#Wooden pet Diner

[primechoicereviews]

Iconic Pet Sassy Paws Double Diner: The Perfect Feeding Station for Your...

[charleslee-valentine]

I’ve spent a long time now sorting through screenshots, behind the scenes footage, designers portfolios, and I think I’ve deciphered the map of Ambrose.

Starting on the left side of the street, there’s a hardware/outdoor store, noted by the wheelbarrow outside and assorted parts on the shelves.

Connected to that is a small plaza with a Dentist’s office (the window stickers mention denture prices), a diner with outside seating, and what appears to be a bar judging from the bar stools in the window. It may be connected to the diner.

Finally for the end section of the strip, this shop is less clear, but based on the sign that ends in “-ium” and the button tufted display, I’m guessing this is a premium/high end store or some kind of emporium.

Directly across the street from that is a club. The window faces the street, and around back is the entrance. Also in this plaza is the pet store Carly walks to, a drug store, the grocery store (Flannery’s) that Nick goes to, and a barber shop.

Crossing the street again, there’s a large bowling alley.

Surrounding the bowling alley are residential homes as it transitions into neighborhood territory. You can tell from the fences around these homes that they aren’t public property. The one directly next to bowling lanes is the green house that the wax woman looks through the window of.

Crossing the street again, this part was already labeled by the lighting plot, but that’s the garden (really just some dead shrubs and a gazebo,) the cemetery, and the church. There’s also a second building on the church property that shares the same sidewalk. Although it looks completely nondescript, buildings like this connected to church property would usually be used for non-worship activities like Sunday school, community events like meetings, or funeral services (though Trudy’s viewing is right in the main church, so that’s less likely.)

With the church as a reference point, going back down the opposite side of the street, there’s what looks to be some kind of fashion or accessories store. In the window, I see wig heads wearing hats, and maybe some shoes. I found a sketch of a storefront that also reminds me of perfume bottles and shoes, so the idea was at least considered.

Obviously as the two buildings have back to back doors, next to this is the Guns & Ammo store that Nick and Carly break into. This also connects directly to the movie theater.

The theater is also connected to a small electronics store on the other side.

Directly across from that would be Bo’s gas station. There’s a huge advertisement right next to the station for financing loans, but the front of the building it’s painted on shows its a media video/music store. (ps the yellow truck Vincent drives is the “company” tow truck for the station.)

Connected in a plaza with the video store is a dry cleaner and, based on context clues, a furniture store. In the possibly furniture store window, there appears to be rolled up rugs or carpets, and a large wooden shelf. The strange point of view of the shot where these shops are visible seems to imply that the businesses once had apartments over top, or at least that things are being hoarded in the upper floors.

Across the alley street from that is a fire station, connected with city hall. This is where the Miss Ambrose posters were displayed. On each side, there are blue garage doors, possibly with more emergency vehicles for the town.

The House of Wax and the Sinclair house are placed at higher reliefs than the other businesses and homes, symbolizing their importance and once, their wealth and celebrity status.

[saulocept]

bloodstream

pairing: blade/f! reader

rating: m

summary: He'd do anything to get you back. Anything at all.

notes: sort of still getting back to writing, so forgive the mess, inconsistencies, what have you. reposted from my ao3 account so if u see this in there, hi!

tags: finger sucking, excessive use of pet names. sort of implied stalking.

When you step inside your apartment, you know all too quickly that something’s wrong. It’s an instinct, a gut feeling – something you’ve honed over the years to keep yourself safe, keep a certain predator off your tail. You straighten your shoulders, narrowing your eyes as you observe your surroundings. It’s a little dark, but you can’t spot anything out of the ordinary; either your senses have grown dull in all the years you’ve spent away from him or you’re just being paranoid again, terrified he’d found you. You aren’t sure which is which, but all you know is that you shouldn’t be rash, do something impulsive.

Hasn’t it been years since then? You haven’t heard anything about them after you escaped, and surely, that must mean they’re caught. Spending the rest of their lives in prison, where they could never do anything wrong again. Or maybe you’ve been just too complacent, believing in the lies you’ve made for yourself, trying to make excuses for the fact that you’ve grown to love this city too much to leave it all behind as quickly as you left the other ones.

But you’ve been careful to lie low, haven’t you? Hiding your identity as best as you can, using different names for different people, switching personalities as quickly as a snake sheds its skin. No one knows the real you now, and at this point, you’ve pretty much forgot. If there’s even a memory of the old you behind, he’s the only one who has it, but even then he’s not around anymore to remember, is he?

You exhale a sigh, shaking your head. You remain where you are, standing very still, keeping watch around you, trying to check for the slightest shift in your surroundings. But you still can’t spot anything out of place; everything’s where you’ve left it this morning: the papers on the couch, the books on the floor. Coffee cups littered around the table, some of them still halfway full, cold and abandoned – a mess you still haven’t had time to clean up ever since you’d started working as a waitress down the diner you frequent in.

Work. The word feels normal, ordinary. There’s a sense of belongingness in it that you haven’t quite felt before. Like you’re settling in, trying to make a home for yourself instead of fleeing, making an escape plan in case things don’t go your way.

But enough of that. You take another look at your surroundings, observing them a little longer, your eyes narrowed in suspicion, waiting for danger to come. But nothing does.

You exhale another sigh, shaking your head, tearing your eyes away. You’re probably overthinking things, being paranoid. It’s been a while since you’ve last got a proper sleep, after all, especially with your fluctuating shifts down the diner, and maybe that’s why. Maybe all you need to do is get a good sleep.

But even as you try to make sense of things, nothing seems to reassure you. There’s a dread coiling in the pit of your stomach, growing only by the second. Even your heart skips just a little, and you feel it pounding against your ribcage, loud enough to drown out every sound.

Nothing’s wrong, and yet something isn’t quite right either. You bite your lip, trying not to falter under the weight of your growing dread, and bravely press on, slowly making your way toward your bedroom. You suck in a breath, trying your best to stay quiet, daring not to make too much noise.

You stop in front of the wooden door, taking a moment to steady your nerves. You square your shoulders, take a deep breath, then slowly open the door, stepping inside the room, not quite sure what to expect.

Darkness. Everywhere you look, you can’t see anything but the dark, inky blackness spreading all throughout the room that makes it a little difficult for you to navigate. Even now, silence still follows you like a long-lost friend not quite different from the one you’d felt before, but still a little strange, eerie.

You blink a few times, trying to let your eyes adjust to the darkness as you fumble with the light switch on the wall, turning it on. Nothing happens. You raise an eyebrow, curious, then try it again, though the result is still the same.

You frown. You do it again another time, this one with more force behind it, wondering absently, if perhaps, you’ve forgot to pay the bills on time. Still, the same darkness greets you, shrouds you, cages you in.

Dread turns into fear, coils around your neck like a noose, tight and suffocating. There’s a tightness in your chest, a sudden awareness that you can’t seem to breathe. Cold wind blows at your skin, and you feel a shudder run through you, not quite knowing why.

