hands...)

-> Word count: 640

➳ Masterlist

•─────⋅☾ ☽⋅─────•

The streets of Barcelona were busy with people in a rush to finally get home after a long day at work. The trams were filled to the brim by tired faces squeezing into a small space, hoping for a smooth journey, while the sidewalks transformed into a runway - one person overtaking the next, running into each other and bumping into mothers pushing strollers.

In the midst of the chaos were you and Alexia, making your way to the grocery store. Your girlfriend had been at training until afternoon, and after getting home she had joined you for your daily nap. But then the realization of an empty fridge and even emptier cupboards set in - making for a rude awakening.

Training had been mostly in the gym for the day, and Alexia wanted to enjoy the last rays of sun with her favorite person - So you had walked to the store. The way wasn’t too far, and it was safe to say that both Ale and you had been enjoying just spending time together, sun on your faces and intertwined hands swaying back and forth.

The actual time spent at the local store was fun as well, Ale completely ignored your list and just went for it. Any box you touched was being loaded into your cart, and you needed to remind her multiple times that you had in fact walked there and that you would need to carry everything back home.

The young woman working the register was incredibly amused to see you and Alexia fight over who would be the one paying. You had been trying to argue that Ale had already bought the groceries last week, but your girlfriend didn’t want to hear it, saying that you deserved to have anything you wanted.

The blonde had finally won the fight, slamming her card down on the contactless card machine, holding you off with the other hand, before she gave you the empty bags she had pulled out of your handbag.

“I pay, you pack.”

That seemed fairer than just standing there, so without a fuss you started packing your newly acquired things into jute bags, which quickly started to run out, leaving you to stuff everything in, hoping that it would fit.

Alexia shook her head, an entertained smile on her lips as, before she took the bags from the counter, leaving you empty-handed once again.

“Hold the door amore?”

With a pleasant humm you did, keeping the heavy glass door open so that your girlfriend could walk through, heavy bags in her hands. “Mi alma, please!” your hand was extended towards her, trying to take some of the baggage off her. The walk was now slower than before, much more of a nice stroll.

“No, I’ve got it, you go ahead.” As stubborn as a mule -  but you don’t think it’s possible to love someone more than you did love your girlfriend, even with her incredibly strong-willed character.

The sun had started to set, the shadows much colder than they had been before. Not a lot of people were left over on the streets, trying to make it to the next bar or still trying to make it home. Restaurants started to turn on their ambient lights as people gathered.

You still had a good way to go before you would arrive at your shared apartment. Quietly, your hand that had been holding onto Alexia’s lower arm, started to make its way down, trying to take the bags out of her hand.

The blonde's head shot up, aware of what was happening. Your nice walking pace came to a sudden halt as Ale adjusted, your hands still extended to take them.  Now all the bags were in one hand, some slung over her shoulder, as she took your hand in hers.

“That's not what l- okay.”

[satori-runa]

—24/7

Summary: In which Leon and you go on a nightly grocery shopping trip to satisfy your nightly carvings.

Tags: Established Relationship, Fluff, slight comedy, ooc

Words: 0,6

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The faint squeak of the fridge door echoed in the quiet apartment. Leon stirred in bed, one eye barely fluttering open.

That old second-hand fridge really needed a bit of oil—he'd been telling himself that for weeks now. But instead of thinking about why it was making noise at this hour, his groggy brain just chalked it up to some dream-induced illusion.

Naturally, he closed his eyes again.

Then came the second sound—a soft groan, drawn-out and unmistakably disappointed. One he knew all too well. His hand instinctively patted the bed beside him, finding only warm sheets and an empty space. He learned about your nightly cravings early in the relationship.

"Lee!" your voice called, muffled by distance and a slight pout. "We're out of Fruit Loops! And there's no pudding left too!"

The light from the fridge cast a glow into the hallway, and Leon blinked toward it, watching your figure illuminated in soft blue hues. You stood there in his t-shirt, which was more like a short dress for you, hair messy, eyes squinting at the barren shelf in front of you like it had personally betrayed you.

Leon couldn’t help the small smile that tugged at his lips. Even with a cute frown and messy hair, you were utterly adorable.

“Sorry, my love.” he mumbled as he walked over and wrapped his arms around you from behind, pulling you into his chest. His hand gently cradled the back of your head, and you felt the warmth of a kiss pressed into your hair.

“Wanna grab some? Now you made me hungry too.”

That was a lie, Leon wasn’t hungry in the slightest. But he knew you. Once the craving hits, there’d be no sleeping. And if he didn’t offer, you’d feel guilty for even thinking about dragging him out. It was this typical back and forth. If he don't want to eat, then you wouldn't as well, claiming: “A meal tastes better if you eat it together.”

“Really?” you beamed, tilting your head to look up at him. “Midnight shopping spree?”

His soft nod sent a wave of warmth through your chest, and you stood on your tiptoes to plant a quick kiss on his neck, still tasting a bit like sleep and love.

Minutes later, the two of you were out the door, bundled in pajamas and giggles, driving through quiet streets under blinking amber lights. Leon's jacket was draped over your shoulders to shield you from the chill, the sleeves far too long, swallowing your hands in warmth and the scent of him.

The 24/7 grocery store was nearly empty, echoing with late-night radio and fluorescent hums. Leon, ever the romantic, insisted on pushing you in a shopping cart while you cradled your coveted box of Fruit Loops like treasure. He tossed in your favorite snacks one by one, occasionally aiming a bag of chips or a chocolate bar straight into your lap, laughing when you scolded him through giggles.

Eventually, the mix of comfort, excitement, and his familiar scent lulled you to sleep, curled in the cart with your head resting on the cereal box. Leon glanced down, heart swelling at the sight of you so content, so peacefully knocked out in the middle of the snack aisle.

He carried both you and the groceries to the car, careful not to wake you, placing soft kisses on your temple before buckling you in.

When you awoke hours later, tucked into bed once more, it was Leon who stirred this time, his hand gently resting on your waist as he whispered against your ear:

“Love, we ran out of pudding. Again.”

[myveryownfanfiction]

18+ MINORS AND THOSE WITHOUT AGE IN BIO DNI

tags: @iobsessoverfictionalmen, @illiana-mystery

warnings: mention of the hunger games, swearing, age gap (everyone's legal), smut, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it kids), first time (reader is a virgin)

AN: I am back on my bullshit cuz guess what book I bought.

The door to the compartment slid shut behind me. Haymitch looked up from the bar cart in his room. I rung my hands nervously as I looked around his room.

"They're all the same darling." Haymitch muttered. "What do you want? Come to yell at me some more?" I shook my head. "Then what?"

"I don't..." My voice cracked and I winced. Haymitch's expression softened slightly. "I don't want to go into the arena..." I paused and looked up at the ceiling.

"No one wants to go into that arena. There's nothing to stop it now though." Haymitch took a drink and looked at me. "You never get off this train. Win or lose."

"I know that." I huffed. Crossing my arms and taking a deep breath, I finally looked at him again. "I don't want to go in there a virgin." Haymitch nearly choked on his drink. "I'm legal. Well legal as far as the Capitol is concerned. You wouldn't be doing anything I didn't want." Haymitch put his drink down.

"And why don't you ask the other one?" He nodded towards the door. I scoffed.

"The other one, as you so kindly put it, is 11." Haymitch grimaced. "Yeah. That's not quite what I had in mind."

"Why me?" He asked, leaning back against the wall and crossing his arms. "You couldn't wait until we got to the Capitol and find someone willing there?"

"I don't want anyone to know." I shot back. "This is for me. No one else. ME. To not go into the arena feeling like a scared little kid. To go in feeling like an adult, someone who maybe just maybe has a chance no matter how small." Haymitch nodded with a small smile.

"You might just have one anyway sweetheart." He said, raising an eyebrow at me. "Alright. I can't promise I'll be the best of lovers..."

"I don't care. Just make me feel something aside from the fear and anger." I said. Haymitch nodded as he moved towards me. Gently gripping my neck, he paused.

"Have you even been kissed?" He whispered, breath fanning my lips. I nodded.

"There was someone back in 12. But it was a dare. Never meant to mean anything." I said, eyes dropping down to his lips. Haymitch nodded as he rubbed circles into the spot where my jaw met my neck. "I guess that's my lot in life. Nothing is ever meant to mean anything."