You swallow the lump in your throat, willing yourself to turn back, leave this room once and for all, call someone, get some help. But your feet remain rooted to the ground, frozen, paralyzed to the point of immobility.

Your breath catches in your throat. You feel your heart thrumming against your chest, loud and wild against your ears, and still, you can’t move, can’t do anything even as the sound of footsteps pierces through the silence, slow and steady, certain. Growing closer and closer.

You shut your eyes, not daring to turn around, willing it away the way you would a bad dream. You’re not entirely sure what you’ll find behind you, and you’re not nearly strong enough to find out. You keep your eyes shut, counting down the seconds in your head, hoping that the footsteps aren’t real. You’d rather be mad, you think, plagued with hallucinations of your own making, than be right.

The footsteps stop. Everything grows quiet, eerily so. A second passes, and then another. A feeling nags at you, though you’re not quite sure what it is. Slowly, you open your eyes, turn your head around. What greets you is a familiar sight – a face you’ve seen countless times in your dreams. Those bright eyes, that eerie smile. That predatory look that haunts you even in your waking moments, reminds you of the truth you’ve been trying so hard to forget.

His name comes to you in a second, familiar, unforgettable. Still, you can’t bring yourself to say it, as if doing so would make everything any realer than it is. You remain quiet, lips slightly parted open in surprise, unable to look away from him.

“What’s wrong, little mouse?” he asks, tilting his head to the side, studying you closely. There’s a small smile playing on the corners of his lips, almost mocking. “You look surprised to see me.”

“Blade,” you breathe, voice soft, a little raspy. You could barely hear yourself to speak; everything feels like it’s done by someone else – someone who isn’t you. “Why are you here?”

He doesn’t say anything for a while, just runs his gaze up and down your body, his gaze intense, almost hungry. The weight of his eyes on you is a little too much to bear, and all of a sudden, you feel the need to hide, curl in on yourself. Instinctively, you take a step back, trying to maintain some distance between you, but even this is not enough, will never be enough. You know this, of course, by experience; how many times have you tried to get away from him, only for him to render all those attempts futile, fruitless?

Even now, it’s no different. His pursuit of you is relentless, dogged. He takes a step forward, follows you when you take another step back, laughing as he keeps up this game of cat and mouse, amused by your defiance.

But there’s only so much space you can move in, and all too soon, you feel your back hitting the wall, signifying the end of this little dance. Blade moves toward you with surprising quickness, pressing closer against you, caging you with his arms, cutting off any and all escape routes.

 He leans down, moves his face closer to yours, his breath hot against your cheek. He laughs, deep and raspy, and you hate how the sound of it makes you feel hot all over, yearning for something bad, something you know you shouldn’t want. He reaches out, places a cold hand against your cheek, his touch uncharacteristically tender, a delicious contrast that makes your stomach coil in wanting. “You didn’t think I’d find you, did you, little lamb?”

There it is again, that pet name – the one you hate and love with the entirety of your being. Little mouse. Little lamb. Little prey. An identity he’s created for you all those decades ago, and an identity you’ve spent years trying to outgrow, leave behind. And now it’s come back to slap you once more in the face, along with the man you’ve promised yourself you’re going to forget.

“Blade,” you say, looking up at him, shaking your head. Even now, with his body pressed against yours, it still hasn’t quite sunk in to you that he’s real, that all of this is happening. “How are you even here? Aren’t you supposed to be—?”

He presses a gloved fingers against your lips, shutting you up. Meekly, you nod your head and obey, pressing your lips shut, hating how quickly he’s reduced you into a prey.

“Surely, you didn’t think you could just get rid of me that easily,” he says, staring down at you, playing with the loose lock of your hair, twirling it around his finger.

You swallow the lump that forms in your throat, lowering your gaze, not quite meeting his eyes. You keep your lips pursed, your mouth shut. Truth be told, you’ve been complacent, blissfully ignorant. He’s a wanted criminal, isn’t he? And it’s been years since you’d last seen each other; naturally, you’d assumed that he’d been caught, locked away in prison, unable to disturb the peace you’ve made for yourself ever again.

You should’ve known that wouldn’t happen. You should’ve known the peace in your life wouldn’t last for long. When you don’t reply, he tugs at the lock of your hair, firm enough to startle, but not enough to hurt.

“Little lamb,” he says; impatience bleeds into his voice, and he tugs at your hair once more, demands for your attention. “Answer me.”

You bite your lip, remaining quiet, defiant. You keep your gaze, not looking at him still, though you could feel his eyes boring a hole into your head, watching you with an intensity that makes you want to disappear.

“Did you not hear what I said?” he asks, his words carrying a hint of annoyance. He reaches out, places a finger under your jaw, lifts your chin up so you’re looking at him. He keeps his grip firm on your jaw, not letting you look away. “Or are you being a brat again?”

You don’t respond, glaring at him instead, defiant even to the very end. He smiles, makes a sound of amusement in his throat – almost like a laugh, though not quite. “You know what happens to brats like you, don’t you?”

You remain where you are, glaring at him still, refusing to give him any sort of response. His smile widens, turns wolfish. But his eyes remain sharp, his gaze intense, cuts through you like a knife.

He traces the outline of your jaw with the tip of his finger, his touch gentle, almost feather-light, leaning closer, whispering in your ear. “Or maybe that’s what you want, hm, little lamb?”

“Maybe you want to be punished,” he continues, his lips so close to your ear. You can’t stop the shiver that runs down your spine, can’t stop the familiar heat that coils deep in your belly, spreading all throughout your body. You shut your eyes tight, exhaling a shaky breath. Your reaction doesn’t go unnoticed; you hear the sound of his laughter against your ear, soft, breathy, and you bite you lip again, trying not to shiver again.

He runs the tip of his finger down your jaw to the hollow of your throat, lets it ghost along your collarbone, the valley of your breasts, and you could barely suppress the tiny whimper that escapes your lips, weak, a little helpless. “Maybe you need me to remind you of our years together. Is that what you want, little lamb?”

You shake your head, quick to deny his claims. You’re not even sure who you’re trying to convince at this point: yourself or him, but it doesn’t matter. He laughs again, deep and loud, almost bellowing.

“No?” he echoes, sounding slightly amused. “Tell me, then, little lamb,” here, he pauses, his grip on your jaw tightening just a little, forcing you to meet his eyes once more. “What is it that you want?”

You shake your head, promptly ignoring his question, trying to keep your gaze locked on his. “But I thought you’re—”

“In prison?” he finishes, his smile wide and wolfish. You nod dumbly, not quite sure what to say. He laughs again, shakes his head, patting your cheek gently with a gloved hand. “Little lamb,” he says, shaking his head, and there’s a sweetness to his voice that seems almost mocking.

You close your eyes, breathe out a sigh, instinctively leaning into his touch before you could even stop yourself. You hate it, hate this­ – hate yourself even more for the way your skin aches for his touch, the way your body yearns to have him close.

“You really are stupid, aren’t you?” He traces gentle circles along your skin with his fingertips, and you exhale another sigh, ­unable to focus on anything but the warmth of his touch, the feel of his hands against your skin.

“You really think I’d let anyone catch me before I could take you back?” he continues, humming under his breath, watching you slowly fall apart beneath his touch. “Think again, little lamb.”

You open your eyes, shaking your head, staring at him with wide eyes. “Why did you come looking for me?” you ask, your voice cracking just a little, unsure if you want to pull him closer or push him away. “You must know that I don’t want to be found.” 

“Of course I know.” He leans closer, brushing his lips against your ear, taking your earlobe between his teeth and gently nibbling. You gasp, startled, and he laughs, pleased by your reaction, biting a little harder at your earlobe just to see you squirm. “But did you really think I’d let you leave just like that? Didn’t I tell you before already? You’re mine, little lamb. Always.”

Your lip trembles. Tears form in the corners of your eyes, spilling down your cheeks before you have any chance to stop them. Weakly, you push him away, placing your palms flat against his chest, trying to get him to back off. He doesn’t let you. He presses closer against you, pushes you back against the wall, obliterating the distance between you, no matter how little.

“You shouldn’t even be here,” you say, shaking your head, your voice growing higher in pitch, more desperate. “You shouldn’t—”

Your voice breaks, the words disappearing into the silence, unfinished. Blade doesn’t say anything. He stares at you, takes in your reaction, the expression on your face. Gently, he brushes away your tears, almost soothingly, hushes you in the only way he knows how.

He runs his thumb along your lower lip, and it’s instinctive, how your lips part open just for him. Welcoming the familiar intrusion, as if your body remembers.

He laughs, breathless and a little startled, staring at you with a growing hunger in his eyes. He smiles a little, then pushes his thumb in your mouth just a little more, pressing it flat against your tongue. Every movement of yours is automatic, powered by muscle memory. You take him in, wrapping your lips around his thumb and gently sucking.

Blade watches you intensely, his breath catching in his throat. He seems pleasantly surprised by your obedience, and it only urges you on, makes you bolder in your movements.

“You may have changed your name a hundred times over,” he remarks, laughing in amusement. He keeps his eyes locked on you, watching you hungrily. “But you’re still the same obedient slut as before, aren’t you, little lamb?”

He shoves his thumb further in without warning, and it startles you enough to nearly gag you. A choked-out moan suddenly escapes, and you feel tears forming in the corners of your eyes, blurring your vision, but he only laughs even more, looking pleased by your reaction. With his free hand, he reaches out, gently pats your cheek. “There, there. What a good little lamb you are.”

Drool spills down the corners of your mouth, trickles down your chin, stains his gloves in a sticky mess. It’s a little filthy; you pause, grimacing at the sight, feeling the need to apologize, but he follows your gaze, shakes his head, giving you another one of his sharp smiles, a short laugh escaping him. He pats your cheek again, his gaze growing slightly softer, tender. “Good girl.”

Somehow, you’re getting sick of the praise.

He rubs his thumb against the tip of your tongue, runs it up and down once. You taste the faint sweetness that coats the finger of his gloves, a little strange, almost cloying. Your eyebrows crease a little in confusion, though you barely have any time to discover what it is before he’s dragging his thumb out of your mouth and pulling away from you, making no move to wipe your drool off his gloves.

You stare at him, blinking, your gaze slightly hazy. Curiosity beats inside your chest like a second heart, though you can’t quite find the right words to say, the right question to ask. Instead, all you can do is stare at him, as though you’re waiting for him to explain, tell you anything.

In his usual fashion, he doesn’t. Instead, he gives you his signature sharp smile, reaching out to pat your cheek. He leans down, brushes his lips against the crown of your head, just barely enough to make you ache, yearn for more.

“Good girl,” he says again, whispers the words quietly enough that only you can hear them. A shiver runs through your spine, and he laughs, moving forward to gather you in his arms, pulling you flush against him, closer and closer until all you could feel is him.

His grip tightens when you try to wriggle free from his grip, keeping you in place and refusing to let you go. He leans down and takes your earlobe between his teeth, giving it a playful nip. Another startled gasp escapes you, and you can’t stop the way your body trembles against him, yearning for the very thing you should be running away from.

But whatever kind of dilemma runs through your head, he doesn’t seem to notice. He pulls you even closer, pressing another kiss against the top of your head, wrapping his arms even tighter around you: possessive, territorial, as if staking a claim. “My good little lamb.”

His words linger, the sound of his voice seeming to echo in the silence. It’s the last thing you remember before darkness envelopes you, pushes you under.

[miss-bushido]

kiss me, underneath the moonlight

Eddie and Steve are on their third date at a local farm, when the rain starts.

Written for @softsteddieseptember week 4, prompt 'dancing in the rain'.

Rating: T Tags: Kissing, Steve Harrington has bad parents, heavy petting, making out, secret tattoos

The sky had been threatening rain all day. Dark grey clouds, lots of wind. Typical for mid to late autumn. It was a bit of a bummer because Steve had planned this third date with Eddie to take place outside. He knew enough about him now to know that Eddie was obsessed with Halloween and all things spooky. So, a date at a farm on the outskirts of Hawkins that boasted not only a pumpkin patch and a corn maze, but an outdoor set up to show movies in the late afternoon? Well, it was perfect. Eddie’s face had told him that he’d planned it well.

They had picked their pumpkins and put them in the back of Eddie’s van for safe keeping. They had gone through the corn maze- managing to find a few hiding spots to surreptitiously make out in- and they were now sitting side by side in some wooden Adirondack chairs, holding hands and sipping hot apple cider. There was a bag of warm kettle corn at Steve’s feet, and once the projector was set up, they would be watching a double feature of 80’s horror films ‘Children of the Corn’, and then ‘Near Dark’.

Eddie had been ecstatic about the whole thing, but particularly about the second movie. ‘Near Dark’ was a cult classic vampire movie, and not many people knew about it who hadn’t seen it when it was first released. At least not many people they knew. Most people their age preferred movies like ‘Saw’ or the remakes of ‘Texas Chainsaw Massacre’ and ‘Rob Zombie’s Halloween’. Not many people shared Eddie’s enthusiasm for old horror films, but, luckily, Steve was one of those people. “This was such a fun date, Stevie,” Eddie said, squeezing Steve’s hand before he took another sip of his apple cider.

“I’m glad, Eds,” Steve replied, reaching out to tuck a long lock of hair behind Eddie’s ear. The wind made his hair more wild than it normally was, and that was saying something. “The date’s not done when the movies are, either,” he couldn’t help adding, giving him a wink as he settled back into the chair.

Eddie’s eyes widened at the implication, and he gave Steve a wide cheeky grin. “When you put it like that, maybe we can just find these on Netflix later on.”

“And miss out on this experience?” Steve asked. “It’s not every day you can see a horror movie outside next to a pumpkin patch with a sexy metal head.”