"Our lot in life sweetheart." Haymitch chuckled darkly before kissing me. He forced me back against the wall as my hands came up to tangle in his hair. "Nothing that happens to us will ever mean anything. Not until this ends." He whispered as he pulled back, smirking when I chased his lips. "Is that something you are prepared to live with? Or do you want to change it?"

"Fuck the Capitol." I whispered, eyes shining in the low light. Haymitch smiled. "Fuck the Games."

"Take that fire into the Games and you just might be able to break the board." He promised. I nodded. "Now..." He looked me over as he stepped back. "Show me what else that fire can do." I grabbed the hem of my shirt and pulled it off. Haymitch looked me over appreciatively as I did the same with my pants.

"Your turn." I said as I stepped back into his space. Haymitch cupped my cheeks as he kissed me again, less forceful this time but just as commanding. He deepened the kiss as he guided my hands to the top of his shirt. I pulled back to look down at our hands. Haymitch watched me as I hesitantly started to unbutton his shirt. "Everytime I see you in the Hob, you're dressed like everyone else. Why do they do this to you?" I whispered. Haymitch chuckled dryly.

"Like I said sweetheart. You never get off this train." He settled his hands on my hips. "I am still their plaything. All these years later." I looked up at him, watching the way his eyes were guarded even if he was letting me in. "That is never gonna change unless we break the board." I reached up and pushed the shirt off his shoulders. Haymitch watched me carefully as I reached for his belt. His hands slid to the small of my back as he leaned in to kiss my neck.

“Oh. Haymitch.” I whined as he dragged his teeth over my pulse point.

“I can’t leave any marks. Which is a shame honestly.” Haymitch chuckled as he pressed an open mouthed kiss to my shoulder. “Get out of the Games alive and I’ll make it up to you.” I chuckled as I pushed his pants down with his boxers.

“Giving me pretty good incentive to survive the arena.” I teased. Haymitch pulled back and cupped my cheeks before kissing me.

“Good.” He smiled. “Now that I’ve got a taste, I don’t want to give it up.” He hoisted me up into his arms and pressed me back against the wall. My legs wrapped around his waist on instinct. Haymitch grunted as he used his weight to pin me against the wall next to the door. I brushed his hair back behind his ears as he looked up at me. "You sure you want to do this sweetheart? There's still time to back out." I nodded.

"I'm sure." I whispered before kissing him. Haymitch hummed as he reached between us, gripping his dick before rubbing it against my entrance. He slowly thrust into me. My fingers dug into his shoulders as my head fell back against the wall. He grunted as he slowly pushed in until he bottomed out. I whined and tried my best to breath through the pain as my head fell forward. Haymitch's head fell to my shoulder as he took deep breaths.

"Just keep breathing sweetheart." He whispered, kissing my shoulder. "It'll pass." I nodded as his thumb rubbed circles into my skin. "I've got you." I took a deep breath and closed my eyes before resting my head on the wall. The pain started to subside, being replaced with the feeling of being completely full. I whimpered again as I slowly shifted my hips. Haymitch's breath caught as he raised his head. "Ain't so easy up there is it?" He teased as he pulled out only to slam back in. I moaned and dug my fingers into his back.

“shut up Abernathy.” I whined as he thrust into me and ground against me at the same time. “Oh shit.” I breathed out as haymitch repeated the action. He grinned as he pressed his face against the base of my throat.

“hold on a little longer sweetheart.” Haymitch breathed out. “I know you’re close. Probably better than you know yourself. Just a little more.” I squeezed my eyes shut as I felt the pressure grow.

“please. Haymitch.” I breathed out as he kissed along my throat. He growled as he pinned my wrists to the wall. “Please. Please. Don’t stop.”

“didn’t plan on it sweetheart.” Haymitch dragged his teeth over my collarbone as the door slid open.

“Haymitch don’t you…” Effie gasped as she took in the scene before her. Haymitch stilled as he turned his head to look at her, annoyance clear on his face. “Haymitch!”

“can’t this wait?” He panted, raising his eyebrows at her as I weakly tried to grind against him. Haymitch didn’t bat an eye as Effie squeaked and ran out of the room. With a sigh, he started thrusting into me again. “Sorry about her.” He groaned out. “Always in my business.”

“mine too.” I panted, trying to hold onto the fraying thread that was holding me together. “Ever since I stepped on this train.” Haymitch chuckled as he jerked his head to get his sweat soaked hair out of his face.

“Better her in your face than an escort who couldn’t give a shit about you. At least she tries. Not like mine.” He admitted. For a second, the mask fell away and I saw the man haymitch was underneath. A hard thrust had me jerking against the wall as my orgasm washed over me, letting his mask go back up.

“haymitch.” I breathed out as he continued to thrust hard and fast into me.

“(Y/N).” He growled as he finally came, sagging against the wall and pinning me under him. Haymitch gently eased my legs back down as he stood there panting, trying to catch our breath. “I’m going to get you out of that arena if it’s the last thing I ever do.” He promised after a while. I nodded at him, tucking his hair behind his ear before cupping his cheek.

“I know you will.” I said and kissed him softly. “I have faith in you.”

“it��s misplaced sweetheart.” Haymitch said as he let me break away. He watched me as I got dressed.

“come find me at the tower.” I said, squeezing his hand and kissing him one last time before slipping out of his room and down the hall to mine.

[chaoticallywriting]

Animals ⋋Chapter Two⋌

A/N: Soooooooooo I've had this written out since before I posted the prologue but it needed to be edited and also touched up! I was super busy and also the lack of sun is totally taking a toll on my mental health. Due to this being late I decided to just post it now instead of waiting for this Saturday, that being said chapter three will not be out by this Saturday. I only have 1.5k done of the next chapter so it'll HOPEFULLY be done by next Saturday. As always, thank you to @blitzs-largest-horsiest-dildo for editing this <3

Pairing: Silco x Reader (eventual/slow burn), Viktor x reader (past/ex's)

Summary: Heartbroken and disgraced from your lifelong dream coming to a halt and the only person you've ever loved abandoning your scientific pursuit. You decide to turn towards a newfound Kingpin in the city you once called your home in hopes of making your dreams come true.

CW: None that I can think??

WC: 3.8k

Before // After // AO3

Silco's office is small, there's filing cabinets tucked into a corner by the door and across the room is a desk. Said desk trumps even Babette's in terms of craftsmanship, looking like something a rich topsider might own. Behind that there's a swivel chair and then a chair in front of the desk and well, that's it. It looks far more like a storage closet turned office than an actual office, especially for some 'terrifying' drug lord.

"Quaint," you breathed. You don't know why that's the first thing you think to say, nor why you didn't hold back. The adrenaline from your little fit is beginning to wane and now you're left in an enclosed space with someone everyone seems terrified of. And you've just called his office quaint. "Not what I expected but it's cozy."

'Stop talking, for all that is good, shut the fuck up!' You internally scream at yourself. This is some newfound kingpin, some guy who survived getting half his face sliced up and lived to tell the tale. Part of growing up in the Lanes means knowing when to shut up. Piltover must have made you soft, so incredibly stupid too. Maybe this whole plan was stupid.

"What were you expecting?" He enters your vision (you had your back to this man, Piltover has made you soft) as he walks over to his desk. The way he walks is different too, there's a slight sway to his step, not like the inebriated idiots in alleyways but. . . Well you don't know how to describe it. It's arrogant, slightly cocky and graceful? There's an assuredness in the way he moves, like he's playing some game he knows he'll always win.

Silco pulls open a desk drawer, long and thin fingers dipping into it and procuring an expensive looking cigar. It's paper has a slight gold lining at the tip that he easily slices off before flicking open a silver lighter. It's hard, you find yourself getting distracted by him. By the way he flicks the lighter on and how that brief flicker of a flame matches that unnerving eye which doesn't blink when his green one does.

He raises a brow and you notice a few lines between them, his brows you mean. Between his brows and on his forehead, he must be in his thirties, late thirties to be specific. Early forties max. People down here age faster than topsiders. While you've seen top-siders in their fifties or sixties with barely a gray hair in sight, people down here barely make it to such an age. The stress, the constant work, lack of sleep or food or warmth gives way to grays and wrinkles before you've even reached your mid thirties. You either die from exhaustion, the gray or a knife in the back.