“You’re really not making a case for us to stay when you talk like that, baby,” Eddie grinned, biting his lower lip.

“I guess we’ll both just have to exercise some restraint,” Steve answered, leaning forward to kiss Eddie on the lips. He licked into Eddie’s mouth, tasting the apple cider and the popcorn he’d eaten. “And restraint enters into it…if you’d like,” he whispered, licking Eddie’s bottom lip before he pulled away.

“Damn it,” Eddie muttered, exhaling heavily to get himself under control. Steve grinned and sipped his own apple cider, smiling to himself at the reaction he’d gotten at the implication.

‘Children of the Corn’ started, and he settled into his seat, ready to enjoy the rest of their date. The scenery of Nebraska rolled out on screen, cornfields and all. It reminded him of Hawkins, but then, they were both part of the Midwest, so it made sense.

On screen, the little kid Job had just received his strawberry milkshake at the diner when fat, cold raindrops began pelting them. Seconds later, it turned into a deluge. The bag of kettle corn and the drinks were abandoned as they moved quickly to try and get to the closest shelter. Unfortunately, where they were, the closest shelter was the Boo Barn, named for the children to go into and have a few kid-friendly scares, and by the time they got there, everyone else had already filled it up. The doors were closed to anyone else.

“Well, shit,” Steve commented. They were soaked to the skin, and the rain was showing no signs of stopping.

“It’s okay, Steve,” Eddie reassured him. “It’s just rain.”

Steve turned to look at him and burst out laughing. Eddie’s wild hair was now a mess: completely waterlogged. He looked like a drowned cat, which only made Steve laugh harder.

“Something in my hair?” Eddie asked, laughing as well. He reached for Steve’s hands and pulled him away from the Barn.

Steve took it upon himself to pull Eddie back into his arms and then spin him back out, almost as if they were dancing. The lyrics to a Lady Gaga song came into his mind then, and he sang-yelled:

I’d rather be dry, but at least I’m alive! Rain, rain on me

He repeated this, pulling Eddie close, pretending he was dancing with him as they made their way back to Eddie’s van, water dripping everywhere once they were seated inside. The rain was still coming down in sheets, fogging up the windshield, turning the whole world outside watery grey as it continued pouring.

Eddie looked out the window and shook his head, water from his hair flying onto the dashboard. “It’s not stopping any time soon,” he said as he got up from the driver’s seat and moved into the back of the van. He had put a thin mattress with some pillows and a few blankets back there years ago. It was handy to have a place to sleep when you were a struggling musician and couldn’t always afford a decent motel room. “I have towels back here,” he said, grabbing a red one out of a canvas bag, and beginning to wring his hair out. “They’re clean, I promise.” They had been in the bag that he’d put back there earlier in the summer when there had been plans to go to the pool. Those plans had fallen through, and he’d just never gotten around to moving them back out.

Thank you, Past Eddie for being lazy.

Steve followed Eddie into the back, grabbing a green towel to wipe himself off. He grimaced at the way his shirt was sticking to his skin. “I don’t suppose you’d have an extra shirt I could wear, do you?”

Eddie rooted through the bag, tongue out in concentration, before he pulled out a black tank top. “This is the best I can do for you,” he said. Steve reached for the tank top, but Eddie pulled it back, eyebrow raising.

“Trying to play keep-away, huh?” Steve asked, lunging forward to grab Eddie by the wrist. He pulled him flush against his body, wrapping his arms around him to hold him while they kissed. He ran his hands up Eddie’s damp back, pushing his shirt up. “Take this off,” Steve breathed, sucking Eddie’s bottom lip before he resumed kissing him.

Eddie responded by pushing Steve’s own shirt up, both of them breaking away from the other to get out of their damp clothes. Once they were both shirtless, they began kissing again in earnest, Eddie moving forward to lay on top of Steve on the blankets. “Is this okay? Is this too much?” Eddie asked, slotting his left leg between Steve’s thighs. From what he could feel, it was not too much, and seeing as how this was their third date, he assumed something would happen.

He also didn’t want to assume and be disappointed. The signs were there, though. And he still had the memory of Steve’s kiss before they got soaked to the skin.

Steve swallowed thickly. “No, it’s not too much,” he said, looking down at where Eddie was pressing into him. “Can you take these off of me?” he asked, bringing Eddie’s hands to the waistband of his jeans. Not everything he wanted to do tonight would happen in the van, but he wanted some of it. He wanted Eddie fiercely, and that need was growing by the minute.

Eddie kissed him once more and then sat up, straddling Steve’s thigh. He unbuttoned and unzipped Steve’s jeans, beginning to pull them down. They stuck a little to Steve’s skin and Eddie gave them a strong pull. As this happened, he pulled down part of Steve’s underwear on his left hip. He looked down, and immediately froze, his face going pale.

“What’s wrong?” Steve asked. He glanced down at where Eddie was looking and he froze, too.

Unlike Eddie, whose tattoos adorned him in numerous visible spaces, Steve’s tattoo was hidden. It was a small crown on his left hip, just under the waistband of his jeans. Robin was with Steve when he got it: right after he was kicked out of his house when his Dad found out he was gay. Robin had taken him in immediately, and he had set up in her two-bedroom apartment with the meager belongings he’d managed to grab on his way out the door.

The problem was that Steve didn’t have access to a lot of money. Just what was in his bank account, which his father could not touch, thankfully. He had applied for numerous jobs, but wasn’t able to get much. He was starting to panic around the first of the month before he landed a job as a host at a local restaurant. The pay wasn’t much, but it was money, and he could at least give Robin his share of the rent, and buy some things he needed.

While Steve applied for other, better paying jobs online, he kept seeing people talk about their OnlyFans sites, and how much money they made. He made his own account, Hail to the King, using the pseudonym King Sexy. Robin had laughed herself sick when he told her the names, and the tattoo had followed soon after.

Steve never shared his face. Made sure he had no identifying rings or watches on when he posted his pictures. And especially not when he posted his videos. The only thing his subscribers could see was the tattoo, and they ate it up. He made a lot of money with his content, and there were more than a few accounts who made his live streams very lucrative indeed.

“Why do you have that tattoo?” Eddie asked, voice quiet as he traced the edges of the crown.

“Uh…I uh…” Steve struggled for an answer before something dawned on him. “Wait, does it…You can’t be bothered by it when you have…” he trailed off, eyes roving over Eddie’s torso and arms. If he was bothered by it, he was a major hypocrite.

“No! No, I’m not…I just….” Eddie exhaled and put his hands over his eyes. “I just didn’t realize that you were King Sexy until this moment.”

Record scratch.

“What the- You- I-”

“Yes, exactly,” Eddie answered. His shoulders were shaking, and for a second, Steve worried he was about to cry. This fear evaporated when Eddie burst out laughing, tears coming out of his eyes as he doubled over. “Oh my God, this cannot be my life!” At Steve’s confused expression, Eddie managed to say, “I’m BardsCurse666.”