"Something grand, maybe some kind of vast view of the Lanes. A bar cart, most important people seem to have those. . . " You walk closer, eyes trailing the wood paneled walls. "Just not something that looks like a grandpa may be found fumbling with basic book keeping."

His movements halt, eyes on you as the cigar slowly swirls smoke from it's tip. The room begins to smell of tobacco and your heart pounds at the intensity of his gaze. So you clear your throat and dump the papers you've been gripping onto his desk. They're crinkled up and so you begin to smooth them, hands flat as you press down and slowly swipe away any ridges you find.

He flicks the lighter closed, or at least it sounds like it. You've moved your gaze to your papers as you find it near impossible to keep staring at him. "So you made such a scene out there just so you could insult my new place?"

"No!" You blurt out, eyes finally tearing away from the relatively smoothed papers. He's still staring at you. "No I. . . I wanna make the Lanes a better place, and I have these ideas and- Well everyone's going around saying how you used to be like that. I-" You lick your cracked lips, gods your throat is drying up. "I have nothing left but this dream that I've had since I was a kid. I have the research, I have the ideas. I know these things will help I just need money and materials and the power to implement these things."

Silco drops the lighter back into the desk drawer before sliding it closed. With his hand now free he plucks one of your papers off the table as he takes a long drag of his cigar. Honestly? You don't know what he's looking at.

You just randomly grabbed papers back with the guard and you were so focused on not saying stupid things that you didn't inspect them while brushing them out. With the grace of a freshly caught fish you begin to pull out more papers along with your worn, leather bound journals. Everything is strewn across the desk and soon your trying to organize it so it's less chaotic.

Your hands shake a bit as you half haphazardly dump things into specific piles. A shoddy attempt at making a system of the inner workings of not only your mind but Viktors as well. His hand writing is on a majority of these pages, along with your own. His delicate and graceful drawings of different designs and ideas fill the corners of pages. But your knuckles are scabbed over from repeatedly being pushed onto the pavement and your cheek is still healing.

He's here in this moment, even as you run from him he's here in more ways than one. Seeing his penmanship makes your heart clench as you remember him hunched over your tiny dining room table, pen in hand. You'd hand him a cup of his favorite tea and his free hand would reach out to slide across your ba-

"What is this?" Silco's voice cuts through your memories, sucking you back into the moment as your cheeks heat up with embarrassment. You only hope he doesn't somehow know what you were just thinking of. You mentally pray that he's not some kind of mind reader. Silco is holding an intricate drawing of the inner workings for an aeroponic farming system. Definitely something that would be confusing for someone not well versed on the subject. It's still a relatively new practice in a nation or two, experimentation is proving it to be fruitful and worth the initial effort.

"A farming system, it's called aeroponics and you see-" You slowly reach out and take the drawing from him so you can point at the inside portion of the paper. The tower has been split in two to show what the inside looks like, various holes strategically staggered and a simple water flow system. "You use coconut husks to put your seeds in and then since they're so small you can put them in these holes."

You rest against the desk, one foot firmly pressed against the ground, the other bent over the wooden surface. Your upper body is turned toward Silco so he can see what you're holding. "By pumping water through this pipe it then trickles back down and waters each husk. It takes significantly less water and space than actual farming. If you use one of the abandoned buildings at the pier it has the perfect amount of sunlight for this. With the space you save with these towers, depending on the placement you could end up feeding roughly. . . three hundred people with this? If you invest in sun lamps as well then you can also grow year round."

He lets you ramble on as you show him more papers regarding the farming system and the lamps. How different techniques can clean the water carried throughout the Undercity (but you'd have to throw out any vegetation grown from that) or how this system in general helps decrease pollution in the air. There's charts, graphs, papers, all of which you've nicked from the library at the academy. And surprisingly he never interrupts you, only continues to fill the room with more smoke as his cigar gets smaller and smaller.

"And that?" He waves his cigar towards your bag which had been dropped onto his desk at some point. You turn and spot the metal model which must have rolled out during your panic to organize things. His voice is in your head, accent thickened with exhaustion as he had clumsily dropped the model into your hands. The tiny lab had smelt of the soldering iron and one of those protective masks had been pressed against the top of his head, pushing back his thick chestnut hair.

You thickly swallow before plucking it from the mess of papers. "My pride and joy," you mumble. "A water purifier for our ocean. They would be built to float on the surface and inside would be this- " You pull one of the notebooks and hold it with your free hand. You never let go of the model as you flip open the journal and turn to a page filled with your messy writing and half assed drawings. "It's a filtration system made out of genetically modified algae, which I have the beginnings of in my other notebook. That being said that's not my specialty and I need a biochemists help. Which is also why I'm here."

"So you need money, materials, power and a biochemist? This is a lot to demand of someone you've just met." He rounds the table and gracefully sits behind the desk. By now his cigar sits in an ashtray, lit end stubbed against it. "Why should I help you with this?"

You don't know. Yes if it works out this design could be patented and sold to other nations but there isn't a guarantee that other places need this like yours does. The aeroponics won't really make money, just help lessen the cost of food and offer everyone a chance of an actual meal. Not the moldy scraps that are tossed to them from Piltovers waste baskets.

With him sitting down you push yourself further onto the desk, your other leg now dangling in the air so you can lean a little closer to him. He briefly stiffens, just for a millisecond. If you weren't someone who needed to focus in on the tiniest of details for your work you would have missed it.

"Because you know what it's like down here, what all this could do for the city…" You worry your bottom lip between your teeth.

"Think of the next generation, we're already seeing a lessened infant mortality rate due to the ventilation system that has helped dispel the gray. Who knows what that means for the overall health of the kids who have never felt that smog clog their lungs. With this-" You press your journal in front of him, dropping the model on top of the page showcasing the filtration system. "We can take bettering our city to the next step. Without the help of those topside dimwits who only help to make themselves look good."

He picks up the model, rubbing it between his index and thumb and you find yourself using all your will power not to snatch it from his grasp. This could be it, you could have it all. You just need to be quiet and not do anything stupid and impulsive. Unfortunately impulsivity seems to have taken over your very mind as of late. You weren't always so destructive and angry and tear filled. It's easy to blame it on Viktor, so you do. Everything is his fault now.

"We could have used a mind like yours back in the day." He must notice how you fixate on the model because he carefully sets it back down before sliding the journal towards you. "It's true, I know a fellow scientist who specializes more in biochemistry than with engineering and agriculture. I also am getting a decent influx of money from Shimmer and yes I have power and materials."

"So?" you impatiently blurt out.

"I have a lab Singed is currently working out of nearby, we can get you the materials for your project. If I give you this chance I want frequent updates and a guard will be monitoring you. I don't give money to strangers without ensuring they won't run off."

Perhaps the monitoring should scare you but you find yourself to overjoyed to think of being watched over. Quite honestly you are asking lot from a stranger, back at the academy it took multiple professors to sign off on your research to be given a small grant (the smallest they offered).

"I-" you place a hand flat against your stomach, the worn fabric of your vest smooth against your healing palm. The excitement bubbling within you feels like you may just float away. Tears gather at the edges of your eyes and you rapidly blink them away.

Rather ungracefully, you slide off the desk and turn to him so that you can look into his eyes. Your hands begin to gather all the papers strewn about so that you can easily clutch them. He doesn't show how he's feeling, he's just watching you.

"Thank you, I know you have so much on your plate but I promise I will do everything in my power to improve this city."

You mean it. You hope he knows you mean it. "I'll stop taking up your time but um-"

"I'll have someone take you to the lab tomorrow morning, seven am sharp."

Your address is written on a spare piece of paper in a messy scrawl of hurried writing and soon you're being ushered out. Before the door closes you look over your shoulder, hand keeping the door slightly propped open as you give him your name. In your haste to gain his sympathy to your cause you completely forgot to introduce yourself. He only nods before the guard closes the door.

As you walk out of the Last Drop your eyes catch on the greasy haired teenager from earlier and your overjoyed expression turns to one of smugness. His brows raise, mouth dropping open before one of his colleagues shout at him to hurry up.

That evening you gorge yourself on celebratory take out from a different food stall and lay out something to wear over your metal shower rod. It's just a simple pair of brown corduroy pants that are so long on you that you have to tie them around your waist with a leather cord. A simple over sized white button up and a matching brown vest. . . It's as you gather these items that are you are struck with the realization that all of these articles once belonged to Viktor.

It was common place to steal his clothes and wear them, they were nice enough for the academy and comfortable. It's why the pants are so long and the shirt is slightly bigger, men's sizing does tend to run wider than women's anyways. Your eyes trace the intricate stitching of the vest before you thickly swallow. You were never one to care about fashion, it was more about practicality. Yes you bought a few vests and have maybe one skirt or a pair of pants that are your own but, you cared more about your project and Viktor.

With him gone it will be easier to focus. You doubt you'll find yourself falling for your new partner anyways. It's not like it's some common thing, besides you had begun dating Viktor before leaving for Piltover in the first place. All that matters now is your work, nothing more and nothing less. With an affirmative nod at your thinking you shut off the bathroom light and crawl into your rather uncomfortable bed.

At seven am you speed down your apartments stairs, vest unbuttoned and sleeves unrolled with boots half tied. You barely remembered to lock your door behind you in your hurried state. You find a woman leaning against the food stall situated right by the door to your building with a take out box and chopsticks in hand. The first things you noticed about her were her sheer size and the gleaming gold of her left arm. She had some sort of metal prosthetic in place of said arm and seemed to be struggling to use the chopsticks as her metallic fingers fumbled with the wooden utensils.

Her prominent aquiline nose scrunched as the tan woman grunted in annoyance. The second you stepped outside and into her space her eyes snapped to you and she shoved the barely eaten box into a nearby trashcan. "C'mon, I got shit to do."

Her voice is gravelly and low, perhaps from frequent smoking? It's a common thing in this city. Just from a glance she doesn't seem the type to yell, the baritone of her voice gives off enough intimidation on its own.

You bend to tuck your laces into your boots before jogging to catch up with her. Not only was she broad shouldered with a muscular arm but she was tall too, much taller than you. She didn't stop to confirm who you were or ask how your day was, she just stomped through the streets like she owned them. Growing up in the Undercity taught you not to mess with people like her and so you keep your mouth shut and try your best to match her pace.

Her speed walking was an almost jog for you and your bag continuously bumped against your back with each step deeper into the Lanes. Your fingers fumbled to tightly roll your sleeves whilst keeping up but you only managed to achieve rolling one of them by the time you arrived at a sketchy looking building.

Technically the entire Undercity is sketchy but this specific building oozed bad news. It's the kind that makes the hair on your arms stand on end and a chill run down your spine. The towering woman reached for the door with her robotic hand and pulled it- no yanked it open. A slew of expletives echoed through the alley as the door slammed against the building, hinges squeaking. Dust from the buildings brick wall sprinkled down the alley like snow.

After taking several deep breathes she stomped inside to a stairwell. She didn't hesitate to go down the stairs to a basement where a metal door was ajar. The stairwell was clean and the landing in the basement was too, from the crack through the door you saw some kind of green hue that began to fill the stairwell once the woman pushed open the door. This time she used her regular hand.

Inside was an expansive room full of metal shelves and tables. At the very back wall is where you find the green hue. There are multiple glass bio reactor's full of different sized creatures, mostly large creatures. All floating in some green liquid and connected to various metal tubes. Your stomach twists at the sight and suddenly you think of Babette and all her warnings.

But this is science and it's what you need. You signed up for this knowing these were unsavory people and you can't back out because you're being confronted with that reality. So instead you take a deep breath to try and dispel your nerves. The metal shelves are lined with different materials and glass jars full of liquids you can't outright identify. That feeling from before, that offness, only sticks to you like glue.

The woman, whose name you never caught, simply turns to you and gestures to the off putting lab. "Welcome to paradise, Piltie-"

"I'm not from Piltover," you interrupt her with a defiant tilt of your chin. Eyes stare into her gray ones, chapped lips pressed into a thin line. "I just spent a few years at the academy."

Her nose scrunches, lips curling with distaste. You somehow made things worse, dammit. "Ain't any better being some kind of sympathizer. Don't slack off or Silco will know."

She storms out before you can conjure up a reply of some kind. As the door slams shut behind her you are suddenly aware of how alone you are in this creepy place. To the right is two doors, both shut and despite your naturally curious mind, you find yourself deciding to avoid opening either. Curiosity is needed to be a scientist, but knowing when to leave something the fuck alone is also needed to survive down here.

You drop your bag on a nearby table and pull out all your papers and journals. The model stays safely tucked in an inner pocket, away from prying eyes and thieving fingers. The first hour in the lab is spent with you organizing your things and exploring the different shelves and drawers. You manage to find a soldering iron and other much needed materials for your work.

The biochemist Silco mentioned doesn't come around until your second hour. At this point you've turned a nearby chalk board into a space full of various equations you had last been working on at the academy. Some of your progress has faded from the recesses of your mind, something that happens when time is spent away from something and evidence of it is gone. As you're lost in solving a difficult equation, chalk in one hand and the other hand placed on your hip, a voice rings out from the other side of the room.

"You must be the woman Silco mentioned."

The chalk drops from your hand as you clumsily spin around, long laces from your untied shoes causing you to stumble into the chalk board behind you. Your hands grip the wooden edges of the board as you come face to face with a disfigured man.

Half his face is bandaged and a bandanna is covering him from the nose to his collarbones. He has bandages peaking out from black robes that are tightly wrapped around his skin and you wonder how he's alive. His bald head gleams under the dim lighting of the lab as he walks over to your chalk board. You gulp.

You definitely do not need to worry about gaining feelings for this man.

"Yes, and you must Singed." You quickly dust your hand off on your pants before extending it and offering him your name. He leaves your hand untouched as his eyes glance over the chalk board before looking over at the table full of your work.

Singed heaves a tired sigh as he looks at all your research from afar before walking over to a free table. He places beakers from nearby shelves onto it along with burners and various other supplies. "Do not try to go into either of those rooms, the upstairs of this building or touch those bio reactors. If you do any of these things I will not help you and I will let Silco know you're worthless."

Your eyes drift to the set of doors nearby before slowly nodding. Something tells you that you don't want to know whats in there so instead of arguing you pick up your fallen piece of chalk and begin explaining everything to your new partner.

Taglist : @soniiyi @galactic-magick @adsky4 @alexandra-001 @drpepper280 @mac-and-cheese21 @watasinekoru @anthy-j-ander @fudosl (if your name is struck through than it would not let me tag you! You may need to check your settings)

[carefreehomefurnishings]

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[kumkumchandak]

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A portable bar cart for home really is a superb choice if you are constrained on space. These are carts with wheels that can be directed around with ease and have sufficient storage space with various shelves that allow systematic storage of items such as bottles and accessories.

3. Bar Shelves Mounted on Walls

Need a saving space solution? Wall-mounted shelves for bars are perfect for smaller apartments: they keep the spaces free of floor space while offering enough room for storage.

4. Industrial-Style Bar Counters

Bold: A rustic industrial bar counter at home speaks volumes to the eye. The combination of metal and reclaimed wood is just the character and cool, contemporary feel that you add to the environment.

5. Modern LED Illuminated Home Bar Units

For a luxurious feel, modern home bar furniture with LED lighting creates the right atmosphere. The glass shelves fitted with lights allow the perfect setting for an evening occasion.

How to Choose the Right Home Bar Furniture?

Careful consideration is necessary for the selection of the ideal furniture set for a home bar. Here are some astounding tips to help out in making the informed decision:

Evaluate your space: Measure your area before you go ahead to choose a bar unit.

Discover your style: Consider a design that will complement the decor of your home. 

What about storage? Track how many bottles, glasses, and accessories you would like to store.

Material Quality: Go for durable materials that include solid wood, metal, or good quality MDF. 

Functionality: Check for built-in racks, wine storage, or lockable cabinets.

Why Choose Foxfurn for Home Bar Furniture?

At Foxfurn, we offer a premium selection of home bar furniture online that caters to all styles and preferences. Here’s why you should shop with us:

Exceptional Quality: We make every piece of furniture with the finest materials for durability, which lasts long.

Trendy Space Saver Designs: From a compact bar cart to a spacious bar counter, we have it all.

Customization: Select from colors, materials, and finishes in order to match your home.

Pocket-Friendliness: Luxurious bar furniture at highly competitive rates.

Convenient Online Shopping: Browse and order bar cabinets for home from the comfort of your home at Foxfurn.