A laugh of his own burst out of Steve. What were the freaking odds? One of his best customers on his account was someone he was on a third date with.

They fell over one another laughing hysterically, until they physically couldn’t anymore. Eddie was sobbing with laughter, tears rolling down his cheeks. “Oh my God, oh my God.” He sounded like he was pleading, holding his stomach.

Steve managed to get himself under control quicker, though he was still wiping his eyes as he giggled into his hand. He looked over at Eddie laid out on the blankets behind him. “Is this…Does this change anything?”

Eddie snorted. “Hell no it doesn’t change anything.” He reached for Steve’s hand. “Well, I guess the only thing that will change is that I may not be as active on the site. Since I have King Sexy all to myself.”

Steve grinned wickedly and crawled over to him, looming over Eddie’s body. “You certainly do. Let me know if you want to be part of things in the future.”

Eddie groaned and pulled Steve down for a blistering kiss. “There’s enough time to talk about that later.”

“Indeed,” Steve agreed, kissing him back just as fiercely.

[sopiao]

ERRRRM GHOST MEETING SINGER!READER AT THIS OLD BAR OR FANCY LIL DINER.

hear me out.

the reader does dress kinda fem, but it’s still they/them. :3 ANYWAYS

It was routine for the team to get a drink after every mission. To unwind, relax, and get everything out of their system to get back to themselves again before going back to base.

The mission took place a little far from home so they couldn’t go to their usual pub. Either way, Soap recommended— well, insisted— that they go to this new bar he wanted to check out.

Upon entering, the whole mood was so warm and fluid. It was dimmed down, almost completely dark if it wasn’t for the low lighting of the bar and the bright spotlight of the small stage up front. There were tables littered with people that just stared and listened in awe, there were some low chattering and conversations throughout.

Taking a row of seats at the side bar, they all began to talk and ramble about the mission or how much they’re looking forward to getting back home to their partners/pets. Keeping it not too loud of course to be respectful to the performers. But for some reason, Ghost couldn’t bring himself to focus on the conversation or contribute, not like he contributes much.

His attention was always drawn back to the performance. Brown eyes just stared in a relaxed daze at the singer, weightlessly sitting at the edge of the piano. The pianist staring up at them with a cig hanging from his lip.

Almost like it was his last time seeing ever, Ghost took in every little detail of you. Black satin slip dress with a slit on the left leg, transparent stockings— if you look close enough you can see the subtle shine of glitter in them— black heels, a string of pearls lining your neck.

Leaning back against the bar, shoulders open and elbows resting on the wooden surface. The lieutenant entirely discarding the conversation and gave all of his attention to you. The band’s music was so soothing and fresh, enhancing how enchanting your performance was.

Somehow, feeling himself get sleepy, more relaxed and comfortable. Listening to you cover an Eartha Kitt song. After a couple minutes, the rest of the team realized how quiet and unresponsive their lieutenant was. Staring at him then back at each other.

From then on out, Ghost started coming more by frequently. At first it was once every two weeks, or so. He insisted it was because he needed to decompress. Then it was once a week, which turned to twice, then almost every day.

He’d come in, sit at the same spot on the bar, and order the exact same drink. He’d note and notice your different dresses and outfits, how you’d style your hair, how different you’d do your makeup, what song you sang, how passionate you were when you did.

His favorite part was listening to you talk and ramble about your life on mic to the audience or band after your performances when it got late.

And you’d notice him as well. The mysterious masked man that’d watch you during your night performances. Always too nervous to look at his direction, let alone eye contact.

Ghost made the first move. Not really a first move, but a way to show his adoration for you. When the bartender delivered a drink for you given by a kind stranger, you immediately knew it was him. He was the first person you looked at, and he was looking back.

.

.

(Y’all should listen and check out Eartha Kitt CUZ OMG)

[cherrybunniesposts]

I HAVE A REQUEST!!!!

I want a reader x dean fiction where reader is spunky and witty, but in a sweet sort of way. It takes place when the boys go back in time to get thw phoenix ashes and the colt, when they don't come back on time, reader goes in after them. She's a total bad ass cowboy who hunts them down across Wyoming and brings them back!

Please please please I love you 💖 😍

Hi lovely! I saw these requests come in (I saw the second one as well!) While I had been working on my one shot called Mindbound, so I didn't get around to this one yet. I love the idea, and I definitely want to work on this one soon! School life has me busy so until I can get around to a full fic, here's a little drabble that's lingering in my mind:

With a full belly and a lead on where you might find Dean and Sam, you carry onwards and walk down the dirt roads of the little town you had landed in. You notice the bustling sounds of men loading up carts and women's fans rustling as they flitter around their front yards, everyone easily settled into their sense of normalcy - and making your own encroachment on the peaceful town feel wrong.

You notice a proud stallion knickering and waiting patiently for its owner, tied up against a wooden post outside of a general shop. You approach the horse hesitantly, giving a few small rubs to the side of its face. When you aren't kicked into the next dimension or stomped on, you sigh in relief, continuing to pet the golden brown stallion.

"There we go, that's a good horsey"

The owner, a gruff man with a rounded belly, stocky arms, and a furrow to his brows that signaled the last time he smiled might have been when you were still in diapers, comes outside and raises a brow at you petting his horse.

"Git lost, lil girl. He ain't a pet. G'on back to yer momma"

You send a glare in his direction at being called a little girl and told to go running to your mom (a woman who didn't even exist yet, technically) before you straighten your back up, holding your ground.

"Mister? I've gotta ask, can I borrow your horse? I'm looking for someone, and I'd rather not do it on foot."

The owner, believing to be this was just the silly request of a lazy girl disobeying her daddy's wishes, was quick to give you an up and down before opening the side pouch on the stallion's saddle and loading his purchases inside.

"I ain't gonna repeat m'self again, lil girl. I ain't giving ya shit. Go run on home, before I gotta find yer daddy"

Your hand pauses its movements mid stroke through the stallion's luscious mane, turning your body to look at the older man. You take a few steps closer, adjusting your cowgirl hat on your head and clenching your jaw as you grit out your last patient request you'll give him today.

"I'm afraid I can't, sir. Last time I checked, four legs were quicker than two panicked ones, and I need my boys back."

(okay turns out I actually love this, so here's a few headcannons I have for her as well 🤭)

Cowgirl!Reader who had been a southern belle of her own little town growing up. With a tall frame, long brown hair and eyes like emeralds it hadn't been hard for every boy in town to notice her and want to chase after her tails

Cowgirl!Reader who learned just as quickly that she wasn't impressed with the boys in her town, or her town at all for that matter. It was safe and would always have a place in her heart for the sake of nostalgia, but she craved more. She broke her momma's heart when she left town to explore America, but she knew she needed to.

Cowgirl!Reader who bumps into the Winchester brothers when Sam and Dean were bickering in a diner, too distracted to pay attention to the woman they were about to walk into. Sam spilled his soda right onto her shirt before his anger faded away into humiliated apologies, and reader smiles patiently while waving his sorry's off. Dean had grabbed some napkins for her to clean herself up, impressed at her level head with Sam even after his slip up.

Cowgirl!Reader who's then approached by Dean again before they leave, who slips her a $20 dollar bill (saying it was to cover a new shirt) and an offer to start rolling with them now. After considering for a few moments she decides Sam is sweet enough and Dean's got a pretty enough face to say yes, and she climbs into the backseat a few minutes later

Cowgirl!Reader who calls both brothers "mister" for the first few months of knowing them, even after their mutual reassurance that the formality wasn't necessary.

Cowgirl!Reader who's eyes sparkling reminded Dean of the moon and that reference plus her heavy country accent earns her his nickname for her- Moonshine. She would hate it more if it didn't remind her of back home, as it was always her daddy's favorite drink, and she passively allows the nickname to stick

Cowgirl!Reader who doesn't snore, but she does twitch and jolt in her sleep. It does mildly freak sam out the first time they had reader squished between the two of them on the modest rickety hotel bed they all had to share- but Dean grumbles under his breath before throwing one arm around her waist and curling around her from behind, under the excuse of "restraining her down"

Cowgirl!Reader who gets irritated when Dean mocks her accent, and punishes him with a swat to the back of the head and ignoring him for a few hours until the pouty man came slinking over with his tail tucked between his legs

Cowgirl!Reader who decides to ride the mechanical bull at the most recent bar they went to, her hips rolling easily in time with the violent bucks of the whirring metal. She downs back a shot while still mounted on the bull- leaving Sam's jaw dropped and Dean's pants starting to feel a bit too tight.

Cowgirl!Reader who has a scary good aim with a pistol (even better when she's pissed off), and both brothers sheepishly agree that having her on their side was better than having her against them.

Cowgirl!Reader who seemed down in the dumps after her favorite cowgirl boots got ruined during a rushed escape through the woods, now officially losing her last piece of her items from her old town. She didn't say anything about it to the boys or whine about it (she was taught better than that by her daddy), but the boys still notice. That Christmas, Sam returns to her the old and now perfectly repaired boots he had nicked from her bags a couple months ago and hand repaired. Dean's right after him, handing her a box of brand new boots in a shiny chocolate brown tone that matched her hair.

"Here. Just in case you decide you want something brand new this time."

[slashersgirlypop]

Grilled Cheese Chapter 1.

(October 30th, 1978) 

 I giggled as I watched the little girl in front of me excitedly tell me what she was going to be dressed as tomorrow, her mother watching her with a fond look.

 “Lacy, c’mon, you’ve probably talked this poor girl’s ear off with how much candy you will get,” her mother gently teased her, the blond girl smiling toothily in response. 

 “It’s all good ma’am. Your total comes out to $34.67.” I said, returning my attention to the mother as I finished bagging her groceries. I stifled a yawn as I gave her the correct change. Waving to the little girl as they walked off, I glanced at the clock. 8:30. I let out a soft sigh of relief. Standing at the register for eight hours with only one thirty-minute break is “such fun.” 

 “Alright, Y/N, I’m heading out. You gonna be okay for the next two hours?” The other cashier, Gracie, asked, pulling her jacket on.

 I nodded at her, rubbing my eyes. 

 “Yeah, I should be okay, Mrs. Gracie,” I replied, to which she frowned. 

 “Did you get any sleep last night?” 

 “Tried to, but with the studying and everything, it’s hard to even catch maybe 3 hours.” 

 “Y/N! Don’t force yourself to stay up for some degree!”

 “Well, if I wanna be respected in the wonderful world of psychology, I have to prove myself. I’ll try tonight though to go to bed earlier, Mrs. Gracie. Tell Micah and Jamie I said hi and happy halloween.” 

She sighed, giving me a sympathetic look before nodding, walking out the store.

 I turned my attention to the next customer as they walked into the store, forcing a smile on my tired face. 

 “Welcome to Food Giant!” I said.

 +🔪+🔪+🔪+ 

 I groaned as I slipped into my car, resting my head against the head rest. Another ten hour shift, done. I once again asked myself if $2.00 an hour was worth waking up at six in the morning for, not to mention a disgusting manager whose always leering at me, or rather my ass. Turning on the ignition, I increased the volume, letting the tunes of The Beatles ease my stress. Pulling out of the parking lot, I turned onto the quiet and empty street, driving to my house. 

About twenty minutes later, I pulled down the dusty one-way, switching on the high beams. I was thankful for the solitude of my home, considering it was five minutes from the road and deep in the still forest. 

 I turned off my car, parking out front of the empty and dark home. It was just me in the lonesome home, at least, ever since my parents died in a car accident seven years ago and my brother enlisted in the army once he deemed me old enough to take care of myself, at the old age of seventeen. Now, he was serving in the Republic of Korea, and I was a server at a local diner and a clerk at Food Giant. 

 “Mrawr.” An scraggly looking calico cat was sitting on the porch, looking at my expectantly. I put my hands on my hips, tilting my head and raising an eyebrow.

 “Well, excuse me for having a job and being away all day, Miss Petunia. You know, not all of us have the luxury of just laying around all day, demanding pets and ear scratches.” I chastised her. 

 “Mra.” Miss Petunia responded, slowly blinking her eyes at me, her tail swishing lazily on the wooden porch. I found her three years ago when she was a kitten, alone and hungry under the petunias in the front yard that my mom loved. She’s been with me ever since, and she does good, catching different kinds of vermin around the house.

 “Alright, alright, I heard you, we’re going inside.” I sighed, unlocking the door and opening it for the impatient cat, who began to squeak more demandingly for food.

 I flicked on the lights in the kitchen, throwing my keys in the bowl on the counter and opening a cabinet. I poured her food in her food bowl, which she began to devour with purrs of gratitude. I opened the fridge, peering inside. Yay, nothing as usual, besides random, and possibly expired, condiments and one orange, some margarine and cheese slices. Grabbing the slices and margarine, I placed it on the counter. I grabbed a bag of bread from the pantry, placing it on the counter.

 Thirty minutes later, I was leaning over an empty plate, an ice-cold Coke next to me. Miss Petunia was at my feet, purring contently. I flipped the page in my psychology book, scanning the paragraph. Sighing, I closed the book. I pushed away the plate and finished the Coke, letting out a little burp.

 Sliding out of the chair, I walked to the couch and plopped onto it facedown, groaning as I made impact. 

 “Mraah,” Miss Petunia said as she hopped onto my back, beginning to gently knead my lower back, just above my butt. 

 “Hey Miss Petunia, guess what?” 

 “Mah.” 

 “I turn 21 tomorrow!”

 “Graahhh.” 

 “I know right!? Exciting!”

 “Rah.” 

 “I know you didn’t get me anything, but that’s okay. You don’t have any means of getting me anything.” 