Final Thoughts

Investing in home bar furniture enhances both the look and functionality of your living space. Whether you prefer a classic wooden home bar cabinet, a sleek modern bar counter, or a space-saving bar cart, Foxfurn has the perfect solution for you. Explore our exclusive collection today and create the ultimate home bar setup!

Frequently Asked Questions (FAQs)

1. What is the best material for home bar furniture?

 Wood, metal, and MDF are popular choices, each offering durability and style.

2. How do I maintain my home bar furniture?

Regular dusting and occasional polishing will keep your bar unit looking new.

3. Can I customize my home bar furniture at Foxfurn? 

Yes! We offer customization options for materials, colors, and finishes.

4. What are some space-saving home bar ideas? 

Consider wall-mounted bar shelves, foldable bar tables, or compact bar carts.

[strangerexee]

Chapter One: Grocery Store Encounters

Pairing: Assassin!Toji Fushiguro x Assassin!Reader Warnings: Tension, flirtation, secret identities, normalcy hiding dangerous lives.

Masterlist

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

chpt. one - chpt. two - chpt. three - chpt. four - chpt. five - chpt. six - chpt. seven - chpt. eight - chpt. nine - chpt. ten - chpt. eleven - chpt. twelve - chpt. thirteen - chpt. fourteen - chpt. fifteen

There were a million ways to meet someone.

A coffee shop. A bar. A party with too much noise and not enough real conversation. A blind date set up by a well-meaning friend who was trying their hardest to get you out of the lonely rut you were in.

But a grocery store?

A grocery store was supposed to be the place where you picked up milk, bread, maybe some eggs—things to get through the week without much thought. A place of mundane tasks, quick decisions, and little surprises.

And yet, that’s where everything changed.

It was late afternoon when you walked in. You hadn’t meant to go shopping, but you were running out of the basics. You needed bread and eggs, some fruit for the week. Nothing big. Nothing that would take more than an hour or so.

But when you walked through those sliding doors, a sense of wrongness hit you—just a soft undercurrent that whispered, You don’t belong here.

You shook it off as you grabbed your basket, focusing on the list in your head. Fruit. Bananas, strawberries, and some avocados. Milk. Bread. That was it.

You turned into the aisle with the frozen foods, the bright white fluorescent lights making the whole section feel colder than it should. There were too many options to choose from—so many different kinds of frozen pizzas. Pepperoni. Hawaiian. Meat lovers.

Your fingers ran over the boxes lazily, not really interested in the food but rather in just getting through the task as quickly as possible.

That’s when you saw him.

He was standing by the frozen pizza section, staring at the shelves like they were the most complicated thing he’d ever encountered. His dark hoodie was pulled over his head, and his broad shoulders seemed to take up more space than the typical person would.

It was almost comical—this huge guy standing in front of a freezer, looking entirely out of place. Like he didn’t belong, just like you.

You blinked at him for a second too long before turning your attention back to the frozen pizzas, pretending not to notice his presence.

But then, out of nowhere, he spoke.

"Hey."

You froze, your hand lingering on a box of mozzarella sticks. Slowly, you turned toward him, raising an eyebrow.

"Yeah?"

He was still looking at the pizzas, his voice casual, like this was a normal conversation between two people who had no business talking. "What’s the difference between all these frozen pizzas?" His gaze flickered up to meet yours, and he wore an expression that clearly read, Help me, I don’t understand.

You blinked. "You’re asking me?"

He shrugged nonchalantly, unfazed by your disbelief. "You look like you know what you’re doing." His voice had that lazy confidence—like he was accustomed to being in charge. And there was something in the way he looked at you, that confidence made you feel noticed.

You swallowed the sudden tension that stirred inside of you. You were not getting distracted. This was a grocery store. You didn’t need this.

Still, you played along. "Well, this one’s classic pepperoni, can’t go wrong. This one has stuffed crust, which is... a solid choice. And this one…" You squinted, leaning closer to read the box more carefully. "Honestly, I don’t even know what that is."

He laughed, a low chuckle that almost made you forget that this was just a weird moment between strangers in a grocery store. "Stuffed crust, huh?" He grabbed the box with the stuffed crust, placing it into his cart. "I’ll trust you on that."

You scoffed. "Brave."

He glanced at you, a small, amused smirk curling on his lips. "I trust you. And I don’t trust much, y’know." His eyes lingered on you for a second longer than they should’ve, a deliberate but unspoken acknowledgment of your presence. It made you feel strangely exposed.

You cleared your throat, trying to shake the feeling. You needed to get your shopping done and leave. This wasn’t a movie. No one was going to make a dramatic move and sweep you off your feet with a frozen pizza.

"Well, good luck with that one," you said. "Hope you don’t regret it."

He only smiled and nodded, turning back to the freezer like he’d already moved on. But then, as if pulled by some invisible string, he looked back at you.

And for a moment, the air seemed to thicken.

"You got a favorite?"

You furrowed your brow, raising an eyebrow at him. "A favorite what?"

"Frozen pizza." His voice was casual, but the way he said it made it sound like there was more to the question. Like he was looking for something, an answer he might not get from anyone else.

You tilted your head, considering him carefully. A stranger. A random guy who had no reason to linger in your life.

You were done with people. Done with getting close.

But you still answered. "I like the pepperoni. Classic." You let out a breath, turning back to the shelves, pretending not to notice the slight flutter in your chest. "Why? You need some tips?"

He chuckled softly, the sound warm and inviting. It seemed so natural—like he had done this thousands of times. Like it wasn’t strange for a guy to stand in the frozen food aisle and ask a stranger for advice on frozen pizzas.

"I could use all the tips I can get." He leaned casually against the freezer, watching you with an unreadable look in his eyes. His posture was loose, easygoing, as if he didn’t have a care in the world.

It was disarming.

And familiar.

You shook your head, trying to push the unsettling thought away.

Before you could say anything else, though, he held out his hand.

"Toji," he said.

It was strange how normal it felt—this sudden introduction, this seemingly innocent exchange of names. You had half a mind to ignore him, to walk away before you did something you might regret.

But before you could stop yourself, your fingers were reaching for his hand, and the moment your palm met his, you felt that wrongness again, but in a different way. It wasn’t like danger—it was like something important.

"Y/n," you said, surprised at how steady your voice sounded despite the odd flutter in your chest.

"Nice to meet you, Y/n." His grip was warm. Strong. He didn’t let go right away, his thumb gently brushing across the back of your hand.

You felt a strange pulse of energy pass through you, like something had shifted between you both. You pulled your hand back, forcing a smile.

"Well, nice to meet you, Toji. But I’ve got stuff to do, so…"

"Sure," he said, nodding, "of course." But his voice held that hint of challenge, like he knew you wouldn’t walk away yet.

And for some reason, you didn’t.

You just stood there, facing him, wondering why your heart was racing, and why—

You were starting to feel like maybe normalcy was overrated.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

A/n: I am making a story about toji...i don't think i've seen anyone else do it...if they have...shout out to them

[cloudyskydreams]

Someone flirting with Darling w/Yandere Axe

As promised here's Axes part of the last request! Which I'll link here!

Alrighty now for the trigger warnings for this one Tw:Somewhat Graphic depictions of death and dying, Choking

Hope you guys enjoy!

This is a really unlikely situation because 1.)Axe doesn't really let you leave the house too much after the initial kidnapping unless you're fully "trained" and 2.) I mean come the fuck on who would see this Goliath by your side holding your hand and willingly approach and start flirting with you.

Well some dumbass actually decided to try their luck today when you and Axe were out grocery shopping for the house.

Axe had left you alone to walk further down the isle and not even a few seconds later this dude comes up and starts flirting with you.

Axe doesn't notice at first until he turns around and notices the dude standing awfully close to you. He narrows his good socket and stalks over picking up on the words the dudes saying only fueling his rage as the person shamelessly flirts with a very clearly uncomfortable you who's telling him you're already "happily"taken (literally). He stays silent as he's stands behind the person and looks over their shoulder at you. You sort of pale and go silent tensing up and the person notices and follows your gaze slowly turning around. Jumps and lets out a holy shit at the sight of the massive skeleton behind them. Axe's grin grows manic wide and his eyelight is the tiniest you ever seen it while vibrating in his socket. He tilts his head and simply watches the person taking in their scent and appearance.

The person is quick to abscond and Axe watches them go noting what direction they flee in. He pulls you closer and lets out a deep rumbling growl as his phalanges sink into your skin harsh enough to hurt.

You calm him down with soft words and reassurances and he huffs before dropping whatever he had to retrieve in the cart and dragging you and the cart to the checkout. He can still smell the dude almost like a trail of his scent which makes it easier on him to do what he needs to.

It was a mistake letting you out you're to perfect for this world of course someone would see that and want to get in on the action.

He growls as he imagines all the lewd things the person might've been thinking about you in the moment.

You guys pay and he sends you on ahead of him on the walk home with the groceries. You hesitate having an idea of what he plans on doing and shoot him a pleading look and all he does is pet your head and gently push you in the direction of home. He's trained you well enough at this point you know he'll just hunt you down again if you try to escape plus Willow is expecting you by this point and will alert Axe of your absence if you're not home in a certain amount of time.

You start walking and Axe heads off on his mission following the disgusting scent he had latched onto earlier.

He follows it to a little shop and hides in an alley next to it waiting. He stalks the person for a good bit and as big as he is he's pretty good at it from all the experience of hunting people underground.

Eventually he follows the person to a bar and he hesitates on going inside not wanting to deal with the crowded small space so he leans against an alley wall with his eyelight trained on the front door waiting for the person to leave.

He stands out there for hours waiting for the person to be finished and it's late in the night when he watches them stumble out of the bar.

They're talking to someone and he waits patiently as they yap and then go their separate ways.

He lets the person stumble away a bit before he leaves the alley and starts walking behind them at a decent pace.

Eventually they make it to a desolate street and Axe strikes rushing forward and grabbing the person before bringing them into an alley way. His grin grows and his eyelight shakes as it contracts.

The person is obviously struggling but isn't doing too hot at it in their intoxicated state as they slur their words and shout at Axe to let them go.

He does and they fall to the ground with a groan as Axe stands over them menacingly only gazing at them with his shrunken eyelight. His hands clenches and unclenches by his side and the thought filters through his mind that he wishes he had his axe.

How dare this person threaten the peace of his family, to come along and try and steal away the piece that makes him whole. They have no right and Axe will make sure they never get another chance.

He growls lowly not even knowing he's doing it as he steps forward and the person shouts for help.

He quickly grabs them again this time by the neck and squeezes as he lifts them off the ground.

The person's shouts turn into wheezing and then silence as their throat is constricted by Axes grip.

He smiles manically as his grip continues to tighten and the person flails their legs trying to kick him and beats on his ulna and radius bones.

Over time their movement starts to become sluggish and their attempts at fighting back against the monster choking them out more and more pathetic as Axe just watches them lose consciousness.

He doesn't let go even as they go limp continuing to squeeze until the body soils itself by emptying it's bladder and bowels letting him know they're dead.

He drops the body and watches it fall to the floor limp and sprawled out in an awkward angle. He doesn't bother cleaning up and instead simply stares at the body for awhile as he pulls on his dead socket.

He tells himself he had to and that the person was a threat to his family and continues to repeatedly tell himself that as he walks home. Once home he checks on his brother and you immediately, the two of you both working on dinner.

He walks over and nuzzles his skull into the top of your head taking in your scent which calms him. He stays behind you arms wrapped around your waist as you cook with his brother content to simply bask in the presence of his loved ones.

[sylusonychinus]

Episode 6: A Bitter Taste of Reality

Series Masterlist

The day started as any other for Reader—early mornings, endless tasks, and her uniform already wrinkled from bending and scrubbing her way through the hotel floors. She wasn’t a stranger to hard work, especially not in Onychinus Hotel, where nothing less than perfection was expected. Working in one of Sylus Qin’s five-star establishments meant high standards and even higher stakes.

She was in the middle of cleaning one of the upper rooms on the non-VIP floors when the pager at her side buzzed. Her heart sank immediately; it was a direct summon from the penthouse. The familiar number flashed on the small screen—a message from Sylus.

“Looks like your boss wants you,” Chris, her cleaning partner, teased, leaning against the cart of supplies. He’d been working at the hotel longer than Reader, and while he was generally easygoing, he loved poking fun at the fact that Reader was now assigned to work under the infamous Sylus Qin. “Better not keep him waiting. You know how he gets.”

Reader groaned as she shoved her cleaning cloth into the cart. “I was finally making progress with this room.”

Chris waved her off. “I’ve got this. Go deal with your fiancé—sorry, boss.” His grin was playful, but his tone carried an edge of curiosity that Reader didn’t dare address.

“Thanks, Chris,” she muttered before grabbing her pager and making a hasty exit. She knew better than to make Sylus wait. If there was one thing she’d learned about the man in the short time she’d been working directly under him, it was that he had no patience for delays.

By the time she reached the penthouse, she was slightly out of breath. Sylus was lounging in the living room, a picture of ease and elegance in his tailored shirt with the top buttons undone, revealing just enough of his collarbone to make her flustered. He barely acknowledged her arrival, instead swirling a glass of amber liquid in his hand.

“Took you long enough,” he said without looking up.

Reader resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “What do you need, Mr. Qin?”

Finally, his crimson gaze met hers, and that familiar smirk curled on his lips. “You’re going to accompany me to the casino bar.”

Reader blinked, confused. “The bar?”

Sylus stood and placed his glass down on the table with a deliberate motion. “The in-house bar just launched a new line of drinks. I need someone to taste-test them and give me feedback.”

She gawked at him. “You want me to be your taste-tester? I’m just a maid.”

“And my fiancée,” he added with a smirk, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Your opinion matters, darling.”

Reader sighed, knowing better than to argue. “Fine. Let me grab my things.”

“Good girl,” Sylus said, the teasing lilt in his voice making her cheeks burn. He strode past her toward the elevator, expecting her to follow.

The casino bar was one of the hotel’s crown jewels, a glittering space filled with ambient lighting, sleek furniture, and an air of exclusivity that screamed wealth. As they entered, Reader couldn’t help but feel out of place. This wasn’t a world she belonged to. Yet here she was, walking beside Sylus like she belonged.

The bartender, clearly used to Sylus’s presence, greeted him warmly and began preparing the first drink. Reader took the offered glass and sipped cautiously. It was sweeter than she expected, with a hint of citrus that lingered on her tongue.

“It’s good,” she said, glancing at Sylus. He was watching her closely, his gaze unreadable. “A little strong, but I like it.”

Sylus chuckled, leaning back against the bar. “Strong suits you.”

Reader set the glass down, hesitating before speaking. “Can I ask you something?”

Sylus raised an eyebrow but nodded, intrigued.

She took a breath. “Why did you open Onychinus? You’re already rich, right? You could’ve just relaxed and lived off your fortune, but instead, you run this empire like you have something to prove.”

For the first time, Sylus looked… thoughtful. His usual teasing smirk faded slightly, replaced by something more contemplative. He swirled the drink in his hand, watching the liquid move.

“I grew up with nothing,” Sylus began, his voice quieter than usual, like he was peeling back a layer of himself he rarely let anyone see. “I was an orphan. Left in front of a church when I was barely a few days old. No name, no family—just me and the world.”

Reader blinked, stunned. It was impossible to imagine the polished, sharp, and powerful Sylus Qin as a helpless, abandoned child.

“I spent my childhood bouncing from one place to another,” he continued, his tone calm but distant, like he was recounting someone else’s story. “Orphanages, foster homes, streets. You learn quickly that people only care about what you can do for them. Love? Family? They’re just words. What matters is survival.”

Her heart clenched as she watched him speak, his red eyes reflecting something raw, something painful.

“Then one day, I got lucky—or so I thought.” He chuckled darkly, a sound devoid of humor. “I was adopted by a wealthy man, a so-called philanthropist who paraded me around like a trophy. To the world, he was a savior, giving an orphan a chance at a better life. Behind closed doors, he was ruthless. He taught me that everything—people, loyalty, even kindness—had a price. He built me into a businessman, a strategist. And when he passed, he left me everything—his fortune, his empire, his rules.”

Reader couldn’t look away, her chest tightening with every word. “Sylus, I—”

He cut her off with a wave of his hand, his lips curving into a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Don’t pity me. I’m not telling you this for sympathy. I just want you to understand.”