Grabbing the remote, I switched on the TV, glancing at it absentmindedly. My mind began to grow sleepy as the news talked about some guy escaping from some asylum. Mickey Meyers or something. I wasn’t paying attention, due to the fast-approaching sleep forcing my eyes closed. Thank God I didn’t work tomorrow, the only day of the year I had off from both my jobs. 

+🔪+🔪+🔪 +🔪+🔪+🔪+🔪+🔪+🔪 +🔪+🔪+🔪+ 

Heyo! This is my first fic I ever wrote on tumblr. I used to write on quotev, but it sort of died off. I upgraded tho from writing about the tumblr sexymen known as creepypasta to horror slashers, so that’s cool. Alright, enjoy, ya slasher sluts 

[kathxsoupp]

In Love With A Fever: Chapter 1

William Afton x law enforcement ! reader (fem)

Summary: Reader is a detective who was put on the missing children incident case, her person of interest is William and is currently investigating him.

WARNINGS: very graphic violence throughout the whole fic, eventual smut, slow burn, age-gap between reader and Will, manipulation, mutilation, broken bones, use of pet names, Will is obsessive, mentions of death, death and murder, there will be smut, a lot probably, I think, dub-con at some point maybe, fluff and angst, idk if I missed something just read with caution

Notes: This fic is also posted on my AO3, linked in my pinned post, I'm updating this fic every Monday and it's the first thing I have ever posted, so I hope you like it!

--MINORS DNI!!!!--

Chapter 1: Captivated

A chilling scream was heard through the dark and usually eerily quiet town named Hurricane. It was mostly deserted at these late hours during a workday, so no one really noticed. The origin of the sound was a small restaurant in the town centre. On the front of the building hung a huge, glowing sign with a cartoon bear who wore a black bowtie and a matching top hat. He had a wide toothy grin, which would seem unsettling to the average human, but to the little ones, it was inviting, promising a place full of laughter and fun.

Little Cassidy was one of those children, seeking some sort of entertainment. She heard the stories about the huge yellow rabbit roaming the restaurant and how he gave out free sweets to the kids from her friends. After a long afternoon of playing with her friends, she ran into the mascot. She was mesmerized. She, unbeknownst to her, made the gravely mistake of following the rabbit backstage and now, she lay there in a large crimson puddle slumped against an old wooden closet with no sign of life in her eyes.

You sat in your office at your local police department. It was your second year working here, and you were already one of the best investigators at this place. You sat with your legs up on your table flipping through some old files. You glanced at the clock which read 7:22 pm and then out your small window. The sky outside was already a light pink color, meaning you could leave work soon. You sighed and decided to go get some coffee from the small kitchen downstairs. When leaving your office you almost bumped into one of your co-workers, and your best friend Caris. 

''There you are, (y/n)!'' she spoke cheerfully. 

You flashed her a sweet, friendly smile.

''Hey Caris, what's up?'' 

She raised a thin brown file folder above her read

''The boss wanted me to give this to you. He wants to put you on the missing kids case which happened in that one diner with the creepy animatronics.''

You took the folder from her hand and flipped through the pages with furrowed brows. After skipping through the notes swiftly you shut it closed with one hand and looked back up at your friend.

''Thanks Caris. Tell the boss I'm on it. I was about to grab some coffee earlier actually, wanna come along?'' you asked her with a smile. ''Sure!''

You both made your way downstairs and got both of your cups of coffee. You spent the rest of your shift chatting in the kitchen, catching up on life and complaining about work. When the clock finally struck 8:00 pm, you got up from your chairs and went to collect your belongings from your office. You quickly called goodbye over to Caris before leaving. You stood in the cold evening air, taking a deep breath before getting into your car and driving away. You made sure to take the way, on which you would drive around the restaurant. The building was temporarily closed, secured with yellow police tapes. 

What the hell happened here... you thought. You spent the rest of the drive home thinking about your newest case, deeply intrigued by it. Some people have already called you strange for your deep interest in crime, but you never minded them. You were passionate about your job and about bringing justice into this rotten mess of a world.

You parked your car in a small parking lot next to your apartment building and hurried inside. When finally home, you set all of your things on your dinner table and went inside your bathroom for a quick shower. After you got out, you dug in your bag for your newest case file. You sat on the couch and turned on the TV for some background noise. You flipped through the pages again, stopping on the pages with prime suspects. Two names, both highlighted in different colors stood out to you. Henry Emily, the owner of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, head of engineering and William Afton, co-owner of Freddy Fazbear’s Pizzeria, head of business were the two suspects mentioned, however, there was no real evidence against them. There wasn't anything special about Henry Emily. William Afton on the other hand, was the main suspect. Your boss made sure to leave you a note with his reasonings and a reminder to interview the man as soon as possible. You stared at the page for a moment and then shut it closed and placed down onto your coffee table. 

You glanced at the clock again. 10:00 pm. You got up from your couch and decided to head to bed to get your well deserved rest. Tomorrow is going to be a big day.

[crispyhottubdelusion]

Wooden Pet Double Diner - iconicpet.com

[theloveinc]

sukuna ryomen x reader - part of this!au , the king of curses watches you get ready for a lunch date with friends.

(warning: this is a piece about body image, which mentions reader having insecurities about trying on clothing and gaining weight. that being said, this isn't so much an angst fic as it is about a relationship dynamic. fem reader who is called a woman/girl, adult themes, etc. 1.3k words!)

thank u to @notvil + @saetyrn9 for sukuna pet names! <3

Most of the time, the King of Curses, Sukuna Ryomen, looks like a man. Thick set yet lean, baby-soft skin tattooed in deep, chocolate browns, and pink hair the color of April’s most delicate of cherry blossom petals, he fits into an entirely new category of handsome; one that would make your mother cry to see you standing against, but one that’d have anyone leaving another man at the altar for.

Some of the time, however, he looks like a monster.

Large and autocratic, he takes up space in your home the way a centerpiece of freshly slain taxidermy would, almost wooden, looming, like that of a thousand-year-old tree with roots more ancient than a Japanese cedar and a trunk just as strong.

Though normally, this form disturbs you enough to keep you from straying too far from his usual behests (most often, pulling out your bare breasts to present to him or finger feeding him food off of your plate, despite how many times he’s told you he needs no sustenance of the kind), not even all four of his arms or all four of his eyes can tear yours away from the mirror in front of you and the sides of your hips it presents as rather… and surprisingly…voluptuous.

Really, you can only hope it’s the water damage behind the old silver that’s causing your belly to appear slightly more distended than the last time you remember inspecting yourself to such an intense degree, and not the fact it’s been a few years since you stopped consistently working on your feet.

(You still sometimes pick up night shifts at the diner, during weeks when money is tight after paying rent and you’re craving something nicer than just rice with an occasional egg on top, but they’ve started stationing you at the register, where the only things you’re moving are credit cards through the slider and the thumb on your right hand as you play sudoku on your phone.)