“Understand what?” she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

He leaned back in his seat, his gaze fixed on her. “The casino, the hotel, the underground business—they’re not just about money or power. They’re about control. Connections. If I own the game, I never have to play by someone else’s rules.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and unshakable. Reader’s mind swirled, trying to process everything he’d revealed. For a brief moment, she saw the cracks in his armor, the vulnerability he hid beneath his mischievous smirks and calculated demeanor.

But before she could respond, the door to the bar swung open, and Maria’s overly sweet voice pierced the air. “Sylus! There you are!”

Reader instinctively took a step back, the moment between them shattered. Sylus’s expression shifted instantly, his walls snapping back into place as he turned to face Maria with an almost tired smile.

“Maria,” he greeted smoothly, though Reader caught the faintest flicker of annoyance in his eyes.

“Don’t let me interrupt,” Maria said, though her presence did exactly that. She slid into the seat beside Sylus, her gaze flickering toward Reader with poorly masked disdain.

Sylus glanced at Reader, his eyes lingering just long enough to make her stomach twist. “Reader, you can go now. I’ll handle things here.”

Her chest tightened as disappointment bubbled to the surface. She nodded stiffly, forcing a polite smile. “Of course. Enjoy your evening.”

As she turned to leave, she couldn’t help but glance back once, catching Sylus’s expression—calm and unreadable. For reasons she couldn’t fully understand, the sight left her with a hollow ache in her chest.

The heart-to-heart they’d shared only moments ago felt like a fragile dream, already slipping away.

Taglist: @nezuswritingdesk @beaconsxd @seris-the-amious @paninisstuff @mysticcollectionvoid @animegamerfox @mcdepressed290 @fries11 @placeholdddddd @madam8 @demon-master-zero @the-reaper472

[amoristt]

-- Colossus content???? *Rubs my hands together* Id like to request something slow-burney! maybe hes trying to gain readers trust after she's rescued and brought to the x-mansion?

HEEHEE part 1 to the idea i have for this >:) i hope u enjoy i really i really love a good hurt/comfort and colossus is just so *chef kiss* abt it hehehehe

ty for any reblogs and comments! they make my day <3

4 or 5 moments. 

4 or 5 moments to be a hero. 

4 or 5 moments to make the difference- to teach a broken soul that there was always light at the end of that dark, dark tunnel. 

Colossus was determined to be the hand that guided for each one.

The first moment was quiet. 

Lingering outside one of the many bedrooms of the X-Mansion, a plate of food in one hand a prayer (a glass of water) in the other, Colossus stands. The faint echoes of voices and steps blend into the soft buzzing ambiance wisping through the halls. All the sounds melt into one, a background track looping on repeat day in and day out. It was a good soundtrack. Safe. It always brought him joy to hear such… Casualty. Veins of life snaking through the kitchen, the foyer, the living areas. 

Everywhere, except for your room. No, that space remained just as dead as the day he’d brought you in. You were almost nothing in his arms- a shattered, catatonic little thing with more bruises than not. You didn’t fight. Barely even breathed, let alone moved, as he settled you so gently into your very own bed in your very own room, where he promptly left you to decompress in your very own silence. 

And silent was how it stayed. 

Of course Colossus knew that this would take time. All rehabilitations did. Though he had to admit, the situation he’d found you in was certainly one of the worst. The state he found you in was barely even human- more like a frightened animal who’d been stuck inside a cage. All across the world, small underground facilities were beginning to pop like roaches. In these facilities, poor humans would be bamboozled and subjected to unimaginable torture until they would forcibly mutate. It was a problem the X-Men were growing unfortunately familiar with. 

But this, the horrible place he’d found you in, was the next step on that awful ladder. 

Mutating was rare in general. And sometimes, those with exceptional powers would be carted off to even more secretive places where the days would be spent being a live guinea-pig. The first idea (that Colossus was aware of) was to seemingly extract the mutated genes from the newly-formed mutant to create more. When that didn’t work, they would begin to target the actual DNA itself, see what they could tamper with and what they couldn’t. Broad studies to see what the mutant body could survive were a given. 

There was never, ever a survivor of this. Colossus himself had seen it almost a dozen times now. Bodies strapped to tables, chained to walls, discarded and dismembered. It always made him sick to his stomach, but he choked down the hopelessness of it all. He would be present at every single one, taking down anyone responsible. Searching tirelessly for even the chance of there being a survivor. Even when he knew deep down in his metal heart that he would only be met with more carnage. 

Every room only confirmed that. 

Until he found you. 

You, in what looked like a cubicle of bars, tucked all the way into the corner, unphased by the chaos of the X-Men seizing the facility. When he’d pried his way inside, he expected you to look up at him, beam when you’d learned that you were being saved. That you would be getting out of this place alive unlike the countless before you. The countless that would inevitably be after you. 

But, you didn’t. You didn’t even look at him. There was nothing behind your sullen, empty eyes. If not for the rise and fall of your chest, he would have thought you were dead. When he picked you up into his large arms, you remained still as a statue. No fight, no sounds. He felt pity in his chest- whatever they had done to you, it certainly broke you. You had truly given up.

But this is what the X-Men were for. Saving people. Helping.

And he knew that you, a mutant who’d been through hell and back, could be helped. It was as true as time- Colossus knew it. 

So, he brought you to the X-Mansion. And, after you were medically cleared and cleaned, he knew now would begin the process of bringing you back to life. To plant seeds and nurture them until you bloomed into something beautiful. But, god, seeing you after you’d been so carefully treated, you were still so empty. Free of all the dirt and grime that stuck to your skin, your bruises and cuts only seemed to get worse. No amount of rinsing would restore the color to your eyes. 

No matter. This was the start of your journey, your new life. 

He was careful to give you your space, as much as you needed. Though he had nothing but questions, and nothing but time between missions, he never tried to force you to talk to him. Hell, for now, you didn’t even have to listen to him. Just exist and breathe and feel the soft bed underneath you, the warm blanket on top of you. The warm plates of food he’d bring every morning that you had yet to touch. 

He knew there were only two reactions to the sight of food in the early days of rehabilitation- either instinctual hunger or disinterest. The former was always the best- food, Colossus had found, was always a gateway into conversation. It was a motivator, a doorway. But of course your case had to be the ladder. It had to be hard. Had to be countless breakfasts, lunches, and dinners tossed into the trash with a sigh. He never pushed. Never urged you to eat- just set the plate and a glass of water on the nightstand beside your bed and hoped. 

At the five day mark, he began to feel the seeds of anxiety sprout in his heart. Uncertainty, stress. You had only, so far, drank a few glasses of water, which taught him you were at least acknowledging the meal before you. You were just actively choosing to ignore it. But, regardless, there was some form of survival instinct at play. Dehydration was a killer. And Colossus knew this was a tricky, lengthy process. Enduring who-knows-what levels of torture didn’t seem likely to stir up an appetite, after all. You just needed time.

But then a whole week came and went. 

Seven days with no food in your belly, plus however long it had been since those bastards fed you before he found you. The sprouts of anxiety had turned into creeping vines that squeezed tighter with every failed attempt to get you to eat something. At this rate, he feared you would die of malnutrition before you even got the chance to heal. Time was the answer- he knew that, it had to be. It always was- but how long could you go?

Colossus stared at the door in front of him, oddly finding himself working up the courage. Was his presence frightening you? Was his size intimidating? Should he send NTW in instead? Doubting himself was a foreign concept but this was something more sensitive than he’d anticipated. 

When he finally reaches for the knob and turns it, he cracks the door open and pauses. Just long enough to show you that you have the option to stop him. You never do. Never even acknowledge his presence at all. Always tucked on your side curled into a fetal position with the blanket up to your ears, unmoving, unblinking. Like a corpse. More than a few times you’d frightened him until he learned that you weren’t dead, just simply… Not all there. Alive, breathing, but not there. 

The first sign that there was brain activity at all was when the shaking began. After a few days, when he’d bring you breakfast, you’d start to shake like a leaf as he stood over you. Scared, you would curl into yourself just a little tighter. It broke his heart, but it also told him something. 

It told him you were starting to take in your environment. And that reminded him that under all that trauma-induced catatonia, there was life.

Colossus was determined to bring that life back into you. Something drew him to it, no matter how frustrated he felt at every hurdle. He was nothing if not patient. 

It’s the second time he’s visited you so far today. The first, like always, was when the sun had just breached over the horizon. He would poke his head through the door as quietly as a giant metal man could be and make sure you were still alive. So far, he was met with that rise and fall of your chest, and he was satisfied. 