The dress you’re wearing is old, and if the out-of-style pattern of its skirt didn’t make that obvious enough, the way the elastic is permanently stretched and no longer cinches around your waist makes it perfectly clear. You don’t feel… unattractive in it, not exactly… but it makes you look like some sort of old maid, you think, your ass resting just a little too full for your comfort and the frills around your bust too tacky for your liking… not like someone who should be hanging out with a bunch of 20-something year-olds now years out of undergraduate.

Most of your friends dress in stylish ensembles they’ve collected and created over the many years you’ve known them… and while you wish you could emulate the causality they display in their effortlessly chic everyday wear, you’re still stuck living halfway out of your mother’s closet because clothing shopping is a luxury you have obviously not prioritized affording.

It’s partially why you’ve managed to push it too close to the wire to change outfits (really, you tried on two other things and felt strangely the same in them, one blouse an ugly, stained mustard and the other even more motherly looking, flaring widely over the lower bit of your belly as if that part of you needed hiding), as by now, you’ve learned there’s not enough time in the world to make you feel as confident as you do in your favorite pajamas, in your own home, entertaining only yourself.

And sometimes Ryomen, when he feels like playing nice.

Because really, it’s hard to care about who the outside of you pleases when most of the time, your outfits (ugly or motherly or not) have no bearing on said, six-foot, seven-foot, something curse who fucks you upside down and backwards near daily every spare moment you’re able to offer yourself to him naked, and who currently stares at you like the piece of meat you really are as you stare at yourself.

Clearly, he is bored watching you, as when he’d tried picking at the clasped band of your bra, as much interest in the old lace as taking it off you accounts for, you’d succeeded in swatting at him enough times to have him slinking off to drape himself dramatically over your bed sheets again.

“Foolish woman,” he complains. “Never have you bothered wearing fancy clothing around me.”  

“It’s not about the clothing. It’s about how it’s literally been 35 pounds since I’ve last seen these friends.”

Sukuna rolls half of his four eyes, the two that don’t sit vertically or flatly on his face where they would if he looked human.

“Pounds of flesh?” he says dryly, which you ignore in favor of pulling off the frilly shirt you're currently wearing and replacing it with something much more simple you initially thought might come off as too casual, but now seems like the best option in terms of comfort.

“Of…fat,” you twist in the mirror to briefly glance back at where he sprawls, pinching the dips on your hips as though it’s obvious what you’re talking about, “that I can’t exactly hide.”

“Hide?” he repeats incredulously, his big face morphing into something much more pointed and annoyed as his words darken into a chuckle that seems to echo and vibrate between the walls. “Good women walk bare, you know.”

What you know is that Sukuna is taunting you, and that his kind of woman, the traditional, acquiescent kind, hasn’t existed for thousands upon thousands of years. It’s something he must have been forced to come to terms with since having woken up in a decade that is entirely not his, where most women (you included, as well as all the other ones you’re sure he’s encountered here) dress in business casual suits and spend their time working for the man (rather than serving one) because it’s the only way outside of finding a husband they’ll be set up to survive.

Still, Sukuna has made a few attempts at pushing the expectation of that ancient naturality on you, despite knowing you don’t have the kind of time or patience or even employment that level of… maintenance (or lack thereof, given that what he likes is when you’re completely unshaven and greased up for his pleasure) …requires to indulge him, the literal cost of it all notwithstanding.

“Good women don’t binge themselves on the latte machine at work and order lunch takeout just because someone else is picking it up.” 

The man, the king, as he sometimes demands to be called, seems to ponder for a moment, eyes not on you but on the pale, stained bed sheets he pinches between two of his long nails as he considers your response. You’re not yet sure if he really cares, but no sooner is he shooting you a nasty pair of eyes you try to ignore as you stick a hand down the back of your ass to rearrange the seamless panties beneath your leggings.

“Who, sweet girl,” he says, voice wet with a surprisingly bitter edge, “is picking it up?”

You stare at him from out of the corner of the mirror, at the way his eyebrows have narrowed, his mouth has puckered downward, and his eyes haven’t strayed from your body since you mentioned it’s shape. Now it’s your turn to roll your eyes.

“Nobody, actually. Starting tomorrow, I’m officially bringing in lunch from home for the rest of the month.” Letting your pants slap back down once your hand emerges from the waistband, you decide it’s finally time to suck it up and take your leave. Your friends have never been judgmental people no matter how much you’d like to impress them regardless, and you doubt one bad outfit is going to ruin the rest of your week, much less however long the friendships may last. “I’ll be good, and then you can stop nagging.”

“I am not nagging, poppet.” Sukuna scoffs, clearly offended as he shifts to roll over and face away from where, in a few minutes, you’ll no longer be, having already started preparing to grab your purse. “I’m saying good women need only care about pleasing their own men.”

“Their own, huh?” you ask, to which Sukuna humphs, though still lets you lean over your bed to give him one brief kiss on the shoulder before you leave. “I’ll have to remember that.”

[impossiblepersonstarlight]

pet double diner

[shadowyqueengoatee]

pet feeders for dogs - iconcipet.com

This pet food bowl set combines classic design with modern functionality which has been made from durable pine wood. It has a colorful exterior that holds two stainless steel pet feeding bowls and blends with any type of home decor. 

[deliciouscolorflower]

Wooden Pet Double Diner - Iconicpet.com

Treat your beloved small pet to an extraordinary dining experience with the fabulous Sassy Paws Wooden Pet Double Diner!

👑 𝐒𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐡 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐅𝐮𝐧𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥

Dog/cat double diner has colorful exterior and holds two stainless steel feeding bowls which can be used for food, water or a combination of both for your dog or cat.

[classybananapolice]

Pet Double Diner - iconicpet.com

Treat your beloved small pet to an extraordinary dining experience with the fabulous Sassy Paws Wooden Pet Double Diner!

[impossiblebearfury]

New Wooden Products - IconicPet.Com

Featuring an elevated design, this beautiful wooden double diner is an ideal feeder for your dog or large cat. This raised wooden pet double diner has colorful exterior that holds two stainless steel pet feeding bowls and blends with any type of home decor. Made from durable pine wood, the double diner holds two stainless steel feeding bowls. The two stainless steel bowls can be used for food, water or a combination of both for your dog or cat. The bowls are easy to clean and are dishwasher safe

[wingedtigerkitten]

cat feeding Bowls - iconicpet.com

Featuring a comfortable design, this beautiful wooden double diner is an ideal feeder for your small dog or cat. Made from durable pine wood, the double diner holds two 16 oz stainless steel feeding bowls. Sassy Paws wooden pet double diner has colorful exterior that holds two stainless steel feeding bowls and blends with any type of home decor. The two 16 oz stainless steel bowls can be used for food, water or a combination of both for your dog or cat. The bowls are easy to clean and are dishwasher safe. Iconic Pet’s Sassy Paws wooden pet double diner is a combination of durable and premium looking pine wood with stainless steel bowls, which can enhance your home’s interiors. This product is ideal for puppies, small dogs, kittens and cats.