Now he brings breakfast, the first meal of the day and in his opinion, the most important. Two pieces of bacon, an egg, a slice of toast, and of course a tall glass of water. Simple, easy to digest and balanced. Just the way it should be. With the daily hope of today being the day, he walks inside and say’s a soft goodmorning. You, of course, remain quiet. 

But, to his shock, progress had been made yet again. 

You aren’t laying on your side curled pathetically into yourself. Your back is to the headboard, knees brought up to your chest, head ducked into them. The blanket pools around your waist. Your arms wrap around yourself like a barrier from the outside world, protecting you from everything. Even him. 

“I’ve brought you breakfast,” He starts for the eighth day in a row, setting the plate and water on the nightstand. “You should eat something today.”

Every morning Colossus drew just a little bit closer to you when he’d speak to you. Now, eight days later, he stands a mere few feet from you. You didn’t acknowledge him, but that was okay. Today was already starting off miles better than any other had thus far.  Much like the other rehabilitation cases he’d taken on, he wished he could read your mind. Wished he could peek into the twists and turns of your psyche, the quiet horrors that buried you alive. He was determined to see you breach the surface, see the color light back into your eyes. 

In the meantime, he knew these first baby steps were pivotal, and as much as he despised pushing you… An entire week at the very least with an empty stomach was nothing to mess with. He didn’t have much of a choice. .

“It has been days. You must eat something.”

He sighs deep in his metal chest, looks over at you and makes a mental note that the bruises on your elbows and wrists have begun to fade. That, and another even more subtle splash of progress: you weren’t shaking. Not yet, anyways. It’s a small victory he takes in stride, another successful baby step. 

The expected silence is heavy. Of course he’s the one to break it, sucking in a short breath before he hesitantly sits down at the edge of the bed. He tries to settle as quietly as possible given how… Intimidating his size can be, but he can’t stop the way the bed dips underneath him. He rests his hands in his lap and stares down at the floor. 

“I know you are frightened,” He starts softly, cringing when he shifts his weight and the bed groans under his weight. You’ve still yet to start trembling thankfully- it grants him a glimmer of hope. He eyes the plate. “This is much to take in. But, you are safe here. You can take as much time as needed. But until then, you must eat.”

No response. Just sullen, quiet fear. He doesn’t push any harder than that- leaves you to settle once more and shuts the door behind him as gently as he could manage. 

In stark contrast, the rest of the mansion is buzzing with life, as always. After his visit with you, Colossus returns to his daily schedule, a modest routine that has him bounding for the wide, open yards to get his daily workout in. The radio chirps at him, the sun is bright, the grass is soft. Afterwards, he makes himself lunch, reads a few chapters of his book. A quiet, mundane albeit lovely day thus far.  

Through it all, he tries to fight off a nagging anxiety that’s been building in his chest. He wasn’t a man of doubts, but a part of him wasn’t so sure anymore. He wasn’t sure what the next step would entail if the food remained untouched. He wouldn’t force feed you. God, no. It would decimate any and all hopes for you to trust him. He’d likely have to transfer you to some specialized hospital, somewhere you could be monitored. But even that was so… cold, so sterile. You needed warmth, peace. You needed to see life would continue on. Not a hospital room and a dozen white coated strangers poking at you in all directions. 

He steps down the hall, his normally confident gait staggering just a little. Just enough. For all he knew maybe you had some sort of healing factor- but even so, would it be able to save you from malnutrition? Hunger was also certainly a killer. Worries gnaw at him- what if your body gave way before you could even get the chance to come around? There was so little of you already.

When he reaches your door, he can’t help but pause, staring at the wooden entry before him. Carefully, he turns the knob, and like always, waits for the chance you may stop him. You don’t- he steps inside. 

You’re laying on your side, back facing him, a position he’s grown used to seeing. Naturally, on instinct by now, he scans for the rise and fall of your chest. The evidence of life. His breath leaves him in relief when he finds it. The curtains blow gently in the breeze. The sun, high overhead in the blue sky, haloes you. He approaches as quietly as a metal man can. When he’s close enough to take in your expression, he can’t help but appreciate your features. You’re sleeping, eyelashes heavy on your cheekbones and your body void of all its tensions. Peaceful, unaware. He wished to see more of it. 

But, he backs away, and glances at the plate. 

He sucks in a sharp breath of pure, genuine joy when it sits empty. His heart rate picks up in seconds flat, a grin spreading over his face before he even realized it. All those anxieties that had been creeping through his chest like slithering veins evaporate, replaced by a sense of relief he doesn't feel himself experiencing too often. It catches him off guard, has to breathe to settle back down. 

He knew it. He knew it, he knew it, he knew it. Why had he been so worried? Why had he been so doubtful of his efforts, of yours? All you needed was time. And now that you’d taken this shaky step, you had accepted the chance to heal. Even the glass of water was empty. You wanted to live, horrified and uncertain or not. While he takes in the incredible sight before him, you sigh in your restful slumber and nestle even more into the bed. 

Colossus plucks the plate from the nightstand and mentally rejoices. It’s a little victory- one of the most simple, but it speaks volumes over all else. He stacks the cup onto the plate and balances it in one hand, the other hesitantly reaching out for your sleeping form. Gently, carefully, he catches the fabric of your blanket between his fingers and drags it up to your chin, tucks you in just a little more. 

Oh, how he smiles when you nestle into it. You nuzzle the blanket and hum- a tune that reaches him like a beautiful song. It’s the first noise you’ve made since you’d arrived- and it was so lovely. He can audibly hear you relax, accepting. 

The walk back to the door is one of victory. The door is shut behind him just as quietly as before. The road ahead was long and winding, he was sure, but there would be an end. You would get better. He just knew it. 

He carries that plate into the kitchen like it’s an award.

[strayheartless]

A headcanon I have about Sephiroth is that he’s pretty agoraphobic outside of going to work on missions. He doesn’t really like being outside if he’s not contracted to be there because people perceive him. Even if he manages, by the grace of the gods, to go under the radar, he is still activly hating every second of being outside.

If Genesis or Angeal are with him he’s a bit better. He trusts that they will take care of him and not let anyone come up to him or crowd him. But the minute he has to go on his own? Absolutely not.

He needs food for the week? It’s fine he’ll just starve.

He has run out of Conditioner? He’ll steal Gens.

There’s a really cool thing going on across town that only he is interested in? Crippling disappointment but you still could not fork lift him out of the building.

It’s Bad. With a capital B.

Even when he’s out with his friends he holds Genesis’ sleeve in crowds and keeps close to Angeal’s back. Both of them have little tug marks on all of their civilian clothing that is affectionately-yet also concernedly- referred to as Sephi-tug’s. He needs to be able to reach his hand out to them otherwise they are too far away.

He doesn’t do Bars; he just about manages Theatres because Genesis always pays for box seats; he accepts grocery stores as long as Angeal is with him and he is in charge of the cart. And it’s something that brings him no small amount of shame.

I have this headcanon not because I read Seph as autistic (although I do like that reading.). No, I have this headcanon because Sephiroth grew up in a lab, and I don’t think proper socialising was ever on Hojo’s list of priorities.

We see a little bit of his engagement with the outside world in Ever Crisis and it’s kind of a similar vibe. However as someone who struggles to leave the house independently themselves, Sephiroth gives off the same vibe that I feel when trying to convince myself to walk to the supermarket.

He needs a plan off attack and a buddy. If a task needs done but requires him to go out and buy the stuff to get it done, without a companion? It’s not getting done. End of story. This has knock on effects for him such as, not being able to clean effectively, or shower effectively or handle social interaction outside of his chosen people.

He never had to go outside for anything mundane as a child, so he has no idea how to even breath in the space. It’s scary and apart from being abandoned or never finding his mother, it is one of Sephiroth’s greatest fears.

After Genesis and Angeal leave he doesn’t go out, period. Lazard starts having things delivered to him and once Zack realises how bad it gets, he starts picking up stuff when he goes out with Cloud or Kunsel or to see Aerith. There has been many times he has paused their date so that he can Ring Sephiroth and find out if he has food in or what brand of Shampoo he wants. Aerith thinks it’s sweet. Zack doesn’t want to explain that it’s not just cause he knows he needs it, it’s because if he doesn’t buy it Sephiroth will literally starve himself.